Chapter 2

Hot golden morning sunlight tortured his eyes as he was forced, sprawling and unprepared into the daylight. His master had dragged the coffin towards the window and turned it on its side.

Abraham slapped his slave repetitively on the brow, "-up, up... There now." He huffed and examined his still nameless slave, which blinked back and squinted in discomfort.

Confusion, a sense of displacement, and a staggering fatigue seemed to corrupt the slave's feelings towards the morning light that reduced his sensitive pupils to aching pinpricks. He hated the light, with a deep and natural loathing. Candlelight, any light cast from a flame, did not have the same effect on him, he realized. But this, this- He scowled, wincing away from the bared windows.

Abraham spoke plainly, while his slave squinted and shielded his eyes from the light with his filthy hands, "You need to wake up when I tell you to. Respond more promptly. Understand?"

Unable to explain how unreasonable he found this to be, the slave murmured an empty apology, and then awkwardly tacked on the necessary "Master." The word was heavy; his lips struggled to form the right sound. There was a strange emphasis on the 'a' that seemed to include a hard 'i,' but as the slave put his dazed thoughts in order, the weight and sluggishness that had hindered his tongue lightened.

Master did not seem to mind the delay or hear the strange accented speech. His own, after all, was noticeably accented. Something else already occupied Abraham's attention. Standing now, no longer kneeling over his slave, Abraham peered about his bedroom with his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his trousers.

This room was a field of victory, however mundane in appearance. It left Abraham smiling- grinning, in fact. Grinning so hard that his cheeks started to burn. Abraham had passed the night successfully with his slave obediently remaining in its coffin. He, a regular flesh and blood man, had slept while his slave, this very particular cretin, had – likely – remained awake for much of the night. For its simplicity, the feeling was comparable to the pride and joy a child might experience after surviving a night in a graveyard, having committed to the venture convinced of his security, and yet still he awakens to the morning sun with a sense of accomplishment, excitement, and pride. If Abraham had been a rooster, he would have been strutting and crowing with vigor. Yes, Abraham noted the details of the room: nothing had been disturbed. There was no change in the room since the previous night, no grimy footprints on the floor, no visible disturbance. A complete and total success.

But now when Abraham ordered his slave to come to him, he only received an excuse. The slave murmured doubtfully, "I have no shoes, nothing clean to wear… I'm not fit, at this time, to walk on your floors, Master."

However apologetic and submissive the slave might have sounded, and, possibly, genuinely been, Abraham could not brush aside the hesitancy to obey. This interruption by some remnant or semblance of a will, even if this 'consideration' (or doubt) was for the master's sake, was not the 'total control' Abraham was seeking. His word, the word of the master, was meant to be final and absolute, commanding, necessitating immediate action faithful to his order. There was no second guessing the master's will. The slave's intelligence would not be acknowledged.

If he told the wretch to drink sand or herd ants, by God, the worthless rat would do it without questioning him.

"Come here," Abraham's voice resounded with an echoing power only perceptible to the slave. Abraham himself could not hear it. A tingle ran down the slave's arm, until it lingered in the tips of his fingers. He grasped the side of the coffin to help hoist himself to his feet, and then he righted the coffin - for the sake of neatness. The initial promptness pleased Abraham, and he tried not to resume his grin as he waited for the order to be obeyed in full. The additional attentions the slave showed to the coffin, were… unpleasant for Abraham to watch. The slave took far too much care in setting the coffin straight and ensuring that it was parallel with the wall.

Standing up from the coffin, the slave glanced about the floor restlessly as he walked, nervous when he felt his sticky feet tack to and peel away from the wood with each step. He peeled them off the floorboards with cringes, while tracking the portions of the floor that were covered by imported rugs, in order to save them from being soiled. He would serve his master properly, always mindful of what Master might find future fault in. Keeping to the wood, he followed his master in a roundabout sense, as Abraham led him across the room. The slave was rewarded with a look of dissatisfaction after he meandered in an arch in order to avoid a rug his master traversed without care. A verbal note was made, about the welfare of the rugs, but the master showed no change in his opinion. So the slave apologized a second time. And this reinstated whatever quest his master had meant to take him on.

The detailed handles of the drawer Abraham pulled out were examined with genuine pleasure by the slave. He began to take notice of his surroundings, pleased by the light intentions this sort of pleasant craftsmanship had involved. Unlike the craftsmanship which had gone into the carving of the stone table, or into the creation of the rough, uncomfortable casket he had been made to sleep in. The polished wood floors and furniture, all the contents of the room, were beautiful and soothing - but soon his master held something out to him, and his attention was recalled.

Pinched between Abraham's fingers was a small bell, a thing recognizable as belonging to an ornate bird cage. It was meant to amuse some feathery tenant, but it had been repurposed, a ribbon threaded through it. Abraham examined his slave's limbs, and then asked his slave to hold out an arm. With deft fingers, Abraham tied the black ribbon around a chilled, colorless wrist, with no fear of making the ribbon too tight as he worked it into a powerful and unsightly knot. Due to the slave's natural quietness, Abraham had seen to make him more noticeable to others, mainly his household staff, by disrupting this lack of presence.

The bell rang, and then fell into ungraceful silence as it was held upside down. Inspecting the polished metal ornament, without intending to offend, the slave displeased his master by immediately showing him where Master Hellsing's cunning had failed.

"Don't touch it," Abraham's hardened expression drew out an immediate response. "Let it ring, so it'll be easier to find you."

When Abraham turned aside, the rapid ringing of the bell brought his attention back to the slave.

The slave betrayed no mischief as he wondered aloud, "So if I need to find you, may I use this? Or do you have your own bell?" He rang it for emphasis.

As his mouth crumpled with a troubled scowl, Abraham squinted at the indecipherable face, his brow strained for a moment. But the oddity passed, and Abraham moved on to his closet. A wretch, such as this slave, did not have the right to be spoken to face-to-face, like an equal. "No. You will not need to find me. I will come for you, if I need you. Otherwise, you are to remain where I place you. The bell's purpose is to help me keep track of you, so that you don't wander. You'll wear it until you've learned not to wander."

So the bell was a preemptive measure, of sorts – the slave mused without suspicion as to why wandering might be bad - he had never, in his memory at least, 'wandered.' He did, however, puzzle over the inconveniences he saw this ultimately causing his master. A bell for each of them would be so much more convenient. Then he could find Master at any time - so long as Master was within earshot. But as it was now, Master would be finding him - so long as he was within Master's earshot. The slave held his tongue, as he deemed this to be the proper response.

When Abraham reemerged from the depths of the closet, his slave was inspecting the bell, a thin finger inside inciting muted tinks.'Tink, tinktink, tink…'

"Stop that, just stop-" Abraham swatted at his slave's arm, earning immediate and rigid compliance. Abraham showed off a pair of old, but not ugly, boots, and then set them on the floor with a sigh. Stowing one hand away in his pocket, as his other held his mouth while he compared the boots to the size of the filthy feet - and somewhat clawed toes - Abraham sighed again. He massaged his brow, "Put these on. If they fit well enough, you'll wear them from now on." He took his eyes from the grotesque image. The pale, darkly veined feet were repulsive. They had even managed to make Abraham's vivacious appetite waiver.

Those colorless, clawed monstrosities would have to be covered. Permanently.

The boots were only slightly too small, so the slave was permitted to wear them out of the bedroom. Tinkling as he walked through the Hellsing mansion, the slave's senses were oversaturated by the manor's atmosphere: the shelter – an air of sanctuary – as well as the prettiness of the furnishings, among other things. In passing, he inspected every detail of the corridors he was led down, even the peculiarly dark and out of place curtains that covered each of the windows. Good, no more sunlight, the slave smiled with an expression that was far from pleasant. But it soon softened.

On the stairs, the polished handrail was stroked fondly as the slave descended to the third floor, following his master's back. They met no one as they walked, but the slave did not know that he should find this peculiar. It felt natural to him. Seeing others would have been jarring to his already occupied senses.

But the smells, the scents of different people carried throughout the manor. Each scent rose like a vapor from the carpets. A scent lingered like dew on the vibrant petals that hung over the vases. Paintings delighted the slave, bringing him sights of places or things he had not known he could recognize, and he devoured the walls with what his master, in time, observed to be a look of contentment. They entered the library, and the smells congregated, stopping the slave at the door. He blinked and felt as though he had swayed on his feet. His excited gaze scoured the shelves, and found books and papers, gilded depressions that were shapes which bore meaning – titles, names. It was all so marvelous, so interesting; it quenched some aching hunger he had not processed or understood before. All of these things were recognized rather than newly discovered, and yet, the slave was equally enchanted. Sadly, though, sunlight streamed in through the uncovered windows, despite the dark, thick curtains - which someone had opened. So the slave lingered behind, to avoid entering any one of the precariously arranged patches of light.

Once called for, the slave went to his master, and saw another figure, the other man he had been introduced to, seated in a chair at a table set with tea things. The scents were all fragrant and curious, though, again, not exactly new. But the spectacled man's dark expression, his manner, his look, were hostile and disconcerting. So the slave took steps to further divide himself from the table of pleasantries, hoping to retract any offense he had inadvertently brought upon the spectacled man.

Abraham, meanwhile, sighed as he seated himself at his accustomed 'breakfast table,' his hand resting briefly in his vest pocket before he drew out his silver pocket watch, its chain sounding softly as he opened to the clock's face. It was approaching noon, and Abraham had yet to eat. Hungrier than ever, Abraham collected what morsels he might from the platters provided, and then comforted his stomach with warm coffee and added cream - and a little sugar, just to perk himself up a bit.

The slave had never seen his master so relaxed, looking as though he were enjoying himself, looking perfectly at ease. It was soothing, somehow. But the slave did not question the feeling, as he watched the men at the table, hands clasped behind his back, quite cheerful to be present within such a 'delightful' scene. The only matter that bothered him was the question of what purpose he might have there. The men, well his master in particular - the other man did not move or cease to frown at him - was taking care of himself, and left nothing for any third party to complete for him.

He might stand there and keep them company, the slave considered the possibilities. This thought satisfied him, so long as he did not dwell on John Seward's hostility and the observation that the slave's company was most certainly unlooked for and unwelcomed. It seemed only his departure would please the man. But Master had brought him here, so here he would stay, until told to do otherwise – by Master.