Frankengeld Pt 24

Previously in Frankengeld. Having found some useful documents in Father's desk in the Red Room, Damion decided to stay for dinner. The meal proves to be an angry affair. Mother has retired with a headache and Karl is furious with Damion for not accepting an arranged marriage. Gerda seems to be in complete denial that she had sex with four men of the lower orders, but would be happy if Damion gave her a child. To Damion's astonishment Karl is also happy about this idea, indeed encourages it. Elodie admits she is feeling trapped and unhappy at Durishaus.

Now read on...

17th June in the year 1784.

Helena and I were sat at the kitchen table when the doorbell went, setting the little bells chiming. Yani shrugged his shoulders and went to find out who it was. I racked my brains thinking who might be at our door. Gerda, asking for more reassurance of her fertility. Herr Weil looking for more, possibly stronger, tonics. An unknown, new, patient in desperate need?

Yani returned looking concerned. "It is your father's lawyer," he said in a voice not much higher than a whisper. As if only whispering the name of that fell creature would keep him safe.

"I hope," I said, in alarm. "That you did not invite him in."

"No no," the lad replied. "I gave no invitation. He says he wants to talk to you."

"Then I must face him," I replied. "But, for good measure, go fetch your Aunt. I believe she is cleaning the dining room."

He set off upstairs, two steps at a time, and I went to face the Lawyer. I realised I had never had any other name for him. He must have a family name, probably a very ancient one. Would it help me to know it? Superstitious peoples say that knowing someone's true name gives you power over them. I doubted that it would stop the fangs if he was determined to bite.

He stood upon the top step. The fact that the door was wide open but he had not entered suggested that Anya's magic had worked. He was denied our home.

"Master Frankengeld," he intoned. It was a bright morning so the parasol was in evidence, carefully angled to block most of the sunlight. Under his other arm was an urn, a funerary urn. It made for a strange combination of whimsy and the doom that befalls us all at the end of life.

"Sir," I replied. I said no more, did nothing to engage in societal conversation. I was not going to make this easy for him. I was happy to engage in small talk with Alicia for she had proven a stout ally and friend. But this man had abused me several times. I was being a bit bad tempered over this for when he had told me to 'sit' when he entered the house, I had done so like a well trained dog. So embarrassing.

"I have come for my Bride's ashes," said the undead.

"I do not have your Bride's ashes," I replied. Which was true.

"Do not say you let them blow away," said the Lawyer, looking pained.

"I do not understand," I told him, not understanding, but then I realised that he must have thought she had been caught by the sun.

"She did not return," said the ancient man. "Neither to the crypt we have nearby, or the castle, therefore she was exposed to the deadly sun."

I said nothing.

"Her ashes would have fallen where she died," he wailed. "It may be that they fell elsewhere in the town in which case my quest is hopeless but if they fell on your steps I had hoped that you, a man of honour, would have collected them up for decent burial."

I became aware that Anya had approached and was by my side. She touched my wrist and I felt a jolt of her power. For a moment my mind wandered. Was this what Yani felt when he pleasured his Aunt?

"He wants her ashes so's he can bring her back," said Anya.

I looked at Anya, puzzled.

"He would pour the blood of an innocent over them," she explained. "It would restore her to unlife."

"Would you not do the same for your companion, if the possibility was there?" he replied. I could see the pain in his eyes, and thought about what I might do if Helena was dead, but could be brought back. I decided to end his agony, and with it his dreadful scheme to use the blood of some poor innocent to resurrect his Bride.

"She is not dust," I told him.

"What?"

"She is not dust. We gave her shelter, befriended her, and... entertained her."

"Entertained her," he recoiled as if I had told him I had staked her, chopped off her head, and stuffed the mouth with garlic.

"Yes," I was enjoying this. "She lives, or rather she continues since she is technically not alive, and may be visited."

I gave him the details of the mausoleum owned by Madam Minna's family that had now become Alicia's home.

"I will go to her and command her to return to the castle where she belongs," said the Lawyer.

"You can try," chuckled Anya. "She's had a taste of freedom from your gloomy existence. I doubt she'll go back to skulking in a ruined castle. She's discovered purpose, after centuries of lacking it."

I looked at Anya in surprise. She was capable of going hours at a time saying naught but a handful of words, and then this. The Lawyer gave no sign that he was thankful his Bride had survived by our efforts, just stood there scowling at us.

"You are ungrateful, sir," I said. I was getting annoyed now.

"Ungrateful!"

"Yes," I replied sternly. "You have not thanked us for saving her. We could have denied her shelter from the sun's rays and let her die. We could have destroyed her utterly. We could have collected her ashes and spread them on a river that flowed east," I was enjoying showing off my new knowledge of his kind. "We did not," I pointed a finger at him, which suddenly sparked with Anya's magic.

He had, at least, the decency to look guilty.

"I am sorry, Master Damion," he cast his eyes to the ground. "I could not imagine anyone being kind to one of our... kindred. I thank you and your people for her rescue." And he bowed low.

He sounded so apologetic that I forgave him, though I wasn't about to let him back into the house.

"Visit Alicia," I said. "Talk with her. You will see we have not harmed her. But you will not find her there today."

He looked puzzled. It was daytime. Where else would she be but in her coffin?

"She is travelling," I explained. "She has embarked on a brief journey with a friend of mine but you should find her back in her new home after tonight."

Anya grasped my wrist, a clear message of female solidarity.

"But," I continued. "She is her own vampire now, not your slave, you will treat her with respect and permit her freedom, or I will hear about it."

He recoiled from me, alarmed, then bowed a second time.

"I will Herr Frankengeld," he said. "I do not want to face your witch again."

He turned away and I closed the door. It was a little irritating that he had no fear of me, only of Anya, if I was a man of greater ego I would have felt slighted.

The rest of the morning was very quiet. We had a few patients collecting balms and tonics that the old Doctor had prescribed them, but no patients needing a consultation. So, I set about translating the legend. The Latin was positively medieval and the writing was crabbed and hard to read but, by late morning I had a reasonable version of the tale transcribed. I thought about recounting it to Helena, or perhaps Anya, but decided it would be better read at the Mystery Club meeting this evening.

After lunch I retreated to the laboratory to top up the supplies of medicine I had issued over the last few days. And progress my Priapus Potion and Elixir of Pleasure. Mid afternoon Helena came to join me clutching a pencil and a piece of paper.

"Do you remember, Damion," she started. "That you asked me to have a think about the problem of collecting a lady's intimate fluids?"

"Yes Helena," I replied. I had indeed mused that these fluids, particularly if collected from a woman who was copious in her secretions, might form the liquid base for my Elixir.

"I have made a drawing of something that might perform this task," she grinned.

I suppose I expected a rough sketch, almost a child's scribble, and for that I deserve to be castigated for underestimating my assistant once again. Will I never learn? What she placed on the bench was a beautifully detailed and precise drawing.

"My goodness Helena," I said. "This is a beautiful drawing!"

"I hoped it would please you," she replied.

I was unsure if she meant that the fact she had remembered my need would please me, or the outrageous design, or the fact that she had drawn it so well.

"It does, it does," I answered, pleased about all three things. "Have you always been able to draw like this?"

"Justin bought me the pencil as a wedding present," she explained. "And he gave me a box with some paper scraps so I could practice."

"What did you draw?" I asked.

"Mostly flowers."

"Can I see your drawings," I pleaded.

Helena jumped up and a couple of minutes later she returned with a small flat box. Opening it she pulled out several pieces of paper, all cast off's with writing on one side, and on the other? Well, they could only be described as superb drawings of wild flowers. Any naturalist would be proud of such illustrations, they caught every element of the blooms in accurate detail. They were worthy of publication.

"Helena, these are wonderful," I said. "How is it that you never let me see these before?"

"I was your housekeeper, it did not seem right. I was just a servant, and servants are not expected to have talents beyond their role."

"That is unfortunately true. I'm sorry."

"Do not feel guilty Damion. It is the way of the world. Drawing brought me close to Justin in the first year after he died. Just holding the pencil he had bought me gave me comfort. It, and the box, were the only possessions I managed to hang onto."

"Well I see that you have used every scrap here. If it does not harm your memories of your husband I would like to buy you some new sheets of paper."

"I would like that."

"Now explain this drawing to me, please."

Helena smoothed the paper out and we bent over it. The drawing was of a phallus, much like the dildo that could be purchased in many a city back street. I had heard stories of its use. Officially it was an acceptable solution to an oversexed wife where pregnancy was undesirable, or even dangerous, to the woman. In reality it had a wider use as simply a tool for pleasure. The ancients were known to have them, but few texts remained that told of their use. Or perhaps such texts were jealously guarded in private collections, or the Vatican, who were known for buying up unsuitable volumes in order to hide them away.

"See Damion, the device is hollow. It has a well swollen head which, I believe, will give pleasure and so encourage lots of juice."

"Yes, I can see that. But what are these holes?" I asked.

"When the device is pushed in it will pleasure," she smiled as she said this. "When it is pulled out the large head, with its prominent edge, will pull the juices down the love hole."

My head was swimming a little with this talk of pleasuring and of thrusting. Despite my attempts to be scientific I was becoming aroused. I tried to think only of practical things.

"How did you get the idea?"

"I was cooking some mushrooms in a sauce for breakfast," she grinned. "And noticed how the head of the mushrooms pulled the sauce about in the pan."

"How clever. I see how the device would collect juices," I replied, not wanting to name it a dildo. "But would they not be dragged out of the vagina and simply be lost in the bedsheets?"

"No Damion," she shook her head, her hair cascading aound in a most sensual manner. "For these holes under the rim of the head will channel the juices inside the device where they will remain."

"So this cork you have drawn here," I pointed at it. "Is this removed to drain the device?"

"Yes, if it works as I desire," she replied. "Then the juices will pool in the balls part of the device."

Desire was, I thought, a wholey appropriate word.

"But how can this be made. Is it possible?" I asked.

"It must be made from glass," she said and took my hand, as she often did when she was unsure I would approve. "I watched the apprentice making the bottle when we visited Anya's cousin. I believe only a skilled craftsman could make it, but it is basically a sort of bottle."

I looked at the paper. This was a wonderful invention and may well do the job. But we were going to ask a respected, and respectable, craftsman to make it. What if he reported us to the authorities for obscene practices? I had seen, in Victor's case, what happens when the establishment takes against someone. And now I had other people who were reliant on my medical practice.

"We must be very careful, Helena."

"Damion?"

"What if the authorities find out, and take issue against us?"

She looked at me quizzically. I don't think she completely understood my fear.

"They hauled my friend Victor out into the street," I explained. "Banned him from Engolstadt university, and smashed his laboratory equipment. They exiled him from the town. If he had not been the son of a wealthy and noble family I have no doubt a lynching would have ended his life. What would be your fate if that happened here? What about Una, and Anya, and Yani? What of your friendship with Freida?"

I paused for breath, and Helena kissed me full on the lips. It was very nice. After a few more moments of pleasure she broke away. Holding my face in her hands she looked deeply into my eyes.

"You are a good man, Damion. I will hide the drawing until we can decide if we want to go ahead."

"No," I replied. "We must show courage. We will have it made."

I spent the remainder of the afternoon working on my various projects in the laboratory. Then Helena and I had a light tea and set off for Freida's house. We were the last to arrive of our little group and were shown into the withdrawing room by Mary. We were all quite excited. It was clear that people had been successful in their attempts to discover more about our foe.

Once we had been given wine and Mary and Madam Minna had withdrawn we settled down and, under Freida's direction, offered our contributions to the investigation. Alicia and Philip had returned from quizzing the oracles. Freida had the results from the town library. We had our legend of Frankengeld and Poppy had an old folk tale which appeared to be the origin of the wolfwere. We all agreed that an origin story was the best way to start a series of tales, so Poppy went first.

"I have decided to present this tale as a little play," Poppy started. "The story is nice, and I could have just read it out, but I thought of something nicer. Please follow me upstairs."

This was puzzling, but possibly entertaining. Poppy liked the more raunchy of stories, but how had she made this one into a play?

Moments later we were standing in Madam Minna's bedroom. There was a very large four-poster bed in the middle of the room and a set of screens had been placed to provide a 'back stage' area. Indicating we should stand by the door she disappeared behind a screen and emerged a minute later, stark naked.

She sat on the bed, crossed her legs, which revealed her beautiful quim for an instant with its golden hair, and opened the book. She settled it on her lap, pages outspread, forming a broad V under her breasts. She explained that it contained folk tales collected from the local area. Then she started reading.

"From 'Folk Tales of the Urbaffwald'', she smiled at us, naked as the day she was born.

"A long, long, time ago, in the empire of the Cimmerians, there was a King known as King Werewolf."

From behind a screen strode Johann. He was most strangely dressed. He was naked apart from a long fur coat that probably belonged to Madam Minna. It was left slightly open at the chest, but the bottom half was the more interesting. The coat was split to permit it to be worn whilst riding and the two halves had been tied with string around his thighs. This had the effect of making him look like a werewolf, and because he was wearing nothing underneath it, his genitals were on full display. They looked enlarged, the pink of his flesh standing out against the dark brown of the coat, probably an optical illusion. But, if so, then one that Helena enjoyed. I heard her give a little gasp of admiration.

"He was a bad king and constantly at war with his neighbours," continued Poppy, as Johann stalked around the room, looking fierce.

"He looked at the lands ruled to the east by Queen Purity and wanted them, so he took his army and invaded her land. All went well for him until he came to her castle." Here Johann came up to the four-poster, shook it, and growled. "It was too big and too strong for his army to capture," smiled Poppy, slightly distracted by Johann's slowly engorging member. "So the only solution was to besiege it, and try to starve her and her people into submission."

Johann retreated to the far side of the room and sat on a chair, he gave his phallus a steady rub and grunted as it became erect.

"But Queen Purity was a wise woman," giggled Poppy, watching Johann and licking her lips. "The castle had its own wells, and a plentiful supply of food. It was going to take a long time to break the spirit of the defenders. King Werewolf ordered stone throwing engines to be made and the army built three great machines and started to bombard the castle. But King Werewolf was not a patient man and, after only a month, he was frustrated at the delay. He said to himself 'I will turn into a wolf and sneak into the castle. I will find the Queen. And I will kill her. Then her people will lose hope and open the gates to me'."

Johann stood and his phallus was now fully erect and tapping against his abdomen. We could see little globs of lubricant that had squeezed from it in anticipation of entering the warm cave of love that women possess.

"So that night," Poppy's words dragged us back to her nakedness on the bed, and the story. "When the moon was full and high, he slipped out of his tent without informing his soldiers of where he was going. He changed into a wolf, but bigger than any normal wolf, more of a man in form and able to stand on two legs if he preferred. He slipped past his guards that were placed to keep Queen Purity's people trapped."

Here Johann moved behind one of the screens and then Poppy's hound emerged. The beast ran across the room to the bed where, I noted, Poppy had organised a snack for it. Typical that the beast would be stirred into action by food.

"One soldier saw him go," Poppy continued. "But made little of it, since the creature went away from the camp he guarded. 'Danger goes toward the castle tonight.' he thought, and believed that even the predators of the wilds had joined in the siege, and smiled."

"King Werewolf crossed the land before the castle walls swift as the wind," Poppy's voice was deep with passion and anticipation. "And jumped through one of the holes made by the rock throwers."

Johann emerged from behind a screen to stand by the bed, he replaced Poppy's hound. I found this reassuring. There was something vaguely concerning about the idea of the hound in close proximity to Poppy's nakedness.

"He quickly hid in the shadows of the castle streets and made his way to the tall tower where he knew the Queen slept. Climbing up the outside of the tower he burst in through a window and slew the guard that was set to protect the Queen with but a single bite. Then, before she could raise the alarm, he killed the Queen's maid and advanced on the great bed of state."

Johann got onto the bed.

"The Queen was frightened and her voice caught in her throat," said Poppy, acting frightened, and laying down on her back with her hands covering her breasts and quim. The book fell to one side and Poppy was clearly now reciting from memory. "She was unable to make a sound or cry out in her terror. She lay trembling in the bed and her beauty was so great that King Werewolf was unable to complete his evil plan. Instead of killing her he lay with her all night, against her will, and in his wolf form, and took his pleasure of her."