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.
Things are going all wrong at the alehouse. Someone has upset the blacksmith in regards to his pretty wife, and Avram fears something worse is to come. See what's happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
A
collective gasp surged through the alehouse. The ensuing silence rendered the
argument between the two men all the more audible, encouraging listeners.
“I
simply said she seems very happy lately. That’s all I said, Bogdan. You are
making a fuss over nothing.” And yet the tone of the speaker’s voice implied so
much more. What did he know, what could he have seen, and did it somehow relate
to Dracula?
How could
it not?
Avram focused
his attention on the far side of the room. Bogdan and the other man, whom Avram
recognized as one of the local farmers, faced one another in an almost
pugilistic stance—Avram wasn’t sure if they intended to fight or dance. Bogdan’s
fists were raised, so perhaps dancing was not on the agenda, but his opponent
appeared to be more amused than intimidated.
“And why
wouldn’t she be happy? She’s married to me,” Bogdan boasted. Such a
schlemiel. The blacksmith’s claim of marital bliss drew a few indiscreet
chuckles from the eavesdropping customers. Even the servers had stopped what
they were doing to openly gape at the growing spectacle. “She has a good home,”
he continued. “Plenty of food to eat, clothes to wear, and she has the wisdom
and guidance of my beloved mother, who lives with us.”
Avram
remembered Bogdan’s mother. Her presence wasn’t the blessing the blacksmith
thought it was, and he was sure Doina felt much the same way. No wonder she was
drawn to the handsome nobleman. Also, too bad she was drawn to him. She would
have been better off having an affair with one of the villagers. A more normal
man.
A dark
shape passed in front of Avram’s line of sight. Only then did he realize that
Gunther had pushed his chair back and was crossing the room in the direction of
the two combatants, swiftly closing the distance between them. Suddenly fearful
for his friend, Avram rose as well and quickly followed him. If Bogdan became
any more riled up than he was, he might strike out blindly and not realize he
was hitting a priest.
“And
lucky she is to have you,” Gunther inserted smoothly as he took up a not very
subtle stand between the two men. “I’m sure Doina realizes what a good husband
you are and appreciates the life you and your mother have given her.”
“That’s just
what I said, Father,” the other man claimed. More snickers followed. Bogdan swiveled
his thick neck left and right, glaring at his neighbors, but he was apparently too
slow to catch anyone red-handed.
“Sit
back down, Bogdan, never you mind him,” one of the blacksmith’s friends urged.
“Here, come have some more beer,” another chimed in, joined by the other men at
his table in a drunken Greek chorus. Avram watched the blacksmith seem to visibly
relax at the entreaties of his friends. He said a brief prayer of thanks
beneath his breath as Gunther coaxed the second man back into his seat with his
own companions, before turning toward Avram with a wink and a smile.
To quote the bard, all’s well that ends well. Avram made a mental note to buy his friend another drink… or two. He’d more than earned that for his timely intervention. He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as he patted Gunther’s shoulder and they returned to their table. This night could not end soon enough for him.
As if on
cue, conversations resumed once more, the noise level rising accordingly, and
business continued as it had been before.
Avram hoped Dracula was done by now and back at the castle. Or at least
somewhere outside the village. And hopefully practicing discretion, although
sometimes that seemed to be too much to ask of the man, despite the fact he was
old enough to know better. He glanced with renewed interest at the bread and
cheese on the table. A little nosh wouldn’t hurt. He reached for the bread, but
his hand froze in mid-air.
“Strigoi.”
Apparently,
his momentary peace of mind had been premature.
That
single foreboding word rang out, too loud for Avram’s taste, overriding the
other voices and bringing all conversation to a halt once more. It might just
as well have been the voice of Jehovah for the effect that it created. The
speaker was an elderly woman whose shapeless dark brown cape resembled a shroud.
This woman, whose name everyone had forgotten, was usually referred to as the
old bunica, or grandmother, if not worse. She was known about the
village for being peculiar—no one knew where she came from, she had no known family,
and she lived alone, a large black Transylvanian hound her sole companion. Plus,
further damning her in the eyes of the villagers, she followed the precepts of
no known or acceptable religion. Some referred to her as the Witch of Bistritz,
but Avram did not hold to such nonsense. However, he knew that even though she
was an object of irrational fear, she was very superstitious herself, and a
likely candidate to spread unfortunate rumors. Especially when it came to his
master. He sometimes wondered if Dracula had known her in her youth but he’d
never asked him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
All eyes
turned toward the woman, as if anticipating she had more to say. And they were
not wrong.
to be continued
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