Borne in Blood (5 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland
Gutesohnes looked up, nearly dropped his utensils as he shoved himself to his feet. “Comte. You must be he.” He stared at the man, taking in everything about him; Gutesohnes was struck by the self-possessed presence of the man, his quiet air of elegance and position, and how, although he was a bit less than average height, he had the manner and comportment of a tall man.
Ragoczy bowed slightly. “I have that honor.” He indicated Gutesohnes’ food. “Do not let me stop you enjoying your meal.”
Somewhat awkwardly Gutesohnes sat down. “If you permit, then I thank you.”
“I know what it is to be hungry. Please.” He moved a few steps farther into the room and studied Gutesohnes in silence while the messenger continued to eat. “I understand you have something for me?”
“I do. It is in a sealed box, which I have in my dispatch-case, along with the other items I am delivering in Geneva. If you want, I can get it out for you now.” He began to reach for the leather bag at the side of the bench. “This might be a good time to … I am ordered to hand you the box myself, so I can vouch for its delivery.”
“It can wait until you’ve finished your meal,” said Ragoczy with an unconcerned wave of dismissal.
“You are not eating?” Gutesohnes said, indicating his tray.
“Not just at present. But do not let my abstaining stop you from completing your meal.” Ragoczy gave a single, slow nod.
“Danke schoen.” Gutesohnes thrust his fork into another section of broiled eel and applied his knife to the meat; the piece he stuffed into his mouth was fairly large. “This is very good,” he said around his chewing.
“I’ll tell my cook,” said Ragoczy without a trace of sarcasm.
Gutesohnes colored to the roots of his hair. “I did not mean to over-step … It’s not my place to … to—”
“It is a compliment and I will deliver it to Uchtred. He deserves to know his work is appreciated.” Ragoczy pulled one of the four straight-backed chairs away from the wall and sat down.
“Would you prefer … ?” Gutesohnes asked, meaning the upholstered bench upon which he sat.
“No, thank you anyway. I am comfortable where I am, and you have been in the saddle since dawn, unless I am mistaken, and therefore that bench must be very welcome.” Ragoczy offered a swift, easy smile.
“Yes. I was off at sunrise from the Leaping Trout. Do you know it?” He picked up the cognac and sipped the hot liquid through the cream.
“More than three leagues from here, on the main road, about two hundred years old, with a tavern and an inn.” He considered the distance. “You must have kept your mount at a steady walk to arrive here at this hour.”
“Um. That’s why I ride a mule—a big one, to handle whatever we may have to contend with.” He broke a section of bread and wiped it through the herb-sauce on the broiled eel. “This one can walk for hours through mud and snow and rain, never mind how mired the roads are. He gets tired but will not halt until I prepare to dismount. I’ve had him sink to his knees in mud and continue on—annoyed but not halted. Same with snow.” He bit into the sauced bread.
“A good animal, then,” said Ragoczy.
“An excellent animal. The messenger service has a dozen such animals. We buy from the same breeder for all our mules.” He had more eel, his eating slowing down a bit.
“A fine arrangement, no doubt,” said Ragoczy, beginning to see what Rogier had perceived in this young man.
“Herr Waldenstadt has established high standards for his messengers, and a regular schedule to which we must adhere; that way we can give superior service. He insists that we account for all our time while traveling, to justify his charges.” He said it dutifully enough, but with real purpose. “If we cannot prove more reliable than the post, why should anyone spend the money to subscribe?”
“Why indeed,” said Ragoczy. He watched Gutesohnes drink more of the cognac, then said, “How long have you worked for Herr … Waldenstadt?”
“Two years. I was a coachman out of the Frederich in Basel before that.” He began on the pickles. “Herr Waldenstadt brought me to Bern.”
“And how long did you drive a coach for the Frederich?” Ragoczy inquired calmly.
“Three years. I had learned from my aunt’s husband, who took me in after my father died.” He picked up the napkin and wiped his mouth.
“I suppose you read and write?” Ragoczy pursued.
His German accent grew stronger. “I was taught for five years in the local school. I know French, a little Italian, a few words in Polish, and some Czech. I can write in French as well as German, but the others, no, not really. I know Russian and Greek when I see them but I cannot read them.” He dropped the napkin back in his lap and screwed up his courage enough to say, “Your manservant said you might want a private courier of your own: is that true?”
“It is,” said Ragoczy, remembering Yrjo Saari, who had said the same thing over a century ago.
“And that is why you’re asking me these questions?” He looked at Ragoczy directly, making no apology for doing this.
“That,” said Ragoczy, “and curiosity.”
Gutesohnes flushed again, feeling increasingly awkward. “Comte …”
“Would such a position interest you?”
“It might,” said Gutesohnes, doing his best to regain his composure. “What do you offer, and what duties would it entail?”
“I have businesses in many cities throughout Europe, and it is important that I be able to send various contracts and similar instruments to those businesses promptly and with a modicum of privacy, which inclines me not to use the post. Confidentiality is necessary in the conduct of honorable business—would you agree?” Ragoczy put his hand to the silver watch-chain swagged across the front of his waistcoat. “I would like to have my messenger be willing to travel on short notice, to keep what he carries secret, and to return promptly with whatever responses are entrusted to him. In exchange for this service, I will provide housing, meals, horses and mules, three new suits of clothes each year, and a salary double what you receive now—assuming you and I decide that this would be acceptable to us both.”
“I admit I am interested, providing you don’t expect me to ride into Russia, or set sail for the New World.” He had another pickle and finished his cognac.
“At present, I would have no such requirements to make of you,” said Ragoczy.
“At present?” Gutesohnes repeated skeptically.
“Who can say what the future may bring?” Ragoczy suggested gently.
Gutesohnes thought this over. “All right.”
“Think of the two hard winters we have had,” Ragoczy went on, his thoughts casting back more than twelve centuries to the dreadful Year of Yellow Snow, when all the world seemed to be locked in perpetual winter. “Had the weather taken such a turn in 1812, the losses Napoleon suffered in Russia might have been utterly complete rather than devastating; he might have fallen in the snow as so many of his men did. But it did not strike until Napoleon had done his worst. Who could have anticipated it? Yet now it is here, we must, perforce, accommodate it.”
“I take your point, Comte,” said Gutesohnes.
Ragoczy coughed discreetly. “All things being equal, I will not expect you to go any farther than Poland, or England, or Spain or Greece. If circumstances should arise that required your services beyond those places, a special price would be negotiated for such a journey, and paid in advance of your travel. If you require a bond to that end, I will establish one. Would that satisfy you?”
“I suppose it must.” He buttered a wedge of bread, taking time to do it properly, all the while saying, “If you wish me to work for you, I cannot begin until I have completed the current deliveries I have to make. Once I return to Bern, I may end my employment, but not before then.”
“What would be the earliest you could return here?” Ragoczy asked; he did not mention that this display of responsibility had inclined him to want to employ Gutesohnes.
“Probably the end of June, weather permitting. I would need to purchase a horse or a mule for the return. Herr Waldenstadt will not give me one.” He thought a moment. “He might not even sell me one.”
“I can arrange for you to purchase the mount of your choice, if you decide you want this position. You have only to choose what you want to ride, and from whom you would like to purchase it.” He got to his feet; Gutesohnes almost tipped over his tray in his haste to rise. “I will return in half an hour to answer any questions you may have, and to let you know my decision. If you would like something more—some cheese, some nuts—tell Dietbold and he will bring it to you.”
“Half an hour.” He glanced down at his dispatch-case. “Do you want your parcel now, or would you prefer to wait?”
“If you would give it to me?” Ragoczy said, holding out his hand to receive it.
Gutesohnes opened the case and pulled out a chicken-sized package—a wax-sealed wooden box with the impression of a signet-ring showing three sheaves of wheat sunk in the heaviest pooling of wax. “There. I will report to Professor Weissbord that you have received the box.”
“Thank you,” said Ragoczy, a bit startled. “Professor Weissbord, do you say?” He glanced at the signet-impression. “I see: Weissbord.”
“Is something wrong, Comte?” Gutesohnes asked.
“No; nothing,” said Ragoczy. “I had assumed the parcel was from someone else.”
“Is this an inconvenience?”
“No, of course not.” Ragoczy motioned to the tray. “Finish your meal and think over what I have offered.” He went to the door and lifted the latch.
“Comte?” Gutesohnes had managed to gather the courage to speak.
“Yes?” He waited politely for Gutesohnes to go on.
“Is it that you wish to employ me, or would any messenger do? And are you offering me employment?”
Ragoczy stood still while he considered his answer. “Yes, I need a messenger, but no, I would not engage just anyone to do the tasks I will require.” He held up the box in his hand. “In any event, thank you for bringing this to me.”
“Oh.” He nodded twice. “Danke, Comte.”
“Bitte,” said Ragoczy, and left the parlor. He found Rogier waiting ten steps away.
“So: do you, too, see the resemblance to Hercule?” he asked as Ragoczy approached him.
“I do,” said Ragoczy. “And I agree about his demeanor. This is a cleverer man—not that Hercule was not clever, but this man thinks about many more things than Hercule did, with a broader sense of the world than Hercule had.”
“No doubt you are right,” said Rogier. “I believe he is someone who will perform to your expectations.”
“Oh, yes. I have no doubt of that.” Ragoczy glanced over his shoulder. “Not for money alone, but to give himself a leg up in the world.”
“You: cynical?” Rogier regarded Ragoczy with skepticism.
“Not cynical, old friend—appreciative. This man’s self-interests match with my intentions, which should stand us both in good stead.” He paused. “That is, if he agrees to work for me.”
“He would be a fool not to,” said Rogier.
“Ah,” said Ragoczy, “but how many men are fools?” Without waiting for an answer he turned away toward the front of the château.
Text of a crossed letter from Hero Iocasta Ariadne Corvosaggio von Scharffensee at Vevey, in Switzerland, to her father, Attilio Aurelio Augusto Corvosaggio in Padova; carried by regular post.
To my very dear father on this, the 6
th
day of May, 1817, the affectionate greeting of your daughter, presently in Vevey with your brother Dario’s widow;
th
day of May, 1817, the affectionate greeting of your daughter, presently in Vevey with your brother Dario’s widow;
I was saddened to learn of your illness this last winter, and I hope your recovery is now under way. From what Ortrude told me before she became incapacitated by her affliction, you have had much to burden you since October. I am pleased to hear that you are receiving such excellent care, and I am grateful to the good Widow Caglia for all she has done for you—far in excess of what you might expect from a housekeeper. I agree it was wise to send your wife out of danger. There was no cause for both of you to be at risk. I must suppose that you will return to Anatolia and the ruins you found there last year as soon as your health is restored; I wish you every success in your expedition, and ask only that you inform me when you decide upon your departure.
Yet, heartened as I am by your tidings, I am duty-bound to inform you that your brother’s widow is not long for this world. It may be that by the time you receive this, she will have passed beyond this earthly abode. I have consulted the local physician and he has said that her lethargy is a sign of approaching demise, that there is nothing more that can be done for her. I have sent for my protector, who has a vast knowledge of medicaments and treatments not always known to the general run of healers, and he has promised to come here in two days. He will do what he can for Ortrude, but his note has warned me it may be nothing more than easing her dying.
I have heard from my father-in-law, who informs me that my children are well, that their studies are going on properly, and that they are growing as one would expect them to grow. I devour his words as if I were starving and they were meat and bread, and at the same time, I resent him for all he has done to keep us apart. Hard as it was to lose my husband, it was a single blow—having my children growing up away from me is a new anguish every day. I miss them with more vivid emotions than I have words to convey; their grandfather has asked that I not visit them for this summer, a request that falls like a lash on all my hopes for being with them soon. How I wish my husband had left his affairs in a more ordered state, but, as he had no Will as such, I cannot challenge the Graf’s authority. What court would support my claim while the Graf provides for them so handsomely, and I have only the support of the Comte to preserve body and soul?
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