Sodalitas Convivium implied that conviviality was a required element to club membership, but Ivan was not interested in being chummy. He brooded over Rasputin's body, fatigued from the effort of dragging him out of the icy water and transporting him from Moscow to London in one evening. It was a feat worthy of celebration, but the humans in the billiards room and and smoking room and dining room would have been horrified, aghast, speechless at any announcement of Ivan's accomplishment. Supposing, of course, that they could have even fathomed the beginnings of such an endeavor, which, it went without saying, they could not. And so Ivan brooded alone, in a straight-backed chair pulled up close to the side of the bed, watching for signs of success.
Success appeared unlikely. He could not see the extent of Rasputin's injuries, though the humans who had ambushed him claimed to have poisoned, shot, beaten, stabbed, and shot him again. All before they threw him into a frozen river.
Poison was unlikely to prevent the transformation that Ivan had undertaken; neither should the freezing water have mattered. The beating was probably not that severe if it had also been necessary to stab and shoot, so the stabbing and shots were the open questions. Had they damaged the heart beyond the repair a vampire transformation could provide?
The damage Rasputin had sustained would also determine how quickly the transformation could take place. Ivan had begun the process while still in hiding in Moscow, but there had been precious little of Rasputin's blood for him to drain, and the man being unconscious had made it difficult for Ivan to prompt the drawing of his own blood that would supplant the man's humanity. His previous offspring had transformed much more quickly than the three days that had elapsed since the river rescue; Ivan would not have attempted to move him from Moscow at all had not the citizens' innate suspicions of the supernatural, combined with the revolutionary hysteria being spread by the damned Bolsheviks, not made it too dangerous for Ivan and Rasputin to remain. Ivan took it as a hopeful sign that the transformation would occur that he had been able to dematerialize Rasputin as well as himself for the flight to London.
A discreet knock at the door disturbed Ivan. He glanced down at Rasputin, still unconscious, still bearing the dark marks of his last human day on his face. The rest of him was covered by the bedspread. Ivan roughly shoved his face away from the door and stood to open it.
"More fuel for your fire, sir?" asked the maid, cautiously. She was short, and carefully not looking in. Ivan acknowledged a grim appreciation for the English respect for appearances.
"I'm fine," he snapped.
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir," she said. He could smell her relief as she turned her mind to the next door.
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