Beethoven - Scourge of Vampires [ONC 2022]

Epilogue

Epilogue

The cacophony of the club didn't bother him too much, though he would have preferred a little less of the raucous war songs. His hearing hadn't been the same since Beethoven had played that noise, right at the beginning of the battle. Now, he heard a constant ringing sound in his left ear. He had survived countless battles, with cannon and explosions firing all about him, and it was music that had ruined his hearing.

He sat in the tall-backed chair, facing the roaring fire place, and swished the brandy within the glass. He hadn't taken a single sip since he had sat down. Likewise, the cigar, held between the fingers of his right hand, had lost its fire ages ago. It felt as though he had had this exact same day, every day, for the past few weeks.

Upon returning to Vienna, he had had to face the authorities and Hilde's parents about her disappearance. They had accused him, as expected, but, when the Maestro had assured them that Bernhard could not possibly have had anything to do with her absence, they believed without hesitation. As far as anyone else were at all concerned, Beethoven had hired Bernhard to accompany him as a guard against footpads and brigands. Bernhard, for all intents and purposes, had an alibi and that alibi happened to be Ludwig van Beethoven.

Once Bernhard had returned to the embrace of Viennese society, the Maestro had left, without a word. No goodbye. No thanks. One morning, Bernhard knocked upon the great man's door, only for the servant to inform him that the Maestro had left on urgent business and that Beethoven had left no indication of when, or if, he would return.

Since then, Bernhard had tried hard to return to his old life. He had accepted dinner invitations, become introduced to the flowering daughters of other, rich and powerful men, eager to have someone so close to the great composer as part of their family. Bernhard had no heart for it. Neither the dinners or the courting. He didn't doubt that the ladies would make some man happy. Just not him. They weren't Hilde.

"Bernhard! Are you about to wallow here all night again?" Hans, an old colleague from the cavalry, dropped a hand with only three fingers upon Bernhard's shoulder. "Come! Play billiards. I promise to only use my injured hand."

Hans waggled the remaining fingers before Bernhard's face. Were it not for Bernhard, Hans would have lost far more than the finger and thumb of that hand. Friends in war. The best of friends are those that one suffers with and come out the other side together. They had all suffered in the war, but only Bernhard had suffered a war against unnatural creatures. Only Bernhard and the Maestro.

"Another time, Hans." He looked up toward the man and saw a look of concern upon his face. Bernhard patted the hand that still sat upon his shoulder. "Thank you. I simply need a little time. You understand?"

With a nod and a squeeze of Bernhard's shoulder, Hans showed that he did, indeed, understand. Soldiers always understood fellow soldiers. They knew when the world wearied them. When the wish for peace and the urge for battle fought against each other within a man's mind. Civilians could never understand that. Most civilians.

As Hans left him alone once more, Bernhard rose to his feet. He drank the brandy in one, swift gulp and placed the glass atop the mantle of the fireplace. The steward would clear it away before Bernhard had even begun to turn to leave. He was a very efficient man. Bernhard looked at the thick cigar and considered relighting it, but he had no heart for that, either.

With a flick of his fingers, the cigar disappeared, replaced by a hazel baton. With another flick, the baton disappeared and he held the cigar once more. He tossed the cigar into the flames of the fire with a half-hearted laugh. The Maestro had taught him that sleight if hand trick. The cigar began to burn, fast becoming nothing but ash and he pursed his lips tight. He hated the sight of ash, or dust, these days.

Before he knew it, he had collected his coat and hat and had begun the steady walk back to the home that he had once wished to live in with his beloved. Hilde could not join him. Could never join him and that house now felt far too large for his purposes. He had inherited it, of course, but it no longer felt like his home. In truth, he didn't know where he belonged anymore.

He could not return to the army. He had no stomach for killing his fellow humans anymore. Not after seeing what lurked within the shadows. His house didn't feel like his, his life didn't feel like his. Nothing did. He stood alone in a city of thousands and not one of them could ever understand him. Not anymore.

Outside his home, he saw the light sat within the window of the entranceway. A beacon left for him by the housekeeper should he return home drunk as he once would have done. Inside, he removed his coat and hat and looked towards the silver plate upon the hallway table. A single envelope sat upon that plate and Bernhard recognised the handwriting immediately. Beethoven.

He tore open the envelope and his eyes scanned the contents of the letter. He had to read it twice before he fully comprehended it and he began to laugh. He dropped the letter back upon the plate and ran headlong up the stairs to his rooms. It only took him a few minutes before he had changed into hardwearing travelling clothes, with his sabre attached to his belt.

With a shout for the housekeeper, he instructed her that he had business to the north and would return as soon as he could. He had almost rushed out of the door before remembering the letter. It did, after all, hold the address he would need to attend. He took one last look at the few words the Maestro had written, but they were enough. Beethoven required his assistance and Bernhard would not ignore his call.

"My dearest friend, Bernhard,

My days have proven most serene and contemplative since our adventure in Düsterburg. One might even call them stagnant. Ever thinking of further adventures, I have taken to listening to the local tales, here in Hamburg and, would you believe it so, they speak of a pack of werewolves abroad.

Not one for keeping such wondrous adventures to myself, I feel I must invite you to accompany me on this most exciting of hunts. Once we have culled ourselves a little of these furry buggers, I've also heard about some creatures in the Caribbean Islands. The dead that yet walk. Zombies, I believe they call them.

Anyway, old mate, get your arse up here. We've got monsters to kill, eh?

Yours,

Beety."