Bloodborn (8 page)

‘I see,’ said Schenk. ‘Thank you for interceding.’

‘Not at all.’ Gabriella opened the door and snapped her fingers. ‘Otilia, see the gentlemen out.’

And after another brief exchange, the captain and his grim-faced lieutenants followed Otilia down the hall and Gabriella closed the door behind them with a deep sigh of relief. Ulrika relaxed as well. She had been holding herself ready to fight since they had entered the house.

Lady Hermione, however, did not seem to share in the general mood. She turned on Gabriella with a snarl. ‘Interfering witch!’ she said. ‘How dare you pretend to save me!’

Gabriella raised an eyebrow. ‘Pretend?’

‘I had the situation well in hand,’ cried Hermione. ‘I would have looked in his glass and done your measly trick, but I would not be properly noble if I did not protest the impertinence of peasants first.’

‘Ah, of course,’ said Gabriella. ‘I see it all now. I apologise, sister. I will refrain from helping next time.’

Hermione sniffed, apparently unappeased. ‘You do not begin your visit well, Gabriella. I pray you serve me better from here on.’

‘I am here to serve our queen, sister,’ said Gabriella. ‘If serving you serves her, then I will do the best I can.’

Before Hermione could respond, Otilia returned through the door from the hall.

‘Their coach is gone, m’lady,’ she said, curtseying. ‘I have asked Gustaf to make sure they have left no spies.’

‘Thank you, Otilia,’ said Hermione. ‘You did well.’

Otilia made to withdraw, then pursed her lips and paused. ‘M’lady, are you certain you will not consider retiring to the country until all this has blown over? We would be much safer from prying eyes at Mondthaus.’

Hermione sighed. ‘Much as I’d like to, Otilia, I cannot,’ she said. ‘The queen would see it as dereliction of duty, but thank you for your concern.’

‘Of course, m’lady,’ said the housekeeper.

She stepped back again but, before she had closed the doors, a handful of exquisite dandies pushed them open again and strolled through around her. They were all graceful, handsome young men, all in the latest court fashions, and all with perfectly trimmed beards and moustaches. Their leader was as dark as a Tilean, but with piercing blue eyes.

‘They would not have left this house alive had they exposed you, m’lady,’ he said, putting a hand to the hilt of his bejewelled rapier.

Ulrika heard Rodrik snort from the drawing room door. ‘Lapdogs,’ he muttered.

A third door opened – a cleverly concealed panel in the left wall – and a timid golden-haired head looked out. ‘Have they gone?’

‘Beloved!’ Hermione’s pinched expression melted and she crossed to the secret door to lead out the most beautiful girl Ulrika had ever seen. She wasn’t a lush, dark beauty like Countess Gabriella, nor a pouty, sweet-faced seducer like Lady Hermione. She was tall and thin, with fair skin and straight golden hair that hung to the flaring skirts of her dark green dress, and the stately beauty of a queen. It was only as Hermione drew her to the centre of the room that the regal illusion was broken, for the girl walked with a coltish clumsiness and downcast eyes that made Ulrika wonder how old she was.

Hermione turned to Gabriella with a smug look. ‘Well, since you are here, I suppose I must introduce you to my household.’ She indicated the swaggering dandy and his men. ‘Lord Bertholt von Zechlin, my champion, and his men – the finest blades in the Empire.’

‘Your servant, madam,’ said von Zechlin, bowing and making a leg.

Rodrik rumbled something about ‘not being the finest blades in the room’, but Ulrika didn’t think the men heard him.

Hermione then turned to the housekeeper. ‘My chatelaine, Otilia Krohner, you already know, and…’ She put a hand on the blonde girl’s elbow and urged her forwards. ‘And this is Fraulein Famke Leibrandt, my… protégée.’

The girl smiled at Gabriella and Ulrika shyly, then, lifting her skirts, curtseyed deeply. ‘I am at your service, mistresses,’ she said. ‘Welcome to our humble home.’

Ulrika frowned. Lady Hermione was showing the girl off like a prize calf. Was she some favoured blood-swain? No. She had called her her protégée. She was a vampire! She was to Hermione what Ulrika was to Gabriella. But why so smug? Did Hermione mean to imply that she had made a better choice of apprentice than Gabriella had? The thought made Ulrika growl in her throat.

Gabriella returned the curtsey and gestured to Rodrik and Ulrika. ‘And allow me to introduce Rodrik von Waldenhof, heir to the Waldenschlosse, my champion, and a knight without peer, and Boyarina Ulrika Magdova Straghov of Kislev,
my
protégée.’

Rodrik executed a smart bow, clicking his heels together in martial fashion, but Ulrika, flummoxed by the thought that she was somehow on display, and confused by all the bowing and curtseying, first tried one, then the other, and failed at both, stumbling awkwardly on her petticoats.

As she recovered, Ulrika saw that Hermione’s smile had turned into a sneer, and she almost sneered back, but then she caught Gabriella glaring at her, and lowered her head respectfully, letting the long tresses of her wig hide her anger.

‘Your friends are obviously tired from their journey,’ Hermione said smoothly. ‘Let us repair to the drawing room where they can rest comfortably while we talk.’

Gabriella betrayed not the slightest notice of the subtle dig. ‘Of course, sister. After you.’

As they moved to follow their mistresses into the next room, Ulrika caught Famke looking at her. The girl was trying to stifle a grin and, failing miserably, her eyes twinkled with silent merriment. Ulrika wanted to feel indignant that the girl was laughing at her, but she couldn’t. She found she was grinning too, and they went into the drawing room shoulder to shoulder, friends in a single instant.

After lamps were lit and the fire built up, Countess Gabriella and Lady Hermione sat near the carved marble hearth on delicate gilded chairs, while Ulrika and Famke waited in attendance behind them, and Rodrik and Hermione’s gentlemen eyed each other sullenly from opposite ends of the room.

‘Well then,’ said Gabriella. ‘Tell me all. How did it start? And where do we stand now?’

‘We stand well equipped to deal with the difficulty ourselves,’ said Hermione coldly.

Gabriella sighed. ‘Sister, I would not have come had I not been so ordered. I do the bidding of the queen. No more. I promise you I will leave when the business is finished. I have no ambitions here. Now, please. The quicker we begin, the quicker I am away again.’

Hermione stared into the fire for a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well. I will tell you. It started a month ago. Lady Rosamund went to the theatre with her lover, a blood-swain named General Steffan von Odintaal, who is one of Countess von Liebwitz’s advisors on military matters and, through Rosamund, one of
ours
. They parted after the play, he to his club, and she for home.’ Hermione’s hands clasped convulsively. ‘On the way home she was attacked, by what I know not, except that it was strong enough to defeat her and tear her flesh horribly.’

‘There were no witnesses?’ asked Gabriella.

‘None that we could discover,’ said von Zechlin, from the corner of the room.

Gabriella nodded, though her expression made it clear that she doubted Hermione’s champion had looked very hard. ‘Go on,’ she said.

‘Rosamund was found hung from the Deutz Elm in the Reik Platz a few hours before dawn,’ continued Hermione. ‘Her fangs and claws were extended as if she had died in the midst of blood frenzy. Unfortunately she was taken down before daylight and brought to the cellars of the Iron Tower, so she did not burn in the sun. Her face was recognisable, and she was identified.’

‘What followed?’ asked Gabriella.

‘She was very well known,’ said Hermione. ‘One of the premier ladies of Countess von Liebwitz’s court. There was an immediate scandal. The witch hunters arrested the general, her lover.’

Gabriella looked up. ‘Did he talk?’

Hermione shook her head. ‘We have a friend among the jailors. He died of poison before they put him to the question.’

Gabriella looked relieved. ‘And then?’

‘Panic,’ said Hermione. ‘The broadsheets cried the tale. Everyone at court began to suspect everyone else of being a vampire. Ladies took to carrying mirrors and meeting in daylight. And if that wasn’t bad enough, people started vanishing, all over town – rich, poor, all kinds. Vampires were of course blamed.’

‘And
were
they to blame?’ asked Gabriella. ‘Were these victims bled?’

‘None have been found,’ said Hermione. ‘Though the witch hunters have searched the town from top to bottom.’ She shuddered. ‘It all became so unbearable that I retired to my country place, Mondthaus, and feigned illness.’

‘Did you inform the queen?’

‘Karlotta did,’ said Hermione. She seemed to Ulrika much less the grand lady now, and more just a frightened woman, though still every inch a beauty. ‘After which, she called a meeting at the Silver Lily, Madam Dagmar’s brothel, so that we remaining sisters could confirm her as our new leader, and to discuss what was to be done.’

Gabriella held up a hand. ‘Who are these remaining sisters?’

Hermione looked annoyed that her tale had been interrupted, but then shrugged. ‘Besides myself, there is Lady Alfina, married to a guildmaster, a blood-swain who is our ear in the Nuln guilds; Madam Dagmar, who runs the Silver Lily, an invaluable tool for gathering rumour and blackmail, and lastly…’ She made a face. ‘Mistress Mathilda, an uncouth hoyden who runs a tavern in the slums south of the river, and gathers information among the unwashed.’

Gabriella nodded. ‘New blood, then. I have met none of them. Pray continue. You were saying that Mistress Karlotta had called a meeting?’

‘Yes,’ said Hermione. ‘It was a grim affair. None of us had any clue as to why Rosamund had been killed, or by whom – or what. Had it been random? Had it been an assassination? Were the disappearances connected? Once we acknowledged her as our new leader, Karlotta instructed us to send our flocks to scour the city for witnesses or information, but…’ She paused and licked her lips. ‘But soon after, Karlotta was dead too. Found staked out on the altar of Shallya in the convent where she posed as the abbess, again with teeth and claws bared, and again horribly torn and maimed.’

Gabriella grimaced, Famke shivered.

‘The panic grew even worse after that,’ Hermione continued dully. ‘The entire convent was arrested, women have been burned by mobs in the street, and the witch hunters began questioning every lady in high society and among the clergy. It has been nerve-wracking.’

‘No doubt,’ said Gabriella.

Hermione hung her head. ‘With Karlotta’s death it became clear that these were not random attacks. Karlotta had been second to Rosamund, and was second to die. Whoever is behind this, knows who our leaders are, and…’

Gabriella finished Hermione’s thought for her. ‘And you are now leader.’

Hermione swallowed, then nodded. ‘Yes – and next on the gallows.’ She rose and began to pace. ‘I returned from my country place to give the situation my full attention, and have ordered our remaining sisters in Nuln to stay in their houses and double their guards, as I have done. They will remain so until the assassin is found. There will be no more murders! I will not disappoint my queen!’

The doors to the hallway creaked open and everyone looked up. Otilia, the housekeeper, stood between them, her face as pale as moonlight. ‘M’lady,’ she said, curtseying. ‘Madam Dagmar is below stairs. She has asked to see you.’

‘What!’ cried Hermione angrily. ‘Did I not tell her to stay in her house? What is she doing here?’

Otilia hesitated, her stoic features working with emotion, then spoke. ‘There has been another murder. Mistress Alfina is dead.’

Lady Hermione and Famke gasped. Gabriella cursed. Von Zechlin and his men jumped to their feet, as did Rodrik.

Hermione rose from her chair, arms trembling. ‘The… the same way?’

‘Yes, mistress,’ said Otilia.

‘Was Alfina discovered?’ Hermione asked. ‘Do the witch hunters know?’

‘I know not, mistress,’ said Otilia. ‘But they do not have her body. It is in the kitchen.’

CHAPTER FIVE