A few days later, Walter informed me he had discovered my secret activities in the bindery.
“The Binder came today.” He said as we approached the library.
“Oh yes?” I said innocently.
“To pick up the items for repair.” He cast me a meaningful look.
I said nothing, glancing with interest at the ceiling.
“Imagine my surprise when he informed me that there were only two books in the bindery in need of repair.”
“Really?” I said. Fascinating ceiling, just fascinating.
“Yes. The two large, leather bound volumes.”
“Oh?”
“The other twelve items seem to have somehow repaired themselves.”
“Amazing.”
We were in the library now, Walter had stopped walking and was looking at me intently. I glanced over at him but tried to avoid direct eye contact. “Ms. Doyle, I thought that I had made it clear that we were going to use a professional binder to repair those books.”
“Was there something wrong with the way they were repaired?”
“No, the binder said you did an excellent job.”
“Ah, well then.”
“Except for one of the items which he felt you repaired rather oddly.” He said producing a slim volume. It was the Jules Verne novel.
“No, not repaired Walter, conserved.” I ignored his stern look and continued. “You see, I repaired the other books because, well , they needed repairing and I wanted to show you that I was capable of being useful. That is useful beyond being an experiment. Besides, they were sitting there wounded, waiting for me to fix them. I couldn’t stand it. You might as well have asked me as a mother it ignore a hurt child on the playground. I had to fix them. Give them back their purpose. But this book Walter...” I said lovingly taking it from his hands. “This book needed something different.”
I glance up at him then quickly away. “I know you said that this title would be cheaper to repurchase than to repair.” I said quietly. “And you were right. Repairing this book would have been a stupid waste. No, worse, a crime.” I looked up at him pleading and defiant. “Don’t you see Walter? This book. This copy, of this book has been loved and not just by one person but by many people across many years. Cherishing it. Holding it in their hands and devouring the text. Young people, perhaps reading their first novel.” I stroked the covers lovingly. “Dragging it with them everywhere till it was tattered and ratty but still loving it. Proudly writing their names in their best script wanting to own a piece of it forever, to be a part of its history. Every bumped corner, every smudgy fingerprint, every scar on this book makes it just that much more precious.”
“Then why,” he said very softly and dangerously “didn’t you simply leave it be?”
Here was the crux of it. Here is where it got tricky because I could not tell him the entire truth. I could not tell him why I had tightened the spine on the back shoulder but not the front. Why I had tipped back in pages and reattached the plates but not repaired the fly leaf or end papers. How could I tell him I had done it for him?
Not for the stern, cold Walter with his clipboard and distressingly spare office or the dis-impassioned Walter reporting on me, writing his observations in that damn folder. Certainly not for the murderous Walter who haunted my dreams. Not even for the Walter who had done his best to be kind to me and who let me take tea with him in the den. No, not for any of those Walters.
I had done it for the Walter who, years ago, had read this book. A young Walter who had very obviously loved it. Who, like the others before him, had wanted to keep a piece of it, be a part of it but who, being Walter, had not proudly written his name below the others but instead had very faintly and very carefully written his name in the smallest of scripts where the cover bends and tucks itself into the shoulder of the book. Present, but discrete. Separate from all the others.
A single tear slid down my cheek. I had defied all of those other Walters for that Walter. For the young man who had loved that book enough to write his name in it but had not felt it proper to place it with the others. For the Walter who, even now, could not bring himself to discard that book or re-glue the spine because in doing so he would be obliterating a little piece of himself.
How could I tell him all this? He would only resent my presumption. This intrusion into his privacy. And it was a terrible presumption on my part. Who was I to meddle in his life? He would be angry. He would certainly not thank me. He might even hate me for it.
Yet I knew that I had to do whatever I could to let him keep this one little piece of himself alive even if it meant defying him. Even if it meant not being completely honest with him. Still, I had to be careful. He was not stupid and if he suspected that I was lying to him out of pity he might never forgive me but it was a chance I had to take. I took a deep breath and plunged.
“Did you ever read the ‘Velveteen Rabbit?’” I rushed on not waiting for an answer. “How by loving a toy a child could bring it to life? The most wonderful thing for a toy in that story was not to be shiny and new but to be well worn and played with and loved. This book has provided years of faithful service. Brought many people a great deal of joy. It deserves better than to sit moldering away in a dark room, falling apart, never to be read again. So I conserved it. Stabilized it. Fixed it just enough. Sure, it’s not strong enough to be stuffed into a back pocket and dragged all over God’s creation or read in the bathtub, It’s too precious for that anyway. But it is sturdy enough to sit on the shelves with the other books dreaming of its next reader and perhaps, some rainy day, some bored child may pull it down wondering what’s so special about this battered old thing and be tickled to see those familiar names on the inside cover and begin to leaf through it. Perhaps they will decide to sit by the fire and read a page or two. They may later look up at that mantle clock and realize that they have been reading for hours. They might even take it upstairs to bed with them so that they can finish it and maybe, just maybe, they will carefully write their name inside the cover before lovingly placing it back on the shelf like a treasure for the next child, perhaps their child, to find.”
I petered out exhausted. I was now holding the book slightly away from me so that my tears would not fall onto it. “I just wanted there to be some happy memories too.” I said quietly, more to myself than Walter.
Walter took the book from my hands replacing it with a handkerchief. He watched me quietly for a moment as I dabbed my eyes then looked down at the book drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the cover. When I was more composed, he spoke.
“The weather seems fairly passable today” he said placing the book on the table in front of us “and you have been indicating a desire to view the estate. Perhaps a brief tour of the grounds behind the house?”
I stared at him slightly derailed but managed to stammer out “I’ll get my coat.”.
He glanced out the window at the drizzle outside. “Yes, perhaps it is a bit wet for a walk...”
“No!” I screamed in my head. “No it’s not!”
“but,” he said walking over to a stand by the door and removing two umbrellas “These should do to get us to the greenhouse.”
Walter said nothing more as we walked the short garden path from the library to the greenhouse. It wasn’t until we were inside and he had shut the door that he spoke. “Ms. Doyle,” he said “You have a tender heart and a romantic soul both of which are dangerous liabilities when studying at the feet of a vampire who has neither of these.”
“Tenderness?” I asked, sniffing a flower.
“No. A heart or a soul. Tenderness and romance do not even enter into the equation. Not for Alucard.”
“I know that.” I began.
“No you don’t, not really. It’s hard, practically impossible for any person, any human to understand how utterly devoid of emotion a vampire is. They are true sociopaths. They mimic emotion when it suits them but they don’t really feel it. The just use it as an ends to a means. Alucard is the ultimate predator and he means to use you for his own purposes. Any kindness, love or gratitude you feel will be perceived by him as weakness and will be repaid with cruelty. Love and fear, those are his two greatest weapons against you so you must show him neither.”
“But, Seras.” I objected.
“Miss Victoria is not quite yet a vampire, not truly. She is hesitating, clinging to her humanity but finally, when she accepts what she is, her attachment to human custom and emotion will fade and be replaced by a true vampiric nature.”
“No. She’s not like that.”
“Not yet but ultimately, I fear this is her fate.”
“Then why keep her around?”
“She is useful.”
I ground my teeth at the coldness of it all. Then, I had a thought. “Then why do you try to help her?”
“Because she fights her fate. She struggles to maintain her humanity, despite the odds.”
“But you feel she is destined to fail?”
“Most likely, but she deserves the chance to try.”
“Can I help her?”
“You already do by being her friend and encouraging her to maintain society with other humans.”
“But.”
But it can’t last. The bloodlust will eventually become too strong and she will begin to see her friends as nothing more than domesticated food. Easy prey.”
“Can nothing be done?
He spread his hands noncommitaly.
Is there nothing more to be done? I would be willing to do anything if it would help. She may be a vampire but she is my friend and I love her!”
“There’s that tender heart again.” He said. “Dangerous, deadly even.” He admonished giving me a stern stare.
I glared back at him. “I mean it Walter.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
He held my gaze a few moments more. “Very well,” he said “let me think on it. In the meantime, I think it is best that you keep me appraised of precisely what transpires during your sessions with Alucard. I may be able to advise you in some areas but ultimately it is you who will have to be strong enough to face him alone.”
Monday, November 17, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
LETTERS FROM HELLSING XVIII
The next several nights were pure hell. Seras had done her best to help but nothing could prepare me for Alucard’s sadistic, bi-polar schizophrenic approach to “teaching”. I never knew what to expect. One minute he would be cruel and belittling, the next, sweet and gentle, fawning over me like I was a prized pet performing a cute trick. Sometimes, he wouldn’t say a word but would just begin to physically and psychically slam me as I walked through the door.
All of it was horrible and I found myself crying constantly for almost no reason. Worst of all, I still wasn’t completely sure what it was he expected of me. The duration of my “lessons” seemed to depend entirely on how long it took for Alucard to become bored or disgusted with me and send me to bed.
Seras was usually waiting for me and did what she could to cheer me up. Even taking me over to the barracks once or twice when I seemed up to it, despite the fact that there seemed to be a running spat between her and Captain Burnadett (something about her hating everything about him and him finding that quite amusing). Everyone was quite kind to me except the medic and Captain Chambers who would always leave the room soon after we arrived. At the end of each visit, Captain Burnadett would always kiss my cheeks and slip me another written invitation telling me to visit again soon. Then he would offer the same farewell to Seras and she would slap his hands away and leave in a huff. “I might just have to marry her she hates me so much.” He would sometimes say to her retreating back.
Walter was also very kind. I was having trouble concentrating and was finding it hard to read so I had taken to curling up in the window box and napping. Once or twice, I even slept through tea time much to my chagrin. Far from being annoyed he would simply leave a cup of tea on the small table he had placed next to the window box for me. I would wake to a warm fire, the lovely smell of tea and Walter sitting in his chair silently filling out his crossword puzzle. As soon as he saw I was awake, he would lay the paper aside, freshen my tea and offer me something to eat. If it weren’t for the psychotic monster trying to drive me insane every night, I might actually have called this a pleasant time.
But monsters are real. And the thing that makes them truly terrifying is not their claws and teeth but their twisted sense of humor and absolute lack of pity. I’m not just making this up. I got it directly from the source. Not the part about the twisted sense of humor, I gleaned that nugget of wisdom through personal experience, but the part about having no pity. That came straight from the horse’s mouth as it were.
The first thing I needed to know about vampires, Alucard told me during our first session, is that they were cruel, inhuman monsters without compassion or pity, himself included. That they are self centered evil killing machines and that I must never let my guard down and lest I forget...He flicked his finger and threw me up against the wall.
When I tried to stand, the image of a fiery pit opening up beneath me popped into my head. I could actually feel the heat from the flames. I suppressed my yelp of fear and scrabbled back against the wall. I stared at him warily, unsure how I should react. Be on guard he said, but how? He smiled mockingly. “Your move Angel.”
A test. OK. I took a deep breath and walked across the fire pit towards him my eyes never leaving his. I felt pain from the heat but I never actually fell in. When I reached him. I glanced back and the pit was gone because, of course, it had never actually been there.
“You see, even when you know something is an illusion it can still hurt you, as long as any part of you believes it is real.” I glanced down at my shoes. The soles were smoking from the illusionary fire. “You must learn to completely dismiss the illusion as false.”
He gestured toward an empty chair next to his. I sat down and slipped my feet out of the still smoldering shoes. I looked up at him. “But couldn’t the illusion of one danger be masking another, real danger that I could be walking right into?” I asked.
“Yes Angel, it might. How very clever you are.” He said tweaking my nose. “You must learn to distinguish reality from illusion. Hold to the truth and banish the lie and” He stroked my cheek gently. “Never let your guard down!” He said as he threw me across the room. He stopped me just before I hit the wall then let me dangle in the air a moment before slamming painfully to the floor.
“Have you ever heard the story of the “Lady and the Tiger?” He asked.
I nodded as I pulled myself up to my hands and knees.
“Excellent.” He said. “Then let us begin.”
I stood up ignoring the pain in my hip.
“Concentrate Angel. It wont be pleasant for you if you fail.”
I wiped my sweating palms on my thighs and turned my attention to the two doors which had appeared before me. I could almost feel the tiger’s claws ripping into me. I began to tremble with fear. Real or not, whichever door I chose, it would ‘not be pleasant’ for me... and so my training began.
All of it was horrible and I found myself crying constantly for almost no reason. Worst of all, I still wasn’t completely sure what it was he expected of me. The duration of my “lessons” seemed to depend entirely on how long it took for Alucard to become bored or disgusted with me and send me to bed.
Seras was usually waiting for me and did what she could to cheer me up. Even taking me over to the barracks once or twice when I seemed up to it, despite the fact that there seemed to be a running spat between her and Captain Burnadett (something about her hating everything about him and him finding that quite amusing). Everyone was quite kind to me except the medic and Captain Chambers who would always leave the room soon after we arrived. At the end of each visit, Captain Burnadett would always kiss my cheeks and slip me another written invitation telling me to visit again soon. Then he would offer the same farewell to Seras and she would slap his hands away and leave in a huff. “I might just have to marry her she hates me so much.” He would sometimes say to her retreating back.
Walter was also very kind. I was having trouble concentrating and was finding it hard to read so I had taken to curling up in the window box and napping. Once or twice, I even slept through tea time much to my chagrin. Far from being annoyed he would simply leave a cup of tea on the small table he had placed next to the window box for me. I would wake to a warm fire, the lovely smell of tea and Walter sitting in his chair silently filling out his crossword puzzle. As soon as he saw I was awake, he would lay the paper aside, freshen my tea and offer me something to eat. If it weren’t for the psychotic monster trying to drive me insane every night, I might actually have called this a pleasant time.
But monsters are real. And the thing that makes them truly terrifying is not their claws and teeth but their twisted sense of humor and absolute lack of pity. I’m not just making this up. I got it directly from the source. Not the part about the twisted sense of humor, I gleaned that nugget of wisdom through personal experience, but the part about having no pity. That came straight from the horse’s mouth as it were.
The first thing I needed to know about vampires, Alucard told me during our first session, is that they were cruel, inhuman monsters without compassion or pity, himself included. That they are self centered evil killing machines and that I must never let my guard down and lest I forget...He flicked his finger and threw me up against the wall.
When I tried to stand, the image of a fiery pit opening up beneath me popped into my head. I could actually feel the heat from the flames. I suppressed my yelp of fear and scrabbled back against the wall. I stared at him warily, unsure how I should react. Be on guard he said, but how? He smiled mockingly. “Your move Angel.”
A test. OK. I took a deep breath and walked across the fire pit towards him my eyes never leaving his. I felt pain from the heat but I never actually fell in. When I reached him. I glanced back and the pit was gone because, of course, it had never actually been there.
“You see, even when you know something is an illusion it can still hurt you, as long as any part of you believes it is real.” I glanced down at my shoes. The soles were smoking from the illusionary fire. “You must learn to completely dismiss the illusion as false.”
He gestured toward an empty chair next to his. I sat down and slipped my feet out of the still smoldering shoes. I looked up at him. “But couldn’t the illusion of one danger be masking another, real danger that I could be walking right into?” I asked.
“Yes Angel, it might. How very clever you are.” He said tweaking my nose. “You must learn to distinguish reality from illusion. Hold to the truth and banish the lie and” He stroked my cheek gently. “Never let your guard down!” He said as he threw me across the room. He stopped me just before I hit the wall then let me dangle in the air a moment before slamming painfully to the floor.
“Have you ever heard the story of the “Lady and the Tiger?” He asked.
I nodded as I pulled myself up to my hands and knees.
“Excellent.” He said. “Then let us begin.”
I stood up ignoring the pain in my hip.
“Concentrate Angel. It wont be pleasant for you if you fail.”
I wiped my sweating palms on my thighs and turned my attention to the two doors which had appeared before me. I could almost feel the tiger’s claws ripping into me. I began to tremble with fear. Real or not, whichever door I chose, it would ‘not be pleasant’ for me... and so my training began.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
LETTERS FROM HELLSING XVII
“We weren’t really going to do it you know.” I said to Walter as we got on the elevator.
“No, of course not.”
“I mean it.”
“Hmmm. I begin to wonder if perhaps you are not a bad influence on Miss. Victoria.”
“Walter no!” I gasped.
“But, still, one can not always control who befriends whom...”
I huffed back against the elevator wall unsure if he was teasing me.
“Walter?”
“Yes?”
“Why does Sir Integra want to see me?” I had been so happy to get out of the lab early that I had almost forgotten to feel apprehensive about my meeting. Almost. Our last words to each other after all had been about the possibility of her killing me.
Walter was his usual helpful self. “Perhaps you should ask Sir Integra.”
I shifted uneasily, my wounds suddenly hurting me more than usual. Perhaps Sir Integra had decided to not to take any risks on what I might become. Perhaps she had decided to just get rid of me. My head began to throb. Would she dirty her own hands with the job or get someone else to do it? I glanced up at Walter. Surely not, but then again, Seras had confided in me a few things about Walter. What they used to call him. What he used to do for Hellsing. How even Alucard showed him a level of respect 2nd only to that of Sir Integra. Seras told me how she had seen him in action once. How fast and deadly he was with his weapon of choice, the garrotte wire.
A sense of dread washed through me. The silver wire inside of me seemed to tighten and vibrate. A black fog descended and a voice began whispering in my head “They are going to kill you... They are going to kill you.” over and over. Terrible visions of my own death started flashing through my mind. Sir Integra, her face a haughty, indifferent mask, driving a long wooden stake through my heart. The force of her blows slamming me into the ground and pinning me to the floor. Alucard shooting me in the gut then casually reaching inside my wound to grasp the silver wire then twisting and twisting it until my spine snapped. Even my Seras succumbing to the blood lust and ripping me apart with gluttonous enthusiasm.
“They are going to kill you...They are going to kill you.” My wire began thrumming along with the voice. “No please no!” I thought but the visions continued. Walter strangling me in the elevator... This last image was so real, I could feel the cold monofilament wire wrapping itself about my neck biting into my flesh. Terrified, choking, I reached up and began to claw desperately at my throat. The thrumming of the silver threads increased and they began to grow hot.
“Not real.” I tried to say but could not speak. The wire was choking me, choking me. I pulled my fingers back bloody from the wire. I tried to beg Walter to stop but he just drew the wire tighter smiling coldly his eyes hard steel as the blood began to spill out of my throat.
“No”
The fog grew thicker. “You are dying. He is killing you.” The voice chanted.
I knew that voice.
“No” I said desperately. “Not real.” The silver wire felt molten now. A searing white hot pain shot through me bursting through the fog. “Not real!” I screamed at the voice. “Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!”
Reality slammed back into me like a speeding truck. I gasped air back into my lungs with sheer relief. How long had I been choking? The elevator chimed its stop in answer. Walter had turned towards me as if to say something but I stumbled back from him terrified. The image had been so real. When the doors opened, it was all I could do not to shove him aside and bolt from the elevator.
“Are you all right Ms. Doyle?”
“I, I’m fie.” I stammered. “I seem to be developing a headache.” That much was true. My head hurt horribly. My migraines had been getting progressively worse over the last couple of weeks, especially at night.
I still felt a bit wobbly as we entered Sir Intergra’s office. It was huge and quite tasteful but, like Walters office, very Spartan. Light shone in from several long windows which covered the western wall. They opened out on to a large stone balcony and shared the same lovely view as the library below but her large desk and chair were positioned so that her back was to the windows. There was a large, contemporary portrait of a middle aged man with a kind face hanging on one wall. I recognized him from the photos in the study and surmised it to be Sir Integra’s father the late Lord Hellsing.
Sir Integra herself sat behind her desk studiously pouring over some papers. “Please come in.” She said without looking up.
My footsteps echoing on the marble tile only served to increase the cavernous feeling of the room. There were no other chairs so I stood awkwardly in front of her desk while Walter handed her my charts from the lab.
The winter glare from the windows was exacerbating my headache so I glanced down at my feet then gasped and stumbled back a step as, just for a second, I thought I was standing on a plastic drop cloth. I looked back up at Sir Integra half expecting to see her with a gun in her hand. Instead she was frowning at me with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Are you unwell?” She asked.
I swore I could hear a faint chuckling. I narrowed my eyes and quickly glanced about the room but could not pinpoint the source of the sound. “I seem to have a headache.” I said. More chuckling, louder this time.
“I believe she is being psychically attacked by Alucard.” Said Walter who had appeared at my elbow with a glass of water and some pills. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t even seen him coming. I accepted them with shaking hands. “She seemed to have an incident in the elevator as well.”
I felt the wires inside me start thrumming again. I felt a cold chill and heard a strange chittering sound and I seemed to catch the scent of old, dry earth. I wheeled around to face the wall where the painting was hanging.
“Walter your no fun. You used to be more fun.” Came Alucard’s voice from nowhere. There was a slight waiver in the air just to the left of the portrait then, suddenly, there he was stepping though the wall as if it were a doorway.
“I thought we had agreed not to perform any testing of this nature until after our meeting.” Said Walter striding back over to stand beside Sir Integra’s desk. “A warning at least was in order.”
“I wanted to see if my theory was correct.”
“Still, advanced notice.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“This is highly questionable. I thought she might be having a seizure.”
“Enough.” Sir. Integra interrupted. Both Alucard and Walter immediately deferred to her. I was astounded. “Well, how did she do?”
“You know I’m standing right here.” I said. “I wish people would stop talking around me as if I weren’t here.” This was as bad as the lab.
She fixed me with an icy stare. “I thought to include you in this meeting so that you might be able to provide some input but we can have it just as easily without you.”
Well that shut me up.
“Well?” She said, turning back to Alucard.
“Not bad for a human.” He said. “We had fun didn’t we Angel?”
“I almost died!”
“A love bite, nothing more.”
“You were trying to kill me.”
“Nonsense. If I wanted you dead Angel, you would be.”
“But I was chocking to death! You, Walter...”
“Yes, that was good wasn’t it?”
“No!”
He walked over and stroked my cheek gently then turned to Sir Integra and Walter. “I put some lovely images of us killing her in her mind. She was quite receptive. She especially took to the image of you killing her Walter, that one almost worked. Pity she caught on so quickly.”
Walters face was an emotionless mask but Sir Integra narrowed her eyes. I gave you permission to test her sensitivity, not scare her to death.”
“A game.” He said stroking my hair. “A mere lark. Right Angel?”
“You know how I feel about ensorceling Alucard.”
“I know we don’t want to be vulnerable to it ever again. I seem to recall the last time when both you and the Police Girl almost died.”
Sir Integra said nothing, just stared at him.
“Besides, it woke her up psychically. Made he quite sensitive to the presence. You saw how she felt me through that wall. She may be a bit jumpy around Walter for a while but other than that, no harm done.”
Sir Integra’s gaze shifted over onto me. A look crossed over her face, a mixture of pity and regret. For a moment, she seemed quite small and young behind that big desk. She glanced up at Walter and his carefully maintained impassive facade and her face quickly recovered its stony confident mask.
“Walter, her health?”
“Physical or mental?”
“Both.”
“Well physically she is healing at a remarkable rate and is in fairly good condition. Her body should be able to withstand the increase in activity the training would require.”
“And mentally?”
“Considering all of the factors, not too badly. She is still displaying some signs of trauma. Some odd mood swings which may or may not be directly related to Alucard’s machinations. She is showing a high level of adaptability to her peculiar circumstances but as Alucard has not yet revealed the specific nature of the intended training, it is hard to say what long term impact it will have on her. But, overall, she is relatively stable.”
My cheeks burned red and I stared at my feet a bit hurt and disturbed by Walter’s frank, impersonal analysis of me. Alucard clucked his tongue as he twirled a lock of my hair between his fingers. “What’s wrong lab rat.” He asked. “Walter hurting your feelings again is he?”
I whirled on him, my anger and humiliation welling up inside of me. “Now, now Angel. I thought we agreed that there would be no further of your pointless little tantrums.” He said.
At that moment I wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face, tell them all to go to hell and walk out of that office, out that front door and never look back. I was so sick of them and their stupid organization. As far as I was concerned they could all just .... but I had made a promise.
He tugged my hair breaking my train of thought. “Come now lab rat. There is no cheese but I expect you to run through my maze nonetheless.” I bit my tongue refusing to rise to the bait. “I offer you nothing, only that which I have already given. Your life and the lives of those children. Of course, you could always walk away.”
They were all looking at me, waiting. I closed my eyes. I could. I could just walk away. I probably should. But...no. I sighed and shook my head.
“You will keep your word then?”
I nodded squeezing my eyes shut tighter a single tear running down my cheek.
“Ah yes Angel, there will be tears” I felt his hand brush my cheek. The was a strange hissing sound and a whiff of burnt flesh as he leaned in to whisper. “And anger and pain and I will show you how to use them all.”
“Enough!” Said Sir Integra. “Ms. Doyle, I do not pretend to know what agreement you have made with Alucard and you may very well provide us with some much needed answers but I will not allow you or anyone else to be coerced into this. Please know that you have the right to refuse regardless of whatever obligation you may feel. We’ve all blood enough on our hands here that none should owe us gratitude. If anyone, those children owe their lives to you.”
I opened my eyes and stared at her shocked as she continued. “What we are asking of you may help us to save lives but it will not be pleasant and we will not force you to accept. The choice must be yours.”
We held gazes for a moment longer then I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. My head really did hurt. “I understand” I said “and I thank you but I will keep my word.” I glanced back up. Her face was a stony cold mask again, her moment of humanity gone. Of course, she had learned from the master I thought looking over at Walter’s emotionless face. I glanced at her father’s portrait. She certainly did not learn that from you I thought examining the kind features. I wonder what other tricks your little girl has learned from Walter.
I stole a look at the others in the room. Who were these people I was dealing with? What did I know of them?
A vampire. An inhuman monster that resembled a man but was unhampered by human morality. His reasons for saving me were his own. I was alive because it suited his purposes. I should expect no tender emotions from him such as love or pity.
Walter, a death dealer turned butler who had dedicated his life to the service of this organization. A man who dealt with scores of people every day but always held himself apart. No unnecessary ties. This house, this cause was his family. So why had he been so kind to me?
And they both served this girl. This woman-child who was the unquestioned authority of this place. Firm, uncompromising and zealously aggressive when it came to her charge. For her, the family mission was everything. No time for anything else. She was so young but she bore her burden with the supreme confidence of one born to serve this post. ‘Blood’ on their hands she had said. Yes, I believed it.
“Very well then” she said. “I suggest you get a good night’s rest. We shall begin tomorrow evening. Walter, please see to the details.”
And with that, I was dismissed. So much for getting my input.
I didn’t really care. Walter asked me to wait for him in the library and I practically bolted out the door. Once in the library, I stuffed myself into its highest, remotest corner and released the panic attack.
What had I just done? I had assuaged the conscience of a woman who would not have had the slightest qualms about killing me had I turned out to be something other than human. Had basically given her permission to turn me over to the tender mercies of a vampire so that I could take part in whatever sick, twisted game he had in mind. What was wrong with me?
I was angry. Angry at Alucard for being so cruel. Angry at Walter and Sir Integra for being so cold. Angry at God for asking me to do this and angry at myself for agreeing to do it. Angry! Angry, frustrated and in pain. My wounds still hurt and my migraine was practically blinding me.
By the time Walter found me, the pain had subsided and I had ridden out most of the waves of raw emotion but I was still crying. I wasn’t really upset anymore, I actually felt a bit numb but the tears kept coming nonetheless. Like the incident in front of Walters office, I was not so much crying as leaking. I stood up gingerly as he approached and turned my head away slightly trying to hide the tears.
“I am sorry Ms. Doyle, a psychic attack of that nature can be very unnerving.” He said holding out a crisply starched handkerchief .
My mouth twitched a little not so much at the memory of the attack but at the ‘Ms. Doyle.’. “No. I know it wasn’t real.” I said accepting the offered cloth. “Besides, it’s wasn’t your fault.”
“Still, to use those you know, Miss. Victoria, myself. It distresses me to think that these images might somehow negatively impact your relationship with her.”
“It wont.” I said dabbing my eyes. “I know that Seras would never harm me.” Although I’m not so sure about you Walter, I thought. Ironic that I am less afraid of the vampire than the butler.
Poor Walter, I mused, wiping away at those stupid tears. He thinks I’m crying because of what happened in the elevator. I guess it’s understandable, I will probably have nightmares about it for some time to come. I could still feel the ghost of the garrotte wire cutting into my throat but that was just an illusion. A cruel little game of Alucard’s. Nothing to curl myself up into a ball over. Some ‘Angel’ I would turn out to be if I couldn’t even handle the pre-test. No, I wasn’t crying because of that.
I looked up into Walter’s politely concerned face. How could I possibly explain it to him? Make him understand the utter sense of desolation, the painful loneliness and isolation which seemed to permeate this place. How sometimes it just overwhelmed me. How standing in that office I had felt naked and without allies. How the thought of being alone and unloved frightened me far more than anything Alucard could possibly do to me. How could Walter, a man of solitude and self control, a creature of this desolate place, possibly understand my fears or, if he understood them, how could he not despise me for my weakness?
Perhaps I was being unfair. Perhaps, as usual, I was laying my frustrations at his feet. He was after all , in his own way, being kind to me. This is who he was and it was wrong of me to expect him to be anyone but himself but I wanted so much to believe his kindness had been more than just a chance to observe me. That he wasn’t just doing his job. I don’t know why it mattered to me but it did.
The events of the morning had left me raw and unbalanced. It was best to let him believe that it was the illusion that was upsetting me. I sighed and began walking towards the staircase. This was all dangerously close to wallowing in self pity and I had made a promise not to do that any more.
I just wished I didn’t feel so alone.
“You are not alone.” came the voice.
I froze midway down the spiral staircase listening. The clouds broke and sunlight streamed in from the windows striking the dust motes, painting them gold and causing them to sparkle like diamonds as they danced slowly though the room. It was so lovely, I could not resist stretching out my hand to catch the nearest sunbeam. It felt warm and sweet like liquid gold pouring all around. I cupped my hand and let it pool up then stream out between my fingers. I closed my eyes and stepped into the sunbeam.
I could sense God’s love and the beauty of his creation all around me. That reassuring presence telling me that I was not alone and it was going to be OK. I felt truly happy for the first time in a long while. I was still crying but now they were tears of joy. I was strong enough, I would never be alone and I would always be loved.
I opened my eyes wiping away the last of my tears and reached up to catch another sunbeam sighing with pleasure. “Oh how lovely.” I whispered. I turned to Walter smiling. “A sunbeam can make everything look so beautiful can it not?” I said offering up a tear soaked, sunbeam drenched handkerchief to him.
“Yes.” he said. “ Lovely.” The dust motes danced between us as he stared at me for a moment. The he reached out solemnly, as if I were handing him a holy relic, and gently plucked it from my hand tucking it into his glove.
The somber expression on his face made me laugh. “Oh Walter, I haven’t gone mad I promise. It’s just that this place can be so gloomy and then every once in a while we get a reminder of how lovely it can all be. How something as simple as a sunbeam can give so much pleasure and show us the beauty of God’s creation.” I stopped suddenly feeling awkward under Walter’s puzzled, polite stare. “I guess that sounds a little hokey to you.”
“On the contrary. I thought it was quite eloquent.”
I looked down at my hands hoping he wasn’t just humoring me. Observing me.
“We get so engrossed in our day to day tasks that it becomes easy to miss the small gifts that can give us pleasure.” He said.
“Yes.” I said smiling down at my hands.
“But for now I’m afraid, I must take you back to the lab.”
“No Walter, not that.”
“I am sorry but Dr. Levin insists.”
“Please Walter, I can’t take it. I have no more blood or fluids to spare. There is no more left to give. I am a dried out husk.”
“There’s that glass of water I gave you earlier.”
“Oh now Walter!”
“It’s a memory test nothing more, I assure you.” He said. “They want to get a baseline on your cognitive skills before you begin your training with Alucard tomorrow .”
I groaned inwardly, Something else to look forward to. “They’ll poke me Walter. They always do.” I said petulantly.
“Nonsense. I told you, it’s a cognitive test.”
“They’ll find an excuse.” I’m not sure why but I was taking a perverse pleasure in making Walter coax me out of that library and once again, for some reason, he was putting up with it.
“Come now Ms. Doyle, the sooner we get you there the sooner it will be over.”
I gave him an incredulous look then sighed. “Very well then.”
“Besides, if they start the testing now, you should be finished in time to join me for tea. That is, if you would care to join me?”
I smiled up at him. “Yes Mr. Dolneaze, I think I would.”
Well, it wasn’t that bad and I did finish on time for tea. Although I did cast several meaningful glances at the fresh band aid on my arm where they had stuck the needle in almost before I had gotten all the way in the door. Walter just smiled slightly and offered me another scone. And thus our fragile friendship was mended.
“No, of course not.”
“I mean it.”
“Hmmm. I begin to wonder if perhaps you are not a bad influence on Miss. Victoria.”
“Walter no!” I gasped.
“But, still, one can not always control who befriends whom...”
I huffed back against the elevator wall unsure if he was teasing me.
“Walter?”
“Yes?”
“Why does Sir Integra want to see me?” I had been so happy to get out of the lab early that I had almost forgotten to feel apprehensive about my meeting. Almost. Our last words to each other after all had been about the possibility of her killing me.
Walter was his usual helpful self. “Perhaps you should ask Sir Integra.”
I shifted uneasily, my wounds suddenly hurting me more than usual. Perhaps Sir Integra had decided to not to take any risks on what I might become. Perhaps she had decided to just get rid of me. My head began to throb. Would she dirty her own hands with the job or get someone else to do it? I glanced up at Walter. Surely not, but then again, Seras had confided in me a few things about Walter. What they used to call him. What he used to do for Hellsing. How even Alucard showed him a level of respect 2nd only to that of Sir Integra. Seras told me how she had seen him in action once. How fast and deadly he was with his weapon of choice, the garrotte wire.
A sense of dread washed through me. The silver wire inside of me seemed to tighten and vibrate. A black fog descended and a voice began whispering in my head “They are going to kill you... They are going to kill you.” over and over. Terrible visions of my own death started flashing through my mind. Sir Integra, her face a haughty, indifferent mask, driving a long wooden stake through my heart. The force of her blows slamming me into the ground and pinning me to the floor. Alucard shooting me in the gut then casually reaching inside my wound to grasp the silver wire then twisting and twisting it until my spine snapped. Even my Seras succumbing to the blood lust and ripping me apart with gluttonous enthusiasm.
“They are going to kill you...They are going to kill you.” My wire began thrumming along with the voice. “No please no!” I thought but the visions continued. Walter strangling me in the elevator... This last image was so real, I could feel the cold monofilament wire wrapping itself about my neck biting into my flesh. Terrified, choking, I reached up and began to claw desperately at my throat. The thrumming of the silver threads increased and they began to grow hot.
“Not real.” I tried to say but could not speak. The wire was choking me, choking me. I pulled my fingers back bloody from the wire. I tried to beg Walter to stop but he just drew the wire tighter smiling coldly his eyes hard steel as the blood began to spill out of my throat.
“No”
The fog grew thicker. “You are dying. He is killing you.” The voice chanted.
I knew that voice.
“No” I said desperately. “Not real.” The silver wire felt molten now. A searing white hot pain shot through me bursting through the fog. “Not real!” I screamed at the voice. “Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!”
Reality slammed back into me like a speeding truck. I gasped air back into my lungs with sheer relief. How long had I been choking? The elevator chimed its stop in answer. Walter had turned towards me as if to say something but I stumbled back from him terrified. The image had been so real. When the doors opened, it was all I could do not to shove him aside and bolt from the elevator.
“Are you all right Ms. Doyle?”
“I, I’m fie.” I stammered. “I seem to be developing a headache.” That much was true. My head hurt horribly. My migraines had been getting progressively worse over the last couple of weeks, especially at night.
I still felt a bit wobbly as we entered Sir Intergra’s office. It was huge and quite tasteful but, like Walters office, very Spartan. Light shone in from several long windows which covered the western wall. They opened out on to a large stone balcony and shared the same lovely view as the library below but her large desk and chair were positioned so that her back was to the windows. There was a large, contemporary portrait of a middle aged man with a kind face hanging on one wall. I recognized him from the photos in the study and surmised it to be Sir Integra’s father the late Lord Hellsing.
Sir Integra herself sat behind her desk studiously pouring over some papers. “Please come in.” She said without looking up.
My footsteps echoing on the marble tile only served to increase the cavernous feeling of the room. There were no other chairs so I stood awkwardly in front of her desk while Walter handed her my charts from the lab.
The winter glare from the windows was exacerbating my headache so I glanced down at my feet then gasped and stumbled back a step as, just for a second, I thought I was standing on a plastic drop cloth. I looked back up at Sir Integra half expecting to see her with a gun in her hand. Instead she was frowning at me with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Are you unwell?” She asked.
I swore I could hear a faint chuckling. I narrowed my eyes and quickly glanced about the room but could not pinpoint the source of the sound. “I seem to have a headache.” I said. More chuckling, louder this time.
“I believe she is being psychically attacked by Alucard.” Said Walter who had appeared at my elbow with a glass of water and some pills. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t even seen him coming. I accepted them with shaking hands. “She seemed to have an incident in the elevator as well.”
I felt the wires inside me start thrumming again. I felt a cold chill and heard a strange chittering sound and I seemed to catch the scent of old, dry earth. I wheeled around to face the wall where the painting was hanging.
“Walter your no fun. You used to be more fun.” Came Alucard’s voice from nowhere. There was a slight waiver in the air just to the left of the portrait then, suddenly, there he was stepping though the wall as if it were a doorway.
“I thought we had agreed not to perform any testing of this nature until after our meeting.” Said Walter striding back over to stand beside Sir Integra’s desk. “A warning at least was in order.”
“I wanted to see if my theory was correct.”
“Still, advanced notice.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“This is highly questionable. I thought she might be having a seizure.”
“Enough.” Sir. Integra interrupted. Both Alucard and Walter immediately deferred to her. I was astounded. “Well, how did she do?”
“You know I’m standing right here.” I said. “I wish people would stop talking around me as if I weren’t here.” This was as bad as the lab.
She fixed me with an icy stare. “I thought to include you in this meeting so that you might be able to provide some input but we can have it just as easily without you.”
Well that shut me up.
“Well?” She said, turning back to Alucard.
“Not bad for a human.” He said. “We had fun didn’t we Angel?”
“I almost died!”
“A love bite, nothing more.”
“You were trying to kill me.”
“Nonsense. If I wanted you dead Angel, you would be.”
“But I was chocking to death! You, Walter...”
“Yes, that was good wasn’t it?”
“No!”
He walked over and stroked my cheek gently then turned to Sir Integra and Walter. “I put some lovely images of us killing her in her mind. She was quite receptive. She especially took to the image of you killing her Walter, that one almost worked. Pity she caught on so quickly.”
Walters face was an emotionless mask but Sir Integra narrowed her eyes. I gave you permission to test her sensitivity, not scare her to death.”
“A game.” He said stroking my hair. “A mere lark. Right Angel?”
“You know how I feel about ensorceling Alucard.”
“I know we don’t want to be vulnerable to it ever again. I seem to recall the last time when both you and the Police Girl almost died.”
Sir Integra said nothing, just stared at him.
“Besides, it woke her up psychically. Made he quite sensitive to the presence. You saw how she felt me through that wall. She may be a bit jumpy around Walter for a while but other than that, no harm done.”
Sir Integra’s gaze shifted over onto me. A look crossed over her face, a mixture of pity and regret. For a moment, she seemed quite small and young behind that big desk. She glanced up at Walter and his carefully maintained impassive facade and her face quickly recovered its stony confident mask.
“Walter, her health?”
“Physical or mental?”
“Both.”
“Well physically she is healing at a remarkable rate and is in fairly good condition. Her body should be able to withstand the increase in activity the training would require.”
“And mentally?”
“Considering all of the factors, not too badly. She is still displaying some signs of trauma. Some odd mood swings which may or may not be directly related to Alucard’s machinations. She is showing a high level of adaptability to her peculiar circumstances but as Alucard has not yet revealed the specific nature of the intended training, it is hard to say what long term impact it will have on her. But, overall, she is relatively stable.”
My cheeks burned red and I stared at my feet a bit hurt and disturbed by Walter’s frank, impersonal analysis of me. Alucard clucked his tongue as he twirled a lock of my hair between his fingers. “What’s wrong lab rat.” He asked. “Walter hurting your feelings again is he?”
I whirled on him, my anger and humiliation welling up inside of me. “Now, now Angel. I thought we agreed that there would be no further of your pointless little tantrums.” He said.
At that moment I wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face, tell them all to go to hell and walk out of that office, out that front door and never look back. I was so sick of them and their stupid organization. As far as I was concerned they could all just .... but I had made a promise.
He tugged my hair breaking my train of thought. “Come now lab rat. There is no cheese but I expect you to run through my maze nonetheless.” I bit my tongue refusing to rise to the bait. “I offer you nothing, only that which I have already given. Your life and the lives of those children. Of course, you could always walk away.”
They were all looking at me, waiting. I closed my eyes. I could. I could just walk away. I probably should. But...no. I sighed and shook my head.
“You will keep your word then?”
I nodded squeezing my eyes shut tighter a single tear running down my cheek.
“Ah yes Angel, there will be tears” I felt his hand brush my cheek. The was a strange hissing sound and a whiff of burnt flesh as he leaned in to whisper. “And anger and pain and I will show you how to use them all.”
“Enough!” Said Sir Integra. “Ms. Doyle, I do not pretend to know what agreement you have made with Alucard and you may very well provide us with some much needed answers but I will not allow you or anyone else to be coerced into this. Please know that you have the right to refuse regardless of whatever obligation you may feel. We’ve all blood enough on our hands here that none should owe us gratitude. If anyone, those children owe their lives to you.”
I opened my eyes and stared at her shocked as she continued. “What we are asking of you may help us to save lives but it will not be pleasant and we will not force you to accept. The choice must be yours.”
We held gazes for a moment longer then I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. My head really did hurt. “I understand” I said “and I thank you but I will keep my word.” I glanced back up. Her face was a stony cold mask again, her moment of humanity gone. Of course, she had learned from the master I thought looking over at Walter’s emotionless face. I glanced at her father’s portrait. She certainly did not learn that from you I thought examining the kind features. I wonder what other tricks your little girl has learned from Walter.
I stole a look at the others in the room. Who were these people I was dealing with? What did I know of them?
A vampire. An inhuman monster that resembled a man but was unhampered by human morality. His reasons for saving me were his own. I was alive because it suited his purposes. I should expect no tender emotions from him such as love or pity.
Walter, a death dealer turned butler who had dedicated his life to the service of this organization. A man who dealt with scores of people every day but always held himself apart. No unnecessary ties. This house, this cause was his family. So why had he been so kind to me?
And they both served this girl. This woman-child who was the unquestioned authority of this place. Firm, uncompromising and zealously aggressive when it came to her charge. For her, the family mission was everything. No time for anything else. She was so young but she bore her burden with the supreme confidence of one born to serve this post. ‘Blood’ on their hands she had said. Yes, I believed it.
“Very well then” she said. “I suggest you get a good night’s rest. We shall begin tomorrow evening. Walter, please see to the details.”
And with that, I was dismissed. So much for getting my input.
I didn’t really care. Walter asked me to wait for him in the library and I practically bolted out the door. Once in the library, I stuffed myself into its highest, remotest corner and released the panic attack.
What had I just done? I had assuaged the conscience of a woman who would not have had the slightest qualms about killing me had I turned out to be something other than human. Had basically given her permission to turn me over to the tender mercies of a vampire so that I could take part in whatever sick, twisted game he had in mind. What was wrong with me?
I was angry. Angry at Alucard for being so cruel. Angry at Walter and Sir Integra for being so cold. Angry at God for asking me to do this and angry at myself for agreeing to do it. Angry! Angry, frustrated and in pain. My wounds still hurt and my migraine was practically blinding me.
By the time Walter found me, the pain had subsided and I had ridden out most of the waves of raw emotion but I was still crying. I wasn’t really upset anymore, I actually felt a bit numb but the tears kept coming nonetheless. Like the incident in front of Walters office, I was not so much crying as leaking. I stood up gingerly as he approached and turned my head away slightly trying to hide the tears.
“I am sorry Ms. Doyle, a psychic attack of that nature can be very unnerving.” He said holding out a crisply starched handkerchief .
My mouth twitched a little not so much at the memory of the attack but at the ‘Ms. Doyle.’. “No. I know it wasn’t real.” I said accepting the offered cloth. “Besides, it’s wasn’t your fault.”
“Still, to use those you know, Miss. Victoria, myself. It distresses me to think that these images might somehow negatively impact your relationship with her.”
“It wont.” I said dabbing my eyes. “I know that Seras would never harm me.” Although I’m not so sure about you Walter, I thought. Ironic that I am less afraid of the vampire than the butler.
Poor Walter, I mused, wiping away at those stupid tears. He thinks I’m crying because of what happened in the elevator. I guess it’s understandable, I will probably have nightmares about it for some time to come. I could still feel the ghost of the garrotte wire cutting into my throat but that was just an illusion. A cruel little game of Alucard’s. Nothing to curl myself up into a ball over. Some ‘Angel’ I would turn out to be if I couldn’t even handle the pre-test. No, I wasn’t crying because of that.
I looked up into Walter’s politely concerned face. How could I possibly explain it to him? Make him understand the utter sense of desolation, the painful loneliness and isolation which seemed to permeate this place. How sometimes it just overwhelmed me. How standing in that office I had felt naked and without allies. How the thought of being alone and unloved frightened me far more than anything Alucard could possibly do to me. How could Walter, a man of solitude and self control, a creature of this desolate place, possibly understand my fears or, if he understood them, how could he not despise me for my weakness?
Perhaps I was being unfair. Perhaps, as usual, I was laying my frustrations at his feet. He was after all , in his own way, being kind to me. This is who he was and it was wrong of me to expect him to be anyone but himself but I wanted so much to believe his kindness had been more than just a chance to observe me. That he wasn’t just doing his job. I don’t know why it mattered to me but it did.
The events of the morning had left me raw and unbalanced. It was best to let him believe that it was the illusion that was upsetting me. I sighed and began walking towards the staircase. This was all dangerously close to wallowing in self pity and I had made a promise not to do that any more.
I just wished I didn’t feel so alone.
“You are not alone.” came the voice.
I froze midway down the spiral staircase listening. The clouds broke and sunlight streamed in from the windows striking the dust motes, painting them gold and causing them to sparkle like diamonds as they danced slowly though the room. It was so lovely, I could not resist stretching out my hand to catch the nearest sunbeam. It felt warm and sweet like liquid gold pouring all around. I cupped my hand and let it pool up then stream out between my fingers. I closed my eyes and stepped into the sunbeam.
I could sense God’s love and the beauty of his creation all around me. That reassuring presence telling me that I was not alone and it was going to be OK. I felt truly happy for the first time in a long while. I was still crying but now they were tears of joy. I was strong enough, I would never be alone and I would always be loved.
I opened my eyes wiping away the last of my tears and reached up to catch another sunbeam sighing with pleasure. “Oh how lovely.” I whispered. I turned to Walter smiling. “A sunbeam can make everything look so beautiful can it not?” I said offering up a tear soaked, sunbeam drenched handkerchief to him.
“Yes.” he said. “ Lovely.” The dust motes danced between us as he stared at me for a moment. The he reached out solemnly, as if I were handing him a holy relic, and gently plucked it from my hand tucking it into his glove.
The somber expression on his face made me laugh. “Oh Walter, I haven’t gone mad I promise. It’s just that this place can be so gloomy and then every once in a while we get a reminder of how lovely it can all be. How something as simple as a sunbeam can give so much pleasure and show us the beauty of God’s creation.” I stopped suddenly feeling awkward under Walter’s puzzled, polite stare. “I guess that sounds a little hokey to you.”
“On the contrary. I thought it was quite eloquent.”
I looked down at my hands hoping he wasn’t just humoring me. Observing me.
“We get so engrossed in our day to day tasks that it becomes easy to miss the small gifts that can give us pleasure.” He said.
“Yes.” I said smiling down at my hands.
“But for now I’m afraid, I must take you back to the lab.”
“No Walter, not that.”
“I am sorry but Dr. Levin insists.”
“Please Walter, I can’t take it. I have no more blood or fluids to spare. There is no more left to give. I am a dried out husk.”
“There’s that glass of water I gave you earlier.”
“Oh now Walter!”
“It’s a memory test nothing more, I assure you.” He said. “They want to get a baseline on your cognitive skills before you begin your training with Alucard tomorrow .”
I groaned inwardly, Something else to look forward to. “They’ll poke me Walter. They always do.” I said petulantly.
“Nonsense. I told you, it’s a cognitive test.”
“They’ll find an excuse.” I’m not sure why but I was taking a perverse pleasure in making Walter coax me out of that library and once again, for some reason, he was putting up with it.
“Come now Ms. Doyle, the sooner we get you there the sooner it will be over.”
I gave him an incredulous look then sighed. “Very well then.”
“Besides, if they start the testing now, you should be finished in time to join me for tea. That is, if you would care to join me?”
I smiled up at him. “Yes Mr. Dolneaze, I think I would.”
Well, it wasn’t that bad and I did finish on time for tea. Although I did cast several meaningful glances at the fresh band aid on my arm where they had stuck the needle in almost before I had gotten all the way in the door. Walter just smiled slightly and offered me another scone. And thus our fragile friendship was mended.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
LETTERS TO HELLSING XVI
That afternoon we arrived at the library to find the door behind the spiral staircase, which had heretofore been locked, standing open. I glanced at Walter, then scurried to the opening for a peek inside. It was a study attached to the library and it had to be the coziest room I had seen since arriving.
There was a dark mahogany desk and chair with the requisite brass lamp with green shade tucked into the back of the room. There was a fireplace with a simple yet elegant wood mantle built into the wall opposite the door where I stood with a lovely oriental rug in front of the stone hearth. A small fire had been laid and was crackling merrily. To my left there was a small couch and two wing chairs in oxblood leather clustered around a low mahogany table on top of a smaller, even lovelier oriental rug. The mahogany was continued in the bookshelves lining three of the four walls which were crammed with novels including row upon row of paperback fiction. The floor to ceiling french door windows from the library continued into the study letting in the bright winter light and affording a lovely view of the gardens and grounds of the estate. I fell in love at once. It just looked so homey.
“What is it?” I asked Walter who had entered the room behind me.
“It’s the late Lord Hellsing’s study.”
“It’s wonderful.” I said. “So...friendly.”
“I thought you might find the seating here more comfortable.”
“Oh yes, thank you!” So, Walter had finally tired of finding me tucked into every odd corner of the library instead of using the chairs. Don’t get me wrong, I love old, hard, wooden chairs. I just don’t like sitting in them. Too much like school I suppose.
“Feel free to browse the collection in here but, please, do not disturb anything in or on the desk.”
“Certainly.”
“Shall we say two hours then?”
“All right.”
Two hours later, I had explored most every nook and cranny of that den. True to my word, I had touched nothing in or on the desk but that had not stopped me from looking.
It was a wonderful old desk, big and heavy with a large green blotter that had seen years of use. It had big, deep drawers with carved brass pulls. It even had an old ink well and quill set off to one side next to a handsome display of antique fountain pens. There was an appointment calendar dated from over 10 years ago with what appeared to be a tortoise shell comb just peeking out from between the pages.
Here there were also those lovely personal touches one would expect to see. An ashtray with a pipe. A paperweight very obviously made with the painstaking care of a young child wishing to please a father “on the occasion of his birthday”. Then, of course there were the photographs. One of a man and a woman holding an infant. Another portrait of a young girl of about twelve (Sir Integra perhaps as a child?) And a snapshot of three men standing in front of the manor. Two of the men, one of whom was the man from the family portrait and one whom I did not recognize, stood with their arms about each other’s shoulders like family or old friends. The third man was Walter. A bit younger perhaps, but it was him. He stood next to the man from the first photo but stiffly and slightly apart. Something about that photo made me feel sad and I suddenly felt like an intruder so I turned my curiosity away from the desk to the rest of the room which, unlike the desk area, showed signs of recent usage.
Several current titles in paperback, mostly science fiction, graced the shelves nearest the windows. I discovered a coaster and some pens resting on a side table next to one of the wing chairs and some recent newspaper editions in the hopper next to the fireplace neatly rolled into tight logs for kindling. I unrolled one. It was a section of yesterday’s New York Times containing the crossword puzzle. It was filled out in precise lettering, in ink, without error or correction. Walter, I thought shaking my head in admiration.
I again opted not to sit on the chairs, as comfy as they might have appeared, but had instead chosen the box seat which had been built into one of the windows just next to the furniture grouping. It was the one thing that did not quite fit into the homey but masculine decor of the room and must have been added later.
It was a white wooden box with a hinged lid and pretty embroidered cushions. When I peeked under the lid I found some lovely knitted afghans, a sewing kit, a sock in need of darning and a small box of delicate tatting. I again felt that sad sense of loss so I quickly selected an afghan and closed the lid.
When Walter returned he found me curled up in the window box under the blanket, ruminating over a Frank Herbert novel trying to decide if I should try re-tackling the Dune series. I glanced up from my book when I heard the mantle clock chime and there he was. I have no idea how long he had been standing there but, just for an instant, I thought I saw a shocked expression on his face as if he had seen a ghost. It was gone as quickly as it came making me almost doubt I had ever seen it. I blinked and his face was once again its usual bland polite mask.
“Hello Walter. Has it been two hours already?”
“Yes. I see you found the blankets.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. It was a bit chilly. I hope it’s OK.”
“No. Of course. I should have put one out for you... You find the room comfortable?”
“Oh yes! Very much so.” I said, relieved to feel the awkward moment lifting. “Have you read all of these?” I asked gesturing towards the shelves.
“Most of them.”
“I’m impressed.”
He shrugged, picking up my little stack. In addition to Frank Herbert I had also picked up a copy of “Will” by G. Gorden Liddy and a couple of Terry Pratchett novels. “Interesting Selection.” He said.
“I felt like reading old friends today.”
“Oh yes?”
“Gloomy days always seem to make me feel retrospective.” I said smiling.
“I see.” He said.
“Yes, a blanket, an old book and something warm to drink and I am quite content.” I was comfortable and stalling for time and he knew it but instead of his usual use of evil butler superpowers (such as, *shudder*, the quiet and patient yet disapproving stare) to roust me from whatever nook I was clinging to, he simply nodded his understanding.
“Well, I am glad to say I think I can be of some assistance in that Ms. Doyle.” He said crossing to the doorway. He retrieved a tray from a side table just outside and placed it on the low coffee table in front of where I was sitting. It contained a tea service with two cups.
“Goodness Walter, it’s like a magic trick. How do you do that? Do you keep trays of tea squirreled away everywhere just in case someone mentions it?”
“Nonsense.” He said. “As you say it is a dreary day and Sir Integra is away so I thought I would take tea early.”
‘Take tea’ I thought. I love it! God bless the British. “Oh yes?” I asked staring meaningfully at the second cup not quite sure on the exact etiquette of inviting oneself to tea.
“I had hoped that you would join me.”
“Oh yes please, it’s very kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it. Shall I pour?”
He poured the tea, Earl Grey my favorite (now that can’t possibly be in that folder. Can it?), and I tried to impress him by eating my scones English fashion, sweeting them one bite at a time, but my butter and preserves always seemed to run out on my plate before I ran out of scone. Walter’s plate, of course, always came out perfect. Each bite with just the right amount of clotted cream (does nothing for me, tastes like wimpy butter) and a dab of preserves a sip of tea and everything gone at the same time. Must be some genetic English skill that has been bred out of my line over the generations.
I also had some trouble balancing my cup and plate from my perch on the window box (In all fairness to me Walter had a side table). Leaning over to repeatedly retrieve my tea from the “coffee” table was uncomfortable and I was not about to rest it on the cushion and risk ruining that lovely embroidery. I suppose I could have just moved over to the other chair or the couch but instead somehow ended up sitting on the floor. Walter was not annoyed by this but actually seemed mildly amused by my “Japanese style” approach to an English high tea. He even told me an amazing story of a barely averted international incident involving Emperor Shōwa and a tea service which occurred during a trip he took to Kyoto some years back.
It was my first tea party at Hellsing and I enjoyed it a lot despite my fear of spilling or breaking something or otherwise behaving like an uncivilized colonial in front of Walter. Other than that, it was very relaxing.
Walter would absolutely not discuss work. My one or two questions about Sir Integra or what was going on in the lab were deftly deflected. I took the hint and I soon understood why. There was something about that room. It seemed to be a little separate space divorced from the rest of the world where one could get away from oneself and just, be. Walter had let me into his sanctuary much like Mr. Wemmick had for Pip in “Great Expectations” . I was touched and honored and felt the fragile beginnings of a friendship forming between two people who had, if very little in common, the need to just not be a part of everything around us for an hour or so.
Afternoon tea with Walter soon became a regular and gladly anticipated part of my day. By unspoken agreement, the relationship we shared in the study had no baring on our interactions during the rest of the day. Walter especially, seemed adept at compartmentalizing all aspects of his life into his varied “roles” serving Sir Integra and the Hellsing estate. I had more trouble with it but tried very hard to respect his wishes in this matter as I did not want to, even inadvertently, betray his trust. I owed him at least that much.
-----------------------------------------
As much as I enjoyed my first tea party in the study, I paid for my pleasure the next day. Word of my little stunt in the barracks had apparently reached the lab staff and they were positively livid over my “premature and unauthorized interactions with other [not potentially but established] non-human subjects.” They demanded both vampires appear in the lab first thing in the morning to begin “interactive testing”. Alucard of course, not only refused, but so vividly and descriptively elaborated his contempt of their summons to the technician who was sent to fetch him that the poor man had to be sedated and sent away for observation.
In answer to their complaint about Alucard’s behavior, Sir Integra had informed them that if they could not even handle one of his mild verbal tirades without a staff member being hospitalized, how did they expect to control him once they got him in the lab and started making him really angry? She suggested that they content themselves with Seras who, while cranky and complaining bitterly, had complied with their summons and was also far less likely to murder the entire lot of them.
So Seras and I spent several hours being poked, prodded and subjected to every stupid test the lab staff could think of until Miss. Pringle got the brilliant idea of doing a scratch allergy test on us with a silver pin and Seras “accidentally” punched her in the bread basket. I am afraid to admit that I was glad to see it happen. Stupid woman. (Good thing Alucard had not been there as he would not have stopped until every single solitary member of the lab staff was, not only dead, but disemboweled, dismembered, run over, burnt and their ashes scattered to the four winds. Unless, of course he was in a bad mood in which case his actions do not bear thinking. Either way, I never would have gotten the blood stains out of my clothing. Stupid, stupid woman).
Needless to say that after that, the staff became a bit more cautious around Seras. They picked Miss. Pringle up off the floor, handed us some specimen cups and pushed us out the door to the bathroom.
As we meandered towards the bathroom, Seras kept glancing at her cup with a puzzled expression. When we reached the door she looked up at me. “What should....I mean I don’t..” She started.
I raised a hand to stop her. “Seras, there are just some things that it’s just too soon to know about each other.”
We looked down at our cups then back at each other.
“We could just leave.”
“Or switch cups.”
We eyed our cups with evil in our hearts.
“Oh, that (giggle) would be wrong.”
“Yes. Yes it would be (giggle) very wrong.”
“Yes, very wrong indeed.” Said a voice behind us. We yelped and turned to find Walter standing about five feet away. How does he do that? He was giving us a thoroughly disapproving look. I felt like the principal had just caught me smoking behind the gym.
“We weren’t really going to do it Walter.” Seras said.
“No, of course not as that would cause confusion, generate more testing and extend the duration of both your time’s in the lab.”
“Oh!” She squeaked.
“Then of course there is the added expense. The wasted staff time. Quite...unacceptable.”
“Yes, of course.” I said with proper chagrin.”
“Ms. Doyle, Sir Integra has requested you meet with her in her office.”
“Certainly. When?”
“Now.”
“OK.”
“Miss. Victoria, you are dismissed from the lab for the remainder of the day.”
We smiled at each other glad to be released from the lab.
“But first...” Said Walter, glancing significantly at the specimen cups.
We sighed and trundled off into the bathroom.
There was a dark mahogany desk and chair with the requisite brass lamp with green shade tucked into the back of the room. There was a fireplace with a simple yet elegant wood mantle built into the wall opposite the door where I stood with a lovely oriental rug in front of the stone hearth. A small fire had been laid and was crackling merrily. To my left there was a small couch and two wing chairs in oxblood leather clustered around a low mahogany table on top of a smaller, even lovelier oriental rug. The mahogany was continued in the bookshelves lining three of the four walls which were crammed with novels including row upon row of paperback fiction. The floor to ceiling french door windows from the library continued into the study letting in the bright winter light and affording a lovely view of the gardens and grounds of the estate. I fell in love at once. It just looked so homey.
“What is it?” I asked Walter who had entered the room behind me.
“It’s the late Lord Hellsing’s study.”
“It’s wonderful.” I said. “So...friendly.”
“I thought you might find the seating here more comfortable.”
“Oh yes, thank you!” So, Walter had finally tired of finding me tucked into every odd corner of the library instead of using the chairs. Don’t get me wrong, I love old, hard, wooden chairs. I just don’t like sitting in them. Too much like school I suppose.
“Feel free to browse the collection in here but, please, do not disturb anything in or on the desk.”
“Certainly.”
“Shall we say two hours then?”
“All right.”
Two hours later, I had explored most every nook and cranny of that den. True to my word, I had touched nothing in or on the desk but that had not stopped me from looking.
It was a wonderful old desk, big and heavy with a large green blotter that had seen years of use. It had big, deep drawers with carved brass pulls. It even had an old ink well and quill set off to one side next to a handsome display of antique fountain pens. There was an appointment calendar dated from over 10 years ago with what appeared to be a tortoise shell comb just peeking out from between the pages.
Here there were also those lovely personal touches one would expect to see. An ashtray with a pipe. A paperweight very obviously made with the painstaking care of a young child wishing to please a father “on the occasion of his birthday”. Then, of course there were the photographs. One of a man and a woman holding an infant. Another portrait of a young girl of about twelve (Sir Integra perhaps as a child?) And a snapshot of three men standing in front of the manor. Two of the men, one of whom was the man from the family portrait and one whom I did not recognize, stood with their arms about each other’s shoulders like family or old friends. The third man was Walter. A bit younger perhaps, but it was him. He stood next to the man from the first photo but stiffly and slightly apart. Something about that photo made me feel sad and I suddenly felt like an intruder so I turned my curiosity away from the desk to the rest of the room which, unlike the desk area, showed signs of recent usage.
Several current titles in paperback, mostly science fiction, graced the shelves nearest the windows. I discovered a coaster and some pens resting on a side table next to one of the wing chairs and some recent newspaper editions in the hopper next to the fireplace neatly rolled into tight logs for kindling. I unrolled one. It was a section of yesterday’s New York Times containing the crossword puzzle. It was filled out in precise lettering, in ink, without error or correction. Walter, I thought shaking my head in admiration.
I again opted not to sit on the chairs, as comfy as they might have appeared, but had instead chosen the box seat which had been built into one of the windows just next to the furniture grouping. It was the one thing that did not quite fit into the homey but masculine decor of the room and must have been added later.
It was a white wooden box with a hinged lid and pretty embroidered cushions. When I peeked under the lid I found some lovely knitted afghans, a sewing kit, a sock in need of darning and a small box of delicate tatting. I again felt that sad sense of loss so I quickly selected an afghan and closed the lid.
When Walter returned he found me curled up in the window box under the blanket, ruminating over a Frank Herbert novel trying to decide if I should try re-tackling the Dune series. I glanced up from my book when I heard the mantle clock chime and there he was. I have no idea how long he had been standing there but, just for an instant, I thought I saw a shocked expression on his face as if he had seen a ghost. It was gone as quickly as it came making me almost doubt I had ever seen it. I blinked and his face was once again its usual bland polite mask.
“Hello Walter. Has it been two hours already?”
“Yes. I see you found the blankets.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. It was a bit chilly. I hope it’s OK.”
“No. Of course. I should have put one out for you... You find the room comfortable?”
“Oh yes! Very much so.” I said, relieved to feel the awkward moment lifting. “Have you read all of these?” I asked gesturing towards the shelves.
“Most of them.”
“I’m impressed.”
He shrugged, picking up my little stack. In addition to Frank Herbert I had also picked up a copy of “Will” by G. Gorden Liddy and a couple of Terry Pratchett novels. “Interesting Selection.” He said.
“I felt like reading old friends today.”
“Oh yes?”
“Gloomy days always seem to make me feel retrospective.” I said smiling.
“I see.” He said.
“Yes, a blanket, an old book and something warm to drink and I am quite content.” I was comfortable and stalling for time and he knew it but instead of his usual use of evil butler superpowers (such as, *shudder*, the quiet and patient yet disapproving stare) to roust me from whatever nook I was clinging to, he simply nodded his understanding.
“Well, I am glad to say I think I can be of some assistance in that Ms. Doyle.” He said crossing to the doorway. He retrieved a tray from a side table just outside and placed it on the low coffee table in front of where I was sitting. It contained a tea service with two cups.
“Goodness Walter, it’s like a magic trick. How do you do that? Do you keep trays of tea squirreled away everywhere just in case someone mentions it?”
“Nonsense.” He said. “As you say it is a dreary day and Sir Integra is away so I thought I would take tea early.”
‘Take tea’ I thought. I love it! God bless the British. “Oh yes?” I asked staring meaningfully at the second cup not quite sure on the exact etiquette of inviting oneself to tea.
“I had hoped that you would join me.”
“Oh yes please, it’s very kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it. Shall I pour?”
He poured the tea, Earl Grey my favorite (now that can’t possibly be in that folder. Can it?), and I tried to impress him by eating my scones English fashion, sweeting them one bite at a time, but my butter and preserves always seemed to run out on my plate before I ran out of scone. Walter’s plate, of course, always came out perfect. Each bite with just the right amount of clotted cream (does nothing for me, tastes like wimpy butter) and a dab of preserves a sip of tea and everything gone at the same time. Must be some genetic English skill that has been bred out of my line over the generations.
I also had some trouble balancing my cup and plate from my perch on the window box (In all fairness to me Walter had a side table). Leaning over to repeatedly retrieve my tea from the “coffee” table was uncomfortable and I was not about to rest it on the cushion and risk ruining that lovely embroidery. I suppose I could have just moved over to the other chair or the couch but instead somehow ended up sitting on the floor. Walter was not annoyed by this but actually seemed mildly amused by my “Japanese style” approach to an English high tea. He even told me an amazing story of a barely averted international incident involving Emperor Shōwa and a tea service which occurred during a trip he took to Kyoto some years back.
It was my first tea party at Hellsing and I enjoyed it a lot despite my fear of spilling or breaking something or otherwise behaving like an uncivilized colonial in front of Walter. Other than that, it was very relaxing.
Walter would absolutely not discuss work. My one or two questions about Sir Integra or what was going on in the lab were deftly deflected. I took the hint and I soon understood why. There was something about that room. It seemed to be a little separate space divorced from the rest of the world where one could get away from oneself and just, be. Walter had let me into his sanctuary much like Mr. Wemmick had for Pip in “Great Expectations” . I was touched and honored and felt the fragile beginnings of a friendship forming between two people who had, if very little in common, the need to just not be a part of everything around us for an hour or so.
Afternoon tea with Walter soon became a regular and gladly anticipated part of my day. By unspoken agreement, the relationship we shared in the study had no baring on our interactions during the rest of the day. Walter especially, seemed adept at compartmentalizing all aspects of his life into his varied “roles” serving Sir Integra and the Hellsing estate. I had more trouble with it but tried very hard to respect his wishes in this matter as I did not want to, even inadvertently, betray his trust. I owed him at least that much.
-----------------------------------------
As much as I enjoyed my first tea party in the study, I paid for my pleasure the next day. Word of my little stunt in the barracks had apparently reached the lab staff and they were positively livid over my “premature and unauthorized interactions with other [not potentially but established] non-human subjects.” They demanded both vampires appear in the lab first thing in the morning to begin “interactive testing”. Alucard of course, not only refused, but so vividly and descriptively elaborated his contempt of their summons to the technician who was sent to fetch him that the poor man had to be sedated and sent away for observation.
In answer to their complaint about Alucard’s behavior, Sir Integra had informed them that if they could not even handle one of his mild verbal tirades without a staff member being hospitalized, how did they expect to control him once they got him in the lab and started making him really angry? She suggested that they content themselves with Seras who, while cranky and complaining bitterly, had complied with their summons and was also far less likely to murder the entire lot of them.
So Seras and I spent several hours being poked, prodded and subjected to every stupid test the lab staff could think of until Miss. Pringle got the brilliant idea of doing a scratch allergy test on us with a silver pin and Seras “accidentally” punched her in the bread basket. I am afraid to admit that I was glad to see it happen. Stupid woman. (Good thing Alucard had not been there as he would not have stopped until every single solitary member of the lab staff was, not only dead, but disemboweled, dismembered, run over, burnt and their ashes scattered to the four winds. Unless, of course he was in a bad mood in which case his actions do not bear thinking. Either way, I never would have gotten the blood stains out of my clothing. Stupid, stupid woman).
Needless to say that after that, the staff became a bit more cautious around Seras. They picked Miss. Pringle up off the floor, handed us some specimen cups and pushed us out the door to the bathroom.
As we meandered towards the bathroom, Seras kept glancing at her cup with a puzzled expression. When we reached the door she looked up at me. “What should....I mean I don’t..” She started.
I raised a hand to stop her. “Seras, there are just some things that it’s just too soon to know about each other.”
We looked down at our cups then back at each other.
“We could just leave.”
“Or switch cups.”
We eyed our cups with evil in our hearts.
“Oh, that (giggle) would be wrong.”
“Yes. Yes it would be (giggle) very wrong.”
“Yes, very wrong indeed.” Said a voice behind us. We yelped and turned to find Walter standing about five feet away. How does he do that? He was giving us a thoroughly disapproving look. I felt like the principal had just caught me smoking behind the gym.
“We weren’t really going to do it Walter.” Seras said.
“No, of course not as that would cause confusion, generate more testing and extend the duration of both your time’s in the lab.”
“Oh!” She squeaked.
“Then of course there is the added expense. The wasted staff time. Quite...unacceptable.”
“Yes, of course.” I said with proper chagrin.”
“Ms. Doyle, Sir Integra has requested you meet with her in her office.”
“Certainly. When?”
“Now.”
“OK.”
“Miss. Victoria, you are dismissed from the lab for the remainder of the day.”
We smiled at each other glad to be released from the lab.
“But first...” Said Walter, glancing significantly at the specimen cups.
We sighed and trundled off into the bathroom.
Monday, October 20, 2008
LETTERS FROM HELLSING XV
“I’m not too sure about this.” Seras said as we approached the barracks.
“It will be fine.” I said.
“They might be angry. There’s a big match on tonight.”
“Don’t care and neither should you.”
“The Captain will be annoyed.”
“Poof him if he can't take a joke.”
“Walter won't like it.”
Oops! OK, that one got me. “Were doing nothing wrong.” I said unconvincingly.
She gave me a credulous look.
“Technically.” I said We both stopped walking, visions of stern Walters radiating disapproval looming before us.
My nerve almost broke. When Walter found out about tonight, and he surely would, he would not be pleased. Technically Seras and I would have done nothing wrong. We were not prisoners. We had not been directly ordered to avoid contact with the rest of the staff, but the implication was certainly there.
This little stunt might very well cause a disruption in the household. Any disruption in the household would most certainly annoy Walter. An annoyed Walter might just find himself too busy to fetch me for walkies. I could very well find myself back to being a full time lab rat.
$%!##) !
I looked at Seras who was standing there indecisively chewing on a finger.
Oh hell Corrine, I thought to myself, what’s wrong with you? Look at her! These stupid frat boys have her cowed because they don’t want a girl in their clubhouse! So maybe you go back to the dungeon for awhile, so what? You can take it for five more months then you’re out! But Seras is stuck here well, indefinitely. She deserves better than this. If they weren’t going to be her friends they could at least show her some respect! They deserved a little freaking out. Seras was my first and only friend here. Risking Walter’s displeasure was the least I could do for her! Plus, it would be funny.
“Oh well.” I said as a smile spread across my face. “Let him not like it. It’s girls night out and he’s not invited.”
Seras relaxed and grinned back. This was going to be fun.
--------------
It really was a nice lounge, I reflected as I sat in Walter’s office pretending to listen to the senior captain or lieutenant or whatever the heck he was screaming about “undead creatures mucking about in [his] barracks !“.
Yep. Big TV, dartboard, pool table even...
“Exposing my men to a potential bio-hazard!”
Nice comfy couch, stereo...
“...depraved sophomoric behavior!”
Kitchenette. Put in a wet bar and a dance floor in there and you could have a pretty decent nightclub. ‘Club Hellsing; no service to the undead or the potentially not human’.
“Ms. Doyle.”
“Yes Mr. Dollneaz?”
“What do you have to say about all of this?”
I looked up with an innocent expression. “I don’t see what all of the fuss is about. We just wanted to watch a little TV.”
“Nonsense!” Interrupted the Cpt./Lt. “You came in to disrupt my men!”
“Disrupt your men? I asked for pepper.”
“You pretended to drink blood!”
“I did not. I pretended to drink tomato juice. I can’t help it if they just assumed it was blood.”
“You had it in a plasma bag!”
“I didn’t want to spill it on the way over. It’s medically prescribed you know.”
“You led them to believe that you were drinking blood!”
“Nonsense, who puts pepper and celery in blood?”
“You feigned disgust at the thought of drinking it.”
“That was not feigned disgust. It was tomato juice after all wasn’t it? Tomato juice is disgusting.”
The captain dismissed me with a wave of what, I am sure, was unfeigned disgust.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but did we break any regulations by coming to the lounge or break any rules while we were there?”
“Technically no.”
“So then, what’s the problem?”
The captain turned to Walter. “I will not have my men disrupted in this manner! Our jobs are stressful enough without having to deal with...with...”
“Deal with what?” I jumped up, surprising even myself with my outburst. “Why don’t you just come out and say it!”
“Ms. Doyle.”
“I’m sorry Walter but it’s bad enough for the men to treat Seras this way, but her own commander? Perhaps she would of been able to earn their acceptance, their friendship even, if he had had the courage to treat her like a member of the unit instead of systematically segregating her from the others and...” I turned on the captain panting with anger and pain, my wound throbbing in time with the pounding of my head and heart. “What chance did she have? You turned her into a pariah! Treated her like an animal! Do you have any idea of what she has gone through?”
“Mz. Doyle!” My head swung back towards the desk. “That is quite sufficient thank you. Please wait for me outside.” Walter’s expression brooked no argument. My jaw snapped shut my anger completely derailed. I nodded and staggered towards the door.
My ears were buzzing and I had a headache. I was unnerved and a bit frightened. Where was this anger coming from? This was not like me at all. This was like the incident on the steps on my first day here. A sort of blind uncontrollable wave of rage. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t how I behaved. I was supposed to be nice and cooperative. Always trying to get along with others. That’s who I was. That’s who I wanted to be. Wasn’t it?
There was a chair just outside the door, I numbly sat down. Something wet hit the back of my hand. I stared at it uncomprehending for a moment then reached up to touch my cheek. My face was flushed and wet. The skin was so hot it almost felt steamed. I hadn’t even known I was crying.
It was strange. I did not feel angry or sad anymore but tears still streamed hot and wet down my cheeks. Perhaps I truly was going mad.
I sat quietly for some time absently wiping at my tears which continued to flow in a slow but steady stream down my face. At least the buzzing and the headache were gone. My reverie was interrupted when a blurry green silhouette entered my field of vision and spoke to me.
“Ah! What’s this? You are leaking.”
I blinked a few times and the image resolved itself into Captain Burnadett commander of the Wild Geese. According to Seras, the term “Wild Geese” referred to the mercenary troops Sir Integra had been forced to hire to temporarily replace some men which had been lost recently in a particularly brutal attack on the estate. I liked him. He had been the one who had passed me the pepper.
He was a comely, if not somewhat scruffy looking man. His kind eye and wicked smile belied the lines and scars on his face which spoke of experience well beyond his 30 odd years. He wore less of a uniform than a military amalgam. It gave the impression that an army surplus store explosion had occurred in his immediate vicinity.
A handkerchief appeared like a conjurers trick from one of his many pockets. He offered it with a flourish. “Is my pretty new friend sad?” His accent, like his uniform seemed to come from everywhere but his heart, so he had told me, would always be French.
“Not so much sad as confused. Oh, thank you.” I said accepting the handkerchief .
I was confused too. I had thought the night had gone rather well. Only a few men had reacted hostilely when Seras and I had shown up. Most of them had simply but pointedly ignored us. Admittedly, it had gotten a bit dicey when we pulled out the plasma bags and began to assemble our “cocktails”. A few of the men had even left with horrified expressions on their faces but as soon as the rest realized it was tomato juice and not blood in our ‘Bloody Marys’ , they all thought it was pretty funny. Some of them even joined us in a toast to Sir Integra.
It had been Captain Burnadett who had broken the ice by passing the pepper over when I complained about the taste and one of his own men, a private Zelig, who had taken me up on my offer of trying my drink. He had laughed, declared there was too much Tabasco sauce in it and had offered me a diet cola instead.
After that, the room had warmed up a little to us. A few of the men, Capt. Burnadett and pvt. Zelig among them, even pulled us over and found us space on the couch. We had been arguing over the finer points of cricket (a game who’s rules I will never comprehend no matter how much PBS I watch) when the klaxon had sounded and Seras and most of the men had to leave.
Long story short. I had trundled off to bed that night thinking happy thoughts and feeling a bit proud of my clever self only to be informed the next morning that I was not to go to the lab but to report immediately to Walter’s office so I could be chewed out by Captain Underpants who hadn’t even been in the lounge last night.
“So Capt. Chambers has decided to make a situation of last night?”
“Apparently so.”
“Yes, they told me in the barracks. I came as soon as I heard. He, of course, could not bothered to wait until I returned from the mission to consult me for my opinion before running like some little girl to Mr. Walter. Ah, no offense.”
“Apparently not.”
“Perhaps I shall give my opinion now ne pas?”
“Sure.”
“He is a swine to yell at such a pretty lady.”
“I think so.” I said smiling slightly.
“I should thrash him for making my friend cry!”
“Oh, he didn’t.”
“Surely not Mr. Walter?”
“No. No, of course not.”
“Then why, may I ask, are you crying?”
“Good question. I’m not sure. But I’ve stopped now see? Thank you.” I said smiling and holding out his handkerchief to him.
He encircled my outstretched hand in his. “Women are truly strange yet wonderful creatures.” He said smiling back at me. He bent his head and brushed his lips lightly over my knuckles (French men do this quite well) while deftly removing the cloth and returning it to his pocket in one swift movement. He straightened up and gave me a wicked smile. “Now I think I should go give my opinion of Capt. Chambers.”
“You mean give your opinion to him?”
“This too.” He said grinning. “Adieu my pretty friend. We shall see each other soon? We will discuss your silly American football.”
I would like that very much.”
“Good, good.” He said still smiling. He turned to the door, knocked once then, putting a theatrically stern look on his face, marched into Walter’s office.
I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling out loud. There was a calculated charm to his Gallic chivalry that made him irresistible. I am quite sure that, in addition to a long string of girlfriends, there were countless little old ladies dotted across the continent just waiting to feed him a hot meal or bake his favorite cookies.
He was just so incredibly likable but, like Walter, I could tell that there was blood in his past and that, again like Walter, he was more than capable of performing tasks without flinching that most of us would be too squeamish to even consider.
That is probably why I was fascinated by them both. You see, in general, I am not a strong willed person and, recent events not withstanding, tend to be quite soft and non-confrontational. I don’t argue well. I tend to feel guilty when others are angry with me and try to appease them so they will like me and showing my anger makes me feel like a bad person. Besides, people tend to just pat me on the head and dismiss me when I become indignant.
Now, when I was younger, there were a few instances where I had truly lost my temper in a very disturbing and frightening fashion. A rage would come over me and I would literally see red, then black. I would lose all control over my words and actions lashing out violently. It did not happen often but when it did it was horrifying and I was always ashamed afterwords. Once I left adolescence I seemed better able to cope with my anger and there had been no further episodes but I am still terrified of that part of myself.
Now, lately angry Corrine seems to be leaking out more and more. Leaving me an emotional train wreck. I admire people like Walter and Capt. Burnadett who are strong, forceful, capable of performing any task but always, always in control.
Walter. I just hoped he wasn’t too angry with me.
My thoughts were interrupted when the office door opened. Capt. Chambers strode out fuming. He spared me one glance of pure malice before storming down the hallway. Capt. Burnadett strolled out casually behind him, his face a careful study in neutrality. “Mr. Walter asked me to ask you to go in.” He said.
“Thank you.” I said nervously trying to get a read on what had happened from his expression to no avail but as I stood, he slipped a small piece of paper into my hand.
“Adieu mon petit.” he whispered giving me a quick wink before turning and following Capt. Chambers down the hall.
I entered Walter’s office with mild trepidation unsure where I stood. I glanced at Walter where he sat behind his desk for a clue. I thought Capt. Burnadett had a neutral expression but he was a psychotic bundle of nerves compared to Walter’s Tableau Rosa. I must remember never to play poker with either of them.
“Please have a seat Ms. Doyle.” He arranged a few papers as I nervously sat down. He folded his hands on the desk and affixed me with a stern glance that could have unnerved a suicide bomber. Walter is proof positive that neither noise nor physical contact is necessary to induce torture.
I shifted awkwardly in my seat, glancing around the office to avoid that stare. It was small, functional and very tidy but disturbingly impersonal. No mementos, photographs or personal ephemera of any kind. Not even a promotional pen from a visiting vendor. It was less of an office than the Platonic ideal of an office. A study in pure functionality. Being a highly sentimental pack rat myself I found it well, disturbing.
A clearing of the throat brought me back to Walter. “Ms. Doyle,” He began, “Despite the unusual nature of our charter, we run a professional organization here. Captain Chamber’s men especially are under a great deal of stress so we have an extremely low tolerance for the introduction of any stress by external factors.” His piercing grey stare left no doubt that the name of the external stress being introduced was Corrine.
I opened my mouth trying to form some sort of appropriate response but Walter’s gaze had robbed me of speech. Fortunately, Walter chose to continue his lecture thus mercifully ending my useless machinations.
“That being said. We have no tolerance of any of our staff being treated in an unprofessional manner by their superiors. Nor can we allow our fighters to be excluded from any barracks facility without cause. As a result, it has been made clear that Miss. Victoria is to have full access to any barracks facility, appropriate to her gender, any time she wishes to use them.
'Hurray!' I shouted in my head.
“But,” Walter added cutting short my internal victory dance. “I am sorry to say that as result of your little escapade, it has been decided that any non-senior staff members not attached to one of our fighting units, may not visit the barracks without express written consent of said senior staff or by invitation of an officer of the command unit. This means you Ms. Doyle and it will be strictly enforced.”
“Oh dear.” I sad not caring all that much. Then, a thought struck me. “Walter?”
“Yes?”
“You have to have known Seras was being ostracized by the men in the unit.”
“I was aware of the situation, yes.”
“Then why didn’t you put a stop to it?”
“I was waiting for Miss. Victoria to do it herself.” He raised a hand belying my unspoken protest. “Ms. Doyle, while I can control the policy and official conduct of the staff towards each other while on duty, it is not within my powers, nor should it be, to control their attitudes or personal opinions of one another. Any control or forced acceptance we might exert would be artificial and would only breed tension and generate further resentment.”
“More stress?”
“Yes. Only Miss. Victoria’s actions, or lack thereof, could change the attitudes of her fellow unit members towards her.”
“I see.”
“Of course I was beginning to despair of Miss. Victoria ever taking action. Even in life, it seems, she was never terribly assertive. The recent loss of her first commander and several of our men seemed only to make her less inclined to seek out human contact but her attitude seems to have shifted greatly in these last few weeks.” He paused to give me one of those appraising looks again. “Perhaps she is turning a corner.”
“Perhaps, but Walter?”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid Seras won’t visit the barracks without me.”
“Probably not.”
“I don’t suppose you would give me written permission to go there?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then it was all for nothing?”
“Possibly. Unless, that is, you happen to receive a written invitation from one of the unit commanders.”
I took a startled glance at the folded piece of paper I had been holding in my hand.
“But that’s not very likely to happen is it?”
“No, of course not.” I said clutching the paper tightly. Was that a hint of a smile on Walter’s face?
“Consider yourself admonished Mz. Doyle.”
“Yes, of course. I promise Walter that I will not visit the barracks again without invitation.”
“Very good. Then I shall see you at 1:00 pm?” He said dismissing me.
“Yes Walter. Thank you.”
“Ms. Doyle?” He said as I was opening the door. I turned back. Yes, there it was again that hint of a smile. “Please do not take Captain Burnadett up on his invitation for at least 48 hours. It is the finals you know.”
“Yes Mr. Dollneaz.” I said, then closed the door quickly before he could change his mind about this afternoon.
“It will be fine.” I said.
“They might be angry. There’s a big match on tonight.”
“Don’t care and neither should you.”
“The Captain will be annoyed.”
“Poof him if he can't take a joke.”
“Walter won't like it.”
Oops! OK, that one got me. “Were doing nothing wrong.” I said unconvincingly.
She gave me a credulous look.
“Technically.” I said We both stopped walking, visions of stern Walters radiating disapproval looming before us.
My nerve almost broke. When Walter found out about tonight, and he surely would, he would not be pleased. Technically Seras and I would have done nothing wrong. We were not prisoners. We had not been directly ordered to avoid contact with the rest of the staff, but the implication was certainly there.
This little stunt might very well cause a disruption in the household. Any disruption in the household would most certainly annoy Walter. An annoyed Walter might just find himself too busy to fetch me for walkies. I could very well find myself back to being a full time lab rat.
$%!##) !
I looked at Seras who was standing there indecisively chewing on a finger.
Oh hell Corrine, I thought to myself, what’s wrong with you? Look at her! These stupid frat boys have her cowed because they don’t want a girl in their clubhouse! So maybe you go back to the dungeon for awhile, so what? You can take it for five more months then you’re out! But Seras is stuck here well, indefinitely. She deserves better than this. If they weren’t going to be her friends they could at least show her some respect! They deserved a little freaking out. Seras was my first and only friend here. Risking Walter’s displeasure was the least I could do for her! Plus, it would be funny.
“Oh well.” I said as a smile spread across my face. “Let him not like it. It’s girls night out and he’s not invited.”
Seras relaxed and grinned back. This was going to be fun.
--------------
It really was a nice lounge, I reflected as I sat in Walter’s office pretending to listen to the senior captain or lieutenant or whatever the heck he was screaming about “undead creatures mucking about in [his] barracks !“.
Yep. Big TV, dartboard, pool table even...
“Exposing my men to a potential bio-hazard!”
Nice comfy couch, stereo...
“...depraved sophomoric behavior!”
Kitchenette. Put in a wet bar and a dance floor in there and you could have a pretty decent nightclub. ‘Club Hellsing; no service to the undead or the potentially not human’.
“Ms. Doyle.”
“Yes Mr. Dollneaz?”
“What do you have to say about all of this?”
I looked up with an innocent expression. “I don’t see what all of the fuss is about. We just wanted to watch a little TV.”
“Nonsense!” Interrupted the Cpt./Lt. “You came in to disrupt my men!”
“Disrupt your men? I asked for pepper.”
“You pretended to drink blood!”
“I did not. I pretended to drink tomato juice. I can’t help it if they just assumed it was blood.”
“You had it in a plasma bag!”
“I didn’t want to spill it on the way over. It’s medically prescribed you know.”
“You led them to believe that you were drinking blood!”
“Nonsense, who puts pepper and celery in blood?”
“You feigned disgust at the thought of drinking it.”
“That was not feigned disgust. It was tomato juice after all wasn’t it? Tomato juice is disgusting.”
The captain dismissed me with a wave of what, I am sure, was unfeigned disgust.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but did we break any regulations by coming to the lounge or break any rules while we were there?”
“Technically no.”
“So then, what’s the problem?”
The captain turned to Walter. “I will not have my men disrupted in this manner! Our jobs are stressful enough without having to deal with...with...”
“Deal with what?” I jumped up, surprising even myself with my outburst. “Why don’t you just come out and say it!”
“Ms. Doyle.”
“I’m sorry Walter but it’s bad enough for the men to treat Seras this way, but her own commander? Perhaps she would of been able to earn their acceptance, their friendship even, if he had had the courage to treat her like a member of the unit instead of systematically segregating her from the others and...” I turned on the captain panting with anger and pain, my wound throbbing in time with the pounding of my head and heart. “What chance did she have? You turned her into a pariah! Treated her like an animal! Do you have any idea of what she has gone through?”
“Mz. Doyle!” My head swung back towards the desk. “That is quite sufficient thank you. Please wait for me outside.” Walter’s expression brooked no argument. My jaw snapped shut my anger completely derailed. I nodded and staggered towards the door.
My ears were buzzing and I had a headache. I was unnerved and a bit frightened. Where was this anger coming from? This was not like me at all. This was like the incident on the steps on my first day here. A sort of blind uncontrollable wave of rage. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t how I behaved. I was supposed to be nice and cooperative. Always trying to get along with others. That’s who I was. That’s who I wanted to be. Wasn’t it?
There was a chair just outside the door, I numbly sat down. Something wet hit the back of my hand. I stared at it uncomprehending for a moment then reached up to touch my cheek. My face was flushed and wet. The skin was so hot it almost felt steamed. I hadn’t even known I was crying.
It was strange. I did not feel angry or sad anymore but tears still streamed hot and wet down my cheeks. Perhaps I truly was going mad.
I sat quietly for some time absently wiping at my tears which continued to flow in a slow but steady stream down my face. At least the buzzing and the headache were gone. My reverie was interrupted when a blurry green silhouette entered my field of vision and spoke to me.
“Ah! What’s this? You are leaking.”
I blinked a few times and the image resolved itself into Captain Burnadett commander of the Wild Geese. According to Seras, the term “Wild Geese” referred to the mercenary troops Sir Integra had been forced to hire to temporarily replace some men which had been lost recently in a particularly brutal attack on the estate. I liked him. He had been the one who had passed me the pepper.
He was a comely, if not somewhat scruffy looking man. His kind eye and wicked smile belied the lines and scars on his face which spoke of experience well beyond his 30 odd years. He wore less of a uniform than a military amalgam. It gave the impression that an army surplus store explosion had occurred in his immediate vicinity.
A handkerchief appeared like a conjurers trick from one of his many pockets. He offered it with a flourish. “Is my pretty new friend sad?” His accent, like his uniform seemed to come from everywhere but his heart, so he had told me, would always be French.
“Not so much sad as confused. Oh, thank you.” I said accepting the handkerchief .
I was confused too. I had thought the night had gone rather well. Only a few men had reacted hostilely when Seras and I had shown up. Most of them had simply but pointedly ignored us. Admittedly, it had gotten a bit dicey when we pulled out the plasma bags and began to assemble our “cocktails”. A few of the men had even left with horrified expressions on their faces but as soon as the rest realized it was tomato juice and not blood in our ‘Bloody Marys’ , they all thought it was pretty funny. Some of them even joined us in a toast to Sir Integra.
It had been Captain Burnadett who had broken the ice by passing the pepper over when I complained about the taste and one of his own men, a private Zelig, who had taken me up on my offer of trying my drink. He had laughed, declared there was too much Tabasco sauce in it and had offered me a diet cola instead.
After that, the room had warmed up a little to us. A few of the men, Capt. Burnadett and pvt. Zelig among them, even pulled us over and found us space on the couch. We had been arguing over the finer points of cricket (a game who’s rules I will never comprehend no matter how much PBS I watch) when the klaxon had sounded and Seras and most of the men had to leave.
Long story short. I had trundled off to bed that night thinking happy thoughts and feeling a bit proud of my clever self only to be informed the next morning that I was not to go to the lab but to report immediately to Walter’s office so I could be chewed out by Captain Underpants who hadn’t even been in the lounge last night.
“So Capt. Chambers has decided to make a situation of last night?”
“Apparently so.”
“Yes, they told me in the barracks. I came as soon as I heard. He, of course, could not bothered to wait until I returned from the mission to consult me for my opinion before running like some little girl to Mr. Walter. Ah, no offense.”
“Apparently not.”
“Perhaps I shall give my opinion now ne pas?”
“Sure.”
“He is a swine to yell at such a pretty lady.”
“I think so.” I said smiling slightly.
“I should thrash him for making my friend cry!”
“Oh, he didn’t.”
“Surely not Mr. Walter?”
“No. No, of course not.”
“Then why, may I ask, are you crying?”
“Good question. I’m not sure. But I’ve stopped now see? Thank you.” I said smiling and holding out his handkerchief to him.
He encircled my outstretched hand in his. “Women are truly strange yet wonderful creatures.” He said smiling back at me. He bent his head and brushed his lips lightly over my knuckles (French men do this quite well) while deftly removing the cloth and returning it to his pocket in one swift movement. He straightened up and gave me a wicked smile. “Now I think I should go give my opinion of Capt. Chambers.”
“You mean give your opinion to him?”
“This too.” He said grinning. “Adieu my pretty friend. We shall see each other soon? We will discuss your silly American football.”
I would like that very much.”
“Good, good.” He said still smiling. He turned to the door, knocked once then, putting a theatrically stern look on his face, marched into Walter’s office.
I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling out loud. There was a calculated charm to his Gallic chivalry that made him irresistible. I am quite sure that, in addition to a long string of girlfriends, there were countless little old ladies dotted across the continent just waiting to feed him a hot meal or bake his favorite cookies.
He was just so incredibly likable but, like Walter, I could tell that there was blood in his past and that, again like Walter, he was more than capable of performing tasks without flinching that most of us would be too squeamish to even consider.
That is probably why I was fascinated by them both. You see, in general, I am not a strong willed person and, recent events not withstanding, tend to be quite soft and non-confrontational. I don’t argue well. I tend to feel guilty when others are angry with me and try to appease them so they will like me and showing my anger makes me feel like a bad person. Besides, people tend to just pat me on the head and dismiss me when I become indignant.
Now, when I was younger, there were a few instances where I had truly lost my temper in a very disturbing and frightening fashion. A rage would come over me and I would literally see red, then black. I would lose all control over my words and actions lashing out violently. It did not happen often but when it did it was horrifying and I was always ashamed afterwords. Once I left adolescence I seemed better able to cope with my anger and there had been no further episodes but I am still terrified of that part of myself.
Now, lately angry Corrine seems to be leaking out more and more. Leaving me an emotional train wreck. I admire people like Walter and Capt. Burnadett who are strong, forceful, capable of performing any task but always, always in control.
Walter. I just hoped he wasn’t too angry with me.
My thoughts were interrupted when the office door opened. Capt. Chambers strode out fuming. He spared me one glance of pure malice before storming down the hallway. Capt. Burnadett strolled out casually behind him, his face a careful study in neutrality. “Mr. Walter asked me to ask you to go in.” He said.
“Thank you.” I said nervously trying to get a read on what had happened from his expression to no avail but as I stood, he slipped a small piece of paper into my hand.
“Adieu mon petit.” he whispered giving me a quick wink before turning and following Capt. Chambers down the hall.
I entered Walter’s office with mild trepidation unsure where I stood. I glanced at Walter where he sat behind his desk for a clue. I thought Capt. Burnadett had a neutral expression but he was a psychotic bundle of nerves compared to Walter’s Tableau Rosa. I must remember never to play poker with either of them.
“Please have a seat Ms. Doyle.” He arranged a few papers as I nervously sat down. He folded his hands on the desk and affixed me with a stern glance that could have unnerved a suicide bomber. Walter is proof positive that neither noise nor physical contact is necessary to induce torture.
I shifted awkwardly in my seat, glancing around the office to avoid that stare. It was small, functional and very tidy but disturbingly impersonal. No mementos, photographs or personal ephemera of any kind. Not even a promotional pen from a visiting vendor. It was less of an office than the Platonic ideal of an office. A study in pure functionality. Being a highly sentimental pack rat myself I found it well, disturbing.
A clearing of the throat brought me back to Walter. “Ms. Doyle,” He began, “Despite the unusual nature of our charter, we run a professional organization here. Captain Chamber’s men especially are under a great deal of stress so we have an extremely low tolerance for the introduction of any stress by external factors.” His piercing grey stare left no doubt that the name of the external stress being introduced was Corrine.
I opened my mouth trying to form some sort of appropriate response but Walter’s gaze had robbed me of speech. Fortunately, Walter chose to continue his lecture thus mercifully ending my useless machinations.
“That being said. We have no tolerance of any of our staff being treated in an unprofessional manner by their superiors. Nor can we allow our fighters to be excluded from any barracks facility without cause. As a result, it has been made clear that Miss. Victoria is to have full access to any barracks facility, appropriate to her gender, any time she wishes to use them.
'Hurray!' I shouted in my head.
“But,” Walter added cutting short my internal victory dance. “I am sorry to say that as result of your little escapade, it has been decided that any non-senior staff members not attached to one of our fighting units, may not visit the barracks without express written consent of said senior staff or by invitation of an officer of the command unit. This means you Ms. Doyle and it will be strictly enforced.”
“Oh dear.” I sad not caring all that much. Then, a thought struck me. “Walter?”
“Yes?”
“You have to have known Seras was being ostracized by the men in the unit.”
“I was aware of the situation, yes.”
“Then why didn’t you put a stop to it?”
“I was waiting for Miss. Victoria to do it herself.” He raised a hand belying my unspoken protest. “Ms. Doyle, while I can control the policy and official conduct of the staff towards each other while on duty, it is not within my powers, nor should it be, to control their attitudes or personal opinions of one another. Any control or forced acceptance we might exert would be artificial and would only breed tension and generate further resentment.”
“More stress?”
“Yes. Only Miss. Victoria’s actions, or lack thereof, could change the attitudes of her fellow unit members towards her.”
“I see.”
“Of course I was beginning to despair of Miss. Victoria ever taking action. Even in life, it seems, she was never terribly assertive. The recent loss of her first commander and several of our men seemed only to make her less inclined to seek out human contact but her attitude seems to have shifted greatly in these last few weeks.” He paused to give me one of those appraising looks again. “Perhaps she is turning a corner.”
“Perhaps, but Walter?”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid Seras won’t visit the barracks without me.”
“Probably not.”
“I don’t suppose you would give me written permission to go there?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then it was all for nothing?”
“Possibly. Unless, that is, you happen to receive a written invitation from one of the unit commanders.”
I took a startled glance at the folded piece of paper I had been holding in my hand.
“But that’s not very likely to happen is it?”
“No, of course not.” I said clutching the paper tightly. Was that a hint of a smile on Walter’s face?
“Consider yourself admonished Mz. Doyle.”
“Yes, of course. I promise Walter that I will not visit the barracks again without invitation.”
“Very good. Then I shall see you at 1:00 pm?” He said dismissing me.
“Yes Walter. Thank you.”
“Ms. Doyle?” He said as I was opening the door. I turned back. Yes, there it was again that hint of a smile. “Please do not take Captain Burnadett up on his invitation for at least 48 hours. It is the finals you know.”
“Yes Mr. Dollneaz.” I said, then closed the door quickly before he could change his mind about this afternoon.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
LETTERS FROM HELLSING XIV
By the time Walter returned, I had worked my way up to the top of the spiral staircase in the corner by the windows which allowed access to the books on the second story level via a floating balcony. I had tucked myself up into the railing of the top turn, (I often find stairs more comfy than conventional seating. I am also partial to a nice sturdy shelving cart), and was surrounded by several interesting volumes I had accumulated along the way. I was so absorbed in the books that I didn’t notice him until I heard him politely clear his throat.
“Ms. Doyle?”
“Mr. Dollneaz?”
He was standing at the base of the stairs a bemused expression on his face as if he were trying to determine the best method of explaining to me the use of those pretty objects often referred to as chairs or perhaps he was just remembering the last time he had to deal with me on a staircase. I could not help but smile.
“I see you managed to find one or two things to your liking?”
“Oh yes! I don’t suppose I could borrow one?”
“As many as you wish.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I quickly gathered up the books around me into a nice, neat stack, scooped them into my arms then, using my chin to steady the pile, proceeded to wobble my way down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, Walter examined my enormous
stack with a critical eye.
“Are you sure you want so many?”
“Oh, um, too many?”
“No, if you think you can carry them.” He said. “Of course you could always take a few now then get the rest tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, I can bring you back here again tomorrow, if you would like.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I trotted over to a table and lowered my stack. I tried sorting them by age, dewy decimal order, even by color and size but could not produce a single volume I wished to leave behind. I stared at the stack hopelessly. Come on girl get a grip, I chided myself, this isn’t exactly “Sophie’s Choice”. Shaking my head at my own greed, I reached out and grabbed three volumes.
A book on illuminated manuscripts, a quirky pre WWI pastoral novel and, of course, a collection of the works of Jules Verne. I gave the remaining books an affectionate pat before turning to Walter. “Should I re-shelve these?”
“No need. You will want to look at them tomorrow.” He said opening the door for me.
The door leading to the hall.
Which lead to the elevator.
Which lead back to that horrible place.
Yet, somehow in that moment, I did not mind so much. Seras had promised to come visit me as soon as she woke up that evening and Walter had armed me books to read while the staff ignored me in the lab the next morning.
A friend. I had a friend. Somehow, just knowing there was one person in this horrible place who gave a damn about me. Who cared how I felt or even if I lived or died. Somehow, it made rest of it almost bearable. And now, a library to explore and books to read? I was actually fairly close to almost not being miserable.
I glanced up at Walter with my own appraising look as I approached the door. Who exactly was he?
More than a butler? Obviously.
Powerful? Yes. From what little I had seen and heard he seemed to rule over the household with unquestioned authority. Even over the lab staff.
Dangerous? Possibly.
Smart? Definitely!
Who was he to me?
My boss? My chaperon? My warden? Unknown.
A friend? I don’t think he makes friends.
An ally? Too soon to tell.
Well, whatever his motives, he had done me a great kindness today and I would not forget it.
That night with Seras, there was more laughter and less tears. We gossiped, sang, and told each other funny stories as we played some old board games she had dug up from somewhere. We even tried to talk Walter into playing Snakes and Ladders with us when he showed up with dinner. His polite refusal and look of mild horror at our appearance, (we had “done” each other’s hair*), sent us into giggling fits very unbecoming of both a young vampire and a professional librarian.
*Most men just don’t understand the therapeutic value of girls “doing” each others hair. It’s a form of bonding. It’s not meant to look good. Boys hurl phlegm and punch each other. Girls go through each others purses and do unspeakable things to each others hair. Judging from the incredulous look on Walter’s face, Sir Integra had obviously not hosted a lot of slumber parties as a child.
--------------------------
Over the next week or so we settled into something of a routine. Mornings were spent trying to get the lab staff to refer to me in the first person. Then, around midday, usually after one good departing jab with the needle from miss Pringle, Walter would fetch me for some exercise or “Walkies” as I liked to call it. Not from any low self esteem issues or anything mind you, I just like to make Seras giggle when I say it. We would wander through different areas of the manor but somehow always ended up back at the library just as my legs were giving out so I could take a “little rest” while Walter attended to “one or two things”.
While we walked, our conversation touched on a wide variety of subjects but we never seemed to discuss my alleged humanity or current events. He was always particularly interested in what I was reading. He was quite well read and despite the fact that there seemed to be very little modern fiction in the collection, he seemed to be up on most of my favorite new authors. I suspect, like so many bibliophiles, he was an intellectual snob on the surface but in the secret recesses of his heart he longed for pulp fiction.
If only my little boy were with me I could almost be content in this weird Gothic novel my life had become. His absence hurt worse than my still aching wounds. Still, every afternoon for a few hours, I had free reign of the library. That, and my friendship with Seras, were the best medicine this place had to offer. I wanted to find a way to thank Walter for the walks and not telling the lab about the time Seras and I were spending together. Verbal expressions of gratitude were always deflected or dismissed but the book in the bindery had given me an idea of how I might do it.
My nights belonged to the undead. Well, an undead anyway. I only saw Alucard on rare occasions and usually then he only popped into my room to say something cruel to Seras or something disturbingly ominous to me or just something horrible to us both. He seemed to take great pleasure in berating his little “creations”. Usually though it was just Seras and me and no one else. Apparently, I was being ostracized because no one knew for sure what it is I was. Seras, on the other hand, was being ostracized because everyone knew for certain exactly what she was. So what, we had each other.
We mostly hung out in my room. Seras would sometimes sneak me a treat from the kitchens to supplement the horribly bland diet Dr. Levin had me on. She would use her “abilities” to sneak in and out unseen. Where the cook must of thought all of the roast beef and Oreos were going I don’t know.
We would play cards or board games or do puzzles. Mostly what Seras liked is when I sang to her. There was no radio or TV in our rooms, the stone walls, floors and ceilings making reception impossible and my Walkman had been lost that night in the theater never to be found, so I was the only music box in town so to speak.
-----------
One evening, we were a bit bored. Forty years of television addiction had taken its toll and I was feeling a bit cranky. “Hundreds of rooms in this place, you would think there would be a television somewhere!” I lamented.
“Well, there’s a set up in the offices and one in the control center for monitoring the press but they’re for official use only.” She said listlessly trying to add another card to the fifteen story “house” she had built.
Official use only, I believed it. The thought of Sir Integra scarfing down a pizza whilst watching Eastenders was just too ludicrous to contemplate. I sighed.
“Then there’s the set in the barracks lounge,” she said “but we couldn’t go there.”
“Why not?” I asked smelling an opportunity.
“Well, it’s for staff.”
“We’re Staff.” I challenged.
“But the squad uses it when they’re off duty or on call.”
“You’re in the squad. You’re on call.”
“Yes but...”
“But?”
“Well, I don’t think they want me there.”
“Why?”
“Because...because of what I am.”
“Because you are a vampire?”
“Yes.”
“Let me get this straight.” I said beginning to feel a bit angry. “You go out on missions with them?”
“Yes”
“You protect them?”
“Yes”
“They trust you with their lives?”
“I suppose.”
“But, they don’t want you to spend time in the lounge with them?”
She looked at the floor. And said nothing.
“You’re good enough to fight beside them but not good enough to hang out with them?!” I said. I was really getting mad. Seras continued to look at her shoes. I glared at her. “Have you ever tried just showing up in there and making them deal with it?”
“Yes.” She said quietly.
“Well, what happened?”
She looked up at me, miserable. “No one would talk to me. Some of them even left the room. Afterwords the captain said I shouldn’t come back because it made the men uncomfortable.”
I was enraged. “That is one of the most ridiculously asinine things I have ever heard! Big brave combat hardened troops can't even deal with one little vampire? Big giant babies more like!” I was so angry I could barely see. How dare they treat Seras like this! “You are going back there tonight!”
“They’ll just ignore me.”
“So what?”
“I’ll have no one to talk to.”
“Yes you will cause I’m going with you! Let them sit and sulk if they want. We won’t care!”
She was staring at me horrified. “No, you can’t!”
“Why ever not?”
“They won’t talk to you either.”
“Sure they will. I’m quite charming you know.”
“No. You don’t understand. They think you might be... Well that is, no one actually saw what Alucard did to you and well, they’re afraid that you might be also, you know...”
“A vampire?” I laughed.
“Well yes.”
“Really?”
“Um, well they’re not sure.”
“Reeeally?” I said thoughtfully glancing at my dinner tray. Evil plans began to take shape.
“Seras dear?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think you can get your hands on some celery?”
“Ms. Doyle?”
“Mr. Dollneaz?”
He was standing at the base of the stairs a bemused expression on his face as if he were trying to determine the best method of explaining to me the use of those pretty objects often referred to as chairs or perhaps he was just remembering the last time he had to deal with me on a staircase. I could not help but smile.
“I see you managed to find one or two things to your liking?”
“Oh yes! I don’t suppose I could borrow one?”
“As many as you wish.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I quickly gathered up the books around me into a nice, neat stack, scooped them into my arms then, using my chin to steady the pile, proceeded to wobble my way down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, Walter examined my enormous
stack with a critical eye.
“Are you sure you want so many?”
“Oh, um, too many?”
“No, if you think you can carry them.” He said. “Of course you could always take a few now then get the rest tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, I can bring you back here again tomorrow, if you would like.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I trotted over to a table and lowered my stack. I tried sorting them by age, dewy decimal order, even by color and size but could not produce a single volume I wished to leave behind. I stared at the stack hopelessly. Come on girl get a grip, I chided myself, this isn’t exactly “Sophie’s Choice”. Shaking my head at my own greed, I reached out and grabbed three volumes.
A book on illuminated manuscripts, a quirky pre WWI pastoral novel and, of course, a collection of the works of Jules Verne. I gave the remaining books an affectionate pat before turning to Walter. “Should I re-shelve these?”
“No need. You will want to look at them tomorrow.” He said opening the door for me.
The door leading to the hall.
Which lead to the elevator.
Which lead back to that horrible place.
Yet, somehow in that moment, I did not mind so much. Seras had promised to come visit me as soon as she woke up that evening and Walter had armed me books to read while the staff ignored me in the lab the next morning.
A friend. I had a friend. Somehow, just knowing there was one person in this horrible place who gave a damn about me. Who cared how I felt or even if I lived or died. Somehow, it made rest of it almost bearable. And now, a library to explore and books to read? I was actually fairly close to almost not being miserable.
I glanced up at Walter with my own appraising look as I approached the door. Who exactly was he?
More than a butler? Obviously.
Powerful? Yes. From what little I had seen and heard he seemed to rule over the household with unquestioned authority. Even over the lab staff.
Dangerous? Possibly.
Smart? Definitely!
Who was he to me?
My boss? My chaperon? My warden? Unknown.
A friend? I don’t think he makes friends.
An ally? Too soon to tell.
Well, whatever his motives, he had done me a great kindness today and I would not forget it.
That night with Seras, there was more laughter and less tears. We gossiped, sang, and told each other funny stories as we played some old board games she had dug up from somewhere. We even tried to talk Walter into playing Snakes and Ladders with us when he showed up with dinner. His polite refusal and look of mild horror at our appearance, (we had “done” each other’s hair*), sent us into giggling fits very unbecoming of both a young vampire and a professional librarian.
*Most men just don’t understand the therapeutic value of girls “doing” each others hair. It’s a form of bonding. It’s not meant to look good. Boys hurl phlegm and punch each other. Girls go through each others purses and do unspeakable things to each others hair. Judging from the incredulous look on Walter’s face, Sir Integra had obviously not hosted a lot of slumber parties as a child.
--------------------------
Over the next week or so we settled into something of a routine. Mornings were spent trying to get the lab staff to refer to me in the first person. Then, around midday, usually after one good departing jab with the needle from miss Pringle, Walter would fetch me for some exercise or “Walkies” as I liked to call it. Not from any low self esteem issues or anything mind you, I just like to make Seras giggle when I say it. We would wander through different areas of the manor but somehow always ended up back at the library just as my legs were giving out so I could take a “little rest” while Walter attended to “one or two things”.
While we walked, our conversation touched on a wide variety of subjects but we never seemed to discuss my alleged humanity or current events. He was always particularly interested in what I was reading. He was quite well read and despite the fact that there seemed to be very little modern fiction in the collection, he seemed to be up on most of my favorite new authors. I suspect, like so many bibliophiles, he was an intellectual snob on the surface but in the secret recesses of his heart he longed for pulp fiction.
If only my little boy were with me I could almost be content in this weird Gothic novel my life had become. His absence hurt worse than my still aching wounds. Still, every afternoon for a few hours, I had free reign of the library. That, and my friendship with Seras, were the best medicine this place had to offer. I wanted to find a way to thank Walter for the walks and not telling the lab about the time Seras and I were spending together. Verbal expressions of gratitude were always deflected or dismissed but the book in the bindery had given me an idea of how I might do it.
My nights belonged to the undead. Well, an undead anyway. I only saw Alucard on rare occasions and usually then he only popped into my room to say something cruel to Seras or something disturbingly ominous to me or just something horrible to us both. He seemed to take great pleasure in berating his little “creations”. Usually though it was just Seras and me and no one else. Apparently, I was being ostracized because no one knew for sure what it is I was. Seras, on the other hand, was being ostracized because everyone knew for certain exactly what she was. So what, we had each other.
We mostly hung out in my room. Seras would sometimes sneak me a treat from the kitchens to supplement the horribly bland diet Dr. Levin had me on. She would use her “abilities” to sneak in and out unseen. Where the cook must of thought all of the roast beef and Oreos were going I don’t know.
We would play cards or board games or do puzzles. Mostly what Seras liked is when I sang to her. There was no radio or TV in our rooms, the stone walls, floors and ceilings making reception impossible and my Walkman had been lost that night in the theater never to be found, so I was the only music box in town so to speak.
-----------
One evening, we were a bit bored. Forty years of television addiction had taken its toll and I was feeling a bit cranky. “Hundreds of rooms in this place, you would think there would be a television somewhere!” I lamented.
“Well, there’s a set up in the offices and one in the control center for monitoring the press but they’re for official use only.” She said listlessly trying to add another card to the fifteen story “house” she had built.
Official use only, I believed it. The thought of Sir Integra scarfing down a pizza whilst watching Eastenders was just too ludicrous to contemplate. I sighed.
“Then there’s the set in the barracks lounge,” she said “but we couldn’t go there.”
“Why not?” I asked smelling an opportunity.
“Well, it’s for staff.”
“We’re Staff.” I challenged.
“But the squad uses it when they’re off duty or on call.”
“You’re in the squad. You’re on call.”
“Yes but...”
“But?”
“Well, I don’t think they want me there.”
“Why?”
“Because...because of what I am.”
“Because you are a vampire?”
“Yes.”
“Let me get this straight.” I said beginning to feel a bit angry. “You go out on missions with them?”
“Yes”
“You protect them?”
“Yes”
“They trust you with their lives?”
“I suppose.”
“But, they don’t want you to spend time in the lounge with them?”
She looked at the floor. And said nothing.
“You’re good enough to fight beside them but not good enough to hang out with them?!” I said. I was really getting mad. Seras continued to look at her shoes. I glared at her. “Have you ever tried just showing up in there and making them deal with it?”
“Yes.” She said quietly.
“Well, what happened?”
She looked up at me, miserable. “No one would talk to me. Some of them even left the room. Afterwords the captain said I shouldn’t come back because it made the men uncomfortable.”
I was enraged. “That is one of the most ridiculously asinine things I have ever heard! Big brave combat hardened troops can't even deal with one little vampire? Big giant babies more like!” I was so angry I could barely see. How dare they treat Seras like this! “You are going back there tonight!”
“They’ll just ignore me.”
“So what?”
“I’ll have no one to talk to.”
“Yes you will cause I’m going with you! Let them sit and sulk if they want. We won’t care!”
She was staring at me horrified. “No, you can’t!”
“Why ever not?”
“They won’t talk to you either.”
“Sure they will. I’m quite charming you know.”
“No. You don’t understand. They think you might be... Well that is, no one actually saw what Alucard did to you and well, they’re afraid that you might be also, you know...”
“A vampire?” I laughed.
“Well yes.”
“Really?”
“Um, well they’re not sure.”
“Reeeally?” I said thoughtfully glancing at my dinner tray. Evil plans began to take shape.
“Seras dear?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think you can get your hands on some celery?”
Thursday, September 11, 2008
LETTERS FROM HELLSING XIII
As he showed me around the collection, I couldn’t resist touching things to be sure they were real. The smooth velvet of the wooden table tops, the lovely rough cloth of the book spines with their delicious slippery gilt embossed titles, the cold hard brass of the card catalog file drawer handles. I peeked inside a drawer and shook my head with admiration. Every card was painstakingly written out in perfect copperplate longhand. I closed the drawer with a happy sigh. I was home. I was about to ask Walter about online cataloging when he opened a small door near the back of the library and the angels began to sing again.
A bindery!
“Oh, its lovely.” I breathed taking in the small room tucked under the stairs. Shelves populated with fabric hinges and linen thread of varied thickness. Neat little stacks of end papers both plain and ornamental and those lovely textured sheets of japan paper. A spotlessly clean but well worn counter ran the length of one wall scored here and there with old cut marks. On it sat a small book press, a jar of brushes and a couple of copper glue pots. I stroked the chimney of one of the pots lovingly then lifted it to peer inside. Frowning, I poked my finger into the pot to prod the milky white surface of its contents. It was hard and unyielding. “This hasn’t been used in awhile.” I said.
“No,” Said Walter. “The librarian passed away a few years ago and I simply haven’t had the time.”
I glanced avariciously at two small, neat piles of volumes on the table by the door which seemed in need of repair. Don’t worry babies I’ll fix you. “Well that’s OK. I can start right away on these if you’d like.” I chirped diving into the first pile.
“Ms. Doyle.” Said Walter.
“Call me Corrine please.”
“Ms. Doyle.”
“Unless you wanted me to start with some cataloging but it seems fairly current and I can have these repaired in no time.”
“Ms. Doyle.” Said Walter firmly. “I think there is some misunderstanding.”
“Hmm?” I said reaching for an item in the second pile. It was a small, battered copy of a Jules Verne novel. I held it in my hand gently caressing its worn covers.
“Ms. Doyle.”
“Corrine.”
“Ms. Doyle, you do not understand. I did not bring you up here today to work.”
“I know but I really am ready to start.”
“Start?”
“My job. You know, as the librarian.”
“Ah, well that.”
“Do you have a Demco catalog? I can repair most of this with the supplies at hand but I may need to order one or two things.”
“Actually we have a professional repair our books now.”
“I’m a professional.” I said clutching Jules Verne defensively to my chest.
“A professional binder.”
“No that’s silly.” I said desperately. I mean, perhaps for these items.” I indicated two large leather bound volumes. “The appear to need a great deal of attention but most of this,” I said gesturing with the book in my hand. “is small repairs I can do that.”
“Ms. Doyle.” Said Walter patiently.
“I assure you I’m qualified.”
“Yes, I know.”
I used to be in charge of the bindery when I worked at Trinity college.
“Yes, I know.”
“I even took a course through the Library Of Congress on conservation and disaster preparedness...but, of course, you know this too.”
“Yes.”
That damn folder.
“So, what’s the problem? I was hired as a librarian wasn’t I?”
“Ms. Doyle, surely you were aware the job offer was just a cover story for the media and your family?”
“Yes, but.”
“And while we appreciate your willingness to assist, it is not necessary.”
“But.”
“Your job is to help us understand what exactly it is that Alucard did to you that night and what, if any, long term effects there may be.” Walter said with that hint of steel in his voice.
Are you insane? You are arguing with Walter. Please refer to your mental notes re: Arguing with Walter.
“Ah, yes, that. Of course.” For a moment I had forgotten I was a lab rat. How silly of me.
I must have looked like a kicked puppy because Walters tone softened a bit. “Ms. Doyle, no offense was intended.”
“Of course not.” Why bother offending a lab rat?
“We really are concerned about your health.”
“Of course.” Nice healthy Corrine to dissect.
“I simply thought you might wish to browse the collection.”
“No, yes, of course. It’s very kind of you.” Stop pouting you stupid girl! He took you out of that horrid lab, if only for a short time, don’t make him regret that decision. “Really, I do appreciate it. It’s just ...” I gestured towards the wounded books sadly. "I guess I just got excited at the thought of being useful again for something other than...well.... It really is a lovely library." I finished lamely. Walters blank expression can be quite unnerving. I glanced down at the book in my hands for refuge. “Journey to the Center of the Earth.” I read aloud.
“Have you read it?” Asked Walter. “It’s quite good.”
“No, I never have.” I said opening the book gently and fingering a loose plate. “It seems to be a favorite.” I said, glancing at the inside cover at the list of names of the prior proud owners of the volume.
“Yes, the fifth Lord Hellsing was quite fond of Jules Verne. He insisted that all of the children read him. Three generations of Hellsings have cut their teeth on this particular volume.”
“Some of them literally, I see.” I said.
Was that a hint of warmth I saw in Walter’s eyes? Must be a trick of the light.
“Yes, It is quite worn but there is another copy in the collection in excellent condition. You are more than welcome to borrow it if you would like.”
“Yes. You will of course be wanting to repair this one.”
“No, it really isn’t worth the expense. We have another copy.”
Surely the sentimental value?”
“Perhaps.” Said Walter, his icy tone closing the subject.
I glanced one last time at the book before closing it and carefully returning it to the stack.
As we left the bindery, I noticed Walter was giving me another appraising look. “I think perhaps the rest of the tour can wait until later. You look a bit tired.”
“Not at all.” Actually I was quite tired. This had been more walking than I had done in weeks but I wasn’t about to admit that to Walter.
“We don’t want you to over exert yourself.”
“I’m really not at all tired.”
Walter gave me a look that told me he did not buy it one bit but evil butler etiquette did not allow him to come right out and call me a liar so instead, he pulled out his watch and looked at it frowning. “I am afraid there are one or two things I must attend to.”
I suddenly realized a man like Walter most have 20 or 30 things to attend to. I really should be more grateful that he had taken any time for me at all and stop pouting but, I really did not want to go back, well, ever. Still, despite all evidence to the contrary, my mother did not raise an ungrateful lout for a daughter so I bucked up and tried to sound sincere and not the least bit disappointed when I said; “Of course Walter I understand. You have been very kind and I am sure you are quite busy.”
He, of course, was not buying that either.
“Yes.” He said blandly. Oddly enough there seemed to be a the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth although I am sure he knew perfectly well that the thought of leaving this lovely place and going back to that lab had me on the verge of tears. “Perhaps you would care to rest in here while I clear up a few matters?” There was that almost smile again. “Shall we say two hours?”
I could have kissed him.
“Oh Walter yes, that would be more than fine!”
“Please feel free to browse the collection. I am sure you will find something of interest.”
“I’m sure that I will.” I said grinning with anticipation.
He turned to go.
“Walter?”
“Yes Ms. Doyle?”
“Thank you.”
He waived it off. “Two hours then?”
I nodded, distracted by all the lovely books. I was already humming with pleasure.
A bindery!
“Oh, its lovely.” I breathed taking in the small room tucked under the stairs. Shelves populated with fabric hinges and linen thread of varied thickness. Neat little stacks of end papers both plain and ornamental and those lovely textured sheets of japan paper. A spotlessly clean but well worn counter ran the length of one wall scored here and there with old cut marks. On it sat a small book press, a jar of brushes and a couple of copper glue pots. I stroked the chimney of one of the pots lovingly then lifted it to peer inside. Frowning, I poked my finger into the pot to prod the milky white surface of its contents. It was hard and unyielding. “This hasn’t been used in awhile.” I said.
“No,” Said Walter. “The librarian passed away a few years ago and I simply haven’t had the time.”
I glanced avariciously at two small, neat piles of volumes on the table by the door which seemed in need of repair. Don’t worry babies I’ll fix you. “Well that’s OK. I can start right away on these if you’d like.” I chirped diving into the first pile.
“Ms. Doyle.” Said Walter.
“Call me Corrine please.”
“Ms. Doyle.”
“Unless you wanted me to start with some cataloging but it seems fairly current and I can have these repaired in no time.”
“Ms. Doyle.” Said Walter firmly. “I think there is some misunderstanding.”
“Hmm?” I said reaching for an item in the second pile. It was a small, battered copy of a Jules Verne novel. I held it in my hand gently caressing its worn covers.
“Ms. Doyle.”
“Corrine.”
“Ms. Doyle, you do not understand. I did not bring you up here today to work.”
“I know but I really am ready to start.”
“Start?”
“My job. You know, as the librarian.”
“Ah, well that.”
“Do you have a Demco catalog? I can repair most of this with the supplies at hand but I may need to order one or two things.”
“Actually we have a professional repair our books now.”
“I’m a professional.” I said clutching Jules Verne defensively to my chest.
“A professional binder.”
“No that’s silly.” I said desperately. I mean, perhaps for these items.” I indicated two large leather bound volumes. “The appear to need a great deal of attention but most of this,” I said gesturing with the book in my hand. “is small repairs I can do that.”
“Ms. Doyle.” Said Walter patiently.
“I assure you I’m qualified.”
“Yes, I know.”
I used to be in charge of the bindery when I worked at Trinity college.
“Yes, I know.”
“I even took a course through the Library Of Congress on conservation and disaster preparedness...but, of course, you know this too.”
“Yes.”
That damn folder.
“So, what’s the problem? I was hired as a librarian wasn’t I?”
“Ms. Doyle, surely you were aware the job offer was just a cover story for the media and your family?”
“Yes, but.”
“And while we appreciate your willingness to assist, it is not necessary.”
“But.”
“Your job is to help us understand what exactly it is that Alucard did to you that night and what, if any, long term effects there may be.” Walter said with that hint of steel in his voice.
Are you insane? You are arguing with Walter. Please refer to your mental notes re: Arguing with Walter.
“Ah, yes, that. Of course.” For a moment I had forgotten I was a lab rat. How silly of me.
I must have looked like a kicked puppy because Walters tone softened a bit. “Ms. Doyle, no offense was intended.”
“Of course not.” Why bother offending a lab rat?
“We really are concerned about your health.”
“Of course.” Nice healthy Corrine to dissect.
“I simply thought you might wish to browse the collection.”
“No, yes, of course. It’s very kind of you.” Stop pouting you stupid girl! He took you out of that horrid lab, if only for a short time, don’t make him regret that decision. “Really, I do appreciate it. It’s just ...” I gestured towards the wounded books sadly. "I guess I just got excited at the thought of being useful again for something other than...well.... It really is a lovely library." I finished lamely. Walters blank expression can be quite unnerving. I glanced down at the book in my hands for refuge. “Journey to the Center of the Earth.” I read aloud.
“Have you read it?” Asked Walter. “It’s quite good.”
“No, I never have.” I said opening the book gently and fingering a loose plate. “It seems to be a favorite.” I said, glancing at the inside cover at the list of names of the prior proud owners of the volume.
“Yes, the fifth Lord Hellsing was quite fond of Jules Verne. He insisted that all of the children read him. Three generations of Hellsings have cut their teeth on this particular volume.”
“Some of them literally, I see.” I said.
Was that a hint of warmth I saw in Walter’s eyes? Must be a trick of the light.
“Yes, It is quite worn but there is another copy in the collection in excellent condition. You are more than welcome to borrow it if you would like.”
“Yes. You will of course be wanting to repair this one.”
“No, it really isn’t worth the expense. We have another copy.”
Surely the sentimental value?”
“Perhaps.” Said Walter, his icy tone closing the subject.
I glanced one last time at the book before closing it and carefully returning it to the stack.
As we left the bindery, I noticed Walter was giving me another appraising look. “I think perhaps the rest of the tour can wait until later. You look a bit tired.”
“Not at all.” Actually I was quite tired. This had been more walking than I had done in weeks but I wasn’t about to admit that to Walter.
“We don’t want you to over exert yourself.”
“I’m really not at all tired.”
Walter gave me a look that told me he did not buy it one bit but evil butler etiquette did not allow him to come right out and call me a liar so instead, he pulled out his watch and looked at it frowning. “I am afraid there are one or two things I must attend to.”
I suddenly realized a man like Walter most have 20 or 30 things to attend to. I really should be more grateful that he had taken any time for me at all and stop pouting but, I really did not want to go back, well, ever. Still, despite all evidence to the contrary, my mother did not raise an ungrateful lout for a daughter so I bucked up and tried to sound sincere and not the least bit disappointed when I said; “Of course Walter I understand. You have been very kind and I am sure you are quite busy.”
He, of course, was not buying that either.
“Yes.” He said blandly. Oddly enough there seemed to be a the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth although I am sure he knew perfectly well that the thought of leaving this lovely place and going back to that lab had me on the verge of tears. “Perhaps you would care to rest in here while I clear up a few matters?” There was that almost smile again. “Shall we say two hours?”
I could have kissed him.
“Oh Walter yes, that would be more than fine!”
“Please feel free to browse the collection. I am sure you will find something of interest.”
“I’m sure that I will.” I said grinning with anticipation.
He turned to go.
“Walter?”
“Yes Ms. Doyle?”
“Thank you.”
He waived it off. “Two hours then?”
I nodded, distracted by all the lovely books. I was already humming with pleasure.
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