by Eric Flint
But that took a lot of time, as a rule. Probably more than Janos would encompass in that span of his life that mattered. Soon enough, he would have to marry again. His little boy Gÿorgÿ needed a mother, and given his position in the empire he really should produce more heirs in case misfortune took his son as it had taken his wife. For which latter purpose, unfortunately, if not the first, a morganatic marriage would probably not be suitable.
So. He flashed a quick grin at the fire he was staring into. A problem, then. Complex; complicated; even tortuous at points.
Janos enjoyed solving problems. He also took vows seriously, although he seldom made them formal ones. At the age of twelve, after he realized the full scope of his responsibilities, he had made a solemn vow that while he would be a faithful son of Hungary, he would not—would not—agree to marry a dullard. Be her rank never so high, or her station never more suitable.
He'd kept that pledge to himself when he married Anna Jakusith. The all-too-short time he'd shared his life with her had confirmed the wisdom of his youngster's vow. As a purely personal matter, and leaving aside the needs of state, he'd far rather remain a widower for the rest of his life than marry the sort of woman who, every morning and every nightfall, only made him think regretfully of the woman who was no longer there. He would remember Anna always, of course, so long as he lived, as he remembered her in his prayers every day. But he wanted a wife who could forge a place of her own in his life and affections.
"You're kidding," hissed Denise. Quickly, almost surreptitiously, she glanced at Drugeth. The way he was just standing there, not moving at all while he studied whatever the hell he found so fascinating in a campfire, matched Keenan's depiction perfectly. The expressionless, handsome, brooding face, half in shadows, the easy stance—everything. She could picture him just like that, standing in a castle in Transylvania. Which was part of Hungary, now that she thought about it. Well, parts of it were, anyway.
"Oh, wow." She took her eyes away from Janos, lest she draw his attention somehow. She didn't really believe in supernatural powers, but you could never be sure.
"Yup," said Keenan. "That's the whole story. I got it from Gardiner and Gage just an hour ago, while we were out foraging for wood. Janos Drugeth is a vampire."
Noelle sniffed. "Keenan, I am quite certain that neither Gage nor Gardiner said any such thing."
"Well, sure. Not in so many words. But what else could we be talking about? I mean, I've even heard of his grandma. The Blood Countess. She's almost as famous as Dracula himself. The one who sucked all those virgins dry of their blood so her complexion wouldn't get bad. Dozens of virgins."
Noelle sniffed again. "There are so many errors in what you just said that I don't know where to begin. For starters, she didn't 'suck the blood' out of anybody. She—uh . . ."
Denise had heard the story, too. "That's quibbling, Noelle. So she drained them dry with a knife and bathed in the blood. Big fucking difference. And it's a fact—well, that's what I heard, anyway—that when they caught her they didn't try to execute her 'cause they couldn't. So they walled her up in a room until she died of old age."
"Why didn't they drive a wooden stake through her heart?" Lannie asked plaintively. "That's supposed to work."
"There are no such things as vampires!" Noelle hissed. But Denise figured the reason she hissed it instead of shouting it was because Noelle was just as concerned as anyone else not to draw Drugeth's attention.
Denise glanced quickly at Janos again. He was still in that brown study he seemed to fall into about twenty times a day. Not surprising, really. Denise figured if she were a vampire she'd probably spend a lot of time contemplating the whichness of what herself.
How fucking exciting could it get? A vampire.
Well. Close enough, anyway.
Eventually, Noelle gave up. Even Eddie seemed dubious of her arguments.
Superstitious dolts!
She avoided looking at Drugeth for the rest of the evening, she was so exasperated.
But she found that she couldn't stop thinking about him, even after she rolled into her blankets, and that was even more exasperating.
The problem, she finally admitted to herself, was that while she absolutely did not—Did. Not.—believe in vampires, she also had to admit something else.
She doted on vampire stories. She owned every one of Anne Rice's books that had come out before the Ring of Fire, and had read none of them less than twice. Her copy of Bram Stoker's original novel was dog-eared.
She'd even once, in college, gotten into a ferocious all-night-long argument with three other female students over the subject of which actor's Dracula had been the best. Stupid mindless twits had been all ga-ga and gushing over effete fops like Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee.
Even at that age, Noelle knew the truth. A real vampire—which didn't exist, of course—would be like the Dracula portrayed by Jack Palance. Medieval rulers, commanders of armies, swordsmen, guys with muscles as well as fangs. Not layabouts loafing in a castle somewhere.
Interesting guys. Exciting guys.
And just how deep, anyway, was she going to wallow in this idiotic fantasy?
She was a sane, sensible, rational modern woman. An official of the SoTF government. And he was an enemy soldier.
Period.
"Boy, do you look bedraggled," was Denise's greeting the next morning.
"I didn't sleep well," Noelle said grumpily.
Denise grinned at her. "You gotta admit, the guy's fascinating as all hell. If he weren't too old for me, I'd be checking him out myself."
That evening they reached a village in one of the many little valleys in the Fichtelgebirge. It was a Catholic village, with a small church.
The village was too small for a tavern, so they camped just outside it. After the camp was made, Janos went to the church.
Noelle followed him, after waiting a few minutes. Not because she was following him, but simply because she felt the need herself.
When she entered, he was in one of the pews, praying. She was quite certain he was praying for the souls of the two men he'd slain, a few days earlier. For his own, too, of course. But mostly theirs. There was still much about Janos Drugeth that was a mystery to her, but not everything. One of the prayers she'd be making here, as she had so many times since it happened, would be a prayer for the soul of the torturer she'd killed in Franconia last year. And for her own, for having done it.
So much for the idiots and their crap about vampires.
Even as quietly as Noelle was moving, he heard her come in. Being honest, the man really did seem to have preternatural senses. He turned his head and gazed at her for a while, his face as expressionless as it usually was.
Noelle did her best to ignore the scrutiny. She dipped her fingers in the basin, made the sign of the cross, and went to a pew some distance away from Drugeth. As far distant as she could get, in fact, allowing for the tiny size of the church.
She concentrated on her own prayers, and was pleased that she managed that pretty well. At least until the end, when she found herself fumbling because she was waiting for Drugeth to leave. There was no way she was going to leave with him.
Finally, he left. She waited perhaps five minutes before leaving herself.
Not that it did her any good. She discovered him waiting for her outside.
It would be silly to avoid him. So, she came up and nodded a greeting.
"I am told you are a devout Catholic," he said. "Have even contemplated taking holy vows."
"Ah . . ." She looked away, caught off balance by the unexpected question. "Yes, sort of. It's something I've thought about for years, off and on. Even though everybody who knows me says I'd make a lousy nun. Well, not that, exactly. They think I'd wind up very unhappy with the choice."
He said nothing. She was pretty sure that was because he didn't want to seem as if he were crowding her.
"What do you think?" she asked suddenly. And then found herself caught even mor
e off balance by her own question—what are you doing, you ninny?—than she had been by his.
"I think that decision, unlike many others, is one that only the person involved can make. We are all—those of us who are Catholic, for a certainty—obliged to follow the teachings of the church involving matters of conscience. But not even the church presumes to tell a man or a woman if they should take holy vows."
He smiled, in that gentle, half-melancholy and half-irenic way he had. "I grant you, for noble families and royal ones more so, that decision is often tightly circumscribed, even sometimes forced outright. Still, I will hold to the principle."
"You have no opinion?"
"I would not put in that way. Let us say I do not presume to advise. That is not quite the same thing as having no opinion."
He seemed on the verge of adding something. His lips even started to part open. But, then, he closed them firmly and just shook his head.
"I should speak no further on the matter. May I escort you back to the camp?"
Silly to refuse that offer, as well, so she nodded.
They said nothing on the way. By the time they reached the camp, though, Noelle was in a quiet fury.
Not at him, but herself. A decision she hadn't been able to make for years had somehow gotten made in that short walk of no more than two hundred yards. She knew it as surely as she knew anything.
Damn her impudent soul, Denise was waiting for her with that same aggravating grin.
"Yeah, right. Enemy of the state. Is he as cute in church as everywhere else?"
"Vampire, remember?" Noelle half-snarled at her. "As if a vampire would enter holy ground!"
Denise's grin didn't so much as flicker. "You're dodging the question. Nice try."
"What he is, is the most exasperating man I've ever met."
"Wow." Denise shook her head, the grin vanishing completely. "You've got it bad, girl."
Chapter 12. The Date
The Bohemian Border, near Cheb
A little after noon, three and a half days later, Drugeth called a halt and ordered a rest. The last stretch before they reached Cheb was going to be very difficult, and they couldn't afford to lose the last wagon due to someone's fatigue. The other one had broken a wheel two days earlier, and they'd lost two hours repacking the surviving wagon with the items that were too bulky or heavy to be loaded on pack horses. By then, fortunately, they had several of those. Foreseeing the likelihood that at least one of the wagons would not survive the trek across the Fichtelgebirge, Janos had purchased pack animals at any of the small villages they'd passed through which had one they were willing to sell.
They needed to stop, anyway, because it was time to release Noelle Stull and her companions. By now, Janos was sure that Noelle had figured out that his escape route was taking them into Bohemia. He wasn't concerned about that, in itself, because by the time she could return to a town that had a radio with which she could alert the USE authorities, his expedition would have long since left Cheb and would probably already be reentering the USE farther south. The main thing was that he didn't want her to realize that Austria had suborned the commander of the Cheb garrison.
Partly that was a matter of simple straight-dealing. Honesty among thieves, perhaps. But just as the up-timers had a witty saw that "an honest cop is one who stays bribed," it was equally true in the gray world Janos now spent more of his time in than he liked, that the man who bribes the cop is obliged not to carelessly betray him afterward.
Mostly, though, it was cold-blooded calculation. The future was impossible to predict, and Janos still hoped he could persuade the emperor to make peace with Wallenstein. But he'd probably not be successful in his effort, and the war with Bohemia would heat up again. In that event, as unlikely as it might be given the geography—but who could say where the winds of war might blow?—it could be highly advantageous to Austria to have the commander of the Cheb garrison on its payroll. Even if the man objected to flagrant treason, he could be blackmailed into ceding the fortress with the threat of exposure.
Janos was feeling a little guilty, actually, allowing Noelle and her group to come this far. If one of them had a good enough knowledge of geography, they might be able to deduce that Cheb was his destination. He should have set them free the day before, in retrospect. Without horses—which he certainly wouldn't give them, even if he had any to spare—they probably still couldn't have gotten out of the Fichtelgebirge in time to cause any damage to his project.
But . . . he'd stalled, since there were so many "mights" and "probablies" involved on both sides of the equation. Looking back on it, he'd allowed himself to be influenced by a purely personal factor. He was reluctant to part company with Noelle Stull; it was as simple as that.
As the days had passed, his interest had deepened. He'd never thought about it before, but he'd come to realize that spending several days with a woman in a forced march, under considerable tension and strain—conflicting and complex ones, too—was as good a way as any to get a measure of her.
Which he had, at least to the extent possible in the few days they'd spent together.
Noelle was as perceptive as his dead wife had been, when it came to navigating difficult political waters. Demonstrated, in Anna's case, by her ability to work a compromise between the Catholic church and the many Orthodox inhabitants on their domains, which satisfied everyone well enough and kept the peace. In Noelle's case, by the way she maintained a workable relationship between her own captured party and the defectors. There was no love lost there, and she'd refused—quite firmly—to allow her people to be used in any of the labor directly connected to the defection. They'd taken no part, for instance, in the strenuous labor needed to repack the wagons again. But, that line drawn, she'd not been foolishly obstreperous about anything else.
So. Principles combined with flexibility where needed. A combination much rarer than one might think.
She also knew how to maintain authority over her own charges: smoothly, easily, and without either bullying them or ceding anything important. No easy task, that, given the nature of the people involved. Not a problem with Eddie Junker, of course. Although Janos was sure that Noelle would insist that Eddie was her "partner," as well as a close friend, the fact remained that the relationship was one of mistress and subordinate. Something which he was equally sure Junker himself understood—but was good-natured about because of the light hand of the mistress herself.
Lannie and Keenan, on the other hand, while they had the habits and temperament of subordinates by virtue of their origins and history, had not had a previous relationship with her, other than a family one in the case of the Murphy fellow. More than once—many more times than once—Janos had seen how awkwardly a new commander handled such a situation. In contrast to Anna, who had swept into her new position as the mistress of the estates at Homonna with complete ease. Within a short time, as the Americans would put it, she had the servants in the large household—even many of the peasants nearby—"eating out of her hand."
Noelle had even managed to keep Denise Beasley under control, for a wonder. And had done it, not by the harsh disciplinary methods a less perceptive person would have tried—and which would have succeeded poorly, if at all—but because she had the art of persuading a young, bright and rebellious girl that she was more in the way of a trusted older sister and a confidant than a substitute mother. It had been quite deftly done, and the fact that Noelle herself would no doubt be indignant if he suggested she was being manipulative, did not change the reality. The up-timers seemed to feel that "being manipulative" was a negative trait, even an evil one, but that was just one of their many superstitions. The ability to get other people to do what needed to be done was simply a valuable skill, that's all—especially for the wife of an important figure in a major realm.
Finally, there was her athleticism and quite evident good health. Anna had been less athletic than the average noblewoman, which, in and of itself, had not much bothered Janos. He was not
one of those idle aristocrats who spent half their waking hours on the hunt, and wanted a wife who could ride with him. Where Janos was most likely to be riding at a full gallop was on a battlefield, where no wife could go or was wanted to go.
Unfortunately, Anna had been sickly, not simply sedentary. Had been since she was a girl. Janos had known that when he married her, but had chosen to overlook the problem in favor of her many other virtues. Having lost one wife after a short marriage, however, he had no desire to repeat the experience. That had been anguish such as he'd never felt in his life, and never wanted to again.
True, Noelle was not as physically attractive as Anna had been. The woman was pretty, where Anna had been a real beauty. But that did not concern Janos. First, because it was a matter of flesh, and thus trivial. Second, because it was always transient, as was the nature of fleshly things. Finally, because given time it would be irrelevant in any event. The Americans could wallow in their romanticism, as they called it, but that was another of their odd superstitions. A good marriage produced affection and physical desire as naturally and inevitably as trees grew. Love was simply the fruit, which they confused with the seed.
