House of Bathory (34 page)

Chapter 101

Č
ACHTICE
C
ASTLE
D
ECEMBER 29, 1610

T
he rider set off just before dawn. Aloyz alerted the sentries that the horsemaster needed to leave on urgent business.

The gate was opened and the bay mare trotted down the rocky path toward the main road northeast of
Č
achtice. Aloyz watched as rider and horse disappeared into the thick bank of fog below, gleaming an eerie silver in the moonlight.

In the blaze of dawn, Zuzana was able to canter her horse, the road flattening and following the Vah River. The cold air stung her skin. She breathed in the salty warm scent of the horse. The smell comforted her in the cold mist.

She had gone only a few hours from the castle when she came upon a troop of soldiers, watering their horses in the river. She spied the double-headed eagle insignia of the Habsburgs, flapping yellow, black, and red over the tents.

Her mare whinnied at the scent of the horses and in an instant a mounted scout galloped out of the dark woods. He overtook her on the road, before she could react.

“Stop! Who goes?”

Zuzana’s heart thumped. If she spoke, he would know her gender instantly.

The scout pulled his horse alongside her. A rough hand snatched back the hood from her face. Her face was splattered with mud from the rutted road, but he could see her blue eyes sparkling with defiance.

“What do we have here!” he crowed. “A maiden riding astride?”

“Let me go,” she answered. “I have urgent business with the King.”

She drew her sleeve across her face, wiping away the mud.

The scout dropped his hand from her hood, seeing her pocked face.

“The King?” he gasped. “A poxed witch to see a Habsburg?”

“Pray, let me continue on my way!”

The scout’s face loosened further in astonishment, his jaw dropping.

“Where do you come from?”

“
Č
achtice Castle.”

“We ride there this very day. These men are Count Thurzo’s party.”

“Count Thurzo? The Palatine?”

“I dare not say more. I will accompany you to his tent,” said the scout. “But cover your face with your hood so you don’t draw attention from the troops. They may take you to be an evil omen.”

Count Thurzo was washing his face in a stream when the scout approached him. He squinted at the sound of footsteps, blinking away droplets of water from his eyes.

“What have you got there?” said the Count rising.

“A maiden who says she is from
Č
achtice Castle,” said the guard. “She brings news from Janos Szilvasi.”

The Palatine accepted a towel from his servant and wiped his faced dry.

“How do I know she is not a spy, attending the Countess?”

Zuzana drew back her hood and leaned forward in the saddle where the Palatine could see her clearly.

He gasped. “It’s you. Countess Bathory’s little monster!”

Zuzana stared back at him.

“You remember me, Count Thurzo,” she said. Her mare moved restlessly. Zuzana reined her in, swinging the horse’s head back to face the Palatine. “I come in the name of horsemaster Janos Szilvasi, who lies ill in
Č
achtice Castle.”

“Why does he send you on this mission?”

“Because my absence would not raise as much suspicion. Because I can ride. And I know a way you can enter
Č
achtice Castle without laying siege, for her guards will fight to the death to keep you out.”

“I have the King’s soldiers here!” the Count snorted. “Bathory’s men will not hold out for long.”

“And she will disappear into the warren of tunnels beneath her castle, never to be found. You will not bear witness to her crimes. The Countess will take refuge. She will find an ally. Perhaps the strange visitor they call the Dark One. He wears a Bathory ring.”

Count Thurzo clenched his fists at his sides. A flush of red colored his damp face.

“The Dark One? You say he wears the Bathory ring?”

“Yes.”

“There is only one Bathory as cruel as she—Gabor of Transylvania. If she flees to him, no one, not even the King, can stop her.”

The Count considered the money, soldiers, and resources Gabor would amass with Erzsebet’s alliance. Sarvar, Kerestur, Leka, Ecsed, Wallachia, Transylvania, possibly even Poland.

The Ottomans. Gabor had sent his emissaries to Stamboul.

“Then you must take her by surprise,” said Zuzana. “Tonight.”

Count Thurzo nodded slowly, studying the glint of her eyes. Chips of the bluest sapphire.

“Choose a small party from your men. A small band of soldiers. I will guide you. Stealth is your ally.

“Then you will catch the Countess in the act of murder.”

Chapter 102

B
ATHORY
C
ASTLE
H
IGH
T
ATRA
M
OUNTAINS,
S
LOVAKIA
D
ECEMBER 29, 2010

T
he driver escorted Morgan to the drawing room. She shook the snow from her hair, a cascade of auburn locks swirling about her shoulders.

“Such a late night visit,” said the Count. “From a beautiful stranger. Still I feel we have met before.”

“You have my sister here,” said Morgan. “I want to see her immediately. She is coming home with me.”

“What?”

“You have kidnapped Daisy Hart. You are to release her immediately or a contact in the United States will send the coordinates of this location to the FBI and the CIA. And the American ambassador in Bratislava. Got it?”

“Sit down,” said the Count, reaching for a chair himself. “I do not understand.”

“Did I stutter?” said Morgan. “What’s not clear?” She reached for her backpack and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one and extinguished the match with an agitated wave of her hand.

“
You
—you are related to the witch girl?”

“Goth,” said Morgan, blowing out a plume of smoke. “She likes to be called Goth.”

“But—you are—nothing like her.”

“What does that matter to you?”

Morgan felt the presence of the driver still close to her side. He looked tense, shifting his weight from side to side.

She looked up at him.

“And they will arrest you, too, Mr. Chauffeur. As an accomplice.”

“Bartos, you can leave us now,” said the Count. He stood unsteadily and walked over to the crystal decanter.

The chauffeur hesitated, watching the count’s wooden motions.

Bathory poured himself another glass of wine. He drained it with one tip. An ugly grimace seized his face, twisting his features.

He is insane
, thought Morgan.

Glass shattered as the Count hurled the empty goblet at the stone fireplace.

Morgan shielded her eyes from the flying shards.

The Count’s eyes wandered unfocused about the room. His gaze stopped on a portrait on the wall, a small, ancient rendering of Countess Bathory.

He cocked his head, listening.

A strange smile spread across his face. He looked at Morgan again with an intense stare.

“Of course,” he said, though he didn’t seem to be speaking to her. “I had forgotten. Of course.”

“Of course, what?” said Morgan.

He waved his hand, dismissing her words. The motion was like erasing a chalkboard.

“Wait. Bartos—inform the attendants we will have one more guest at tonight’s games, a very special lady indeed. And bring”—he arched one eyebrow—“a welcoming draught, for the beautiful lady.

“She seems to have forgotten herself. We will help her to remember her former glory.”

Chapter 103

Č
ACHTICE
C
ASTLE
D
ECEMBER 29, 1610

B
rona ground cloves and cinnamon in a stone bowl. She sprinkled the mixture into the warming wine.

She poured the mulled wine into the Countess’s goblet. Then she thought again of the murdered girls. Her hand tightened around the goblet.

“The mistress is distressed,” said a crying servant girl as she rushed into the kitchen. “She asks again for her wine at once. She is in an evil temper. She pinched my arm. Look.”

A reddish-blue welt spread across the girl’s upper arm.

“I’ll serve the mistress myself,” Brona said, as the maid started to take the tray away.

“But—”

Brona put on a fresh apron. She tidied the linen cloth on the tray.

The Countess looked up from her needlework.

“Brona,” she said. “What brings you out of the kitchens?”

“To better serve you, Countess,” she said, bowing. “I so rarely have the honor of seeing you.”

The Countess’s eyebrow arched.

“You are not a handmaiden, Cook! You smell of onions and garlic. See that you stay in the kitchens where you belong.”

Brona set the tray on a little table beside the Countess. It was so dark in the room she could not understand how her mistress could see the needle.

“Since you are so eager to talk with me,” the Countess said, taking the goblet in her hand, “tell me why you are spending such an exorbitant amount on flour. We cannot afford such—”

Brona bumped the Countess’s outstretched hand.

The wine sloshed from the goblet, splashing red on the white apron that covered the Countess’s gown.

“You clumsy peasant cow!” said the Countess, leaping up. “Look what you have done.”

Brona snatched the linen napkin from the tray and doused it with water from a jug.

“Mistress, forgive me! Let me take the stain off immediately before it sets.”

She began soaking the Countess’s apron with water, blotting the stain with the napkin.

“You clumsy fool! This gown is Venetian silk!”

Brona spread out the apron to its full width, lifting it clear of the silken gown.

“You fool!”

“Forgive me, Countess, but I must remove your apron before it soils your dress.”

She untied the apron, helping her mistress out of the garment.

Her hand dug into the pocket of the apron, extracting the ledger. She shoved it into the pocket of her own apron.

“Oh! Look at your shoes. And the hem of your dress.”

Brona dropped to her knees, blotting at the Countess’s clothes.

“Never mind!” screamed the Countess. She plucked up the needle from her embroidery and plunged it into the cook’s scalp.

She gave it a savage twist.

Brona screamed, her big hands flying to her head.

“I shall change my garment,” said the Countess, twisting the needle. “Send the laundress to my bedchamber at once!”

Chapter 104

Č
ACHTICE
C
ASTLE
D
ECEMBER 29, 1610

V
ida took the ledger from the cook, who kept her hand clasped over her head in pain.

“Let me attend to it,” said Vida, her gentle hands touching the wound.

“Oaaaw!” Brona moaned.

“The gash is bad. I will dress it.”

“No,” said Brona. “You must give the book to Janos and leave this castle immediately. The Countess will murder you! Go now!”

Vida placed the ledger in her apron pocket. She looked out through the leaded windows. Through the warped glass, she saw the figure of the horsemaster, striding toward the stables in the moonlight.

“Hurry!” said Brona.

Vida raced down the stairs. She stood panting at the doorway, looking for any sign of the Countess or one of her wicked faithful. She dashed across the courtyard toward Janos.

“Here, take this!”

“Vida!” Janos said, looking around, frantically. “You risk your life—”

“Take it,” she said, shoving the ledger into his hands. “I am leaving this evil place.”

She reached up and kissed his lips. Before he could respond, she ran toward the gates, her footfalls echoing across the cobblestones.

Janos felt a chill. He whirled around, searching the windows of the castle in the moonlight.

Someone was watching.