The Uberwald AU, Chapter 1
William arose.
It was a confusing moment, for several reasons. For one thing, he usually just woke up, but for some reason his inner editor had substituted the more formal, grand sounding 'arose.' For another, he'd half been expecting not to come back to consciousness in any way. Things in the castle had gotten ... very bad. Assuming that hadn't been some especially vivid nightmare. It seemed a possible explanation; if it had happened he really shouldn't be around to think on it. He was also confused because for some reason he appeared to have gone to sleep with his arms crossed over his chest, each hand on the opposite shoulder. This was not how he usually slept, and it felt quite odd.
William felt quite odd, in fact.
Maladict didn't bother getting up. He was across the room- the shabby one in the attic of the poor excuse for an inn- stretched across the window seat. His arms were tucked behind his head and his legs were crossed at the ankle, and he counted to three before speaking.
Counting to three was his version of deep breaths.
"How do you feel?"
William's eyes snapped open and he swung to his feet. Wait, what? He still felt very odd and now he was standing up. It had happened quite fast and hadn't seemed to involve any actual bending of his limbs.
"Um. Like I've run a very great distance further than my lungs are capable while having simultaneously spent the day lying down with weights all over- who are you?! Where am I?!"
"Oh dear," Maladict sighed. "A talker." He unfolded- there was standing, and then there was this- from the window seat, drawing a cigarette from the fold of his very expensive looking black jacket and a match from his waistband.
"I am Maladict. You are in the small, hole of a village that lies roughly fifteen miles away from the rubble of the castle you were staying at last night." He hesitated after he'd lit the cigarette, then glanced over again.
"Actually, you may need this more than me." He offered it.
"So I was at- how did I- I don't smoke," said William, who had very nearly casually plucked the cigarette from her hand before he'd stopped himself. Why had he done that? And why did his chest feel so ... still? He put a hand to his head.
"Um. No, I'll, uh, stick with the second one, I think," he said, although it was difficult; his mouth kept trying to stop the awkward filler syllables from existing. "How did I get here?"
"I brought you," Maladict said simply. It was the sort of nonchalant calm that could be infuriating, at times. He put the cigarette in his own mouth and flicked the match away.
William frowned at the man. "But why- what were you doing there? I don't remember you being there when-" He blanched.
No, in fact he didn't. He felt like it was a situation he should blanch at, but his body did no such thing, at least not that he could feel. He looked down but did not see any wounds. This was reassuring, if extremely confusing. He was sure he remembered a sword-
No, still not feeling the slightest bit faint. What was wrong with him?
"I wasn't," Maladict said, reclining against the wall. "I was passing through and saw the mob. I was curious, so I tagged along. I saw you through the flames and fighting, and knew you weren't a vampire- yet, at least- and thought leaving you to die there would be unfair. So, I brought you here." He let some smoke curl idly out of his mouth before sighing, and putting the cigarette out against the wall, barely smoked though it was. The room was growing steadily lighter, and Maladict was watching William's face carefully.
"Though there seemed to have been a bit of an altercation in progress when the mob got there. You had quite a troublesome evening. Well, it's done now." Maladict glanced out the cloudy window. It was going to be another grey day, typical for the Uberwald, and fortunate for the new vampire in the room.
"Though I daresay something more trying begins," he muttered.
William stared at him some more, trying to process all this. His mind kept circling about one point, though. "...yet?"
He'd noticed the window, too, although unlike Maladict he wasn't paying attention to the weather outside. Something about the window had been scratching at his mind, and he'd just realized what it was. The dim light outside was less than that inside, so the room was dimly reflected in the glass, somewhat. William could make out the outline of the chair, and the door, and the table, and the bed.
Only ... he was standing in front in the bed, so he shouldn't have been able to see that last.
"Oh dear," said William. He very significantly did not faint. Maladict looked back at him, and for the first time concern colored his expression.
"...Yes. So. Sinking in, is it? I wasn't sure what to expect upon you're waking but you're definitely Changed. Er," he said, "sorry."
This explained a few things for William. His chest felt still because his heart wasn't beating. His lungs felt empty because he wasn't breathing. Neither of these things concerned him as much as they might have, though. He was also hungry. In a very distinct, visceral way that ran right through him, all the way to his...
...teeth.
He realized he'd curled his lips back and forced them to a more normal expression. This should have been of great concern. And he was going to get right on being concerned about it. Any moment.
"Did you do this?!" he snapped, because he could at least work up some indignation on that account, even if the rest of his emotional response appeared to be out of tune. Maladict's eyes widened a little.
"Oh dear, and there's the temper. Would it really matter if I had?" He offered William another cigarette. "Actually take this one, trust me. You need to suck on something."
William opened his mouth, then took the cigarette, because that made sense. He really did have the urge to ... well. He took the cigarette and jammed it in his mouth, where it instantly gravitated to a rakish, debonair sort of tilt without any conscious effort or realization on his part.
"Of course it would, because then I'd- it would matter!" he snapped. Things were coming back to him, though, and he was fairly sure it hadn't been Maladict. He tried to pace but it ended up as a sweep to and fro. This didn't really achieve the same goal, so he stopped.
"No it wasn't," Maladict said, reaching a hand out with a lit match as William stopped, holding the flame to the cigarette's tip. "And then you'd what, precisely?" he asked, with faint humor and a narrow look.
"...I hadn't thought that far ahead," William said, staring a little warily at the lit match and then sucking on the cigarette. It helped, a little. A very little. He didn't cough, which surprised him, although it probably shouldn't have.
"Be angry in your general direction, probably," he added, a moment later.
"You still can, if you like," Maladict said, shaking the match out and tossing that one over his shoulder as well. "I could have left you there to burn, which would have saved you your...transformation and new unlife. But I had the feeling not to. Seems I was correct in my assumption." He moved back to the windowsill, lifting a scabbard- indeed, a sword- on length of very fine leather, and belted it low across his hips. He was markedly shorter than William, and very slender, which was why he was unexpectedly intimidating as opposed to just intimidating. William sat down on the bed.
"Er. No, I think I'll leave it for now," he said faintly, staring at his hands. Were they paler than usual? He thought they might be paler than usual. He wondered, not quite idly, when the horrified panic was going to set in.
"Wait," he said, looking up. "What assumption?"
"That you were a willing convert," Maladict said easily, though with a sideways glance towards William that spoke of some vague misgiving. He flicked his hair- for it was in fact roguishly long, only tied back and hidden in his collar- over his shoulder and lifted his gloves from the crate that had served well enough as a night stand.
"A willing- what?!" William said, his eyebrows climbing nearly to his hairline. The cigarette resting on his lip came dangerously close to falling as his mouth dropped open. "I was no- I didn't want to be a vampire! I don't want- why would I want to be a vampire?!"
"Well, the alternative was probably death. Painful death, at that," Maladict said, tucking the gloves into the doubled belt from which hung his sword. He turned to face William, absently resting a hand on his hip.
"While I can't imagine most people just up and desiring to become one, under certain circumstances it may seem almost appealing. As opposed," he clarified, "to just a way out."
"Appealing?" William said. "How could it be- what's appealing about being a m- I mean, about being one of the undead?! Having fangs, disintegrating into ash when bright light hits you, suffering a thirst for-" He stopped, mid-sentence. His eyes went unfocused. Or, possibly, they were simply focused on something that wasn't in the room. He was quite unaware of the fact that he was growling softly.
Maladict was quite suddenly beside William, gripping the back of his head and holding his hand across William's mouth in such a way as the cigarette was still anchored, both between Maladict's index and middle finger as well as William's lips.
"Suck," he commanded. "And try to clear your head." Maladict had no desire to deal with a rampaging, starving newborn at the crack of dawn, even a dawn so grey as this.
"I'll get you something, but I can't leave you till I know you're calm."
William clamped down on the cigarette, not inhaling in the traditional sense as trying to suck the insides out like it was a straw. It helped, a little. He shook his head, trying to get rid of ... that, because he really shouldn't be as okay with the idea of biting into-
-right. Not helping with the clearing his head thing. He tried to think about something else, which was difficult because a set of instincts he'd never had to deal with before were telling him to Do Things, because there was an appealing sort of wet beat sounding from somewhere down the stairs and he was fairly sure he knew what it was doing and what it was pumping and it would continue to that right into his-
WHAT KIND OF SENTENCE IS THAT? roared his inner editor desperately.
William stilled and, as a last ditch attempt to tear his mind away from that sentence which wouldn't end on a full stop so much as it would the full stop of someone else, wondered how many lines there were in the grain of the nearest floorboard. This worked much better than he'd thought it would. William sucked on the cigarette again as he counted, the growling finally lowering to an ambient hum. Maladict sighed a little, relaxing and stepping back.
"Good." He pulled the back out of his waistband and dropped them onto the crate with his matchbook.
"Keep counting. I'll be right back." He padded across the floor to the hatch that opened over the rickety wooden steps down. He looked back at William. He didn't say anything for a long moment, but glanced down, a difficult to read expression flitting across his features, then dropped with stylish ease down to the staircase, letting the trap door fall shut behind him.
Maladict had left his high-collared black cloak and a small, plain-covered black notebook on the sill. One of William's business cards stuck out from between the pages. The room grew brighter, again, but it was a cold sort of light. Sounds of life began percolating in from the street. It wasn't long before he returned. He figured the longer the newborn was left alone, the more dire whatever trouble he could get into would be. The vampire pushed the hatch open with one hand, and vaulted himself easily up into the room with the other, a few items wrapped in a cloth under one arm.
"Well, you've quieted a little. That's good," Maladict said in his most encouraging voice which, it occurred to him, was rather out of practice.
"Is it?" William said vaguely. So far he'd counted three boards and the pack of cigarettes. Then he'd written down the totals. Then he'd counted the pages in the notebook. He managed, with some effort, to suppress the urge to cou- no, to look at the lines in the notebook.
He was going to have to be careful with the c word, it seemed. "Because I've just spent an indeterminate length of time cou- tally- noting lines on the ground to try and distract myself from the fact I want onetwothree how is four anything about this good?!"
His teeth were doing that thing again. After a moment, he reached up and tried to push one of them back in even as his other hand pulled another cigarette, lit it, and put it in his mouth, all in one smooth motion.
Maladict raised an eyebrow and bit back a grin with everything he possessed.
"Aaah don't- do that," he said, "with your teeth, I mean. It won't help. Some of this will, though." He dropped the cloth onto the bed, where it fell open to reveal a block of slightly spongy cheese and three uncooked sausages.
"Try one of those. It'll hold you over while we talk."
William chose a sausage, because cheese really didn't seem like it was the right sort of thing at all. He clamped down on it, ripped it open - even though this didn't accomplish much, as it was a sausage - and proceeded to devour it by sucking out the insides. He felt less violent, which was intellectually a relief even if he didn't appear to be experiencing the actual emotion.
"Mmmm. Um. Talk?" he ventured, eyeballing another of the sausages. Maladict shook his head and waved William on. His coffee was brewing, he could wait.
"It's all for you. Go ahead," he said. "Yes, talk. Perhaps I'll go first? We need to decide where we go from here. I will help you, since I do believe the one who sired you won't be with us for a few generations, yet, and you haven't a damn idea what you've gotten into. But I'm not typical," he said, sitting on the sill in a way that may have been against certain codes of behavior in, say, very nice restaurants. He drew one foot up so he might balance his elbow on his knee and his forehead against the heel of his hand, and left his other leg draping off the ledge of the seat.
"I live by a certain set of rules, that will be difficult for you, and I won't bend them to ease your transition."
"Er. Yes. That one," William said, his mind suddenly full of mobs and fires and pitchforks and running and bl-
He tore into another sausage. "I have some idea," he said defensively. "My iconographer happens to be a vampire." He attacked the final sausage, then gave the cheese an assessing look.
"A certain set of rules?" Maladict was looking at him very closely, at that.
"Your iconographer. You've a Black Ribboner for an employee?" he asked in a way that didn't really sound like asking. William nodded and bit down on the cheese. Well, it was biteable, at least.
"Mm-hmm," he said, around it. He released it and looked blankly at the indentations his teeth had left for a moment. "Why didn't I try one of the songs?" he muttered to himself, then glanced back at Maladict.
"Er, yes, I do. He picked light to transfer his- well, you probably know how it works." He didn't quite consider asking if he should get one, somehow, because that would have meant thinking about- well, dangerous1 things, like the reason it was necessary.
1Not, it should be noted, dangerous to William.
Maladict scowled.
"Well, way to completely kill my dramatic build up." He almost added tosser, but it would have been far too petulant. "Well, then, here's the thing. I'm one, as well," he said, and drew back on side of his jacket to show the curled length of ribbon he had pinned to his white shirt.
"I can help you become one. You've even got a head start, since the only...you know...you've ingested recently is that of the vampire who made you." Maladict hesitated. Not for dramatic effect.
"It's difficult. It's very difficult. It's going to be going against a new, very powerful set of instincts you've inherited, not to mention the fact that there must be something in you that seems to think it can settle with the idea of what you've become."
William tried not to think about the instincts; he'd always thought of instincts as involuntary or automatic reactions to things, but these seemed to be less reactive and more constantly active, like the wound up pressure of a crossbow trying to propel him at something, with similar results at the end. He was worried he'd go off if he prodded at them, but not that worried. Which was sort of the problem.
"What do you mean, something in me? I don't want to settle with the idea! Why would you think that?!" He bit another chunk out of the piece of cheese.
“Because if you hadn't wanted it on some level, you'd be a listless puppet right now," Maladict said without even a hint of exaggeration or humor.
"...does wanting it so I wouldn't be dead count?" he asked, his voice a bit weak.
"Yes," Maladict said gently, "that's what I was trying to point out earlier. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to die. It's simply unfortunate that what kept you from dying was being turned into this." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees after dropping the bent leg to the floor as well.
"Now, Mr. de Worde, what in hell were you doing up at that place to begin with?"
"How do you know- business card," he concluded. "Er. Right. What was I doing." He paused, gathering his thoughts for a moment, then absently began to recount it at his habitual pace, even if there was no one setting type. "Late afternoon yesterday while traveling along the main highway my coach threw a wheel.
"While attempting to fix it, the sun began to set. Not wishing to be caught in the open, my coachman and our guards attempted to make our way to the nearest shelter, the sinister yet apparently abandoned castle on Yonder Cliff.
"As the party approached the ominous fortress, they were set upon by ravening wolves, who plucked one of the two guards from the expedition and devoured the hapless soul on the spot.
"The rest of us managed to reach the apparent safety of the castle moments before the rabid canine aggressors set upon them again." His inner editor pointed out that the point of view had shifted at least twice, there. William didn't really care. "Then, um, things got worse."
Maladict pinched the bridge of his nose.
"A writer. Fantastic." He dropped the hand. "Did no one point out to you that there are no abandoned castles in the Uberwald? Particularly if they're sinister?" He shook his head in some annoyance.
"'Course not. Doesn't matter now. You don't have to tell me how much worse. I caught the tail end of it. Though you may, if you like," he added after only a slight hesitation.
"We couldn't very well just ... hang about on the road, could we?" William said. "I don't imagine that would have worked bet- well, a mob probably wouldn't have shown up, I suppose. Although by that point the coachman and the other guard had already ... um," William said, trailing off because while thinking about what had happened to them should have disturbed him, it was having precisely the opposite effect.
"Anyway, someone mistook me for- do I look like a vamp- well, now I do, clearly, but then I surely- and who tries to kill a vampire with a pitchfork, anyway, and then there was so much b-" He stopped dead. His inner editor hesitated over placing a comma in that sentence. And even though he'd stopped talking, it was possibly amazing how much movement could be conveyed by someone who was sitting absolutely still not doing anything. He wasn't shaking so much as his outline looked ... shaky.
"You don't look like a peasant, and you were inside the walls. Mostly, when villagers decide to go for a mob, they lose all sense of discretion upon entering the castle." Maladict shifted, uncomfortably, then moved to sit beside William on the bed.
"I've got some bad news," he said, hoping the promise of something worse than what was presently going on would be enough to distract William for a few seconds.
"There is additional bad news," William stated, his neck going slack so his head tipped backwards to stare at the ceiling. "I also caught lycanthropy? There a mob outside? There's a stake-manufacturer's convention in town?"
"The only thing that'll get your mind off you-know-what until you've picked a replacement addiction is sex," Maladict said, and thought he'd let that sink in for a moment, to prove the theory. This sank in, in much the same way an opera singer sinks into quicksand. Very slowly, with a great deal of drama. Very loud drama.
"What?!" he said, leaping to his feet. "Is that some kind of jo- that's really not- pull the other one, it's got, no, that's a really bad choice of colloquiums right now, um, let's see, do you think I was born yest- no, that's bad too, best skip the expressions, stick to straight- poor choice of words, you'll want to rethink tha- WHAT?!"
Then he realized that while he had leapt to his feet, his feet were not on the ground and he was in fact halfway up the wall, palms and feet flat against it. As soon as he'd noticed this, he dropped to the floor. Maladict sat very still, then leaned back on one arm and crossed his legs. He looked amused.
"Told you so," he said. "Watch your landing, there," he added as William hit the floorboards.
"Thing is," he went on, "you can't have any, because it'll lead you right straight back to the hunger. Which will be creeping back in a moment. So we have to find you something to focus on, quickly. You're new, which makes all of your urges much more immediate than, say, mine are, and no less potent. You've no experience inhibiting them, however, so it'll be rough."
Sex would lead straight back to the hunger. Well, at least past history suggested this wouldn't be a problem that would come u- that he'd have to deal with. Somehow, that wasn't a relief.
"Er, right," he said. "Are there any ... conditions that whatever you pick has to meet?" He hoped there weren't many, if they were. The hunger was creeping back, along with the supreme lack of concern about this whole situation. The word sanguine could be applied, being both a description of his reaction and the direction in which his concern1 was turning.
1'Concern' in the sense of 'avid interest.'
"No," Maladict said, "which makes it tricky. Mine is coffee. It works well because it's a human sort of thing to be addicted to and in ready supply most everywhere, and when it isn't, I've my own machine to make it with. There is a vampiress who seems to have made a political substitute and craves power over people. I mean, there's really a spectrum to choose from. Some are wiser than others. If there's anything as a human you did compulsively, I highly recommend dedicating yourself to it now."
"Journalism," William said. "I'm a compulsive journalist." Right up to the point where he attempted to interview a mob as to just why they were assaulting this castle and could you explain precisely what you intend to do with that pitchfor- oh. That. William tore his mind away from the memory again, because it involved the b-word and generally felt like someone applying slight pressure to the trigger of his instinctual crossbow.
"Um. Is there some sort of ... formal procedure for the dedication, or ... what?"
"I'm not singing," Maladict said darkly.
"Um," said William, blinking. "Should I ... sing, then? I know most of Valk- sorry, Walking in Sunshine."
"Please don't," Maladict said, fighting a long-suffering expression, and he'd only known William a few hours. "It's all psychological. Think about it, do it, dedicate yourself to it. Anytime you feel a stir of something unhealthy- you know, unhealthy for other people- coming on, think about why journalism doesn't just move you, but holds you. Or write something down, you know, that sort of thing."
"Uh, right. I think I follow," William said. And proceeded to pull out his notebook and pen and desperately begin scribbling. While thinking about why journalism didn't just move him but held him. Some time passed.
He still felt ... hungry ... but it was marginally less edged1. "Come to think of it ... what were you doing at that castle, exactly?"
1As in, sharp and causing other people to bleed when they encounter it.
By the time the writer man asked his first question, Maladict had gotten bored and lain back on the bed to stare at the ceiling.
"When did you come to think of that?" he asked, frowning a little. William blinked down at his notebook, and then at Maladict.
"Well, earlier, but other concerns took over." He continued to watch Maladict expectantly. Maladict felt suddenly very put upon, and cursed himself for being such a nice guy. Then suppressed any laughter the thought could potentially cause. He tongued inside of his cheek thoughtfully.
"Well," he said, as if to settle in for a lot of talking, "I...don't really know."
"You don't know? You just ... happened to be there? Or did you mean to be there or aren't sure why?" William asked.
"I was heading for the next town," Maladict said, "trying to race the sun to avoid werewolves, and saw the mob. I don't make a habit of associating with groups of people toting fire and sharp things out looking for some vampires to hunt, but I just...followed them. Can't really say why. Morbid fascination, perhaps." He glanced at William.
"Fortunate I did, though."
"Er, yes. Fortunate," William said, then paused.
“Werewolves? Why would you need to avoid werewolves?" William said, staring. "I mean, I know there's some racial tension there, but you're a vampire, is there really anything they can do to you?"
“Depends on if there were a group or not," Maladict said, "but generally, no. I could always pull the bat-trick, if it came down to it, which it rarely does. But racial tension is reason enough to avoid them, I've found." He rolled up to sitting. "And anyway, while the damage to my person would have been quickly reversible, I haven't a spare wardrobe about. What are you doing in the Uberwald?"
"I was going to interview Lady Margolotta," William said. "About some political matters in which she's involved. She corresponds with Vetinari, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, in case you didn't already know. Um." He glanced down. "How is it that I don't have a stake in me or no head or some other variation on vampire killing methodology? Did the mob just ... decide to leave me be? I seem to recall they were at the door when-"
He stopped, and thought about journalism some more, laying out a broadsheet in his head.
"Well, after they'd stupidly run you through they probably noticed you didn't, you know. Get angry, break the handle off, and hit them with it so much as you sort of...keeled over and started to die." Maladict shrugged, a little. "Though more likely still is, your host or whoever it was decided to turn you pulled you out of the thick of it. I found you up the staircase, not in that first courtyard."
"Um. Yes, I suppose that would have been a tip-off," William said. "Yes, now I remember, she- did I thank you for getting me out?" he asked suddenly. Maladict blinked, considering the floor, gaze then flicking over to William.
"No," he said, though he didn't sound particularly aggrieved by it. If anything, he was watching William with an interested expression, as if trying with passing interest to figure him out.
"Oh. Damn," William said. "Sorry. Thank you." He put his notebook and pen away and then considered, quite unaware he'd settled into a lounge against the wall.
"I still need to get to Lady Margolotta's," he mused. He cast a wary glance at what sunlight was filtering down through the overcast sky. "Is that ... going to hurt?" he asked, tilting his chin at the window.
Maladicta smiled, faintly, and said "You're welcome." Then he turned easily onto his side, propping his jaw against the back of his wrist.
"No," Maladict said, "though your eyes will be sensitive to the light, at first. Just…you know. Wear suitable amounts of clothing. I recommend long sleeves. And anyway, it's the Uberwald, the sun will never manage to burn away enough of the cloud layer to actually do much harm. The downside to this, of course, being that the weather is routinely quite gloomy." Maladict didn't know this guy's back story, but when he wasn't being panicky, he quite suited his newfound languor.
"Lady Margolotta's, hmmn?" He was quiet, and still, then sighed and stood up. "Yes, alright. Shouldn't be too difficult getting there."
"Er, right," William said, glancing down at his shirt, which fortunately did have long sleeves. "All my things are still in the coach, wherever it is," he realized. He supposed he could pick anything he needed up on the way, although that might be difficult with only the money he had on him. Just take it, part of him said. He wasn't sure if it was a new part or an old part, but either way he pushed it down and ignored it.
Maladict looked dubiously over his shoulder at something that wasn't there.
"Well, if you don't remember where it is, I'm not sure we want to take the time to backtrack. We can, if you think it would be a lucrative kind of thing to do." But I want to get you away this province, Maladict thought, and was faintly surprised at it.
"...no," William decided, considering. "I can't be sure there would still be anything there, even if we found it again. I'll just have to make do." He frowned at him. "Um. We? You're coming with me?" Maladict straightened, and his expression seemed to lift a little.
"Oh. Think you've got the hang of it, then? Well, that was fast. All right, have fun going it alone," he said with a pleasant smile, sweeping his cloak up from the bed and tying it around his shoulders in one fluid motion.
"What? No, I wasn't saying- I was just confirming that you were," William protested. "I'm fairly sure I don't have the hang of it. Um." Maladict stopped, poised to drop down through the now-opened floorboard again, and looked sidelong at William.
He smiled, a little.
"No, I wouldn't think so. Then I'll accompany you to the Lady. I've some responsibility for you, really."
"You ... do?" William said, looking at him sideways. "Because you pulled me out of the castle?" Maladict nodded, once.
"Usually, your sire is supposed to claim responsibility for you since they've given you new life. Since yours in not in any sort of state to do so- we may assume- the responsibility falls to me for saving you from the fire and thus giving you your second new life in an evening. You're just busy, aren't you?" he drawled.
"...yes, my book of appointments is just overflowing with my plans for near-death - well, actual-death, I suppose," he corrected, frowning, "experiences."
Just in case it wasn't apparent, he added, "It wasn't on purpose."
"I know," Maladict said, expertly not rolling his eyes. "There are a few actual cities- er, for a given definition of city- here and we'll try to stick to those. The less time spent around Villagers1 the better, particularly as we've no guarantee as to how reliable your control is. Once we've got you being a little less conspicuous," he said, as if the prospect of the task ahead was a lamentable one, "then it won't matter so much."
1People who lived in villages, yes, but also people who were inundated with village life to a degree that made them practically professionals. They all owned pitchforks and knew how to make molotov cocktails.
"Right," he said, nodding. Then, "I'm conspicuous?" He made a brief effort to look at his teeth. Through no effort of his own the gesture became more an assured downward flick of his eyes and slight baring of his teeth than it was an attempt to make his eyes bug out and rotate downwards.
"You'll attract attention, at first, because you simply will. It's not a conscious thing," Maladict said.
"Which is why the more crowded the area, the better, unless we're someplace devoid of life, that works too. However, you'll find, er, adventurous types hanging about the sort of places we'll be finding lodgings at so, do keep in mind that just because someone isn't adverse to your being a vampire, doesn't mean they're safe, yes?"
Crowds meant lots of people. William didn't look forward to it, mainly because part of ... looked forward to it, in the same way a wolf looks forward to a herd of gazelles, with the potential that some of them might be limping a little, or wander down a back-alley, perhaps in a fetching little-
12 point headings? No, barely distinguishable from type, it was always best to go with 14 or more.
"...why would adventurous types not be adverse to my being a vampire? Aren't adventurers traditionally the vampire slaying sort?"
"I meant adventurous females," Maladict said, a trifle warily and, also, with a hint of regret. He let the trap door fall open the rest of the way and started down.
"Come on, I need some coffee. We'll see if there are horses we can take, if not a coach."
"Advent- oh," William said. "Otto mentioned that once. They don't always scream, all that. I thought it was rather tas- no, bad word. Crass," he corrected, at which point he took a step out of the trapdoor and instinct took over for a moment.
Swooping ensued.
"Oh dear," murmured Maladict, which actually meant idiot, leaning vaguely to one side to avoid William's rush of enthusiasm, then caught him by the back of his collar and set his feet on the stairs.
The greeting from the scant other guests and inn's personnel- such as it was- was not cold, was not even lukewarm, so much as it was simply not. Maladict graciously accepted the coffee and left an admirable tip even though they hadn't been formally charged with room, board or breakfast. He kept shooting William disciplinary looks, not necessarily because the journalist had done something wrong, but more as a hopeful preventative measure. Barmaids could be hell for newborns. Maladict was mostly impervious.
For many reasons.
He held the door to the street open for a moment, before starting out, not letting William go ahead but keeping in front of him.
"Walk slowly," he suggested, though the weak sunlight didn't much effect him personally. William did walk slowly. This was mostly because his head was turned sideways and tilted slightly, eyes hooded in a vaguely predatory fashion. Barmaids were, indeed, hell for newborns. Especially with the slightly low-cut- no, think about something, preferably one without words like cut in it. Especially with the loud hear- no, think about something that didn't lead to-
-and then he was outside, and he'd swear he could almost feel steam come off him. He hissed, a little.
"Don't hiss," Maladict said in a low tone that could only accurately be described as silky.
"You have to get in the habit of not being- oh gods' sake," he muttered, reaching over and turning William's head to face forward by his chin, and let the door close on its own behind them. "Not being vocal about things, it frightens the mortals."
"Um. Right," said William shaking his head to try and clear it. The motion didn't come off so much an awkward twitch now as it brought to mind a rattlesnake's tail.
"How the hell do you manage with them walking around all e first then a then r..."
"I have an iron will," Maladict said flatly, starting for the low, shabby stables at the end of the minuscule stretch of semi-cleared dirt and semi-laid stones that served as the town's main road. Most of the villagers, the ones visible, or at work, or loitering in windows to watch the vampires as they moved, looked wary. Several looked intrigued, and the majority of these few were young ladies with the flush of youth and the glaze of complete, thick-as-steel naiveté. Maladict ignored them utterly, which seemed to make a few of them sigh harder. The overall vibe of the brief walk was not so welcoming however. There was, again, that feeling of enforced separateness.
William followed. He wasn't managing the saunter just yet, mainly because he was hunched over slightly in an attempt to turn away from the sun. He did note the quiet, watchful stillness as they moved, though. It felt like drifting through a familiar room where everything had been moved an inch to the left; he recognized it all, but it was disconnected from the way it used to be. You didn't have to squeeze between the wall and the table so much anymore, and that was ... strange. Maladict stopped at the mouth of the stable, looking back at William.
"You didn't want to go on foot, right?"
"Well ... horses or a coach would be faster, and we don't really want to take our time, do we?" he said. He tried to remember if there was anything in vampire lore that would make horses a problem.
Maladict nodded, and turned to walk into the stables. There was, of course, no coach for purchase, rent or hire, and it took some long, firm conversation with the solid, staunchly disapproving groom to secure two horses. Maladict showed off a particularly rakish brand of grumpiness with the horses and tack they were finally given, then melted into a sly, satisfied sort of smile when the groom left them, at the back of the open building, with their mounts.
They were both dark, though one was black and one was brown, and both were particularly spindle-legged. Maladict examined the tack on the black one, tightened it some, then glanced at William.
"He thinks they're worthless because they can't carry any weight, but we don't weigh much."
"We don't?" he said. "I mean, I know we can jump high and swoop and the like, but I thought that was just ... preternaturalness."
He blinked, slowly. "...can I fly?" he asked, more curious than excited, watching the brown horse with some wariness.
Riding was, of course, a most noble pursuit. Personally, William had always favoured forms of transport that didn't involve an animal's spine hitting you between the legs on a regular basis.
"You'll see when you get in the saddle. We rarely leave tracks when we go on foot, either. It's a matter of knowing that, though. It is preternatural. Simply a preternatural inclination towards being lightweight. Look, the mirror thing doesn't make sense either, does it? It just is."
Maladict did not use the stirrup to mount. He rested his rather delicately tapered fingers on the soft rim of the saddle and leapt up, the tiniest push off of his feet, and landed with easy poise in the saddle. His clothes and swagger should have made him seem scruffy, but it didn't quite.
"And yes, you can. I can show you later, if you like, but I don't recommend we try that until evening." William didn't try to emulate this, but swung into the saddle in the traditional manner. There was the slight impression of a cape sweeping across behind him as he did so, which was odd since he wasn't wearing anything of the sort. He did see, or rather feel. A sense that he wasn't so much mounted as ... poised.
"Er ... about the mirror thing. How do you shave, exactly? Or ... does our hair even grow?" He looked upwards at his fringe. Maladict stared at the place between his horse's ears for a moment.
"It grows, though typically in the direction you want it to grow in, if that makes sense. I prefer to go clean shaven- as such, I never find I have to shave. Let me put it this way," he said, guiding his horse into a light trot that was smoother than any trot had a right to be, and which sent Maladict's ponytail into a surprising dashing wave.
"Beard maintenance is exceedingly simple." He spurred his horse into motion beside and a little behind Maladict's.
"Um. Well, that's some small relief, I suppose," he said. "I'm not sure what would happen if I slipped and c- although, it would probably just heal right up, actually. Huh."
"Mmn," Maladict confirmed, "almost instantaneously." There was, for a moment, the quiet sound of the horse's small hooves thumping against the packed dirt road that was turning into just dirt, and a frown slowly settled over his face. Maladict seemed to slip into thought for a moment, not really looking at anything. He blinked, once, looking back ahead. William frowned some himself. He was trying to think not that far ahead, because while he could handle getting to where they were going, the thought of going back to Ankh-Morpork was ... he didn't feel up to dealing with that line of thinking just yet.
"Er. What were you doing, by the way, before you ran into the, uh, werewolves and the mob? What brought you to this part of Uberwald?" Maladict glanced at William from the corner of his eye, a hint of the frown returning.
"There is a Black Ribboner in Bad Blintz who offered to aid me in setting myself up outside of the country, but when I arrived at his castle, he wasn't there. So I was going to Escrow for word of him. This is something of a halfway point." William nodded.
"You need help setting yourself up outside the country? I mean, I was always under the impression you could just, er, go and settle in just about anywhere. There are certainly enough Black Ribboners in Ankh-Morpork." The frown increased. It looked faintly annoyed.
"You mean like your iconographer? It's easier for some than for others," he said. "I have enough money to get out of Uberwald, but nothing beyond that, certainly nothing worth anything in Ankh-Morpork dollars. Anyway, I don't want to be around other Black Ribboners." He blinked, although he actually had to think about this rather than it being a habitual response to a confusing statement.
"You don't? Wouldn't that make it easier, though?"
"I'm sure it would," Maladict agreed noncommittally. It took skill.
"I'll rephrase. I don't want to be around other vampires."
"But you're a vampire!" William said, looking away and then looking back in case this would have started making sense while he wasn't looking. "Surely you can't have a problem with them- well, the ones that still dringrraahmmackaat still behave in an inhuman manner, maybe, but the rest..." For some reason, the horse ignored that it's rider had just had a snarling sort of fit mid-sentence that involved his eyes glowing red and his hair blowing outward in directions the wind didn't account for.
"Oh shit," Maladict laughed quietly. "That was special." William glared at him.
"I certainly didn't intend to do it," he said, then glared at the road ahead of him instead.
"Did you, um, bring any more sausages or cheese or anything?" he asked, after a moment, as he found his attention trying to drop from the road to the horse. Even if she didn't maybe talking would distract him from the fact he could hear it's heart- oh, bl- oh, goddamned hells. Somewhat redundant, said his inner editor. This was actually somewhat helpful.
Maladict turned in his saddle, letting the reins fall in his lap. The horse didn't so much as toss its head to break stride. He lifted another knotted fold of cloth, which held three sausages, and tossed it to William.
"I brought enough to last us through tomorrow," so long as Maladict didn't eat any, which he didn't think he would, anyhow. William caught the sausages smoothly out of midair - they weren't even going that fast really, it was quite odd - and proceeded to savage one of them.
"Will we get to another town before then?"
"Yes, one not as small as that last," Maladict said, "though not nearly the size of Bonk. It'll have a place for us to stay, though. Probably for free, if we don't tell them we're borrowing the room." Seven questions, by a very lenient, conservative estimate, since they'd walked into the day. You saved him, Maladict thought. So don't go killing him now.
"You mean sneak in and out without paying?" William said, with some distaste. "Won't they notice? I mean, we'll need to keep the horses somewhere and someone occupying one of your rooms isn't something you miss, really."
"I meant room as in space," Maladict said. "Most buildings have attic spaces that just aren't used. Humans wouldn't stay there even if they would. You needed to sleep lying down last night while the Change went through you, but you may not want to tonight. Though," he digressed, "it's difficult for me to say with certainty. I've not spent any time around converted vampires who retained so much of their human selves as you seem to've." William decided to take this as something of a compliment. He tried to sit a little straighter, then gave up and returned to a position leaned back on the horse slightly.
"I wonder why that would be," he mused, then asked, "How do we get in to the attic space, then?" It occurred to Maladict that William just wasn't going to stop talking, and set about acclimating himself to this thought.
"Typically, I use the stairs. You'd be surprised at how unnoticed we'll go." Unless the newbie did something painfully attention-drawing, which was distinctly possible.
Probably, even. Still, he needed to be taught quickly, so that he could manage on his own until reunited with his rather convenient employee, so the small city would have to do.
"...I would, yes," said William. He would have thought people in Uberwald would know to pay special attention when vampires showed up. Like him. Because he was a ... he should really be more concerned about this than he was, shouldn't he? Because mostly when he wasn't suppressing urges to do with the word-that-started-with-the-letter-after-a, he just felt supremely ... cool about the whole basic issue.
The reactions when he got to Ankh-Morpork concerned him. Sacharissa might panic a little, which would-
William suppressed some urges as best he could, by tearing into another sausage with a growl. Maladict didn't ask what thought had set William off on the other sausage. He figured, there would be a lot of that going on.
"Keep in mind that most people here live under a vampire's rule, so while plenty of them don't like us at all, most of them are too fearful or at least, ah, reticent to actually lift a hand. I mean, you get mobs, sure, but two of us in a hotel being quiet in the bar isn't going to inspire a riot.” He paused, though it wasn't apparent this was a pause until he spoke some moments later.
"Probably."
"Oh, great," William said, then took a moment to process that this reaction to possible violence had not been entirely sarcastic. "Will the vampire who's rule they're under be a problem?" He found himself thinking of this potential other vampire warily, like he would an opposing newspaper, or perhaps more appropriately like a wolf would think of some other infringing on his wolf district1. Maladict didn't count because she was providing him with...
He rended another sausage.
1William didn't know a lot about wolves.
"No," Maladict said, automatically.
"Probably not," he corrected.
"I doubt they'll notice," he said, though for whose benefit, it was questionable.
"Why," Maladict said quickly to cut off any protest or questioning, "didn't your Black Ribboner come with you?"
"He's on assignment in Quirm," William said. "Doesn't get back for another week. I considered waiting till he got back, since he'd know the country, but I wasn't sure he'd want to come and I didn't foresee a need for an iconographer."
"Pictures'd come out crap anyway," Maladict agreed, "the subjects wouldn't end up in them. Why," he pressed on, glad to have interrupted the flow of questions aimed at him, "is your name so familiar to me? Your surname, I mean." William sighed, with considerably more bored langour than he'd expected. "I suppose you've seen Twurp's Peerage at some point?"
"Sto Plains nobility," Maladict said automatically. "Oh, de Worde, right." He thought about that a moment.
"...I think that's actually ironic. Your family's quite enthusiastically uninvolved with other species, isn't it?"
"My family is," William corrected, voice low and annoyed and verging almost on a growl. "I'm quite enthusiastically involved with other species."
Inner editor, meet your palm- oh, you've met? Well, I'll just let you two catch up, then.
"...what I mean is, I don't share my family's unfortunate Views about other species." Maladict shot William a faintly surprised look over his shoulder, which lasted until William offered clarification, at which point it turned into a insufferably subtle look of amusement.
"Fortunate," Maladict said, looking back ahead.
"Quite," William said. "They're probably going to have a heart-attack when they find out. Some of them, at least." He didn't sound particularly upset about this. Possibly because he was busy wondering how exactly he could get a letter to them with the news.
"Would that be a bad thing?" Maladict asked with wry, questioning glance that bordered on being a smirk. "It doesn't sound as if you're close. Though that could just be, you know. Your new outlook on things bleeding through."
"Not in the slightest, really," William said, who was actually smirking now, although he hadn't quite realized he was doing it. "We're not close, and never have been, all things considered."
"A lot of things, then?" said Maladict, easing his horse slightly over so they more parallel then before. The road had broadened, and was as wide across as the length of at least their two horses. The terrain was unattractive and largely flat, until the hills rose sharply on either side, and the mountains past those.
"Will someone inform them, do you think, after your return to the city?"
"A considerable number, although I suppose they were all offshoots of a few subjects," William said. "Someone will tell them, I have no doubt. Word travels, especially when you're paying people to move it for you." The corner of Maladict's mouth pulled wryly upward and he didn't nod, but managed to convey the motion of nodding anyway.
"Let's put some distance behind us," he said, and spurred the horse into an enviable canter. Something was making him feel off. Vampires didn't really travel by horseback, as a stylistic rule, so that could have been it, but there was also something about William. Really, though, the riding was quite enjoyable.
William spurred his horse after Maladict. Riding seemed much less unpleasant, now. He leaned forward; as a testament to his new state of being, this came off a bit more dashing than hunched. For a while he focused on riding, not feeling the need to talk so much; he didn't have to distract himself to the same degree out in the deserted road, and riding fast didn't make for easy1 conversation at any rate.
1Since it was William, this was of course for a given value of 'easy.' Although possibly a higher value of it than, say, two days ago.