Attempted Vampirism

by L. G. Estrella

  Jonathan fought the urge to fall to his knees in gratitude. Apart from Miles staying, this was the only good news he’d had in what felt like forever. “Thank you. I… thank you.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve always treated me well, even when you didn’t have to. You’re a noble, but you never looked down on me or tried to take advantage of me.” Something ugly flashed across Martin’s face, and Jonathan wondered how many times doors had been shut in Martin’s face just because of his humble origins and appearance. Martin’s main words were [Find] and [Conceal], which were perfect for a man who often dealt with objects of questionable legality and safety. They were not, however, ideal for a man hoping to move up in polite society where appearances where so important. “Do you know how many other scholars have been willing to authenticate things for me at a reasonable price? And you know how it is. Without authentication, I would only be able to sell my wares for a fraction of their true worth.” He shook his head and downed the rest of the blood in his mug in one big gulp. His expression was grim when he looked back at Jonathan. “I wish I could say things will only get easier from here, but I have bad news for you. Your odds of getting a job at one of the academies or universities here are not good.”

  Jonathan felt another frisson of unease rustle through him. Bad luck, it seemed, was determined to follow him around, at least for a little while longer. “I am more than qualified.”

  “I know you are.” Martin rubbed his beard. Most vampires preferred to be clean-shaven. Even amongst those who kept beards, few ever grew one as impressive as Martin’s. Even a dwarf would have been proud of it, which was yet another thing some vampires held against him. “Listen. Things have changed. The people you were on good terms with have lost power. The academies and universities are under new management, and they won’t help you. They’re still far too busy paying back all of the favours their new masters owe. Unless you’re one of their cronies, you don’t have a hope of getting a job.”

  Jonathan went very still. His father had once told him that he needed to pay more attention to politics. He’d assumed it had been bad advice – like almost everything else his father had told him – but perhaps he’d been wrong. Internecine strife was the norm amongst vampires rather than the exception. He’d tried to hedge his bets, but he’d grown friendly with the previous administrators of the academies and universities due to how often he’d published papers through them or collaborated with them. If they’d been deposed, then Martin was right. The new administrators would lavish favours upon those who had helped them seize power, and they would also be extremely wary of anyone who was perceived as a loyalist to the old regime. Regardless of whether it was true, Jonathan would most likely be seen as a loyalist, and with his lack of wealth, power, and influence, there was no way for him to change their minds.

  “I still have to try.” It went unspoken that he didn’t have any other options.

  “Then good luck. You’ll need it.” Martin pointed at Miles who had adopted a position not unlike a sentry behind Jonathan. “And tell your butler there to relax. He’s making me nervous.”

  “Miles, it’s fine. Martin is my friend. We’re safe here.” Yet all the same, Miles maintained that peculiar watchfulness. It was not the sort of alertness a butler should have. If anything, it reminded Jonathan of the handful of assassins he’d met over the years. Mercifully, none of them had been after him. Instead, they’d come to him with questions about certain artefacts and relics. They’d paid well enough, and refusing them hadn’t seemed wise.

  “You can stay here while you look for work,” Martin said. “I’ll even pay you to help me when you have the time.” He stroked his beard. “Things are slowly picking up, so I might even need a full-time assistant. I can’t promise you riches, but I can promise you a fair wage.”

  “Thank you.” Jonathan meant it. He truly did. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to get something at one of the academies or the universities.”

  Martin poured him some more blood. “Here. Drink that. You’ll need it.” He chuckled bitterly. “This is a hard city to live in, my friend. We have a saying here: hope for the best but be ready for disappointment.”

  Martin was right. Despite his best efforts, Jonathan had door after door slammed in his face. Nobody wanted to hire him. His reputation, so carefully cultivated and protected through years of hard work and rigorous research, meant nothing to the new administration. If anything the many papers he had published in association with the old administration only counted against him. It was a bitter pill to swallow. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they’d given him a chance and he’d lost to a better candidate, but most of the time, he barely managed to get two words out before they told him to leave.

  It reminded him of words the Blood Emperor had once written. The legendary vampire had, before his demise, bemoaned the tendency of vampires to rely on treachery, backstabbing, and factional politics to achieve their goals, citing it as the main reason for their failure as a group. How could vampires ever rise to prominence if they spent more time fighting each other than their enemies? Of course, much like the concerns of Jonathan’s most famous ancestor, Tiberius, the Blood Emperor’s concerns had proven to be horribly prescient.

  In contrast, werewolves had been enormously successful over the past two thousand years despite lacking the technological prowess of the dwarves or the potent magic of the elves or vampires. Jonathan attributed their success to their ability to compete against one another without ever forgetting the importance of the group’s success as a whole. As a result, werewolves often brought out the best in each other during their competitions without wiping each other out the way vampires were prone to do. A talented werewolf not only got the chance to prove their worth – and hence earn promotion – but also the chance to pass on their skills and abilities to the next generation. Over time, that advantage would accumulate, allowing the werewolf clans to grow more and more powerful.

  However, Jonathan’s worst experience came during his final attempt for the night.

  “We don’t hire… your kind.”

  Jonathan stared at the old vampire who was looking down his very impressive nose at him from behind a desk that was probably worth almost as much as Jonathan’s entire library had been. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I understand you’ve had some success in the past,” the new chancellor of the academy replied archly. “But look at you. You’re a mess. Your boots are old, and your clothing could, if I was inclined to be charitable, be described as shabby. The only servant you have is an old human who might, if he is lucky, have a decade or two left. My academy admits only the finest students – and the finest staff.”

  “I hardly think my personal circumstances have any bearing on the quality of my scholarship –”

  And that was when they threw him out. It had been humiliating, to say the least, as well as novel. He’d had doors slammed in his face, and he’d been ordered to leave on multiple occasions, but he’d never been physically thrown out before. He picked himself up with as much dignity as he could while staunchly looking at everything except his old boots and shabby clothing. He and Miles had spent some of their meagre funds to improve his wardrobe before approaching the academies and universities. Clearly, however, it had not been enough.

  “I am sorry, sir,” Miles murmured as he helped Jonathan dust himself off. “If I had spent more money, you could have acquired better clothing and footwear.”

  Jonathan forced himself to smile and shook his head. He might be impoverished, but he could still act with honesty and integrity. “This isn’t your fault, Miles. We don’t have a lot of money, and you were wise to use it sparingly.” He patted Miles on the back. “Martin was right. I could have shown up in the finest clothing and shoes, and they still wouldn’t have hired me. My clothing and boots were just an excuse to be rid of me.” A sigh left his lips and he turned his back on the academy. “We still have some time before dawn. Let’s go for a walk. I need to clear my head.”

>   It went unsaid that a walk might also help get the sting of rejection out of his mind. Dejected, he wandered the city with Miles at his side. He needed time to think. Perhaps he’d be able to find a solution once he had a clear mind since the avenue he’d hoped to pursue was very clearly closed. Would it be so bad to work for Martin? Jonathan turned the idea over in his mind. Surely, any hesitance he had wasn’t related to the… downgrade such a position would be to his previous circumstances or even his hopes of becoming an instructor at an academy or university. His friend was rough around the edges, but Martin was a good man who earned a mostly honest living, albeit next to a very noisy brothel. Jonathan’s feet carried him past the more well-to-do parts of the city and over to the buildings that straddled the wealthy and common areas. A building loomed up ahead of them, a building that housed the largest relatively independent faction in the Blood Alliance: the Adventurers’ Union.

  It was a fine building that had been built in the classic gothic style with ornate decorations and strong, imposing lines. It might be a bit weathered here and there, but the stone was of high quality, and there was a solidity and strength to it that seemed fitting for a building dedicated to those who lived by their wits and the strength of their sword arm. As several armoured figures walked past him, along with others in the more colourful attires of priests, sorcerers, and other magic users, Jonathan stopped mid stride.

  The Adventurers’ Union was an independent organisation. It had to be if it wanted to avoid being dragged into the petty struggles that dominated the Blood Alliance’s history. Anything else would lead to it choosing a side and having its members dragged into the endless, pointless struggles of the nobility. They wouldn’t care if he’d been friendly with the city’s previous powerbrokers. Moreover, adventurers could earn a reasonable amount of money if they took the right jobs. He’d read several thrilling accounts of adventuring as a lifestyle over the years, and although few became fabulously wealthy, it seemed to be a fairly good living, reduced life expectancy aside.

  Jonathan might not be good at fighting, but there was something he could do. Adventurers were always finding relics, artefacts, and other treasures. Perhaps they’d be willing to pay someone to either come along with them or to assess and authenticate what they brought back. After all, there couldn’t be too many adventurers who’d developed expertise in such matters, not when they had so many other things to worry about. At the very least, his knowledge of ancient cultures, customs, and languages could prove useful in locating and raiding tombs. A slow smile crossed his lips. He’d once dreamt of being an adventurer before common sense and his own martial limitations had made clear how bad an idea that would be. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe the gods had not abandoned him.

  “Sir?” Miles followed his gaze. “What are you thinking?”

  “I think we should give this a try.” Jonathan nodded at the building before them. “And it’s not like getting throw out again will hurt any worse the second time than the first time. What have we got to lose?”

  Miles smiled, relieved that he’d regained some of his good cheer. Jonathan was glad too. He might not be the most cheerful person, but he wasn’t usually so dour. Then again, being thrown out of a job interview wasn’t exactly a heartening experience.

  To Jonathan’s immense relief, the nice, young human woman at the front desk did not order the burly fellows by the door to throw them out although she did give them a few curious looks. She was probably used to bedraggled adventurers wandering in, fresh from confronting some eldritch abomination, but few of those adventurers were likely to be vampires. By and large, the nobility and their associates disdained adventuring, preferring to devote their attention to the constant struggle for power. Likewise, most non-noble vampires in good standing sought to enter a noble’s service to improve their standing. Most martially inclined vampires either joined the military or entered the service of a noble as part of their personal forces. Still, the woman at the front desk listened patiently as Jonathan did his best to explain. The only sign she gave of her unease was the way she adjusted her glasses more than was strictly necessary.

  If he’d gained nothing else from this night, Jonathan had gotten much better at telling when people were about to tell him to get lost. This woman was genuinely interested in hearing him out. If she told him to leave, it wouldn’t be because she didn’t want to listen, which was already a step up from the way the academies and universities had treated him. It was almost funny. Those administrators and academics like to call themselves the most urbane and civilised people in the city, yet she had already shown him far greater politeness and courtesy.

  “I see…” the woman murmured as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. She had elfin features, as well as the sort of slim, willowy build that made him wonder if perhaps she did have some elven ancestry after all. “Well, Lord Bloodhaven, I can’t say that it’s common for a vampire noble to ask to join the Union, but we’re always happy to have qualified experts on hand. To be honest, not very many prominent academics are willing to work with us.”

  He could almost have wept with relief. “Please, call me Jonathan.” He had, of course, omitted a few choice details in his explanation, but she wasn’t stupid. There was no doubt in his mind that she had already pieced together the truth even if he’d claimed to be a noble interested in some extra money and some adventure after spending decades focused on his studies. No noble could ever admit to being impoverished, and his story was simply a way of maintaining his dignity. “And I am well aware of how… stuffy some of my fellows can be.”

  “Is that so?” Janice – she had a nametag attached to the front of her blouse – eyed his attire closely and gave a small nod of understanding. “I know how that feels. If you’re looking for some adventure, then I know someone who would definitely be interested in hiring you. In fact, you’re in luck. She arrived in the city yesterday. I can introduce you to her if you like.” She handed him some paperwork. “But you’ll need to fill these in first. You’ll start off as an affiliate of the Union. I’m afraid it takes a few missions before you can get full membership.”

  “Fair enough.” Jonathan could understand their position. Immediately accepting everyone was a horrible idea. They’d given him a chance, though, and he intended to make the most of it. “Please, give me a moment to fill out those forms, and can I have some for my butler, as well?”

  Once he and Miles had filled out the paperwork, Janice gave them the address of a tavern where they could meet up with someone interested in hiring them. The only upside to being rejected so quickly earlier in the night was that they still had a few hours before dawn arrived. They could meet up with this person and then head back to Martin’s place. Even if dawn did come, they should still be able to manage. Bloodmark was a hive of activity at all hours of the day and night. During the night, vampires roamed the streets. During the day, their servants and other races were a more common sight. However, that wasn’t to say vampires were trapped in their homes during the day. An elaborate set of tunnels underneath the city allowed vampires to make their way from place to place even during the height of the day. Still, Jonathan was a cautious vampire. The tunnels were all well and good, but he’d rather not use them if he could avoid it.

  “Be careful, sir,” Miles warned as they approached the tavern. “This is not the most reputable area.”

  “I’ll say,” Jonathan muttered.

  The tavern was in another rough part of town – Bloodmark had quite a few of those. The red light districts were dangerous, but they also took law and order seriously. He might get robbed, but he was unlikely to be murdered or seriously injured without the express approval of those who governed the area. Murder, after all, was bad business since dead customers could not become regular customers. The tavern was in an area that lacked any clear leadership, so there was no clearly defined set of rules and guidelines. It made it popular as a meeting place for mercenaries and their ilk, but it also made it dangerous to wander around.
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  Jonathan instinctively moved closer to Miles. Without a leader to enforce some measure of order, murders and beatings were likely tolerated, so long as they were kept away from the ‘civilised’ parts of the city. He wasn’t sure what combat experience Miles had, and he preferred to keep it that way. If worse came to worst, they could simply run away. It wasn’t heroic, but it would keep them alive. He couldn’t get his castle back if he was dead.

  The tavern itself was in better condition than the rest of the neighbourhood, and part of that was likely due to the efforts of the hulking pair of werewolves that stood by the door. The one on the left was on the younger side – he stood a mere seven feet tall, and his fur had the soft texture common to younger werewolves – but the one on the right more than made up for it. He was easily nine feet tall, and the scars he bore could only have come from someone who’d been trained to kill werewolves. To have scars like that – long, deep scars – across his chest, back, and limbs spoke volumes. Very little could scar a werewolf, and few werewolves could have survived such grievous wounds. Jonathan was no expert, but he’d bet his right boot that one of the wounds on the werewolf’s chest had come from a big, silver-coated axe.

  “No trouble,” the werewolf on the right growled. Jonathan’s eyes widened. His analysis was right. Only older and more powerful werewolves could speak while in their beast forms.

  “You won’t get any trouble from me,” Jonathan replied quickly. “Sir.”

  “Sir?” The massive werewolf threw his head back and laughed, revealing long, dagger-like teeth. He leaned forward and grinned. “Hah! I’m no ‘sir’. Go in, vampire.” As Jonathan walked past, the werewolf continued to chortle. He must have been surprised by a vampire showing him respect. Jonathan, however, was simply being practical. Why insult the giant werewolf capable of ripping him into small, bloody pieces? He had enough problems already.