Chapter 7: A Man, A Plan, a Roman Delicacy

Fr. Stephen sipped his scotch. “So let me get this straight. You want me to encourage Tarin to hook up with Lucretius so that she won’t kill Roquefort, and, incidentally, to prevent wholescale seduction of Voluptua’s part. Yes?”
“Yes! Well done, you grasped that with devilish speed, if you’ll excuse the expression,” said Lucretius.
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” said Stephen. “But firstly, I fail to see why you think I’d help you, and secondly, the unholy union of Tarin and Lucretius would bring about a force of evil stronger than anything previously known in the undead world. And I’m frankly against that.”
Roquefort spewed Slow, Comfortable Southern Screw across the car. “Lucy! You never told me about that! What nefarious plan is this, you demonic demon from hell! I should never have trusted someone with horns under his hair.”
“And hence my profession,” said Stephen.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it, I can assure you,” said Lucretius, in a plausible and trustworthy tone of voice, “but I can’t see how it changes anything. As it stands, you’re likely to get staked and Fr. Whatsit here is still going to be savaged by Voluptua.”
“Maybe I want to be,” Stephen said, somewhat defensively.
“Yes, everyone thinks that at first,” said Lucretius. “Isn’t that right, Hammy?”
“I thought he was mute,” Stephen said.
Lucretius nodded knowingly. “Exactly my point.”
“This all smells a bit fishy to me. I don’t like it and I shan’t do it,” said Roquefort said, from the corner of the limo where he was sulking.
“You see? He’s in a pout. Can’t take him anywhere,” said Lucretius to Stephen.
“This isn’t a pout; it’s righteous indignation. And we go places together, you don’t take me anywhere, you condescending anachronism!”
“I’m an anachronism? I am? I call that a bit rich coming from someone who still signs his checks AD. And besides, you’re pouting over nothing. I honestly had no idea that my union with Tarin would accidentally make me the most powerful creature in the universe. The problem here is your determination to think the worst of me at all times. I’m hurt by this completely undeserved prejudice, hurt, baffled, and perplexed, all at the same time.” Lucretius paused for breath. “There. I said it and I’m glad.”
“Oh, of course you are. Of course you are. Because it’s always about you, how hurt you are that I don’t let you treat me like a dormouse,” replied Roquefort, addressing himself largely to the ceiling of the limo.
“Like a dormouse? Those are edible, you know. We used to have them stuffed with hummingbird’s tongues back when my dear friend Tiberius was running the show. Unless I’m thinking of Trajan.”
“Only an uncivilized person would eat a dormouse,” sniffed Roquefort, “all the better educated classes feed on the blood of the living. And I frankly have no idea what you’re talking about, except that you never miss an opportunity to drop names. ‘Oh, I happened to be talking to Napoleon one day when what do you think I said that was terribly interesting?’ Which it never is, I might add. ‘Oh, and then God walked into the room, and me in my second-best waistcoat! Fancy!’”
Lucretius made a noise much like a growl. “Firstly, you were the one who brought dormice inexplicably into the conversation. Secondly, I’m sorry that you’re threatened by my large numbers of friends, but really, since I pay so little attention to fame and power, it’s hard for me to remember who became history and who didn’t. Thirdly, all my waistcoats are equally good. Which you would know if you had any taste in eveningwear at all.”
“My taste! I wasn’t the one who entertained the Prince of Wales-- not the current one, I might add, the one who couldn’t eat sausage because he said they look like cooked penis? That one? Left-handed, blinked a lot?—anyway, you were wearing something puce and unholy that night, I distinctly remember it. Possibly it was beaded.”
Lucretius took such a deep breath that Stephen felt the need to intervene. “Actually, I think Roquefort was trying to say that Lucretius tried to treat him like a doormat.”
Roquefort blinked. “What has that got to do with evening wear?”
Lucretius shook his head. “The thing about priests is, they always wear black, or vestments on formal occasions, so the bit of their brain which has to make fashion decisions just atrophies. It’s sad, really.”
“No,” said Stephen, “I meant that Roquefort said ‘dormouse’ instead of ‘doormat.’ And then you got on the waistcoats tangent. And incidentally, could you please let me out, because I am in no way swayed by your nonsense about Tarin, stakes, or dormice.”
“I call that a bit hasty, Father,” said Roquefort. “We’re not exactly ignorant in the ways of the world. Lucy here has met Napoleon, you know.”
“It’s true, I have,” admitted Lucretius.
“So I gathered. Now look here. I am completely confident in Tarin’s ability to withstand Voluptua’s many charms, as I am in my own ability. And, having her best interests at heart, I could not encourage her to become the partner of a queer demon.”
“Why does everyone think that about us!?” expostulated Lucretius.
“I haven’t the foggiest, Lucy, and that’s the truth. Now, listen, Father Whomever—”
“---Nice use of ‘whomever---’”
“—Thank you, Lucy, I planned the sentence structure carefully; listen, Father Thingy, Voluptua is most powerful vampire alive. We thought there was another, but he mysteriously disappeared one night after Voluptua invited him over for a friendly game of backgammon.”
“A game I have never liked,” contributed Lucretius.
“Well, who does? Anyway, the threat she poses is not merely one of unrestricted female sexuality, which I think we can all agree is a dangerous, if occasionally enjoyable, phenomenon. No, the horrors of her soul are beyond fathoming. No matter how deep you plunge, it’s never enough, even if you’re trying really hard and are not unkindly gifted in certain departments, you can never quite reach it, even that one time you tried--”
“Roquefort,” said Lucretius, “you’re brain is doing that thing again, where it makes inappropriate connections and verbalizes them awkwardly.”
“Oh? Sorry, anyway, she’s unfathomably evil. That was probably where I was going with that. Her body is easy to obtain, but her mind, heart, and all that, are completely unreachable. Therein lies her charm. Once you become convinced you’ve earned even a corner of her respect, you fall hopelessly in love and do whatever she wants. She’s like Mount Fujiwara. I’ve seen thousands of men climb on, and very few make it back alive.”
“I believe Fujiwara was a ronin we knew during that charming tour we made of feudal Japan, actually,” said Lucretius. “You possibly mean Mount Baldy.”
“Baldy? No, you could stroll up that if you wanted to get a good angle for a photograph. Maybe I’m thinking of Everest.”
“Tarin isn’t interested in women, so possibly we have little to fear on that front,” put in Stephen.
Lucretius and Roquefort exchanged a glance. “Fine. Don’t help us,” said Lucretius. “We’ll be fine on our own.”
“Great. I’m sure you two will be very happy together. Just let me out at the next stoplight.”
“Hahaha! That’s funny. Actually, we’ve kidnapped you. Whoopsy!” And Lucretius and Roquefort burst into self-satisfied laughter.
“Godamnit,” muttered Stephen. “For sexual purposes?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re effeminate, not female,” said Roquefort. “Actually, we have a clever purpose for you. We heard you’re good at languages. We heard you can translate prophecies.”
“I can’t read the un-nameable book of prophecies, if that’s where this is going.”
“You wish,” said Roquefort. “Actually, we’re going to the Three Prophets and you’re going to ask them who has the stake for us.”
“Oh, fuck!” said Stephen. “Those are the most irritating people in life.”
“Which is why we’re glad we won’t be able to understand them, eh, Lucy?”
“I must say, we’ve thought this out uncommonly well,” said Lucretius.
Stephen slouched in his seat. “I hate my life.”