Earth to Earth - Part 5

By M. Greene published March 7, 2019
mgreene70@yahoo.com
Summary

Klaus, Igor and Otto head for the New World…

Somewhere between London and Liverpool, England: 1848

Klaus put down his copy of Lord Byron’s collected poetry and gazed out of the window with some trepidation. The train in which he was travelling was hurtling down the iron track at an insane velocity; at least fifty miles an hour… The Landgraf shivered. Although they had chosen an evening service to better suit his nocturnal lifestyle, with his vampiric eyesight he could clearly see buildings and trees flashing past and it made him feel extremely vulnerable. Surely such high speeds were harmful? Igor certainly thought so, and had almost refused to board the train back at Euston Station…

In an attempt to divert his attention from the dangers of the journey, Klaus glanced around at the other occupants of his first-class carriage. There was an elderly priest of some kind, dressed in clerical black and a rather silly-looking middle-aged woman whose cascade of artificial ringlets was topped by a preposterous yellow bonnet. This vain and garrulous female had her son with her, a strapping youth of about eighteen who she addressed as ‘Harold’. Harold was wearing a rather fetching blue topcoat with extremely tight cream breeches which left little to the imagination in the crotch department. Klaus caught his eye for about the sixth time in the past hour and smiled as the young man blushed and looked down at the floor. Yes… He was definitely interested… Klaus simultaneously felt his cock twitch and his stomach rumble. He hadn’t fed since biting that French border guard and, although he wasn’t yet quite desperate, he could really do with some fresh blood soon… Unfortunately, given that this infernal train had no corridor, there was no way that he could lure the young man out of the carriage and he couldn’t very well feed on the boy in front of his doting mother, let alone sample that comely body… Sighing, he re-opened his book and tried, with limited success, to concentrate on English poetry…


At the rear of the train, Igor sat on top of the Landgrave’s casket watching Otto fuck the guard.

“Ohh… Shit… You’re so lovely and tight… Hmm…”

Igor sighed and shook his head. Not only did the boy have an insatiable sexual appetite; his muscular peasant body, handsome blond looks and winning smile seemed totally irresistible to other men, no matter what their previous inclinations might have been. Since Calais, as well as fucking the Landgraf himself, Otto had enjoyed congress with a stable lad, the concierge at their French lodgings, one of the stewards on the ferry to Dover and a bellboy at the London hotel in which they had stayed for a night. Now he had somehow inveigled this poor guard, who wore a wedding ring and seemed a completely ordinary and respectable sort of chap, to allow himself to be ravished by Otto’s thick German sausage…

Igor looked away from the pile of mail-sacks on which the two men were lustily copulating and checked the Landgrave’s luggage for the twentieth time. It appeared to be in order; the trunks, portmanteaus and miscellaneous bags were all accounted for… He wasn’t looking forward to transferring them from the train to their hotel in Liverpool and then again to the steamship which would take them to America… At least Otto would be of some use in that laborious task…

He took the tickets out of his jacket pocket and examined them again. They had a private berth on board the SS Europa, which was sailing for Halifax in Canada the following morning. According to the Cunard Company official from whom he had purchased their passage, the Europa was the fastest vessel currently in existence. Its crew were attempting to secure the highly coveted Blue Riband award on this voyage for the quickest transatlantic crossing. If all went to plan, they would reach the New World within a mere nine days. Igor shuddered. Such high speeds were completely unnatural. He was glad that this guard’s van had no windows so that he could remain blissfully unaware of how fast they were actually travelling. He had read somewhere that anything over twenty miles per hour was injurious to the brain… As Igor thought this, Otto grunted out his orgasm. Igor smiled grimly. At least high-speed travel wouldn’t affect him very much…

Just then, the train ran over a set of points and lurched violently from side to side. Alarmed, Igor swore under his breath and clutched the brass handles of the casket even more tightly to avoid himself being ignominiously thrown onto the floor. Why was it that every Master he served brought him into such dangerous situations?


Targoviste, Kingdom of Wallachia: 1477

Some Christmas this has turned out to be, Igor thought, as he helped drag another desperately injured Saxon soldier into the hospital tent. The battle had been raging for over four hours now and, according to the latest reports, the Ottomans were definitely winning…

“Let me tend to him…” Justina said, pushing Igor away from the young man’s bloody body. She undid the laces of the soldier’s steel chest-plate and lifted off the armour to reveal the grievous wound in his side. “Fetch me more of that salve!” she snapped.

Igor brought over the jar of ointment, his hands trembling. The awful din of the battle was getting nearer and nearer… Surely, it would not be long before the heathen Turks invaded the tent and butchered them all…

At that moment, there was a commotion at the entrance and four Hungarian mercenaries burst in carrying yet another soldier covered in blood…

Justina screamed. “It is my Lord. Oh, God in heaven!” Leaving the side of the man she had been attending, she rushed over to help the Hungarians carry her husband over to her bed.

“He is dead, Lady,” one of the soldiers said. “A Turkish arrow caught him in the throat…”

“No…” Justina began wailing and kissing the corpse’s face. “It cannot be…”

Igor turned away so that they could not see him smile. At last… He was free of the wicked bastard at last…

One of the Wallachian captains entered. He saluted Justina and dropped to one knee. “It is all over, my Lady,” he said. “The Ottomans have routed us…” He pointed to Vlad’s body. “They are demanding that you surrender yourself to them for ransom and that you bring them the head of our ruler as tribute…”

Justina, her face white, crossed herself and rose to her feet. “They can have me, but they will never touch a hair of my beloved…” She detached the war axe from her dead husband’s belt and darted across to the injured soldier whom she had recently been tending. To the horror of all those present, she decapitated him with one violent blow to his neck and proceeded to chop at his face with the weapon until it was bloody and completely unrecognisable. Picking the mutilated head up by its long hair, Justina carried it towards the entrance of the tent. “See that my Lord husband is taken to the monastery for a proper Christian burial,” she instructed Igor.

Igor watched her march proudly out, accompanied by the officer and the mercenary soldiers. He wasn’t sure now whether it was Justina or Vlad who was the most ruthless or bloodthirsty… He glanced over towards the bloody corpse laid out on the bed. At least that bastard is dead, he thought. Now there’s nothing to stop me from getting out of this hellhole…

Igor pushed the tent flap aside and stared out. It was getting dark, but he could see that a host of carrion birds had descended to peck at the thousands of bodies scattered over the field of battle. The Ottoman army lay between him and the town, so he knew that he would have to head in the opposite direction into the wilderness… If only he had a horse…

As quickly as he could, Igor began throwing anything useful that he could find inside the tent into the backpack he had brought with him. As a lowly servant, he didn’t even have any possessions any longer, let alone actual gold or silver. How on earth would he survive? At least there were some weapons and a little food in here that he could take…

“Slave…”

The rasping croak from behind him caused Igor to freeze and turned his hair on end. He turned slowly to look at Justina’s bed…

Vlad Dracul opened one amber eye and fixed Igor with his terrible stare… He sat up and used both hands to wrench the arrow which had caused his death from his neck. He regarded it angrily for a moment, snapped the blood-covered wood in half and threw it onto the floor. He looked up at his cowering Russian minion and smiled. “Well, slave… It would seem that we must go into exile, you and I…”


The Atlantic Ocean between Liverpool and Halifax: 1848

The ship swayed again and Klaus’ cock slipped out from Otto’s mouth for the second time. Urine splashed over Otto’s face and hair for a second or two before the young man could get his lips clamped around the Landgraf’s shaft again.

“Don’t worry, Darling; it’s ever so good for your complexion,” Klaus said, regaining his balance and clutching Otto’s ears even more tightly. “That’s it… Drink it all down… It will make you immortal…”

Otto was concentrating on swallowing as much of the Landgraf’s fast-flowing piss as he could without spilling any more of the stuff. It didn’t taste too bad, he thought. The flavour was a lot better than some of the beers in the village pub, if he was honest…

“What a fine person Otto is,” Klaus remarked to Igor. “I don’t know what we ever did without him…”

Igor leaned over the side of his bunk and puked again into the basin on the floor. He had never travelled by sea before and felt incredibly sick… “He’s wilful, cheeky and disobedient, Master,” he managed to gasp between spasms of retching.

“Nonsense… He’s just a gutsy young man; that’s all…”

Igor threw up the rest of his lunch and moaned. “Like now, he’s always taking the piss…”

Klaus frowned and dribbled the last few drops into Otto’s willing mouth. “You’re just jealous, Igor… For centuries you’ve been my only confidant and you just can’t stand having any competition…”

“Yes, Master; whatever you say…” Igor felt as though he was going to die soon anyway, so nothing really mattered to him anymore…

Otto buttoned up the Landgraf’s trousers and got to his feet. “If it’s alright with you, Master, I need to have some time to myself. There’s a young sailor I arranged to meet down on the cargo deck…”

Klaus smiled indulgently. “I hope he’s just as handsome as you…” He kissed Otto’s cheek. “Go on… Enjoy yourself… You’re only young once, I suppose…”

Otto grinned and left their cabin.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, Master,” Igor remarked. He thought he might perhaps be sick again… “He’s always taking liberties…”

Klaus sauntered over to his own luxurious bunk and sat down. “Your problem is that you’re Medieval with the mind-set of a serf. You need to embrace the modern age, Igor…” He picked up his book from the night-stand and opened it. “We’re just about to make a new life for ourselves in the ‘Land of the Free’. ‘Liberty, Equality and Brotherhood’ as the French revolutionaries used to say…” He smiled. “It’s about time you threw off your ancient feudal shackles and embraced the Modern World…”

Igor dry-retched over his bowl again. “Yes, Master…”

Klaus reclined on his bed. “And when you’ve quite finished this ridiculous display of hysterical hypochondria, you can lay out my best suit and give my dress shirt a thorough iron. I’m dining at the Captain’s Table this evening…”

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