Bloodborn (25 page)

Gabriella shook her head, dismayed. ‘You are distraught, sister. I understand that. There have been four deaths. It is enough to frighten anyone, but you must calm down and think clearly. Striking out at me will not–’

‘Don’t try that on me, witch!’ hissed Hermione. ‘I will not fall again for soothing words! You and Mathilda have been against us from the beginning!’

‘But we haven’t!’ cried Gabriella. ‘You have no proof!’

Hermione smiled. ‘Haven’t I? What did you do when we parted ways here after visiting Mathilda’s flea pit?’

‘I went home to Herr Aldrich,’ said Gabriella. ‘I stayed there all evening.’

‘You used that excuse before,’ said Hermione. ‘But what of your Kislevite protégée, who wears dresses and long hair when you bring her to my parlour, but is a mannish, shock-headed spy out of my sight? Did she perhaps let you go home alone, and instead follow poor Dagmar home?’

‘She did not,’ said Gabriella. ‘She was with me the whole night.’

‘Was she?’ asked Hermione. ‘Dagmar was killed before her coach reached the Silver Lily. Who but you and I knew she was out?’

A memory flashed through Ulrika’s mind – something black darting quickly in the corner of her eye as she and the others had travelled back from Mathilda’s in Hermione’s coach. She had looked out the window and seen only Dagmar’s coach, and thought she was jumping at shadows, but had there been something there after all?

Gabriella sighed, exasperated. ‘You still have presented no proof, Hermione. Well, I have proof you are wrong. Ulrika and I were attacked ourselves this night, by the killer. He nearly killed me. He did kill Herr Aldrich and poor dear Imma.’

Hermione stared, shocked. ‘Aldrich is dead?’ She recovered herself and bared her teeth. ‘Then it was you who killed him! Another blow to our network of spies. You do your work well, traitor.’

‘I didn’t kill him,’ said Gabriella patiently. ‘The beast killed him.’

Hermione’s eyes blazed. ‘And where is
your
proof, sister! Can you prove it was not you?’

‘Certainly, I can,’ said Gabriella. She turned to Rodrik. ‘Beloved, you saw what had occurred at Aldrich’s. Tell her.’

Rodrik nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. A cunning look came into his eyes. He turned to Hermione. ‘I’m afraid I did not see what occurred, m’lady,’ he said, stiffly. ‘I arrived after the fact. It might have been as the countess says. It might not.’

Gabriella rocked as if struck, and turned on Rodrik. ‘What! What do you say? Do you dare lie? You saw the wreckage! You saw the blood, and poor Imma dead!’

Rodrik inclined his head with perfect politeness, but there was a curl to his lip. ‘I did indeed see all that, mistress,’ he said. ‘But I was not there to witness the attack, or the attacker, and cannot be certain there was one. The countess and her new servant could have just as easily caused the damage themselves, as some sort of cover.’

‘Ha!’ cried Hermione, jubilant.

Gabriella stared at Rodrik as if he had become a stranger. ‘Rodrik, I don’t understand.’

‘Nor can I swear that the Kislevite did not go out on the night Madam Dagmar died,’ Rodrik continued as if she had not spoke. ‘For all I know, the countess went out too.’

Gabriella snarled. ‘What are you saying, villain? You were with us that night. You know we did no such thing!’

Rodrik bowed, looking smug. ‘Countess, I do not. As you have so ordered things that I am no longer allowed to stay at your side, and am instead removed to an inn, I do not know what occurs when I leave you at your new home. I cannot therefore say that you are innocent of these crimes.’

Gabriella advanced on him, her eyes blazing with fury. ‘You jealous little infant! You will betray me because we were parted for three days? What of your vow to protect me?’

‘None of that,’ said Hermione primly. She was enjoying herself now. ‘Do you deny that he is telling the truth? Can he vouch for any of your tale?’

‘No he cannot,’ said Gabriella through her teeth, then raised her eyes to meet Rodrik’s. ‘But he could certainly trust the veracity of what he did see. He could certainly give his mistress the benefit of the doubt.’

‘Ha!’ said Hermione again. ‘You have no witnesses then!’

‘And neither do you!’ Gabriella shot back. ‘Rodrik cannot vouch for us, but neither can he say we did anything other than what we say we did. He wasn’t there.’ She turned on the knight again. ‘But I do know something he can vouch for.’ She raised her chin and glared at him. ‘Tell the truth, sir. Have I at any time in your hearing spoken of conspiring with Madam Mathilda or with the von Carsteins against Hermione or any of my Lahmian sisters?’

Rodrik hesitated, frowning.

‘Come, sir,’ Gabriella snapped. ‘Speak!’

Rodrik squared his shoulders. ‘No, m’lady, you have not, though I am not often in your presence these days.’

Gabriella smirked, and was about to turn on Hermione, but Rodrik continued.

‘But I
have
heard you say that you thought Lady Hermione the least suited to lead here in Nuln,’ he said evenly. ‘And that you wished she had died instead of the others.’

Gabriella froze, like a cat settling to spring, eyes boring into Rodrik’s. ‘You spoiled child.’ She started stalking towards him, shoulders hunched and eyes glaring. ‘You petty little–’

Hermione stepped before her, holding out her arms. ‘You will not touch him, sister. He is under my protection now. Stand away.’

Gabriella snarled, her fangs and claws extending. ‘And you will not tell me what I may do with my swain!’

Hermione jumped back, a look of triumph in her eyes though she was miming fear. ‘She attacks me! She is with the killers! Champions, defend me!’

Ulrika went on guard behind Gabriella, watching her back, as all around the room von Zechlin’s exquisites jumped from their languid poses and strode forwards to surround them, drawing their rapiers. Famke stepped forwards to stand at Hermione’s shoulder, her face troubled, while Otilia backed quickly to the door.

‘Rodrik!’ called Gabriella. ‘Take von Zechlin. Ulrika and I will handle the bitch and her curs.’

But when Rodrik drew his sword, he stepped away from the countess and instead joined the closing circle of Hermione’s men.

‘I am sorry, my lady,’ he said, and pulled down his collar to show his neck, revealing two scabbing puncture wounds. He had been freshly bled. ‘But I am no longer yours to command.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE POWDER KEG

Gabriella stared at the bite marks then turned towards Hermione. ‘How dare you bleed a swain of mine!’

Hermione laughed. ‘He is yours no more. You neglected him for too long. I could not bear to see him so forlorn.’

Gabriella swivelled back to Rodrik. ‘Traitor!’ she growled. ‘Oath breaker!’

Rodrik raised his sword and pointed it at her, looking noble. ‘I did not turn away from you, m’lady, until you turned away from me.’

Von Zechlin pushed past Rodrik. ‘Enough talk! Attack!’ He lunged at Gabriella with his rapier. His men followed suit.

Gabriella batted the blade aside and slashed at him with her claws, but he dodged back and the men to either side of him slashed at her.

Ulrika dodged three blades of her own, now desperately wishing she were dressed in her riding clothes, no matter how bloodied and torn, and had her sabre at her side. Armed and able to move, the seven men who surrounded them would have given her few qualms, but encumbered and bladeless, she wasn’t so certain. She kicked a delicate Tilean table at her opponents, making two of them stumble. Beyond them, she saw Hermione dragging Famke back towards the corridor door.

‘Hermione is retreating, mistress,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Should I kill her?’

‘No,’ grunted Gabriella, clawing the arm of the gentleman next to Rodrik. ‘Not without permission from the queen. We must escape.’

Ulrika grunted with annoyance. ‘Very well, mistress.’ Obeying the queen’s law might be the death of them.

Her three opponents came in again. They were indeed fine blades, as Hermione had bragged. Each stabbed at her in a different place so that she could not block them all. She blocked none.

She let two of them stab her through an arm and a leg while twisting away from the one that aimed at her heart. The pain was excruciating, but what did it matter? A drink of blood and the wounds were soon no more than a memory. She caught the wrist of the man who had made the heart thrust and tore it open to the bone with her claws.

He screeched and crumpled and she had his rapier. Armed at last! The two others were drawing back for second thrusts. She stamped into a straight lunge and ran the first through the heart, then whipped the blade out again and parried the slash of the second as it whistled towards her head. He fell back, wide-eyed as her blade snaked for his neck.

The violence and scent of flowing blood made her want to pursue him, but she held back. Gabriella had ordered her to escape, not kill.

‘This way, mistress!’

Gabriella leapt back from Rodrik and von Zechlin and another of Hermione’s gentlemen. The countess had a blade now too, and a dandy lay across a chair, bleeding on the upholstery.

‘Stay back!’ she cried.

The gentlemen didn’t listen, and came in again.

Ulrika blocked the attack of von Zechlin’s man, while Gabriella knocked away Rodrik’s and von Zechlin’s blades. The countess was no swordswoman, but her inhuman speed made up for any deficiencies of form. She kicked von Zechlin into the man Ulrika had earlier driven back. They went down together, slipping on an Araby rug but, as she faced Rodrik, he dashed the rapier from her hand with his heavier sword, and raised it to strike.

‘Mistress!’ cried Ulrika, and tried to push to her side, but the other men got in her way.

She hacked at them as Gabriella faced Rodrik and spread her arms.

‘Truly, sir knight?’ the countess asked, raising her chin. ‘Will one bite truly turn you? Will you strike your sworn lady?’

Rodrik hesitated, sword quivering, eyes pained.

Gabriella snarled and struck, a pistol-shot slap across his cheek that slammed him to the floor. He gasped, stunned, staring up at the ceiling as the deep claw marks on the left side of his face welled with blood from ear to chin.

Ulrika pinked her two opponents and dived through them to Gabriella. The countess was reaching for Rodrik to finish him, but from behind came a streak of powder-blue silk.

‘Mistress, look out!’

Gabriella turned just as Hermione slammed into her and the two women crashed down through a low table in an explosion of gilded splinters and crinolines. Hermione’s claws were digging into Gabriella’s throat.

‘Mistress!’ Ulrika leapt forwards, raising her rapier to run Hermione through.

‘No!’ gasped Gabriella.

Ulrika cursed and flung the blade away, then grabbed Hermione by her hair and the back of her dress and hauled her up. Hermione twisted in her grasp, spitting and clawing, and scratched Ulrika’s face. Ulrika tried to peel her off, but she clung to her head and neck, tearing.

Ulrika wrenched back with her head, leaving Hermione holding nothing but her long wig, then threw her at the harpsichord. Hermione crashed into one of its legs and snapped it. The heavy instrument clanged down on top of her, splintering the parquet floor.

Von Zechlin and the surviving men cried out in alarm and ran for the instrument.

Gabriella laughed and took Ulrika’s hand. ‘Well done, beloved! Now, come!’

They ran for the door as clangs and sounds of struggle followed them. Only Famke blocked their way. She stood on guard, fangs and claws extended, but her eyes wide with fear.

‘Step aside, girl,’ said Gabriella calmly.

Famke’s gaze twitched from her to Ulrika, then to the confusion behind them.

‘Your mistress needs you,’ said Ulrika.

Famke shot her a look that might have been gratitude, then ran around them towards the harpsichord. ‘Mistress! Are you hurt?’ she cried.

Ulrika threw open the door and she and Hermione made to run into the hall. Otilia was scrambling back from them, face white. She had obviously been listening at the key hole.