Beethoven - Scourge of Vampires [ONC 2022]

8

8

Bernhard sat, stunned, within the side room turned over to the Maestro. Inside, they had found a tub of hot water awaiting them, a table filled with an assortment of foods and drinks, several items of clothing, hung as though waiting for perusal, and a folio of Beethoven's greatest works. He watched as the Maestro undressed, without a second thought, and stepped into the tub, where he began to scrub himself clean. The scarf about his neck remained, however.

"This was all planned. Were you ever about to tell me that this detour would occur?" He saw a bowl of grapes and wondered whether he was allowed to eat them. They looked full and luscious, tempting his empty stomach. "I believed we were hunting vampires."

"We are." Beethoven rubbed the grime and dirt of the road from his body, but did not wet his flamboyant bird's nest of hair. "This is a necessary side-excursion. Trust me, mate. You'll understand. Have a grape."

Hesitant, not wishing to disturb anything, Bernhard picked up a stalk of grapes and popped one onto his mouth. It tasted divine. It seemed quite clear that he now sat in the home of someone of great wealth, yet Beethoven acted as though he owned the place. He wasn't certain he could trust the great man. He kept far too many things to himself, giving only tiny details as and when required. Yet, Bernhard continued to follow him. Such was the Maestro's sheer presence.

"Then what is the purpose of this concert?" He averted his eyes as Beethoven finished bathing, stepped from the tub and began to examine the clothes, naked and not caring about that nakedness. "And is this all for you? I have never seen such luxury."

"This is all part of my fee. They want me to play, they have to pay." The Maestro chose a heavy coat and trousers. All black, with white lace cuffs on the sleeves of the coat. "The purpose of this concert is observation. Observation and money. Money is good. I don't get paid every time someone plays my compositions, I should, but I don't, but I get paid every time I play them. My immense talent is a commodity. Bathe. You don't want to cause a stink."

The Maestro hooked a thumb towards the tub and began looking over the foods upon the table. He began to eat, and drink, as Bernhard undressed and stepped into the tub himself. As a soldier, he had never worried about his comrades seeing him naked. Here, in civilian life, it felt vulgar. As he bathed, the Maestro flicked through the folio of music, picking some music sheets and placing them to the side.

Once clean, Bernhard stepped out and began to dry himself, dropping the towel as Beethoven tossed a coat towards him, a deep blue with black accents. The Maestro had still not dressed, leaning over to retrieve the rolled up music sheet from his old jacket. He placed it on top of the music sheets he had chosen for the concert. With a half-eaten apple in his mouth, he turned his head as a soft knock came to the door.

"Maestro. We await your magnificence in the ballroom." That sounded like the man Beethoven had called 'excellency', acting like a servant to the great composer. "Shall we say another five minutes? We are all eager to hear your new composition."

"You can say what you ..." The Maestro paused and then cleared his throat. "We shall attend presently, your excellency. Patience, as they say, is a virtue."

"And pride is a sin." Whispered under his breath. Beethoven rolled his eyes. At Bernhard's whisper, or the excellency's words, he couldn't tell. "'We shall attend'? I thought I would wait here?"

"Nonsense! I need my mate with me!" Beethoven dropped the apple core onto the table and took a long drink from one of the expensive looking bottles. "Eyes and ears, eh? All you need to do is stand there, turn the sheets when I give you the nod, and watch. You can tell me what you see as I play. No-one will hear over my playing."