Beethoven - Scourge of Vampires [ONC 2022]

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The cart driver dropped them at a fork in the road and carried on towards his destination. Neither he, nor the other two occupants spoke another word after the Maestro had talked of vampires. No-one wanted to acknowledge the truth of the matter. That vampires were abroad within Austria and were scouring the great nation.

Beethoven, however, kept up a constant stream of words that made little sense at some points and even less at others. He talked of his compositions, but spoke of them as though they were great battles that he had fought to lay the notes onto paper. He bulled his status even beyond how known and far-reaching it truly was. To Beethoven, he saved the world with his music. Many times.

He had still not told Bernhard why he had brought him along on this cart ride. In between tales of how one symphony had cowed Napoleon so much that it led to his defeat, or how the King of Britain thanked him, personally, for making his marriage agreeable, Beethoven waved away any questions Bernhard asked. More than once, Bernhard considered returning to Vienna to face the consequences of his beloved's death and to mourn her as he wished to. Needed to.

After an hour or so of walking, they came upon a village that the Maestro decided would serve them as resting place for the night. Even here, the people recognised the great man, and Bernhard marvelled at how easy it came to Beethoven. The maidens of the village flocked around him, cooing and trying to force themselves to stand the closest to him. Even the men looked at him with admiring eyes and Beethoven drank in the admiration like a drunkard at an ever-filling mug.

No-one paid Bernhard the least attention, which he felt grateful for. He had no qualms in blending into the background and watching the Maestro hold court. The only time he saw Beethoven's face make any expression other than an enormous grin came when one girl reached up to his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, dislodging the scarf about his throat.

The Maestro snapped away, a look of horror crossing his face as he adjusted the scarf. But that look of horror fell away as fast as it had appeared and Beethoven returned to magnanimously accepting the adoration of the small crowd of people.

Once ensconced in the local inn, Bernhard wanted to take some time to question the Maestro, but, again, Beethoven brushed the questions aside as he headed towards a room where the innkeeper's wife had prepared him a hot bath. He had made it quite clear that he wanted to bathe alone and soak his weary bones in privacy.

Beethoven ate heartily, after his bath. Wolfing down Wiener Schnitzel, Austrian goulash and finishing with a large apfelstrüdel. And beer. A mug of beer with every course. Bernhard settled for goulash and some bread, though, he had to admit, both the goulash and the bread were exquisite. The beer he only drank in small amounts, his stomach still complaining from the excesses of the night before.

After eating, Beethoven sat with a fine young woman on either side of him, his hands clasping their waists, as he recounted even more tales of his work. The entire inn 'oohed' and 'aahed' as he told of his exploits, turning down the American ambassador to tour the fledgling United States, not long since colonies of the British. He demurred when asked to play for his spellbound crowd and, after some time, ushered his admirers away before leaning towards Bernhard across the table.

"What a bunch of lovelies, eh?" He slapped Bernhard's shoulder. "You can have any you want. I can't please them all. Though I think I could try, eh?"

"I cannot countenance laying with anyone. My beloved died not a day before!" Bernhard shrugged away Beethoven's hand. "I could not entertain such a vile thought, even as the dust of my betrothed still coats the streets of Vienna. How can you be so heartless at a man's loss?"