“Yes, but it is still, as point of fact, necessary to maintain the good will of those you rule, and having done so disrespectfully away with Prussia, Napoleon’s efforts now founder. Prussia, now quitting the Continental System, has risen again, and her people have risen with her- and I tell you it shall have another Frederick!” Benjamin waxed quite eloquent.
Bit of masonry crumbled quietly off the wall behind Harry, “Which Frederick?”
“What?”
“Well, there’s been a few.”
“I don’t know, the first one, the Good One. Deuce it, you know who I mean.”
Harry stepped over the remains of a table, its cute little scarlet shaded lamp laying, astonishingly, unbroken on the floor, and responded.
“More the sixth or seventh, by my memory; we were both alive for the first one, I’d’ve thought you were paying attention. At any rate, Prussia won’t amount to a damned thing- there’s an armistice on. Nobody’s doing anything. We can hardly call that foundering at all.”
“Well, after the armistice, he’s not just going to just skip through Eastern Europe like last time- thanks to Prussia.”
“Not because of Prussia! If the man had any sense he’s not going to ‘skip through Eastern Europe’ because he went across already, and it turns out there’s Russia on the other side. It was idiocy to aim for Russia at all; the place is a bloody great wasteland, and it’s even worse when it’s burned to a crisp and it’s the middle of winter. Russia -even without Russians in it- was a great waste of time. Not to mention, if he’d just look West, he’d see that Spain is about to fall off the bloody continent. Not that it should be terribly upsetting if it did, as you can just give it to Portuguese, who only want it as a buffer between themselves and the rest of the continent- and who wouldn’t, the place is a bloody mess. Thank God for the Channel! Wellington’s just down there to squeeze that wreck of a nation back into one piece so he can get on to France, and we can go back to our old maps.”
Benajmin was an untouched by this argument as by the wreckage of one of the fallen rafters, one end imbedded where it fell in the broken floorboards. He neatly ducked under.
“Spain is a perfect example of what I’m talking about. Spain hasn’t had a stable monarchy since poor Charlie Two drove the Habsburgs under- if you can call ‘repeatedly not dying’ stability. Tilsit infuriated the Prussian people, but, being led by honorable and upright heads of state, they accepted with grace. Now, however, in Prussia, the ‘state of grace’ shall be overthrown,” he smiled at his own pun, “and Napoleon will find himself with an even greater enemy than before. Precisely because he underestimates the will of the people when led by an upright, strong, -hereditary- nobility. His misunderstanding of the will of the people will precipitate his downfall- and it’ll be done with the gloved hands of the Prussian nobility.”
Harry snorted with such disdain that a piece of ripped curtain wafted down from its precarious hold on a window sill.
“I rather thought Wellington was doing well enough ‘precipitating Napoleon’s downfall’, but what are such objections when one wants to find cause to defend the royalty. You’re an insufferable royalist now, and you’ve been one since the start! It will have nothing to do with Prussia when Napoleon is defeated- or this butchered idea of ‘will of the people’ you’re so fond of, you damn pseudo-monarchist.” As much as he meant to act against it, however, Harry let his next outburst continue off-topic, “I cannot fathom your obsession with monarchy! I cannot believe that you still imagine that Charles the Second rode into the throne on the backs of the people rather than by the fortuitous death of his only decent opposition. The ‘will of the people’ may have helped King Billy, but, dear God, then came Anne! The current George-”
Benjamin fell behind a little, picking himself over debris. Now he delicately toed something in hopes it was not a floorboard. Indeed, it turned out to be a chair, merely smashed into the floor. His footing secure, he felt glad to interrupt.
“-lost the colonies. Let’s not speak of George.”
“Indeed,” Harry agreed, “But I haven’t the foggiest idea whose monarchy you found so enriching as to cling to the idea. A great line of Georges, I suppose, if you mean ‘great’ in terms of length, perhaps girth. I would bet the next is a George, too. At least the Henrys had the decency to break it up with an Edward or two. Didn’t you throw in with Rousseau?”
“Well, yes,” Benjamin heard an odd squealing from ahead of them and made a face. Whatever it was ceased squealing almost as soon as it began, so he could only assume it was some sort of hell-hound, promptly silenced. His own displeasure at its noise being inflicted upon them was reflected in Harry’s face. And yet, they continued, “Well, I did, but you know, one can’t always keep the same track. It’s been a few years since Rousseau.”
“I’d always suspicioned you only like him because of his great-,” Harry’s head suddenly shot up from where it had been pointed, roughly the angle of the collapsed bar in the background, “My God! I know what’s happened.”
Benjamin frowned deeply, fully aware that this could be fatal for the conversation, “What’s that?”
Harry’s smile was every bit as spiteful as his voice, and he placed his foot firmly upon a broken shard of furniture, letting it crack with admirable theatric sense, “You’ve fallen for Louise!”
Benajmin was ultimately offended. He stood, one leg up on a half-crushed table, some neophyte vampire’s body slumping over his toes, and frowned with formidable intensity, “I say, that’s utterly unrelated!”
“Bonnie Queen Louise of Prussia took you in. You are such a royalist! I should’ve seen it before!”
“You’re being completely ridiculous!”
Harry laughed heartily as he scaled the very same head that had sloped over Bejmain’s foot. The awful destruction of the bar was only to be expected. Somewhere ahead, further undead became dead.
“Ah, for all that you do rut with men, you certainly love your mistresses.”
“You shall not address her as such in my company, sir!” Benjamin, unfortunately, stomped his foot into something squishy. It somewhat deflated the strength of his reply. Harry only laughed.
“I shall address her as I please- and so shall Monsieur Bonaparte, apparently, eh?”
Benjamin’s lip curled, that cherubic face forced into such a sneer! “Please remember, it is his ‘excellency’ or some such, now. What an absolute boor.”
Harry was pleased to finally have found something to irk Benjamin, (in truth, he’d rather cheered Louise on as well), “I knew there would be an Englishman somewhere that was disappointed that Prussia was defeated, useless as they were to the Coalition. I’d just never expected to find him quite so close to home. Do you always allow your politics to be dictated by whoever’s wearing the prettiest dress when they surrender? I suppose you supported the navy because you fell for the good Lady Hamilton, as well?”
Benjamin’s smile was sharp as his teeth, “Well it certainly wasn’t Lady Nelson- or Lord, for that matter. Such creatures as Emma are once or twice fascinating, but they cannot last. I’ve only once been swayed by such a low peddlar-of-wares, though surely, speaking of when we met would make the evening go somewhat sour for us all.”
Precipitous violence between them was only barely avoided as Remi foundered back out of the doorway they’d seen him disappear into some moments ago. His face was set in a grim sneer, one hand holding high a cherry-wood stake, of that most wicked length that Harry knew to be of his sharpest variety. He took two large, lunging breaths, before whatever hissing monstrosity had actually struck him came hurtling at vampiric speed towards his chest. Luckily, for all involved, Remi planted the stake firmly in its heart, wrestling its still-moving body to the ground as it bled out, hissing and serpent-like.
He stood up, chest heaving to catch his breath. As he turned to them his grim smile, both vampires searched in the deep of the unliving chests for their own needless, but reassuring heartbeats.
“You may keep talking,” he brushed slick, bloodied hands against his vest, “Though, it won’t be long now.”
Benjamin broke their silence first, “We’ll wait here.”
The evening had opened simply enough. They’d begun at the opera, though they stayed for only a single act; Harry and Benjamin had sniped so much that they eventually realized they weren’t enjoying the show. Remi liked the costumes, but thought everyone one stage was quite unnecessarily loud. Neither of these things came up in the conversation, so he’d remained silent during their critique. Afterwards they’d gone on a stroll during which found himself walking well in front. It suited him well enough as he spent the time admirably, pondering the difference between ‘polite’ and ‘politic’. (Surely, if there were two different words, they were two different things). On such occasions as spurred either vampire forward to as they walked, Remi had dutifully tried to look impressed at the stone buildings stretching up into the darkness, and the wide fields, which stretched out into the darkness, and the rivers, which, for a change of pace, ‘flowed’ out into the darkness.
He was tempted to make some point about how vampiric night-vision probably simplified matters some for his companions, but didn’t want to interrupt whatever conversation they were heatedly and quietly covering up behind him. At any rate, interrupting would’ve been rude. He’d never been particularly good at sight-seeing, though, so perhaps the nigh-utter darkness wasn’t really at fault for his boredom (that was a difficult thought to have, even for him, but he had it dutifully, promptly taxonomized it as a ‘politic’ thought and commended himself). Eventually, though Benjamin had noticed his sigh.
With a smile, the vampire had most casually put his hand on Remi’s shoulder (Remi hardly jumped, though he was beginning to notice that Harry jumped when it happened too. He wondered if perhaps too many of his habits were rubbing off on the vampire).
“Though I have been long unacquainted with the feeling, I haven’t forgotten. Surely you must be hungry by now, my friend.”
Remi, having not yet shed his contemplative mood, debated whether or not he should really argue that the vampire had surely felt his own damnable need for blood aroused (Which, Remi had been tutored, was called such by said damnables and therefore assumed to be somewhat similar to, though entirely unlike ‘Hunger’- its unlikeness easily attributable to its being unnatural and demonic. Such semantic constructs, though, he could hardly expect the uninitiated to understand). Perhaps Benjamin had another word for it? Would it be ‘politic’ to ask (or worse, polite)? After all, he’d have to append all sorts of words to the explanation that may or may not be construed as rude. And of course, he thought maybe that the many interruptions of the discourse required to append the proper descriptions would be unwelcome. Harry tolerated it, but Harry was... er... Harry was...
His behavior...
Though of course, entirely blasted and sulphurous of nature, Harry was...
Now what an odd time to have a difficulty with words. Perhaps hunger was effecting his mind. Surely, though, as Benjamin was Harry’s friend, he ought to have said something back by now. Perhaps even now he was being unconscientious by not responding! Quick action was in order! Dear God, he must act!
After some minute or so, he finally replied, all the gears of his mind going at once to form the best and most politic [or polite] response when one has been [potentially] inadvertently rude.
“...Y...Yes?”
Benjamin smiled deeply, and looked back at Harry with a certain fondness, by which Remi understood his reply to have been adequately appeasing. Good. Perhaps he was not so bad at this ‘proper behavior’ as Harry thought he was.
Benjamin responded, “Well, have I got a place for you.”
Then they’d gone to the tavern. It turned out to be fortunate that Remi had gotten something to eat first.