6

Beethoven grinned, bouncing the baton as though conducting an orchestra, unruffled by Bernhard's embarrassment at the Maestro's nakedness. Bernhard collapsed onto the floorboards, sitting against the bed that he had kicked, and laid the sabre across his thighs. He ran a hand through his hair and then waved it towards the pile of dust in the corridor.

"You knew this would happen, didn't you?" His eyes avoided the Maestro as much as he could. "You saw the figure downstairs. Yet you still left me alone to do unconscionable things with those women."

"Well, I wasn't certain, eh? It was a possibility." Beethoven strode into the room, to the broken shutter on the window, and looked out. "But, you were fine. I knew you could handle it."

Bernhard slammed his hand upon the floorboards beside him. He didn't know why he was here. The great composer had spirited him away and now Bernhard had found himself battling creatures of nightmare while Beethoven fulfilled his base desires. He didn't want this. He lived in a world without this madness and wanted no part of it.

A crash came from the window and he turned to see the Maestro bending over, his backside pointed towards Bernhard as he picked up the wrecked shutter that had fallen to the floor. With a grimace, Bernhard turned away. This was not how he expected a man such as Beethoven to behave. He expected better of such a personage.

"At the very least, put some clothes on." He turned his head as Beethoven came to crouch beside him, hands checking Bernhard's throat. "Use that damned scarf, or something, for the love of God. And stop touching me, I am not injured."

"I can't use the scarf. I have ... an inflammatory infection." Beethoven stood, his hand rising to the scarf at his throat. A sadness passed over his face, but it did not last long. Replaced by that mischievous grin once more. "Well, you weren't bitten. That's a good thing, eh? Oh, you might want to shake out the bed covers. Vampire dust itches something chronic."

Bernhard saw, from the corner of his eye, Beethoven moving back to the door and the corridor outside. Despite his embarrassment at the great man's nakedness, Bernhard pushed himself to his feet and moved to the doorway, looking out as Beethoven strode back down the corridor.

"You're going back to those women?" He glanced both ways down the corridor, but the commotion hadn't seemed to have brought any attention. "What if more of those vile demons come?"

"What? Nah. That lot were just chancers. Random passers-by that happened to find me. Us. You'll be fine. Get some sleep. We have a long way to go yet." The Maestro twirled the hazel baton in his fingers, then drummed it against the wall as he walked. "And I'm going back to those lovely ladies because they are lovely ladies, eh? Night."

With that, Beethoven flung open a door and held his arms out to the side, presenting himself and his nakedness for all to see within the room. With a lusty growl, he jumped into the room and the door slammed behind him. Then, all Bernhard could hear were the excited squeals and laughter. Pretending to retch, he pulled the door to his own room closed, silencing most of that noise. But not all.

He gazed around the room. At the bed, pushed out of position. The broken window shutter that Beethoven had tossed onto the bed. And at the dust of the vampires he had killed, the remains of their clothing in piles upon the bed and the floor. He felt sickened by it all. Still, he moved the bed back into place and considered laying back down, but he felt far too awake for that.

Instead, he picked up the chair from beside the bed and sat it before the door, facing the now open window. Then he dressed before sitting on that chair, his hand gripping the hilt of his sabre. He sat, watching the window without moving, for long hours. Once or twice, he felt his eyelids flicker, but he fought against his weariness. He had no intention of sleeping again. No matter what Beethoven said, Bernhard expected a dozen more vampires to come crashing into the room at any second.

A bump against the door roused him from sleep he had not wanted to fall into, jumping to his feet and brandishing his sabre towards the window, where morning light now streamed into the room, washing away the darkness and the events of the night. The door opened, pushing against the chair and scraping it along the floorboards.

Beethoven, dressed now, poked his head into the room and looked Bernhard up and down before nodding. He opened the door fully and stepped inside, almost making Bernhard sigh in relief that he had clothed himself. Behind the Maestro, the two women scampered past, one reaching into the room to pinch Beethoven's bottom before rushing away, the both of them laughing like pig-tailed children.

"I expect you enjoyed yourself." Bernhard stepped to the side, allowing Beethoven into the room, where he moved to pick up his baggage, laid upon a table in the corner.

"Oh, yes! Good night!" The Maestro swung the bags over his head and moved back to the door, jerking his head for Bernhard to follow him. "Come on. Breakfast first and then we have to go. A long road ahead of us, eh?"

As fast as he had arrived, Beethoven had gone, leaving Bernhard open-mouthed. The Maestro acted as though nothing had happened the night before, not even looking at the piles of dust that were once vampires and, before that, normal human beings. He retrieved his scabbard, slotting his sabre into it and chased after the great composer.

By the time he had scrambled down the stairs, Beethoven had already begun eating. A large plate, filled with all manner of cuts of meat sat before him, and he shovelled mouthfuls passed his lips, barely chewing before swallowing. Bernhard joined him, sitting opposite as he attached his sabre to his hip. The innkeeper's wife dropped a similar plate of meat before him and he picked up a browned to perfection sausage, biting off the end.

"You've said, twice now, that we have a long way to go." He leaned forward, speaking low. He wasn't certain how secret the Maestro's plans were. "Where are you taking me and for what purpose?"

"Salzburg." The Maestro did not lower his voice, shouting towards Bernhard as though he weren't at the other side of the table. He bit into a large mushroom. "There or thereabouts. Well, not really, but it is in that general direction. I could tell you exactly, but you won't have heard of the place. Few have."

With a full mouth, jaw opening and closing as he chewed, the Maestro raised and lowered his eyebrows several times. He grinned and wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin before picking up yet more food. Bernhard had never seen anyone as ravenous. Not even during the worst days of war, where rations were sparse and stomachs empty.

"I wish to know. Be exact, or I shall turn back to Vienna this very moment and take my chances at home." He pulled the Maestro's plate away, glaring into Beethoven's eyes. "Tell me where we are going and why."

"Map!" Beethoven leaned back, calling to no-one in particular as though ordering more food. Bernhard didn't expect anyone to answer, but soon the innkeeper dropped a rolled up parchment into the Maestro's waiting hand. He rolled it flat on the table.

"Do you always get your way?" Bernhard watched the admiring innkeeper back away, adoration shining from him.

"Do I always get my way?" The Maestro considered that, tilting his head in a thoughtful manner. Then he shrugged, looking down at the map. "Usually. Anyway, my old mucker. Here is where we are ... wait, no, here is where we are, and Salzburg is here. Where we need to go is ... here."

Somehow, Beethoven had picked up a thin sausage without Bernhard noticing and tapped it at a spot on the map, leaving a smudge of grease upon the parchment. Then he bit half-way down the sausage and looked at Bernhard as though he had explained everything thoroughly. He hadn't. Where the Maestro had indicated, there was nothing there. Only the foothills of the Alps.

"But there's nothing there!" Bernhard turned the map to read it better. He noted the scale at the bottom. "According to this, there's nothing there at all. Not for, I'd say, ten miles in any direction. What possible reason could you have for going there?"

"It's taken me years to find out, but I find out I did. That ..." His finger prodded the grease smudge. "... is the lair of the beast that took your beloved from you. And mine from me. There, in the wilderness of the Alps, lies a place of such filthy darkness, no-one dares go near it. Except me, of course. We are going to the home of the Vampire Lord, Düsterburg, and we're going to kill the bastard."

The Maestro burped, battering at his chest with the top of his fist and then pulled the map from Bernhard's hands, rolling it up and tucking it inside his coat. He pushed back the bench, waved at the innkeeper and his wife and started to head for the inn's door. He stopped, ran back, and picked up the remaining fat sausage, chewing as he left. Bernhard could do nothing but follow.