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It was a moonless night on the coast of Brest. Sleep evaded Captain Hornblower once more. He decided to take a walk on deck. He knew Lieutenant Bush could be found at the mizzen top where he kept a watchful eye on the enemies and on the Hotspur's deck. Any seaman would be expected to find his way up the ragging in darkness. Hornblower was an expert after so many years of chasing his vampire friends up and down the ratlines on the Indefatigable.
He more felt Bush’s presence at the top than saw his dark shape. He fancied he could feel the gaze of those pale blue eyes – tell-tale signs of vampirism. Bush’s courteous “Sir” confirmed his location.
---
It was not rare to find vampires in His Majesty’s Navy. Most ships had at least one vampire office. The British Navy was the only naval force that employed vampires, much to the dismay of its enemies and some of its more Catholic allies. It was a result of the unofficial treaty between the crown and the night folks. It brought safety to the streets of England and a deadly force at sea where its enemies were powerless at night. It was as necessary as the pressgang in maintaining Britain’s naval supremacy.
It required the most skilful leadership to maintain orders on a ship with men and night folks aboard. The sight of a vampire in a bloodbath struck as much fear on enemy’s decks as their own. A fear shrunken crew was as likely to sulk at orders as to turn on their own officers. As a rule vampires were not made captains. There was the appearance to maintain that humans were still in charge. There was also the more practical believe that a captain should be available day and night, which Hornblower thought non-sense as the human lieutenant he was made to employ when he accepted Bush’s service, a Mr John Jones the Ninth, was inept regardless of the availability of daylight.
For the most part the night folks did not mind this discrimination. Born vampires from ancient families with all their wealth could easily assert influence without attaining command. Last he heard Mr Bracegirdle was flag lieutenant to the First Lord of the Admiralty. The few poor turned vampires were simply content with the opportunity of respectable employment and a steady supply of (albeit often foul) animal blood. The more capable of them could even hope to see their names on the Gazette, without the customary prefix sinful criminal.
He first met Bush on the Renown. Captain Swayer was an old man, naturally mistrustful of vampires even in his saner days. In his paranoia Bush and Wellend suffered the worst. Before his unfortunate fall he threatened to make Bush take the morning watch and Wellend Holystone duty. There was still much uncertain about the circumstances of his fall. Whilst the prospect of court martial occupied the lieutenants’ minds, they all knew, in the eyes of a court never aboard the Renown, vampires seemed the most likely culprits of a man’s misfortunate in the dark.
There were also adventures. The night storming of a Spanish fort. It was Hornblower the human, not Bush the vampire, who came up with the idea. Having joined the Navy soon after his turning he was never instructed in the shadowy arts. The attack proved most successful. The twin batteries destroyed. Three prize ships taken. The Dons surrendering unconditionally.
The morning after the fort was taken, Bush was most surprised when, after he settled himself in a sunless room, Hornblower brought in a heavily wounded Spanish soldier. It was clear the man would not survive. Blood dripping from his still warm body. Hornblower’s eyes expectant until he read the hesitation on Bush’s face.
“I could take him away if you wish, sir.” To Hornblower’s tactical mind it was most obvious of needs – the liquor store needed guarding, the guns needed manning, the vampire officer needed feeding. “I just thought it would be wasteful. He would not survive the day.”
“No, leave him.” Bush wetted his lips. The scent of fresh blood made him feel drunk. “And thank you, Mr Hornblower.”
Hornblower simply nodded and left. When he returned from his day watch, fatigue obvious despite his restlessness. Bush ordered him to food and water and bed. He grudgingly obeyed and fell asleep on Bush’s bed.
Bush later explained. Ever since joining the service he pledged himself off human blood. Even though drinking from the enemies was not a crime, Bush was determined to be a good seaman. No seaman, good or bad, would be found feasting on blood. He would allow his bloodlust to serve His Majesty in battle, but no more. He restricted himself to his keg of Victualling Yard issued animal blood.
Bush looked well after Hornblower’s gift, this brought Hornblower satisfaction, until that fateful night on the Renown. His superhuman strength took him through mobs and mobs of escaped prisoners. But it was too much. Hornblower found him lying on the maindeck in a pool of blood – Spanish blood, English blood, and his own blood flowing freely from the many cuts on his body. Light fading from his blue eyes as the first hint of dawn broke.
He remembered carrying Bush’s lame body to his cabin deep under the waterline. The loblolly boy left the lantern and practically ran. It was a small cabin, plainly furnished, unlikely the decadence he saw in Kennedy and Bracegirdle’s cabin on the Indefatigable. In the dim lantern light, he could see life draining away from Bush’s ashy features. He did not have time to think if life was the correct terminology for an undead creature.
Without thinking he cut his waist with a small knife and brought it to Bush’s lips. He drank without waking. The more he drank the thirstier he became. Colour returning to his face through the offering of blood. Hornblower felt faint. Hornblower smiled.
--
It was a surprise to the lieutenants when the court martial they dreaded never happened. It was little surprise to anyone but Hornblower he was given command. Buckland would never live down the shame of being captured in his own cot. Bush was a vampire. There was no doubt to anyone but Hornblower he was deserving of command.
It was another surprise to Hornblower when he received an invite from Bush to spend their shore leave together. He did not make friends easy. On Justinia it was his young age. On Indefatigable it was his friendliness with the vampire midshipmen. On Renown, under Sawyer’s tyranny, he was lonely until Bush’s arrival.
He did not regret his friendship with Kennedy and Bracegirdle. It was exultating not having to hide his own nature. Fancier of boys as Simpson called him. Deep in the hull in Kennedy and Bracegirdle’s cabin, where the sun never shone and the hands were too scared to be near, he could enjoy the easy companionship of men. Many an afternoon he laid on the plush oriental rug. Sharp teeth planting gentle love bits on his naked form. Never breaking skin – for drinking from one’s shipmate was a capital offence punishable by staking under the midday sun.
Memories of those days still made him blush. He wondered the nature of Bush’s invite. He liked their friendship. Hornblower had this fleeting feeling Bush would remain his friend even if, even after, he had seen how unworthy Hornblower was. The thought filled him both with hope and uneasiness.
Bush was good looking. Not in the seductive way natural to many vampires. Bush being a turned vampire was un-vampire like in many ways. He did not have the grace of a born vampire. Time had yet worn off his humanity. Sometimes Hornblower wondered if he was more vampire like than Bush was. Archie did say he would make a good vampire. Antony nodded. He smiled at the memory.
Bush was stout and well built like a true seaman. He even retained a pale sun tan from his human life. He more than once wished he could invite Bush to his deck shower so he could get a glance of what hid under the impeccable uniform, to trace the curve of his muscles, to taste the salt on his skin with his blunt human teeth. He wondered what reactions he could draw from the lieutenant. His body ached with longing.
It was unlikely Bush would ever accept the invite even if he moved his shower time. Bush showed every sign of being a traditional human. He remembered when they first caught sight of the wooden crosses the Spanish laid on their coast to ward off the evil British. Where Kennedy and Bracegirdle would have laughed at Spanish stupidity, Bush flinched. He wondered if Bush was a churchman in his life. If he disapproved of sodomy like he did the undivine rights of vampires to feast on human blood.
Besides, Hornblower knew he wanted more. He wanted more than to know Bush’s body. He wanted to press his entire soul into those strong arms. To have Bush accept all his insanity and unworthiness and still love him. To have Bush smother him with love until it drove out every grain of doubt and hatred he reserved for himself. That was too much to ask of any man, of any woman, of any human or vampire.
Hornblower accepted the invite, knowing he could not say no to Bush. The broad grin when he heard of his promotion still seared in his mind.
---
They met on the docks at sundown. It was like they were seeing each other for the first time. In a sense it was. It was the first time they saw each other outside of a ship’s company. Not in direct command, with no prospect of action. They could simply enjoy each other’s company. As friends.
Bush took them to his favourite drinking establishments. They were the type frequented by common sailors, as Hornblower expected. There were a few midshipmen and rundown lieutenants about but Hornblower possessed the only gold epaulette. He did not mind. Bush’s company did more than the local rum to make him drunk with happiness. They talked and they laughed like it was the most natural of things. Bush’s drunken grin had too much teeth and Hornblower was happily sleepy.
When dawn approached, Bush took them to a respectable inn. Too respectable looking even for Hornblower’s drunken taste. Realisation came when the owner took no surprise at Bush’s request for a room with no window. There was mild surprise when he asked for a lamp for Hornblower. And barely disguised grumble when Bush said they did not want any girls or boys until they were rested. Hornblower yawned.
---
There they were. In a well-furnished room with a large feathered bed in the middle. Hornblower threw off his clothes and sprawled on the bed. He was comfortable with his own naked form. It was still too hot even though the sun has never touched this room.
Then he saw Bush struggling with his clothes. Their prize money afforded enough alcohol to stupefy even a vampire. That made Hornblower proud. He chuckled as Bush’s normally practical fingers worked clumsily through brass buttons before a coat fell to the floor. And then a waist coat. The same fingers moved to pull his shirt out of his breeches before strong arms worked to throw it over his head. Amber lamp light dancing on his now bare form. His smile to Hornblower warmer than the tropical sun.
At that sight, all thoughts became irrelevant. Hornblower’s mind was filled with passion. Passion that was suppressed in the long months at sea now roared in his blood. He leaped and pulled Bush down on the bed.
He kissed Bush. Oh how he longed to do this. It was a soft kiss. Just enough to feel Bush’s cold lips on his. His hand on Bush’s back. The smooth skin under his palm cool and strong like a marble statue. Not a trace of scar. Not a trace of the bleakness of the Renown. Now Hornblower was a commander and Bush was in his arms. All was well in the world. Not a thought for the morrow.
Soon the kiss deepened. Hornblower was sucking and biting and urging his tongue into Bush’s month when Bush pulled back. Eyes wide. Hornblower was about to panic until he realised Bush’s arms were still around him. Holding him tight. He felt safe.
“What are you doing?” Bush’s voice was coarse with tenderness.
“What I have always wanted.” Hornblower’s lips back on Bush’s. He pulled back again.
“I could have hurt you.”
Then Hornblower remembered. Most establishments that service the night folks have straight rules on kissing. For fear of those sharp teeth landing where they should not.
Hornblower contemplated telling Bush he was not the first vampire he laid with. But it would make him sound a mere fancier of vampires. No. He wanted Bush. With all his mortal body and soul. He wished he had the words. For love always eluded Hornblower.
“I trust you with my life, William.” He said, with another kiss. “Like I have trusted you before. And will do again and again. In all the time to come.”
---
“Any news on the enemies?”
“No. Nothing sir. They are still in habour. No change since you last saw them in the day.” Bush’s sharp eye can see well in the dark. He still had his night glass out, as if to imitate his human shipmates.
Hornblower thought as much. The duty of a captain kept him awake. Even in a calm where the French had little chance of escaping blockage.
“Couldn’t sleep, sir?” Bush’s voice was now soft. In a way only Hornblower could discern. To others he was still the stern lieutenant. Hornblower usually disdained stating the obvious. But he did not mind with Bush. He came to the mizzen top to seek Bush’s companion. That he delivered.
“No.” He said with a smirk. “Perhaps I should take up employment as a vampire.”
He thought about asking for the bite in his youth. It was a sure way of getting the King’s commission, but no more. The thought of living in the shadows never troubled him. The thought of never getting his own command did.
“I wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone, sir. The very least on you.” He could hear Bush’s frown. He chided himself on being careless. Of course it was a difficult subject for Bush. Being turned against his will with no vampiric kins to guide him. Bush was still supporting his aging sisters even though they turned their backs on him. The restlessness that was dulled by climbing returned. He used it all on self-scrutiny.
Bush must have sensed his uneasiness. He rested a hand on Hornblower’s arm. In a show of affection none of them would normally allow. In the safety of darkness on the mizzen top, no one could see them. Not the hands on the deck. Not the dozing Frenchmen on the shore. If other vampires in the Fleet were watching, it was not in Hornblower’s mind.
Even in this moment of comfort Hornblower could not escape the barrage of self-criticism. It was not right when Bush, who was the one being offended, should seek to comfort him. He wanted to say something. Needed to say something to reassure Bush and to avert his own guilt. But the words would not come.
At last, it was Bush who broke the uncomfortable silence in Hornblower’s mind.
“There is some good in it, sir. I would not have joined the service if it wasn’t for the bite. I love the service. I would not have met you if it wasn’t for the service. I would not trade it for anything.”
Hornblower’s guilt was now replaced by sentiment. He felt the welling in his eyes and he desperately hoped Bush could not see it. Of course Bush could with his perfect night vision. He said nothing, but guided Hornblower’s weary head to his shoulder. He had seen far worse from his Captain, his friend, his lover. His very human weakness only made him love him even more.
Hornblower knew that. His intellectual mind could not reconcile with the idea. But his weary body, now rested comfortably in Bush’s embrace, in the safety of the mizzen top, allowed himself the small luxury. He closed his eyes. Simply happy in the moment. Until dawn broke and duty called for him again.