Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.
I started a new story last week, it continues. Right now, it's Dracula and Avram. See what's happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. Like I said, working title. If anyone comes up with an idea for a real title, I'm open to suggestion lol Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
Being a
fastidious man, the Count—or Nico, as he was known to his more intimate
acquaintances—insisted on bathing prior to any evening’s activities. His
porcelain-coated cast iron tub was the only one in that region and had been
imported many years before, at great expense, from China. He loved to immerse
himself in the warmest water Avram could provide, as he found it to be a
panacea for his poor circulation. The Count was unique in his desire for personal
cleanliness as bathing was not exactly held in high regard by most people. Members of the upper class seldom bathed and
only occasionally washed their faces and hands, while the lower class limited
their acquaintance with water to a scant few times a year. This was but one reason why the Count enjoyed
great popularity among ladies of all stations and in many countries. They
appreciated his attention to hygiene and delighted in the variety of scents he
used on a regular basis at a time when many people wore perfumes merely to mask
offensive body odor. As for Avram, he liked to avail himself of the master’s
tub during the master’s absence, being very particular himself when it came to
cleanliness. As a Jewish man, it was not a choice—it was a commandment.
Once
Dracula had eased himself into the blessedly warm water, Avram handed him a
soft sea sponge and an irregularly shaped pale orange wash ball. Coriander
provided an almost earthy citrus scent, augmented by hints of vanilla and
cloves. Dracula inhaled the ball
appreciatively before he began to apply it to his body.
“Would
milord perhaps wish to enjoy a game of cribbage tonight?” Avram ventured.
Dracula
gave him a pointed look from beneath arched eyebrows. “Did you seriously think
I have nothing better to do than engage in a card game with you?”
‘Of
course not, milord. Merely a suggestion.”
Avram
hadn’t thought his ruse would work, despite the fact that they often did play
cards together of an evening, but neither was he offended at his master’s
words. He’d been in service to him for too long not to know better. Besides,
there were times when he was able to turn his attention by such methods, but
alas, tonight was not going to be one of those nights. Avram was only too well
aware of his master’s destination this evening, despite his pretense to the
contrary, for the Count was never reluctant to discuss his love life, such as
it was. Perhaps love was not the right word to be used in regard to his sexual
conquests—male or female— for that particular emotion was never involved, at
least not on the part of Dracula, although such could not always be said for
his partners. Perhaps more direct tactics were called for.
“Do you
think it’s wise to continue this dalliance with the blacksmith’s wife?” Avram
attempted to be more diplomatic than crude. This particular obsession had been
going on for nearly two months now. At least six weeks too long by Avram’s
calculations. Not to mention, too close to home. A situation exacerbated by the
blacksmith being well-known throughout the village for his nasty temper. The
only reason Dracula had not encountered said bad temper heretofore was because
the blacksmith was considered by most to be what Avram would term a schlemiel. Not
only did he not have a clue as to what his wife was up to while he was occupied
in filling his belly with beer at the local alehouse, he also didn’t have the
sense to fear Count Dracula, despite the many stories in circulation about him.
None of them good. Avram also knew Dracula had no fear of the man, either, for
obvious reasons. Still, getting into an altercation with him would not be good
for either of their well-being. Not if they wished to live a peaceful life
without constant fear of revolting peasants. Dracula was what he was, without a
doubt, but he was not invincible, and neither was Avram.
The
Count didn’t answer Avram’s question immediately, rising from the tub instead.
Understanding the unspoken command, Avram took up a pewter pitcher filled with
pleasantly warm water and rinsed the soap from the vampire’s body, back and
front, head to toe. Once that was done, he took a pestamel—a long looped
strip of cotton that had been acquired during a trip to the Ottoman Turkish
Empire—and dried his master’s body and hair. The cloth, which was also
sometimes made of linen or bamboo, was becoming popular outside of Turkey. Some
referred to these as bath towels.
Dracula
stepped from the tub, onto a small soft blue rug and stood there patiently as
Avram assisted him to dress in his chosen garb. At last, he spoke. “You worry
too much, Avram. She is a diversion, nothing more. A pleasant way to pass the
time.”
But will
her husband understand that? Avram reluctantly held his tongue and
followed his master back into his bedchamber. He realized that arguing with
him, especially when he was in such a sanguine mood, would be as productive as
rabbit hunting with a dead ferret—at the end of the day, the ferret would still
be dead, and the rabbit would remain free to carry on with its life.
Dracula
paused to examine his reflection in the very expensive Venetian mirror he
preferred to those made by the English. He twisted and turned, as if to ensure
he looked good from every angle.
No
wonder we are hard-pressed for money, with such foolish purchases.
“Avram,
I am considering ordering ano—”
“Not at
the present time, I’m afraid,” Avram said firmly.
Dracula
turned toward his servant and sighed. “So it’s like that, is it?”
“It is.
Not to mention, one mirror suffices, does it not? You are only one person. And
is not vanity a sin?”
Dracula’s
lips twitched in a brief smile. “Then consider me a sinner.”
to be continued
Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!
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