Chapter One and a Half

I quickly scanned the deck locating the red giant sitting on his crate near the staircase leading to what I presumed to be the captain's chambers.

"Oy," I called out to him as I quickly walked to stand by his side. "So do I just leave this here then and be on my way?"

"Nay lad! Cap'in had specific orders. We bring up them crates and wait with 'em 'till he tells us to leave."

"And when might this captain of yours decide to show his face some of us are really hungry!!"

"No need to shout man. 'Ere's the cap'in now." I turned in the direction of his pointing finger expecting to see Johnny Depp followed by his buccaneers, instead I laid eyes on an immaculately dressed gentleman covered shoulders to toe in an Armani suit accented with Cartier cufflinks and the most expensive looking gold Rolex I've laid eyes on this century. He was followed by two highly armed men whom I can only presume to be his bodyguards. All the while I kept thinking a captain of a cargo ship decked out in Armani and followed by men trained to kill on sight was not normal. What the hell kind of ship did I get myself into?

He paused when he spotted me. I tried to look as nonchalant as I could but I could tell from his puzzled gaze and his sharp stare this would not end well.

He approached us slowly and with a brief glance at the red giant he turned and faced me.

"What are you doing on my boat?" The captain said.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask.

"What are you doing on my boat?" He repeated in a nerverackingly calm manner.

I don't know if it was his deathly stare, his absolute lack of fear or his super guard that stood beside him idly polishing his weaponry, but I was terrified of him. I blame it on my hunger of course, but I cannot deny that a part of me wanted to fling the box as far as I could, run across the Atlantic so I can crawl under my bed, suck my thumb and cry shamelessly.

I placed the crate on my hip and pointed to it, "I was unloading sir. That is what you hired me for, is it not?"

He looked at me, still unblinking. He continued to stare, making me even more nervous. Finally he blinked.

Looking down to pull on the cuff of his sleeve he asked, "What’s your name?"

"Russell Rothechilde," I answered automatically, before I realized that I had given my rightful name.

His ears perked up and he stood straight to look at me with curiosity and intrigue like he found a precious artefact to which only he has a claim. "Rothechilde," he said, letting the name roll down his tongue, "as in, the Rothechildes of Lancashire?"

I nodded. Shit, he's a history connoisseur. Little known fact about my family, the Rothechildes were the lords of Lancashire for centuries until the Scottish takeover lead by that fool of a man Bonnie Prince Charlie. Of course the English won that war but my father being third cousin twice removed to the bonnie prince decided to support his side of the war, thus being tried with treason and leaving our family name in shame, we were pretty much forgotten, especially since the name Rothechilde had supposedly died with me, well unless you’re counting the Dutch bankers, whom barely pass as Rothechildes these days.

He smiled. "It's funny. I was told that the Rothechilde's legacy died with their bankrupt and famously homosexual," he paused and looked me from head to toe, "son." He finished.

Now in my defence I am not homosexual, I was caught sucking the blood of William Beckford once who was very openly homosexual and from the position of his neck in my mouth, not to mention his hands gingerly caressing the back of my head, I can see how rumours of Lord Rothechilde's flamingly homosexual son could have started.

I cleared my throat, "my parents were eccentric; they were singlehandedly trying to bring back names of the past. My sister for example is named Jane Austen."

I'm a terrible liar and he knew it. He looked at me, his eyebrows lowered, his lips curved into a smirk and his eyes opened wide as if he wanted to take in everything that was going to happen, as if he was going to enjoy it. 

I placed the crate in front of me creating a barrier between me and his henchmen. With my burning hunger, the fact that I hadn't fed in over a week and my dwindling strength I knew I'd be dead within seconds of revealing my true self. I had no choice but escape or face my death, again.

His eyes fell on the crate, "I don't like thieves," he said in that same monotonous I don't give a fuck voice.

"I'm not stealing from you." I said but he arched his eyebrow.

"And yet," his eyes fell on the crate again.

I went to lower it when a movement caught the corner of my eye.

He caught my pause and smiled. "I love it when I'm right." He then turned to the deadly figure beside him, "kill him, but make it gory. It's been a while since I've seen an extremely graphic death; Jasper!"

The red oaf, whom I'd all but forgotten, stood up, "ay cap'in?"

"Bind his hands."

"Ay sir." He came up beside me. "Sorry mate, buh duties call yeah. No hard feelings?"

I shook my head. I am a vampire for fucks sakes, yet I saw no possible way to escape the inevitable, hungry or not, unless I had a distraction I'd never get off this damned boat.

I slowly lowered the crate and watched as my executioner stood in front of me with a long machete he was buffing, leaving a gleaming sinister shine. I noticed that there was something crawling around behind him, a pair of glowing green eyes.

"Boris," I whispered.


“Did chu say somefink?” The red oaf asked.

“Just the lord’s prayer,” I answered.  He had my hands behind my back and was proceeding to put that itchy brown rope around my wrist. I looked over to where Boris was but he had run away by then. Go on rat, save yourself, I thought.

Suddenly there was a shout admitting out of the captain's mouth, "OWWWW HOLY FUCK A DUCK!!!!"

"Wha' happened cap'in?" Jasper called from behind me.

"It bit me; it fucking bit me!”

“Wha’ did sir?”

“A fucking rat! The nasty bastard, where is the fucking rodent? Find it so I can squish it between my feet!"

The machete toting asshole, so blessedly distracted stood with his head turned away from me.

Now's my chance I thought, and without second guessing my intentions, I kicked the crate with all my strength and was surprised to see it rise up and accurately collide with the back of his head. He passed out instantly. Upon seeing his colleague flat on the floor the gun toting goon pulled out his pistol and aimed it at my face. Feeling my fangs spring out from between my gums, I ran towards him. I jumped up in mid air and swung my hands under my feet to bring them before me and scooped down to slice the rope from my wrist using the passed out henchman’s machete. The gunman fired his first shot which I dodged. Despite the fact that I hadn't fed I was able to keep my speed. I reached him before he could take a second shot and bit him in the jugular. His salty blood filled my mouth and I breathed in the scent of him, fear, sweat, and the scent of being alive ran throughout his body filling my senses. I sucked harder, swallowing faster than I've ever swallowed before. He was trying to hold me off but I was stronger, soon he stopped fighting and within thirty seconds he was limp in my hands.

I detached my fangs from his neck, still hungry but more acutely aware of my surroundings. I saw everyone was more distracted by the captain searching the floors to notice one of their crew members was sucked dry. I felt a scratch at my ankle and saw Boris, that dang rat, sitting on my shoe. I quickly grabbed him and put him in my shirt pocket while at the same time the captain looked up to see his executioners immobile and me, blood dripping down my face. He went white with shock, and I took that as my cue to escape. I turned to make a run for it when Boris stuck his head out, sniffing in the direction of the crate. Seeing as he hadn't led me astray yet, I scooped it up on my way down the boat, past the red oaf who looked dumbstruck and down the plank onto the docs all the while feeling the newly digested blood work its way through my system, mixing with my adrenaline.

It was a rush as I ran down the docs, a blur of invisibility to anyone who would happen to look my way. However, I couldn't help but feel a growing dread in my gut that I'd just wholly floundered and somehow this night was going to incidentally come around and bite me in the ass.

Welcome to America, indeed.

Chapter One

“It bloody feels like shit down here.  I don’t know how I let that damn fool Jan convince me to come to America in a boat. Plus I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since I left London; I can’t very well eat the crew, they’re manning the boat plus someone will know if one of them is missing. I can’t have them poking around down here if you know what I mean. Me being the stowaway, the unwanted Vampire, they’ll deliberately let in sunlight, and believe me, I don’t sparkle.” I gazed down at my tiny companion, “and I can’t eat you; you’re a rat for Christ’s sake.”

That poor pitiful brown rodent, he did look pretty appetizing from my point of view, except for the fur, and the dirt and the fleas. I don’t fancy sucking down blood from furry, dirty, mangy animals. You end up spending hours picking fur off of your tongue, brushing your teeth to get rid of the taste of garbage and picking fleas out of your body hair; it’s definitely not worth the hassle.

It’s been almost 10 days since I’ve been stuck on this bloody boat, staring at the four walls in the cellar. It’s so dark and dingy and I’m surrounded by empty cargo boxes and itchy brown rope; it’s not something a former Lord of England is used to seeing on a daily basis. I have to sit on the uncomfortable floor, feeling my bottom ricocheting painfully from one cheek to the other with this stupid rat as my only companion. In a desperate attempt to keep my sanity I befriended him for I was never one who did well with isolation. I named him Boris, aptly so for he looks like a Boris, beady eyed, big fat nose, shabby hair and he’s as daft as a houseplant, bringing me crumbs and cheese when all I fancied was a vial of blood.

The sailors were making an awful lot of noise, dropping cargo boxes onto the deck running around with their big heavy boots, their footsteps echoing above me stomp, stomp, stomp, crash, crash, crash. I hope that means we’re bloody close to land. I’d hate to be here one more day running on empty. I sure as hell cannot steer this oversized dinghy on my own, and with the hunger that burns inside me that’s precisely what I’d be doing if I ate every member of the crew, which I would. Oh sweet, salty, rusty blood, how I long for thee.

“Land in sight captain, shall I drop anchor,” said one of the sailors.

Ah sweet land of the brave and free. Finally I’ll be rid of this stinking boat and daft Boris. I checked my watch, 7:00 am. Excellent. Seeing as I was still running on British time I changed my watch to the appropriate time in New York: 2am. Plenty of time for me to feast before the sun comes up, plus the ship’s a half hour early, which means I can get in a snack before Jan hits the docs. 

I feel the ship pull into the docs and hear the undeniable sound of wood planks and metal chains being hoisted onto the deck.  I quickly gather up my travelling bag and cloak and pick myself up off the floor. No point in delaying my escape, the sooner I’m off this vessel the better. I walk towards the door, walking on a boat that is docked is just as difficult as walking on a boat that is at sea. I can feel the waves beneath the soles of my shoes.

I made my way through the doors and into the dimly lit hallway that casted an eerie dark shadow on every turn I made, which was extremely difficult seeing as the hallway is so bloody narrow. There is barely enough room for my body and my carrying bag, it starts to dawn on me why no one ever wandered around here, with the body mass these sailors carry around with them, they'll all get bloody stuck. Oh thinking about their body mass and the delicious blood that pumps within them... no I must keep focused; I have to get off of this damned boat as fast as possible.

I walk as quietly as I can towards the staircase on the starboard side. No need to take the front exit when I intend to escape unseen. I carefully place my feet upon the floorboards in front of me trying not to make a sound, which I know is ridiculous what with the ruckus the sailors are making overhead I can very well guarantee they won’t be able to hear me at all, however one cannot be cautious enough in these situations.

Suddenly I hear a noise behind me: scratch, scratch, scratch. I awkwardly turn half of my body port side to see what the source of the scratching is when I noticed a pair of bright green glowing marbles staring right up at me.

“Boris,” I whisper, “bugger off you damn fool.”

The rodent twitched his whiskers. Lifting himself on his hind legs he sniffed the air. In a matter of seconds the rodent pinned his ears back, twitched his whiskers again and in a panic lowered himself on all fours and ran swiftly into the shadows. As I awkwardly turn my body back to its normal position a pair of red-haired legs start to make its way down the starboard staircase.

“And make sure there’s plenty o’ rum left in me bunker when I get back. I intend on drinkin’ meself in a stupor tonight,” the pair of legs said as it made its way down the narrow staircase.

The legs moved quickly down the stairs, first revealing an unattractive pair of beige coloured cargo shorts, an equally unattractive blue stripped polo t-shirt all belonging to a six foot six inch lanky giant with ginger red hair, bloodshot blue eyes and the largest nose I’ve ever seen on any human in my entire undead life.

“Oy, wha chu doin’ down here mate? Cap’in’s been lookin’ all over for you. Don’t chu know we’ve got a ship to unload?” The Scottish giant asked me.

“The captain’s looking for me?” I asked.

“Aye, been sayin’ he was sure there were for’y men on this boat and for the past week he’s been only countin’ thir’y –nine. ‘Ow long were you hiding down here then?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” I lied; “I was sick with, with...” shit my mind went blank. What diseases did men get on ships these days anyway? And who the bloody hell travels on ships? I thought we rid ourselves of these ancient vessels with the dawn of the airplane. I was so bloody thirsty I couldn’t think and here was a large chunk of blood-retaining meat standing in front of me; his red cheeks mocking my thirst, perfection within white skin. Maybe if I just took a bite, a little smidgen...

“Oy! Chu alrigh’?” He asked while looking at me like I was going to either pass out or kill him at any second, which actually should be the right expression seeing as I was about to pass out and his blood was so appetising I could kill him right here and have my full.

Damn it, I have to escape this boat. Think, what bloody diseases are there?

“Looks like chu still ‘ave the scurvy,” the red giant said. Scurvy! Of course, how daft can one get?

“Yes I had the scurvy; I’m still recovering from it actually.” I lied

“It’s alrigh’ mate. Oy, would chu mind goin’ into the cellar and grabbing one of them crates then, seeing as I won’ be able to get around chu?”

Fuck! I’ll never be able to leave now. As I tried to turn around without getting stuck between my carrying bag and the hallway I contemplated turning back around and taking a big juicy bite out of that big red oaf but thought better of it. I pitied the world that would have this boorish brute walking around for all eternity. No sir, I pick my victims much better than that.

I walked back into the cellar cursing my bad luck for finding me in this situation and hoisted one of the crates. The cargo boxes which I assumed were empty were actually quite heavy. Had it not been for vampiric strength I doubt I would ever be able to lift one of them. Back in my alive days I could barely lift my frock over my head; of course mother always said anybody who had to dress themselves wasn’t worth the breath they breathe. Mother herself never lifted a finger. In fact I don’t remember her ever taking a bath. Damn the 1700s were a disgusting time indeed.

The red oaf entered the cellar just as I placed the crate against my hip. He looked at me, and then the crate, then back at me. It must have looked quite awkward that someone as lanky and skinny as me lifted such a heavy cargo box, especially someone who supposedly had scurvy.

He obviously was on the same brainwave as me for he asked, “Oy, should chu be carryin’ that load by yourself? Them crates is awful heavy. Me thinks you’d be needin’ a hand seeing as you’re ill an’ all.”

I looked at the dirt under his fingernails and shuddered. There was no possible way I was going to let those near my buffed manicured undead nails. “No thanks, I’ll manage.”

The oaf shrugged his shoulders and bent next to a cargo box about a foot away and attempted to lift it by gathering the two sides in a bear hug and picking it inch by inch off the floor while I amusedly watched his face turn red, the jugular vein popping out, pumping blood at an alarming rate. After hauling his crate off the floor he gave me and my crate, which was still attached to the side of my hip, a quizzical look.

I shrugged, “well you didn’t expect me to hoist the heaviest box did you? I’m bloody sick.”

He nodded and walked as quickly as he could into the hallway and up the stairs, obviously in too much pain to address me or to find out whether I was behind him or not. Tossing my carrying bag around my neck to hang from the back and placing the crate in front of me mimicking the red oaf’s bear hug I followed him into the hallway, up the stairs and onto the deck.

The fresh air was the first thing I noticed as I ascended the stairs. The cool sea breeze hit my face and I breathed in deeply, feeling my dead lungs expand, taking in oxygen that was essentially useless to me. After being cooped up in that dingy cellar with nothing but stale dry air for over a week, the fresh moist air was wholesomely nourishing. I greedily took in another breath.