Borne in Blood

Read Borne in Blood Online

Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland

BOOK: Borne in Blood
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For
Brian Leerhuber
bel canto
 
HERO IOCASTA ARIADNE CORVOSAGGIO VON SCHARFFENSEE
 
T
ext of a letter from Helmut Frederich Lambert Ahrent Ritterslandt, Graf von Scharffensee at Scharffensee in Austria, to his daughter-in-law Hero Iocasta Ariadne Corvosaggio von Scharffensee at Château Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland.
Graf von Scharffensee sends his greetings of the season to his daughter-in-law, and hopes that the new year of 1817 will bring her good health and better weather than we have seen this last year.
Let me assure you that your children are doing well. My son would be proud of their progress, were he still alive to see it. You will be pleased to know that Annamaria has begun her study of French and is already able to say a great many words correctly. Her tutor, Frau Linderlein, has said that by the time she is nine, she will be fluent in that tongue. Bertram and Berend have acquired a second tutor for mathematics and geography: Herr Wilhelm Klebber has been engaged to instruct them in these things; he has a gift for dealing with their high spirits, and claims he can tell them apart, which Herr Gunther Drossler still cannot do, much as he may know of letters and humanities. Siegfried has celebrated his eleventh birthday on the 2
nd
day of this month, as you no doubt recall, and I am pleased to tell you that he is finally applying himself to something more than hunting and shooting. He, too, is receiving instruction from Herr Drossler, and may soon begin his military training, if such can be arranged. He saw the 8
th
Hungarian Hussars on parade and is now most keen for a career in a fine regiment, although he decries the lack of a foe to fight now that Bonaparte is no longer rampaging about Europe.
I will take the children to Vienna at Easter, to purchase their annual wardrobe and to let them enjoy some of the luxuries and elegance of that splendid city. I am not yet prepared to have you join us, and for that reason, I recommend that you not ask that I include you. There will be time enough when they are a little older for you to become acquainted with them again, when their characters are fixed and they no longer answer to every turn in the wind. For now, it is fitting that they continue with me. As their grandfather, I can provide them the guidance and maturity that men must naturally impart, and which will engender the respect for their father’s memory that they will need in later life. Rest assured, they are receiving the best care and instruction that I can provide them, and that I will continue to do so as long as you continue to agree not to interfere in my guardianship. We are agreed, are we not, that you have neither the position, the money, the standing, nor the ability to care for them yourself. In any contest of law, the courts must uphold my claim over yours.
Should you remarry, as much as I would dislike that to happen, I will, of course, return my grandchildren to you, provided I am satisfied that your new husband is sufficiently comfortable in funds and standing to care for them in the manner to which they are now accustomed. Your present arrangement can hardly be deemed appropriate for the company of your children, but I will not oppose it so long as you and the Comte remain discreet. If you bring scandal upon my name, I will have to take measures to constrain you, for your children’s sake as well as for the preservation of my family’s good name. You must still agree that as things are, you cannot offer them either education or material opportunities for the future, nor can you establish them in the world when they are older. My son ought to have provided both, but as we are aware, he did not, and his political alliances have proven to be inadequate to the changing conditions around us. The law, in its wisdom, has entrusted his estates and his children to my care. I hope to instill a distrust of radical notions in the children so that they will not commit the same order of folly that their father did. Fridhold did not expect to die in the full flower of his manhood, but still he did, and his children, without my help, are left with little or nothing to sustain them.
You may repose complete confidence in my devotion to my grandchildren, and to their welfare in life. At this time of year, it behooves us both to renew our pledges of agreement, and to make every effort to ensure as pleasant a surround for them as is possible. That they should have had to spend eight years traipsing after Napoleon so that my son could embarrass us all with his enthusiasm for that Corsican fool is more than enough hardship for them to endure in their young lives. You cannot escape the taint of revolutionism, and that must affect your children so long as they remain under your care. With me, they have regularity in all things, and responsible instruction, and the firm and affectionate hand of a man to secure the educations and the futures you and I must want for them. As the daughter of so famous a scholar as Attilio Corvosaggio, you should appreciate the value of learning, especially in these erratic times.
I write this to you from my Schloss, and send it by regular post; I extend my good wishes to you, on this, the Eve of Christmas, 1816,
Your father-in-law,
Helmut Frederich Lambert Arhent Ritterslandt
Graf von Scharffensee
 
 
“Ah! Excellent! Excellent!” exclaimed Wallache Gerhard Winifrith Sieffert, Graf von Ravensberg, as he continued to draw blood into the glass syringe. “So glossy.” He lifted the syringe, pulling on the tubing connecting it to the subject so that the afternoon sunlight struck it with full brilliance, making brass fittings, glass, and blood shine. A complicated apparatus stood on the low table at his side, a device of his own invention, one of a dozen littering this third-floor room that von Ravensberg called his laboratory. He took care not to brush his Turkish dressing-gown with the syringe, more to protect the blood than the fine damask silk.
Heinrich Thorbern was lying on a cot between von Ravensberg and the apparatus, his long, boiled-wool coat draped over the single chair and his shirt-sleeve rolled up to above his elbow; he gasped as the needle in his arm pulled. “Is that good?” he asked, becoming a bit worried as he watched von Ravensberg marvel at the blood in the glass syringe. He was a pleasant enough man in his late twenties, regular-featured and healthy, a successful independent farmer, able to read and write—all in all, an ideal subject for von Ravensberg: exactly the fine example of German yeomanry he sought.
“It is most … encouraging,” said von Ravensberg, scowling at Thorbern. “Do lie still, Herr Thorbern.”
“But it hurts when you pull.”
“Lie still,” von Ravensberg repeated. “You must not move about in that way.”
“But Baron—” Thorbern protested.
“I will not take much longer,” said von Ravensberg, annoyed that his exuberance was not shared. “I need to complete getting the sample, you understand. Then I will subject the blood to tests, and you may be on your way. With my gratitude.” This last was an afterthought.
Thorbern sighed and did his best to be comfortable. He was feeling a bit cold, attributing the chill to the coolness of the room; there was snow on the roof of the Schloss as befitted this January morning, and although a fire burned on the grate, the heat did not spread much past the hearth. “So long as it is useful, Baron.”
“All inquiry is useful, young man; you should appreciate that,” said von Ravensberg with finality. He made a point of putting his full attention on the man’s blood. “This rich, fine color and shine is an indication, I believe, of superior composition. You may be confident that I will examine it closely.”
“Because of its color?” Thorbern had slaughtered enough cattle, hogs, and sheep to have seen great quantities of blood: never had he noticed much difference in the color or characteristic of any of it.
“The color, the luminosity, the texture and composition of it, the characteristics present in its nature,” said von Ravensberg, mildly distracted. He indicated his fine microscope, its brass gleaming, with a wooden box filled with glass slides beside it. “Thanks to this wonderful device, we know there are many components to blood, and it is my belief that when we truly understand the whole nature of blood, we will have a definitive measure of all men.” He tapped the syringe, now almost full. “This will help me to uncover what the blood has hidden.”
Although this made little sense to Thorbern, he was too well-mannered to say so. “It sounds very complex.”
“That it is, that it is, far more complex than anyone would have thought, and possibly possessing many more mysteries than what is currently surmised,” said von Ravensberg, He tapped the syringe, watching the movement of the blood. “It is a daunting task, to discover all that blood has within it. Many other scholars would recoil at the demands of so ambitious an undertaking, but not I; no, I am determined to—” He broke off as he heard a rap on his door. “Who is it?” he demanded gruffly.
“It’s Hyacinthie, Uncle,” she called through the door. “A messenger has arrived. He brings you word from—”
“I’m almost done here. Have him wait in the library. Give him something to eat and a tankard of our beer. And see you don’t make a pest of yourself.” He resumed his work with the syringe.
“Do you wish to stop?” Thorbern asked.
“No. Not yet.” There was still a little room left in the syringe. “A minute more, or two, and it should be done.” He tried to offer an appreciative smile but without success. “You must know that I value your cooperation and your participation highly. Very highly. Many of the people in this region are ignorant, superstitious, and out-right fools. But not all countrymen are louts. You have enough education”—five years in the local school—“to grasp the implications of this study, why it must be done, how much it will change our—” He stopped. “The syringe is full. If you will lie still for a moment longer, I’ll remove the needle and you can sit up.”
Thorbern could not conceal his relief; his mouth quirked, but no smile emerged. He winced as von Ravensberg reached over and carefully drew the needle from the vein on the inside of his elbow. Taking his pocket kerchief, he pressed it to the welling of blood that followed; after a minute he lifted the corner of the handkerchief and scowled as his blood continued to run. “Will this be all, Graf?”
“For now,” he said, his attention focused on the blood in the syringe. “You are fortunate to have such fine blood, Herr Thorbern. Not many specimens look as fine as this one, or show such promise.”
“Pleased to be of service,” said Thorbern automatically. He sat up, feeling a bit queasy as he did; his head ached dully and he felt thirsty. “How much blood did you take, Graf, if I may ask?”
“Hum?” He turned, the syringe still in his hands. “Oh. You can see for yourself.”
The sight of his own blood in that shiny glass tube with the brass plunger and needle-casing made Thorbern’s stomach churn. “It would fill a cowmaid’s ladle,” he said in mild surprise, for it was more than von Ravensberg had taken in the past: it was less than would fill a beer-stein, but more than a cup. He nodded and turned away, doing his best to regain his composure. “Thank you, Graf. I—”
“You are advancing the cause of science; do not doubt it, Herr Thorbern.”
“I am pleased to be of service,” said Thorbern. He started to rise but thought better of it; he tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and busied himself with rolling down his sleeve, although he noticed the blood had not completely stopped.
“And I thank you for it,” said von Ravensberg without any attempt at sincerity. “If you know any others like you—strong, healthy, young, German or Austrian—ask them if they would be willing to participate in my studies, would you? I would welcome all such specimens to my Schloss, rest assured. That would be most useful for my researches. No Czechs or Bohemians or Poles, mind: Germans and Austrians only.” He put the syringe into an aperture in his device, and slowly depressed the plunger. “If you’re feeling a bit unsteady, go down to the morning room and have my niece bring you a restorative dish for you to eat. Hyacinthie needs something to do. A tankard of beer should set you up, and some bread and sausage.”
Thorbern made another attempt at getting to his feet. This time he succeeded, though he lurched a little and his vision swayed. He reached for his coat as much to steady himself as to don the garment. His thoughts wandered and he blinked several times. “Would they have to be relatives, or would comrades do?”
Von Ravensberg gave this his serious consideration. “Both would be welcome,” he decided aloud. “Yes. Send me word if you find appropriate subjects.”
“Jawol, Graf. I will.” He struggled into his coat and took an unsteady step toward the door.
“Will you be able to let me take more blood next month?” Von Ravensberg knew he had asked this too quickly, but he could not hold himself in check. “The same arrangement as we have had before? So I may determine what impact the weather may have upon your blood.”
“Do you think it does?” Thorbern asked.
“I think it might,” said von Ravensberg carefully. “And for that reason, comparisons are necessary to make a full and accurate analysis. One set of analyses is not enough to demonstrate anything useful. It is the comparisons that matter. I will subject this sample to an electrical current. Surely you can see the value in that. I will do the same with the rest.” He finished shunting the contents of the syringe and turned to face his subject. “Think about it, Thorbern. You could be among the first men to have the mystery of his blood at last understood. It is a great honor.”
“A very great honor,” Thorbern echoed dubiously.
“You will come then?” von Ravensberg pursued.
“I suppose so, God willing, and there are no more avalanches.” He looked toward the window. “There will be more snow tonight, and if the storm lasts, it will be several days before the roads are safe to travel.”
“Even from four leagues away? Surely one of your strengthy cart horses could make the journey?” He was losing patience and was no longer willing to conceal it. “Without another four or five donations, I will not have sufficient information to—”
“I will try, Graf. I will try. It is the best I can promise you,” said Thorbern, making his teetery way toward the door. Just as he was about to lift the latch, he asked, “Will you be wanting more animals to test, Baron?”
“Animals?” He considered it. “No, I think not. At least not for the present. Later they may be useful.”
“Very good,” said Thorbern, as if agreeing to a difficult undertaking. “I may not have any to spare this year. After two hard winters, my livestock are doing poorly, as are everyone else’s. I have sows and ewes who may not manage to produce more than a few young this spring.”
“Lamentable,” said von Ravensberg flatly.
“Well, if you change your mind, Graf, send me word; I’ll try to find the best of the lambs and shoats for you.” Three years ago von Ravensberg had purchased nine animals from him: two shoats, two lambs, two kids, two calves, and a colt-foal; he had paid top prices for all of them: three of them were still alive.
“I will do. Danke.” He paid no more attention to Thorbern, his concentration fixed on the glass-and-metal box through which the blood was moving along a complex of tubes toward various vials.
Thorbern stepped out into the corridor. “Many thanks, Graf.” He said this without thought, more out of custom than intent; he received no answer, and after nearly a minute, he closed the door and went down the stairs, buttoning his jacket as he went. He had reached the landing between the first and second floors when he heard a merry shriek of delight.
“Herr Thorbern!” Hyacinthie Theresa Katerina Sieffert von Ravensberg cried out, clapping her hands together as she came tripping across the inlaid-marble floor in the entry-hall. “You are through for the day?”
“Yes, Fraulein von Ravensberg, I am,” he said, flattered and uncomfortable; the Baron’s niece was almost beautiful, and, awkward as it was for Thorbern, at seventeen she was becoming flirtatious; Thorbern suspected she had yet to realize the impact her prettiness had on men, thinking their attentions were games, not a prelude to something more. “Thank you for asking.”
“And you’re hungry and thirsty after everything my uncle has done to you?” She smiled winsomely, her face rosy from the morning’s chill, and gave her head a toss. She was as fashionably dressed as she could be in so cold a house as the Schloss was, in a high-waisted dress of iris-colored wool, long-sleeved and high-necked in concession to the winter weather. Around her shoulders she wore an Indian shawl of heavy silk twill; its gray-green color almost matched her eyes. Her dark-blond hair was done in a knot on her head, a few tendrils artlessly escaping around her face. She knew that Thorbern found her attractive, and that pleased her tremendously. “The morning room still has a fire lit, and you may be comfortable there.”
“Thank you, Fraulein,” he said, disturbingly aware of her intense femininity. He wondered if her uncle had noticed how much his ward had changed in the last year, and decided that the Graf would not notice such things.
“You know the way by now, don’t you, Herr Thorbern?” She lifted her chin and looked at him over her shoulder, her lower lip caught in her teeth as if trying to suppress a smile. “I would take you, but I am looking after the messenger, just come for my uncle, and must attend to him first.”
“Yes, danke, I do know the way.” He gave her a nod that was almost a bow, and hastened down the back half-flight that led to the rear of the Schloss, the east side of the building where the morning room was. Little as he wanted to admit it, he was glad to be away from Hyacinthie; the Graf had made him sufficiently uncomfortable for one day, and a round of Hyacinthie’s precocious coquettish attentions was more than he could endure in patience.
Untroubled by Thorbern’s distress and humming softly to herself, Hyacinthie hurried along toward the library where the messenger was waiting. He was, she thought, a strapping fellow, big-chested and heavy-armed, with a broad forehead and upswept eyebrows that hinted at Hungarian blood as well as Austrian. His four-caped coat was hung on a hook near the door, and she touched it as she entered the library. “Herr Haller?” she called, and saw him half-reclining on the old-fashioned divan in front of the fire.
“Fraulein?” There was a shine in his eyes that revealed his appreciation for the Graf’s niece.
“Has Werther brought you your refreshments yet?” She approached him demurely. “Not even a mug of hot brandy?”

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