Chapter Text
Ursula wanted a cigarette. It was a problem, as she hadn’t actually smoked since the late nineties, it being a dirty and impious habit that was bad to show to children. All the same, the habit, like far too many other things in this line of work, died hard- and again, like too many other things in this line of work, had a way of coming back. It was a pity the craving had to hit now.
She didn’t know enough German to really feel comfortable setting out in search of a convenience store. Did Germany even have those? Did they even sell tobacco? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to pester tour guides and translators for something that petty.
She carried the craving on her face in the form of a weary scowl. The cemetery groundskeeper was being difficult. It wasn’t a language barrier this time, Trier apparently didn’t actually have a shortage of English speakers. It was more of someone simply flat out refusing to do their job.
To be sure, even with the proper permits (which they had, and she had triple checked herself with the correct city officials) convincing someone to unearth a two hundred and thirty two year old crypt in the name of “research” or even “public safety” was a hard sell for the conservative types that were usually in charge of a cemetery of this age.
Ursula brushed off her shirt and smoothed the buttons. It was a crisp black blouse with a poppy red pattern of snaking flowers, accented with a matching string of red beads, and a pair of tall boots that clicked on the stone church path in a nice authoritarian drum. Looking professional often went a long way towards being taken seriously. At only 5'2", the soft, gray haired lady needed all of the help she could get to maintain the in charge appearance. For now- the scowl helped.
“So.” She began flatly, using her best disappointed tone. “What seems to be the problem?”
The dig team had been avoiding her. She didn’t need any help seeming ‘in charge’ with them. The huddled group of them became visibly agitated when she entered. One of them seemed to have drawn the metaphorical short straw of responsibility and stepped forward.
“The groundskeeper won’t let us open the vault.”
“Did you show him the permits?”
“It’s not about the permits. He says he doesn’t care if we have permits.”
“Then what’s his hold up?”
Her tone shortened. It wasn’t the dig crew’s fault, but they were the first line of earthen dams for Ursula’s anger to break against.
“He says he won’t let us kill it.”
“Oh for the love of-” She paused and held her face briefly in her hands.
“Did you explain that we aren’t here to kill it?”
“He doesn’t believe us!”
The digger whined, his hands splayed in a feeble gesture of exasperation.
“We can have it open in ten minutes if you can get him to move. He’s sitting on the damn crypt right now.”
Ursula stomped past the poor earth mover with a huff. “Couldn’t just start digging around him? I promise you the tractor would make him move.” She was only half joking.
Through the chapel, out into the yard, a beautiful grey shitty day was brewing. She wondered quietly if it was always this rainy in Germany or if they held onto it for special occasions.
The crypt in question was easy enough to spot. The stone marker had worn down to a soft, cheeselike slab, covered in lichen and water stain from centuries of grey shitty days just like this one. It blended in nicely enough to the nearly identical graves around it- save for the fact that this particular grave had a bright yellow and black tractor lurching over it like a vulture, as well as a small crowd of people currently arguing over it.
A squat, balding man in the chattering group didn’t belong to the dig crew. He had an air about him of a small dog trying to play guard dog, and realizing quickly it was about to lose. He sat cross legged and defiant on top of an above ground vault, one with a heavy stone lid that lay almost flush with the sea of unkempt grass it rested in. The heavy lid was marred with cracks, the likes of which the added weight of the guardian’s body was only making worse. His shoulders visibly fell when his eyes met Ursula as she begrudgingly made the trek in soft grass in her sharp shoes, and scowled as she refused to wobble on them.
She smiled inwardly when she saw him shrink. The outfit and the scowl had done their job, she was in charge after all.
“Good afternoon. My name is Ursula Harker, head of the catch team for the Van Helsing Institute. Is there a problem?”
The man avoided her gaze. “I am Franz. The groundskeeper.” He replied flatly. “And… I am sorry but I cannot honor your exhumation permits.”
“Tell me why.” She demanded, dropping her polite facade.
“I won’t let you kill him.” Franz looked up to finally look her in the eyes. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing but… he’s been here for over two hundred years. He’s harmless.”
“Oh?” Ursula pulled out her phone. Doing so made her even more irritated- for one, smart phones were universally terrible. For another, using it internationally incurred data charges that always made accounting bitch at her.
“According to my file, it has at least two recent confirmed kills. One would be more than enough for us to pull a removal permit.”
“You don’t get it. One of those was self defense. Anyone would have done what he did.”
“And the other?” There was a pause. Franz made a bitter face and once again looked away from her. She cleared her throat and pressed him harder. “And the other?”
“The other had it fucking coming.”
She blinked in surprise to hear such a dark response, and one he so clearly deeply meant. “What do you mean?”
“You aren’t a local and you wouldn’t understand. But… the one who was taken. He had a "history,” a long one. He’d done things to people… to women. To children.“ The groundskeeper clenched his fists as he spoke.
"Strauss didn’t do anything except for what had to be done. We ASKED him to do it. We practically had to beg. It wasn’t his decision. It wasn’t his fault.”
Oh, so it had a name now. “So you let it do your dirty work and just expected the hammer would never come down on anyone? Just because it doesn’t exist on paper doesn’t mean it can’t get into trouble.”
“If you’re going to bother anyone bother me. I put him up to it. It was my fault and my idea!”
“Save it for confessional, Franz. I’m not a priest. I’m a courier, and I have a job to do. If it makes you feel any better…” She paused. “We weren’t actually lying to you when we said we weren’t going to kill it.”
“Then what the Hell do you want from him?”
“Mostly, we want to talk.” She replied coolly. No wonder he didn’t believe them, the answer sounded stupid. Stupid and fake.
“You’re lying.”
“Trust me, Franz.” She sighed. “I wish we were. If I’m perfectly honest I think it’s a fool’s errand. It is not, however, my decision to make. Neither is it yours. This plot is the legal property of the Van Helsing Institute and I am going to have to ask you to leave.”
That was the closest thing the dig team had to a cue. Several of them stepped in and lifted the short groundskeeper by the arms, pulling him away. As bold as he was moments before, he had no fight in him now. Save for a final retort of “you’re making a mistake.”
Ursula groaned. Mostly because he was right, but not for the reasons he thought.
“Well, we’re burning daylight. Get the tent over it and start digging. I want it in the deep freeze before four.”
She retreated a short distance to sit down. She wouldn’t ever show or admit it- but the shoes weren’t much good for walking through the graveyard in. Even if they did make a nice bossy click when she walked. Her “business casual” outfits were never appropriate for field work. At least these days she was allowed to supervise. There was a distant time she would have been expected to help dig.
The backhoe made short work of the stone slab. It was impossible to do the job gently- as the lid moved it cracked deeper and deeper and eventually split in half. The dig team foreman was yelling. Ursula only snorted in mock laughter. With any luck the lid would kill the thing before they even needed to get their hands dirty and the whole stupid project could be canceled. No such luck. The two halves of the limestone slab parted and fell to either side, revealing a deep cavern into the earth.
Not so much a simple in ground vault. She got up and trudged over to it and peered down into the darkness. A tunnel had been dug in the space of the original vault and now sat below her like a mineshaft. Cold, stale air bellowed out of it. Well, she’d seen worse vampire dens than this one.
Unfortunately now it was her turn to get her hands dirty after all, the dig team was not responsible or competent enough for this. She wasn’t even wearing the right shoes. The tunnel sloped downwards sharply. A few steps in and suddenly she fell, and slid. It went well below the other vaults in the yard.
Ten, twenty yards at least- and shored up on all sides with wooden beams. A good degree of craftsmanship for something this feral, she mused. The bottom of the tunnel finally opened beneath her. She stood up, mud covered and very frustrated, but too annoyed to be afraid.
There in the back of the chamber she could see what they came for. It was pale enough to be visible even in the deep darkness of the den. It lay crumpled, not unlike a dead spider; mercifully asleep. The beam of her phone’s flashlight confirmed what she needed to know.
They’d found their target. She fumbled with her cellphone and finally opened it to make a call. “Artemis? Ursula. We have your test subject. Yes, alive, fully intact, and it will stay that way IF it can behave.” She warned, as if the deathly still figure could hear.
“It needs a change of clothes… clothing in general really. Probably also needs a bath but I am NOT touching it. Tell the nurses’ station to do it. I’ll be delivering it cuffed and muzzled and I expect you to keep it that way.” She chided her phone gently.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”