Borne in Blood (26 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland
“As you did then; you arrived in that city with a fortune in jewels, all hidden in the walls of your water-barrels; fortunately water is heavy, so the weight was not worthy of attention,” said Rogier. “That would not avail Gutesohnes now. Still, whatever the case, if you are convinced he needs to have that money, then he shall have it, and welcome.” For a second or two he said nothing, then added, “You can always make more.”
“So I can,” said Ragoczy.
“Unless the thieves hear that you have a fortune hidden in this château, and then there could be trouble. The local farmers would not come to your aid if the château were attacked, foreigner that you are.” Rogier went to the nearest window and tapped on the glass to indicate the shutter beyond. “These can only fend off so much.”
“I would like to think they would not be necessary,” said Ragoczy, sounding suddenly tired. “But you have the right of it. I suppose I should bring in more weapons from the storehouse for the staff.”
“You did provide Madame von Scharffensee an armed guard as well as Ulf Hochvall to drive her, and they are only going to Yvoire.” Rogier gave Ragoczy a sharp look. “You know there is danger as well as I do.”
“They will only be gone one night,” said Ragoczy, worried in spite of his sensible precautions. “With winter coming, this may be the last time until March that she can go to purchase needlework supplies and order clothing from the seamstress.”
“She is not the only person from these outlying places who is doing the same,” said Rogier.
“Which may or may not be to her advantage,” said Ragoczy.
“At least the weather is reasonably clear,” said Rogier. “In a week, it may no longer be the case. The nights are getting much colder.”
“It is likely that there will be more and heavier rain soon, as well,” Ragoczy added.
“So Madame von Scharffensee will be back tomorrow—in the afternoon, I would guess.”
“Hochvall said that they would be here by about three if the weather remains clear; if it rains, they will be later.” Ragoczy glanced toward the windows. “I hope I have not waited too long to send Gutesohnes to van der Boom. Last year at this time there was snow on the ground, and more coming every day. I thought two days ago that the weather would hold for a week, but I no longer expect …”
“You think the weather change will bring winter in full strength,” Rogier said, nodding. “It could be, and after the last two hard winters, another week may render the roads unviable once the rains begin in earnest. Most of them aren’t fully repaired yet.”
“I hope that Gutesohnes will be beyond the highest passes by then. At ten leagues a day, he should reach Dôle or even Dijon.”
“He is going on the French route?” Rogier was mildly surprised.
“He will be out of the mountains sooner; that should speed him along. There is no compelling reason to take the German roads. Three years ago it would have been reckless to go through France, but no longer.” He drew a folded map from his inner coat-pocket and opened it, pointing out the journey as he explained, “Here at Langres he will take the Meuse road to Sedan, where he will take the toll-road to Liège. From there, he may choose one of three roads to take him to Amsterdam.”
“One of three,” said Rogier. “And one will surely be open and in good repair.”
“So I assume,” said Ragoczy.
“There may be other difficulties.”
“You mean bridges destroyed or flooded out, or roads undermined by water or cold, or devastated villages? Most of those sorts of things have been identified, and their dangers are known. You saw for yourself during our journey to Amsterdam how much is needed to be done, and what progress has been made. We passed through areas that were hotly disputed during Napoleon’s brief return to power, and saw how much destruction was wrought because of him.”
“That wasn’t what I meant: there are more highwaymen in France than in Germany,” Rogier warned.
“There are more defeated soldiers in France,” said Ragoczy. “We can hope that they will not bother a messenger traveling alone.”
Rogier needed several seconds to speak, and when he did, he directed his faded-blue eyes at the map, not Ragoczy. “You have fewer remounts at the posting inn along the French route.”
“I believe Gutesohnes will not want to ride coach-horses to Amsterdam; the mules should be able to cover the distance if they are allowed a day to rest when they need it.” Ragoczy shrugged. “Do you remember those Ju’an-Ju’an ponies? I would like to have a string of them now.”
“Incredibly tough, and with remarkable endurance.” Rogier waited a bit, and when he realized that Ragoczy would not say anything more, he changed the subject and spoke in French. “I should shave you tonight.”
Ragoczy rubbed his chin, testing the stubble. “Yes, I suppose you should. What hour would suit you?”
“While the staff is at supper,” Rogier suggested.
“In my chambers, then, while the staff dines.”
“I will present myself with basin and razor,” said Rogier, and gave Ragoczy a slight, sardonic bow.
“I have managed on my own, you know,” said Ragoczy in much the same tone.
“Often and often. But without a reflection, your results are not always—”
“Neat?” Ragoczy suggested, and chuckled. “No, they are not—which increases my gratitude to you, old friend.”
Rogier found such praise awkward, so he considered his next question carefully. “Have you answered the Magistrate yet?”
“You mean about granting the court officers permission to search this house? I have not decided yet, one way or the other.”
“But you will inform them shortly, won’t you?”
“It would seem I must,” Ragoczy said, and sighed. “They have heard the gossip, of course, that the highwaymen work for me and their robbery is the source of my wealth. It could make for difficulties if the Magistrate will not believe I have maintained good stores of grain and seed; he may think that I have what was taken from the village, although why I should donate the sacks and then steal them back perplexes me. I have no sense of what reason they might attribute to such actions.” He slapped the table with the flat of his hands. “It means I must ask Kleinerhoff to speak for me. He knows the truth of this.”
“Do you think he will? speak for you?” Rogier ventured.
“The very question I have been asking myself. He has said that he will support me, but such pledges are easily given and more easily forgotten.” Turning away from the table he went to secure the shutters, using the lever-pull so as not to have to raise the window. “The wind is rising.”
“So it is,” said Rogier, trying not to be put off by the crooning moan it made.
Although he knew that Ragoczy wanted to avert any more talk about the Magistrate’s request, at least for the present, still he could not keep from observing, “Kleinerhoff knows how much you have done for Sacre-Sang. He will make a statement to the court, out of obligation if nothing else.”
“I trust so,” said Ragoczy, going to the next window to pull the shutters closed. “The accusations have not been made formally, and so it will not reflect badly on the head-man to speak for me. Once the complaints are official—” He opened his hands.
“Then why not encourage the search? It isn’t as if the Inquisition were asking you for information.”
“Something to be thankful for,” said Ragoczy drily. “But this is not a time to bog down in accusations and counter-charges. If I can deflect the court’s suspicions, so much the better. Whoever leads the outlaws—if such a man exists—I doubt if he is local, for everyone is under scrutiny just now.”
“Do you think it is envy that makes these men accuse you?” Rogier asked.
“I think that may be part of it. And I am troubled by such thoughts, for it could turn the people of Sacre-Sang against us.” He sighed and went to close another shutter.
“You expect something of the sort to happen,” said Rogier.
“I would be foolish not to,” said Ragoczy as he worked the lever. “If you would light the lamps?”
“Of course,” said Rogier, and set about this mundane task, all the while fretting; he had been through too many scrapes with Ragoczy over the centuries to be sanguine now. “What preparations have you in mind?”
“None as yet. I want to determine what I must do to cause the least disruption here.” He closed the last shutter, confining the room to a shadowy twilight relieved only where Rogier had lit the lamps.
“You mean in Sacre-Sang, or in this household?” Rogier challenged.
“Both, if possible,” said Ragoczy. “Information travels so rapidly now that the fewer inquiries we endure, the fewer questions will follow us.”
“Does that mean you plan to leave Château Ragoczy soon?” Rogier kept his voice level.
“In spring; I will escort Hero to Ravensberg and Scharffensee,” said Ragoczy as if he had not understood Rogier’s intent.
“And then?” Rogier persisted.
“Then we must address the circumstances that confront us.” Ragoczy’s smile was faint and the light in his dark eyes was ironic. “But do not fret, old friend. We shall not be cast adrift on the world again: not this time.” He began to gather together the cases to be entrusted to Gutesohnes. “Come. Help me carry these down to the study. The household will notice if they see me carry all this on my own.”
Rogier sighed. “At least you aren’t taking needless risks,” he said, and went to retrieve the wallet of medicaments to add to the cases as Ragoczy picked them up and started toward the door.
Text of a letter from Madelaine de Montalia at the Grand European Hotel in Constantinople, to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Château Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by commercial courier and delivered two months after being written, during the time Ragoczy was absent from his château.
To my very dear Saint-Germain, on this, the 24
th
of December, 1817, the birthday felicitations of your Madelaine, still in Constantinople, who misses you as intensely as she misses her native earth and the comfort of home,
th
of December, 1817, the birthday felicitations of your Madelaine, still in Constantinople, who misses you as intensely as she misses her native earth and the comfort of home,
I am entrusting this to a mercantile courier recommended by your local factor at Eclipse Trading Company, who assures me that it will be carried safely to Genoa and from there to Lake Geneva, all without difficulty or delay beyond those of weather. No doubt the man is being optimistic, but I cannot help but take advantage of this opportunity to write to you, and to inform you of recent developments, and to let you know that you are never gone from my thoughts or my dreams.
These have been a most peculiar few months, more than the last full year has been. My planned journey to Antioch was postponed until this coming spring, and so I have kept myself occupied by visiting the few churches remaining in this city and examining the manuscripts they have among their treasures. In some instances, what I have found is treasure beyond price, and I am grateful for the opportunity to inspect the ancient manuscripts. It has been most instructive, for I have happened upon a significant number of surprising texts, including an ancient collection of gospels that are no longer part of the Bible; a few of them would undoubtedly be considered heretical. I spent the greater part of two months attempting to translate the most ancient of these, and I confess, I could not do them such justice as you would do; still I discovered many things of interest about the earliest Christians that I believe most present adherents to the faith would find unacceptable. Nonetheless, my curiosity is piqued and I am more determined than ever to get to Egypt.
About a month ago, we had a series of earthquakes in this city. They were none of them severe, but a young American staying at the Grand European Hotel, where most western foreigners stay, became agitated by the shaking. I finally made bold to ask why he was troubled, and he told me that he came from Saint Louis, a small city on the Mississippi River, and that shortly before he went to Boston to university, that part of the world was gripped by a series of earthquakes, each more destructive than the last. He said the river flowed backward and geysers of sand-and-steam erupted from sudden cracks in the earth. The worst shaking came in the winter of 1812, and caused much destruction and loss of life. He said that the Indians in the region warned that the ground was restless and that great upheavals happened when the First Ancestor was displeased. Most settlers paid little attention to these stories, thinking them only fables, but now they listen to the legends of the Indians in the hope of avoiding another such calamity. I find my curiosity about America growing, almost to equal my curiosity about Egypt. The advantage of being one of your blood is that I will in all probability have the opportunity to explore both places.
You would probably remind me that I can afford to be patient, and I know that is true in terms of years, but I dislike being made to wait for no good reason but that the presence of a woman is not easily accommodated by Moslems. They are even more restrictive of their women than are Europeans. I fear I will have to lay out a small fortune in bribes if I am to reach Egypt in the next ten months, which is my intention. Hero’s father has advised me to ally myself with an approved expedition as a means of gaining access to travel permits. He himself cannot offer such to me, as he is bound for the ruins of Palmyra, and will be away for at least four years. I have some experience of that kind of exploration, and I fully comprehend Hero’s reluctance to travel with her father.
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