The Prize

The great bell of St. Stephen’s Tower tolled the midday hour, and Talia stood at the tower’s base waiting. She despised being out during the day. Even beyond the dull pain of the sunlight upon her pale skin, she just couldn’t abide the joviality of the humans as they went about their human-crowded lives. At night, when she was hunting, the human stench was covered by the aromas of stale ale, cigars, and pub food.

The daylight hours also made her weak, her true strength only coming in short bursts, when she needed it, and the recovery was slow unless she gorged the night following. But her thoughts distracted her, and she must stay focused on her task. As much as she looked down upon humans in general, her target today was bottom of the barrel. An Irish bogtrotter named Arthur O’Connor was her mission. Talia understood why this must happen, but why would Alexander choose to bestow this great gift upon a youthful Irishman? For eleven years she kept the secret of Queen Victoria safe, but it was leading to unintended consequences for the Empire. Politically, this was the soundest action, but she wasn’t happy about it.

Her thoughts were on the verge of wandering again when she spotted him. Arthur was the spitting image of his great uncle, Feargus, though not as large in body. At seventeen, he was already seeing more of his forehead than he should as his close-cropped curls had begun to recede. The high collar of traditional aristocratic attire accentuated his muttonchops and thin beak of a nose. And his eyes would have shown clearly if not for his imbibing of late morning ale. Talia just hoped that his mind was clear enough to complete the job.

Arthur meandered toward slowly, thankfully not stumbling, without even realizing that his life was about to change. The boy knew Alexander, and knew what Alexander was, and given the choice between being the prey or becoming the hunter, the choice was easy. Though, that prize was further in the future than the lad expected. Perhaps his morning jaunt to the Whitehall Club was a last grasp at this human world for him. Talia snickered at his ignorance.

He crossed Victoria Street hastily, though clumsily, as the carriage traffic was heavy this time of day. Arthur’s expression was blank, save for the natural sneer common among the wealthy. Talia stepped nonchalantly towards Arthur’s path, and as he passed her, she hooked his arm with the curved handle of her black umbrella.

Startled, he turned to her with an angry glare at her insolence. “How dare you!” he huffed.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I am here at the behest of Alexander,” she replied calmly, the undertone of malevolence clear to Arthur as he seemed to shrink from her.

“What… What do you want?” He tried to maintain his aristocratic composure, but there was no way he could hide his fear.

“I have a task for you, should you still desire your prize.” She lowered the umbrella and looked at him eye to eye. Her black-rimmed yellow eyes pierced into Arthur’s soul, her pallor seemingly inviting the cloud that covered the sun in that moment. She grasped at her preternatural power, expecting she would have to use it to get this worm to do her bidding.

“Alright,” his voice was breathy from the fear. “Bugger me…”

With superhuman speed she reached into her corset coat and pulled out the Webley revolver. She extended to Arthur, and he grabbed it hesitantly. Talia glanced over her left shoulder towards Buckingham Palace, just waiting…

When Arthur noticed her eyes were averted, using a burst of adrenaline he raised the six-shooter to her face and pulled the trigger, a pathetic yelp escaping his mouth as he did. And before he knew it, he felt his head bang against the stone gate leading into St Stephen’s Tower. The incident occurred so quickly that the passers-by were not even aware of it, and Talia had so quickly composed herself that, before the blur of Arthur’s vision could correct itself, the two appeared to be having nothing more than a casual conversation.

“There are no bloody bullets in that pistol, you pathetic bogtrotter. And there is no life in this body for you to take. The Queen is due to arrive at the palace shortly, and you shall approach her loudly and aggressively, as though you mean to do her harm.”

He stared into her eyes, more frightened than he had ever been. To Arthur, her eyes were those of a wolf, but the bared fangs and pallid skin told him otherwise. Talia was no werewolf, but he now suspected that they were real, considering he was standing face to face with a nosferatu. It took all of his strength to hold his bladder, until he understood what she had just told him to do.

“But I will surely be arrested?! What of my prize?”

“All you need do, Arthur, is to escape. Should you not, your prize will await you upon your release. But this you must do.” Her last sentence came out in a near growl. “I’ll be watching, bogtrotter.”

He was left there alone, Talia’s sudden disappearance both disconcerting and disheartening. He hung his head, the strength afforded to him by the ale now all but gone.

She watched from the palace entrance on the Birdcage Walk as Arthur clumsily ran at the Queen’s carriage and watched as John Brown tackled and the palace guard arrested him. She would not see poor Arthur for a year, but the mission was successful. It wasn’t the Queen in that carriage, but none but the vampires knew that. Victoria regained her popularity, and the British Empire endured that much longer. The Empire, though, was not the goal of Alexander and Talia, the world was. Freedom for the nosferatu began with England, and the resurrection of Tudor power. There was a long line of British royals who had succumbed to the power of vampires, and she was the first, a fact that the twenty-two century old Alexander of Macedon never let her forget. For Talia once bore the name of Catherine and was born in Spain. Her most fond memory as a nightwalker was the night she turned her once husband and king, Henry Tudor.

The power of the nosferatu was growing, and they had nothing but time to gather that power and move on the human race. Talia headed back to her flat on this chilly February afternoon, there were several hours still until sunset, and she was tired.