Guest Rights
May. 3rd, 2011 11:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alfvaenThis story started as another writing exercise, a vague one to do with creating an addendum to the Ten Commandments. The best I could come up had something to do with the sanctity of the guest-host relationship. Which made me think of vampires...
Ganis woke up suddenly to the sound of knocking. It was dark enough in his room that he didn't immediately notice the difference when his eyes opened. The windows were closed, as always, even on the hottest of summer nights. Tonight was not one of those, but the air smelled heavy with sweat nonetheless.
The knocking sounded again. For half a second Ganis had thought it was at the windows, but it was merely the front door. He lay there, wondering whether or not he should answer it. Anyone foolish enough to be outside in the night in the Duchy almost deserved what they got. And Ganis hadn't lived this long, to own his own, somewhat prosperous inn, by getting too involved in the affairs of fools, whether strangers or not.
The room was uncommonly silent after the knocking. Surely the rest of his family were awake, but Zabel and the children would be waiting for his cue.
The knocking sounded again, but more quietly this time. That made little sense, unless the person outside was growing weaker, or giving up. Ganis didn't hear the sounds of the hunt, though.
His father had made him swear, when he took over the inn, that he would never let harm come to any of his guests. "That is part of the service you owe them," he had said. "If you give them that, then they will be bound from harming you as well." He had said nothing about what to do when someone came pounding on the door in the middle of the night. To the best of his knowledge, it had never happened before, not as his inn.
Ganis found himself getting up. He had made his decision, apparently. A part of his mind was telling him that he was crazy, that if one of the nobles was cheated of his prey that he and his whole family would be killed. But the other part, which spoke in his father's voice, told him that this was a guest like any other, and he owed them the same as any other.
He found his way through the darkened room easily enough, as he did most nights, stepping over the pallets on the floor, but instead of turning to the privy, he fumbled his way to the stairs and down to the common room. There were few travellers out these days, so nobody was bedded down there. The fire was banked, and he lit a brand from the coals and used that to light a lantern.
When he reached the door the knocking was coming again, but so feebly that he would not have heard it from the bedroom upstairs. His hand on the latch, he asked, "Who's there?"
There was silence for a minute, long enough that Ganis wasn't sure that the person outside was still able to answer. Finally, in a whisper almost too low to hear, he heard, "Your Duke craves admittance."
Ganis's blood ran cold for a moment. The Duke? The Duke would never be seen in an inn like his, respectable as it was. Not unless he and his nobles were here to kill him. But they would not whisper in such a case. Only the nobles' fear of open flame would keep them from burning the inn to the ground, if he had been declared guilty of some offense.
"Why are you here, Your Grace?" Ganis said. Perhaps it was madness to question his ruler like this, but it had been madness to answer the door in the first place.
There was another silence, and a soft scraping on the other side of the door. Finally the whispered reply, "I wish the safety and shelter of your inn. Will you let me in?"
One thing that was whispered of the nobles, told in the stories, was that they could not enter a house, even an inn, without being invited. Their human servants were not so constrained, perhaps, but the nobles kept them on a tight leash.
But Ganis knew he had no choice. He unlatched the door and opened it, just a crack. The lantern was turned down low, but he knew that the crack of light coming through the door would stand out like a beacon. "Please, Your Grace, make yourself at home," he said in a low voice.
The Duke was wearing the deep red finery Ganis had seen him in once or twice before, from a distance. His cheeks were pale, and his lips almost blue, though the night was not cold enough for that. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, almost sitting on the ground, and it took him a long time to pull himself across the threshold and inside.
Ganis closed the door quickly and relatched it, and, taking almost unimaginable liberties, took the Duke's arm to lead him to a chair. The Duke leaned on him heavily. Seeing the way the Duke averted his eyes from even the dim light of the lantern, Ganis set it down on a table and led the Duke to a chair far away from it, deep in the shadow.
"Would you like something to eat or drink, Your Grace?" Ganis asked. He could hear Zabel stirring upstairs, and knew that soon she would be lurking at the top of the stairs in case she were needed. "There's wine, or ale, and I could have my wife cook up some porridge or--"
"No wine, or ale, thank you, good innkeep," the Duke whispered. The corners of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. "Surely, good man, you have heard the tales. You know what it is that the nobles of this land thirst for."
Ganis turned away at the Duke's words, gut clenching. "That is--what you wish?" he said.
"It is all that would be of any good to me right now, my--may I know your name, if you please?"
Ganis thought furiously to remember if it would be wise to tell his name. But he had to be honest. "Ganis."
"Ganis. The danger to both of us will soon be great. You cannot fight it, but I can. Not like this, though. I need strength. You can give me this strength. Do you understand?"
Ganis kept his back to the Duke. He had heard they could charm you if they held your gaze. He couldn't avoid it forever, but he wanted to make this decision for himself. It was made for him when, off in the distance but coming closer, he heard the shrill, shrieking cries of the hunt.
Slowly, he picked up the lantern and walked into the kitchen. There he found one of his wife's sharpest knives, honed just that night. He found a clean cup, too, and brought them both out.
"That is not necessary," the Duke said. "Surely you know that."
"I know," Ganis said. He could see the Duke's fangs glisten behind his lips as he spoke. But he could not bear to put himself that far into the Duke's power, for fear he would never emerge. Nor could he let the Duke treat his host that way.
He was rolling up the sleeve of his nightshirt when the Duke said, "You should heat the blade in the flame first. It will purify it."
That was a tale that Ganis had never heard, but he did as the Duke asked. The Duke watched him putting the blade into the lantern flame, not flinching from the light, though his pupils narrowed to mere slits. Then Ganis stood with the knife and his arm bared, wondering where best to make the cut.
"Let me," the Duke said. After a moment, Ganis handed him the knife, and then presented his arm.
The Duke carefully placed the cup on the table under Ganis's arm, and manoeuvred the arm into position, partly bent. The Duke's skin was growing even bluer, and for a moment the knife's blade shook, but then the Duke set his face in concentration and it stilled.
The knife blade burned with cold as it cut his flesh, on the inside of his forearm. The blood didn't gush as much as Ganis was expecting, but neither did it trickle. The Duke saw the blood drip into the bowl, and Ganis could almost hear it calling to him, but he held back.
It seemed a dizzying eternity before the Duke suddenly turned his arm upward with a choked-off cry. Blood still welled up, and Ganis felt suddenly as faint as the Duke looked. Then he gasped, as suddenly the Duke's mouth descended on his arm, but instead of the bite of fangs he was half expecting, all he felt was a cool soothing. He looked down and saw the Baron's long, red tongue licking down the cut, taking the pain and leaving numbness in its wake. The blood stopped flowing, and edges of skin almost seemed to fuse back together.
The Duke gasped when he finished with Ganis's arm, and for a moment Ganis expected the fangs again, but instead the Duke picked up the cup, licked a stray drop from around the rim, and then tipped it back and drank it down. His tongue swirled around until it had extracted every drop.
The shrieks of the hunt from outside were getting closer. Ganis realized they probably expected their quarry to be trapped, with no way to regain the strength he needed to resist them. For a moment his eyes met the Duke's. The Duke's cheeks were regaining colour almost by the second, and his eyes, even in the lantern light, were beginning to dilate, the catlike pupils opening up. Drinking him in--
The Duke looked away. "That would be a poor way for me to repay my debt, wouldn't it," he said as if to himself, his voice stronger now, the way Ganis remembered hearing it before the other nobles. "But fear not, Ganis, you will receive your just rewards for his night's service. I swear it on my life and your blood." He smiled, then stood and made a sweeping bow. "My thanks for your hospitality, good man, and your refreshment, but I must leave you now."
Ganis watched, leaning on the table with his unwounded arm, still dizzy, but not only from loss of blood, now. The Duke unlatched the door and was outside before it had even begun to swing closed. Ganis heard the hunting shriek from outside, and the others wavered and fell silent for a moment. He slowly made his way to the door, pushed it closed and relatched it. Then he walked to the bar and poured himself a flagon of well-watered ale.
Ganis woke up suddenly to the sound of knocking. It was dark enough in his room that he didn't immediately notice the difference when his eyes opened. The windows were closed, as always, even on the hottest of summer nights. Tonight was not one of those, but the air smelled heavy with sweat nonetheless.
The knocking sounded again. For half a second Ganis had thought it was at the windows, but it was merely the front door. He lay there, wondering whether or not he should answer it. Anyone foolish enough to be outside in the night in the Duchy almost deserved what they got. And Ganis hadn't lived this long, to own his own, somewhat prosperous inn, by getting too involved in the affairs of fools, whether strangers or not.
The room was uncommonly silent after the knocking. Surely the rest of his family were awake, but Zabel and the children would be waiting for his cue.
The knocking sounded again, but more quietly this time. That made little sense, unless the person outside was growing weaker, or giving up. Ganis didn't hear the sounds of the hunt, though.
His father had made him swear, when he took over the inn, that he would never let harm come to any of his guests. "That is part of the service you owe them," he had said. "If you give them that, then they will be bound from harming you as well." He had said nothing about what to do when someone came pounding on the door in the middle of the night. To the best of his knowledge, it had never happened before, not as his inn.
Ganis found himself getting up. He had made his decision, apparently. A part of his mind was telling him that he was crazy, that if one of the nobles was cheated of his prey that he and his whole family would be killed. But the other part, which spoke in his father's voice, told him that this was a guest like any other, and he owed them the same as any other.
He found his way through the darkened room easily enough, as he did most nights, stepping over the pallets on the floor, but instead of turning to the privy, he fumbled his way to the stairs and down to the common room. There were few travellers out these days, so nobody was bedded down there. The fire was banked, and he lit a brand from the coals and used that to light a lantern.
When he reached the door the knocking was coming again, but so feebly that he would not have heard it from the bedroom upstairs. His hand on the latch, he asked, "Who's there?"
There was silence for a minute, long enough that Ganis wasn't sure that the person outside was still able to answer. Finally, in a whisper almost too low to hear, he heard, "Your Duke craves admittance."
Ganis's blood ran cold for a moment. The Duke? The Duke would never be seen in an inn like his, respectable as it was. Not unless he and his nobles were here to kill him. But they would not whisper in such a case. Only the nobles' fear of open flame would keep them from burning the inn to the ground, if he had been declared guilty of some offense.
"Why are you here, Your Grace?" Ganis said. Perhaps it was madness to question his ruler like this, but it had been madness to answer the door in the first place.
There was another silence, and a soft scraping on the other side of the door. Finally the whispered reply, "I wish the safety and shelter of your inn. Will you let me in?"
One thing that was whispered of the nobles, told in the stories, was that they could not enter a house, even an inn, without being invited. Their human servants were not so constrained, perhaps, but the nobles kept them on a tight leash.
But Ganis knew he had no choice. He unlatched the door and opened it, just a crack. The lantern was turned down low, but he knew that the crack of light coming through the door would stand out like a beacon. "Please, Your Grace, make yourself at home," he said in a low voice.
The Duke was wearing the deep red finery Ganis had seen him in once or twice before, from a distance. His cheeks were pale, and his lips almost blue, though the night was not cold enough for that. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, almost sitting on the ground, and it took him a long time to pull himself across the threshold and inside.
Ganis closed the door quickly and relatched it, and, taking almost unimaginable liberties, took the Duke's arm to lead him to a chair. The Duke leaned on him heavily. Seeing the way the Duke averted his eyes from even the dim light of the lantern, Ganis set it down on a table and led the Duke to a chair far away from it, deep in the shadow.
"Would you like something to eat or drink, Your Grace?" Ganis asked. He could hear Zabel stirring upstairs, and knew that soon she would be lurking at the top of the stairs in case she were needed. "There's wine, or ale, and I could have my wife cook up some porridge or--"
"No wine, or ale, thank you, good innkeep," the Duke whispered. The corners of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. "Surely, good man, you have heard the tales. You know what it is that the nobles of this land thirst for."
Ganis turned away at the Duke's words, gut clenching. "That is--what you wish?" he said.
"It is all that would be of any good to me right now, my--may I know your name, if you please?"
Ganis thought furiously to remember if it would be wise to tell his name. But he had to be honest. "Ganis."
"Ganis. The danger to both of us will soon be great. You cannot fight it, but I can. Not like this, though. I need strength. You can give me this strength. Do you understand?"
Ganis kept his back to the Duke. He had heard they could charm you if they held your gaze. He couldn't avoid it forever, but he wanted to make this decision for himself. It was made for him when, off in the distance but coming closer, he heard the shrill, shrieking cries of the hunt.
Slowly, he picked up the lantern and walked into the kitchen. There he found one of his wife's sharpest knives, honed just that night. He found a clean cup, too, and brought them both out.
"That is not necessary," the Duke said. "Surely you know that."
"I know," Ganis said. He could see the Duke's fangs glisten behind his lips as he spoke. But he could not bear to put himself that far into the Duke's power, for fear he would never emerge. Nor could he let the Duke treat his host that way.
He was rolling up the sleeve of his nightshirt when the Duke said, "You should heat the blade in the flame first. It will purify it."
That was a tale that Ganis had never heard, but he did as the Duke asked. The Duke watched him putting the blade into the lantern flame, not flinching from the light, though his pupils narrowed to mere slits. Then Ganis stood with the knife and his arm bared, wondering where best to make the cut.
"Let me," the Duke said. After a moment, Ganis handed him the knife, and then presented his arm.
The Duke carefully placed the cup on the table under Ganis's arm, and manoeuvred the arm into position, partly bent. The Duke's skin was growing even bluer, and for a moment the knife's blade shook, but then the Duke set his face in concentration and it stilled.
The knife blade burned with cold as it cut his flesh, on the inside of his forearm. The blood didn't gush as much as Ganis was expecting, but neither did it trickle. The Duke saw the blood drip into the bowl, and Ganis could almost hear it calling to him, but he held back.
It seemed a dizzying eternity before the Duke suddenly turned his arm upward with a choked-off cry. Blood still welled up, and Ganis felt suddenly as faint as the Duke looked. Then he gasped, as suddenly the Duke's mouth descended on his arm, but instead of the bite of fangs he was half expecting, all he felt was a cool soothing. He looked down and saw the Baron's long, red tongue licking down the cut, taking the pain and leaving numbness in its wake. The blood stopped flowing, and edges of skin almost seemed to fuse back together.
The Duke gasped when he finished with Ganis's arm, and for a moment Ganis expected the fangs again, but instead the Duke picked up the cup, licked a stray drop from around the rim, and then tipped it back and drank it down. His tongue swirled around until it had extracted every drop.
The shrieks of the hunt from outside were getting closer. Ganis realized they probably expected their quarry to be trapped, with no way to regain the strength he needed to resist them. For a moment his eyes met the Duke's. The Duke's cheeks were regaining colour almost by the second, and his eyes, even in the lantern light, were beginning to dilate, the catlike pupils opening up. Drinking him in--
The Duke looked away. "That would be a poor way for me to repay my debt, wouldn't it," he said as if to himself, his voice stronger now, the way Ganis remembered hearing it before the other nobles. "But fear not, Ganis, you will receive your just rewards for his night's service. I swear it on my life and your blood." He smiled, then stood and made a sweeping bow. "My thanks for your hospitality, good man, and your refreshment, but I must leave you now."
Ganis watched, leaning on the table with his unwounded arm, still dizzy, but not only from loss of blood, now. The Duke unlatched the door and was outside before it had even begun to swing closed. Ganis heard the hunting shriek from outside, and the others wavered and fell silent for a moment. He slowly made his way to the door, pushed it closed and relatched it. Then he walked to the bar and poured himself a flagon of well-watered ale.
