A Sojourn in Bohemia

by G. D. Falksen

  “You’re safe now, Karel,” Friedrich snapped, perhaps more harshly than he intended. But at least it stopped Karel’s panicked ramble. “We need to get the authorities. We need to tell…well, someone.”

  “We are doing nothing of the kind,” Varanus interjected.

  “What? In Heaven’s name, why not?”

  Varanus motioned to the corpses in the parlor and asked, “Do you recognize everyone in this room?”

  “Well, yes,” Friedrich answered.

  Of course he recognized them! They were his friends! Or friends of his friends at least.

  “Then your attackers have either all escaped alive, or they have at least carried off the bodies of their comrades,” Varanus said, “which means that you have absolutely no proof of what happened here. And what will you tell the police? That a highly placed and respectable Austrian nobleman sent a gang of murderers to kill you and kidnap your friends? To carry off his fiancée who just happened to be staying here with the radical you claim she willingly ran away with?”

  “Well, I mean…” Friedrich stammered.

  “It’s what happened,” Zoya said.

  “The police will not believe a word of it,” Varanus told them. She sounded absolutely confident of the fact. “Allow me to hazard a guess: all or at least most of your dead friends are wanted men, is that right?”

  “I…suppose so,” Friedrich admitted. Perhaps not Wilhelm, but Ilya, Nicolas, Schmidt, indeed most of the revolutionaries. And Stanislav too. They had all hidden out there to avoid the authorities.

  “So we have a house in this decrepit working-class neighborhood filled with wanted criminals, socialists, and radicals bent on overthrowing the Empire,” Varanus said. “A house being used as a hideout for the man who abducted the daughter of a Hungarian count, for that is surely how the authorities will interpret your friend Erzsebet’s presence here all these months, which means that all three of you will be seen as their accomplices.”

  “But…but the murder!” Karel protested.

  “You mean a probable power struggle within the revolutionaries’ own ranks?” Varanus mused. “At best, they will ignore it. More likely, they will use it as an excuse for a fresh round of arrests and repression.”

  Friedrich fell silent as a creeping dread came across him. She was right. The police would not care about them. They might even be jailed for collusion with the revolutionary movement. He looked at Zoya and Karel and saw the same expression on their faces.

  “Alis…Friedrich,” Varanus said, “who knows that you live here?”

  “Um.… You. Us. Aunt Ekaterine. Constantine.” Friedrich turned his eyes toward the parlor and shuddered. “Everyone else is either dead or gone.”

  Varanus seemed to be mulling some thoughts over in her mind.

  “Von Steiersberg and Von Raabe know,” she murmured, “but they will not act on it. They must believe you to be dead. And besides, why implicate themselves in all of this?” She looked back at Friedrich. “Your neighbors? Do they know?”

  “I’ve never dealt with them,” Friedrich replied. “They may have seen me once or twice, but people around here keeps to themselves.”

  “What about the landlord?”

  “I never dealt with him either,” Friedrich said. “It was through a middleman like every house on the block, and Wilhelm handled all of that anyway. I just paid for it.”

  Varanus snorted. “You allowed one of your ‘friends’ to take your money and expected him to pay for your house? And no doubt after taking a sizable cut to help pay for the Revolution.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Friedrich protested.

  He saw Zoya open her mouth to correct him, but she evidently thought better of it and said nothing.

  “What about Prague society?” Varanus asked.

  “I have a far more respectable address for my correspondence and that sort of thing,” Friedrich explained. “I could hardly tell my peers about my laboratory, could I? I only gave the address to Constantine in case he found time to visit. Otherwise, as far as anyone knows, I live in a good part of Prague.”

  “If only you actually resided there,” Varanus said. She sounded angry, but perhaps it was just worry. “So no one whom the police would actually believe knows that you are here?”

  “I suppose not…” Friedrich answered cautiously. “Why…?”

  This seemed to be what Varanus wanted to hear. “Good,” she said. “Then you are packing your things, and we are leaving at once.”

  “Mother, no!” Friedrich exclaimed.

  “At once,” Varanus repeated. She looked at Zoya and Karel, weighing something in her mind. “The two of you as well, I suppose. Ekaterine would be very angry with me if I allowed her pet painter to be arrested or killed.” To Karel she added, “And you’re…here…at the moment, so you can help carry my son’s bags.”

  Friedrich was appalled. “Mother, we can’t just leave! The bodies—”

  “The bodies are precisely why none of us are going to be here in the morning when someone reports the gunshots to the police,” Varanus said firmly. “So you are going to pack what you can carry, you are going to burn anything that could even possibly connect you to this place, and then we are leaving.” She pointed at Zoya and Karel. “That goes for the two of you also. When the police arrive tomorrow, I do not want there to be any reason for them to suspect that there are survivors still alive, am I understood?”

  Such was the severity of her tone that Zoya and Karel quickly nodded their heads.

  Varanus continued, “And I expect neither of you to breath a word of this to anyone, not even your families. If I am given cause to believe that you have endangered my son’s life with idle talk, you will learn precisely why a worried mother is the most dangerous creature alive.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Upon returning home, Iosef was relieved to find things in a state of peace. The lights were dimmed, and most of the servants had retired, following Iosef’s customary instructions. The footman was still up to meet him at the door, but otherwise things were quiet. That meant that whatever his earlier misgivings, Julius had either not elected to move against the household, or his ruffians had not yet arrived. The second possibility was unlikely. A sensible man would have attacked Iosef’s family at more or less the same time that they attacked him, and Iosef considered Julius a sensible man.

  Sensible, that is, until he had mistakenly decided to murder one of the Living; though being mortal, he could hardly be faulted for his ignorance. It seemed that Mordechai truly had been the target, and there was no further cause for alarm.

  “Good evening, Highness,” the footman said, taking Iosef’s hat and cane.

  As Iosef’s suit still bore the knife holes from the fight, he chose not to remove his overcoat. Pravec surely noticed this, but he was a good servant and said nothing of it. As was customary with sojourning Shashavani, mortal servants, when they were necessary, were always selected for their ability to “forget” or “overlook” any eccentricities among their employers.

  “And you, Pravec,” Iosef replied, heading for the stairs. “Where are the Princesses this evening?”

  “I believe your sister is reading in the upstairs library, Highness,” Pravec answered. “The mistress of the house has gone out for the evening. She did not say where.”

  Iosef froze for a moment. “Has gone out?” he asked. “Or is still out?”

  Varanus had left to visit her wastrel son before Iosef made his visit to Mordechai’s bookstore. If she had not yet returned.…

  “To my knowledge, she has not returned from her earlier outing, Highness. I could inquire of the other servants if you wish.”

  Things began turning over in Iosef’s mind. A chaotic torrent of probabilities, possibilities, and unlikely events that might still come to pass twisted and mingled into endless lists that quickly ranked a
series of outcomes until he finally fixed on the best course of action available to him.

  “Pravec, is Mister Luka still awake?” he asked.

  “Yes, Highness,” Pravec replied. “He is in the east drawing room.” Pravec coughed slightly. “Attending to his firearms. I served him some wine at his request only a quarter of an hour ago.”

  “Excellent,” Iosef said. He reached out and retrieved his hat and cane. “Fetch him for me and instruct him to ready the carriage. I have some business to attend to.”

  “At once, Highness,” Pravec said. He bowed his head and quickly hurried from the foyer.

  Iosef heard someone approaching on the upstairs landing a few moments before Ekaterine appeared through the doorway. She looked down at him, appearing both surprised and pleased to see him.

  “Oh! Lord Iosef,” she said in Svanish. It would not do for the servants to hear her addressing her alleged brother in unfamiliar terms. “I thought it would be the Doctor.”

  “It seems that Varanus is still at large in the city,” Iosef answered. “But I am concerned for her safety. Where has she gone?”

  “She had supper with Alistair…er…Friedrich,” Ekaterine told him. “And I believe she then intended to spend the evening with Count von Raabe.”

  Iosef felt the muscles in his face tighten into an expression of displeasure that might almost have been noticeable to a casual viewer, such was the severity of his discontent. It was as he had feared. Varanus had gone to see her lover, the same man who might have tried to murder Iosef and might now try to murder her.

  “Did I say something wrong, My Lord?” Ekaterine asked, quickly descending the stairs. She was very familiar with the enigmatic expressions of the Living, and of course she recognized Iosef’s distress.

  “Men in the employ of Von Raabe attacked me and Herr Mordechai this evening,” Iosef said. He did not say that they were dead. He did not need to. “I do not know if I was the intended target, but if I was, Varanus may be in danger.”

  Ekaterine grew pale and ran down the remaining steps.

  “I am coming with you,” she announced. Only as an afterthought did she think to amend the statement, “With your permission, My Lord.”

  “Of course,” Iosef said. Were their situations reversed, he would have demanded the same, and possibly without the decorum of asking permission afterward.

  Ekaterine stopped at the bottom of the stairs as a thought came to her. “I should get a gun,” she said, spinning on her toes and making for the stairs again.

  Iosef glanced toward the adjoining hallway as he heard and smelled Luka and Pravec approaching. As an afterthought, he grabbed Ekaterine by the arm to stop her from leaving, without bothering—or needing—to look toward her.

  “That would be best,” he agreed, “but Luka has weapons aplenty for us to use.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Ekaterine said quickly.

  Luka arrived a few moments later, his moustache twitching, either from excitement at the prospect of some as yet unannounced adventure or out of irritation at being interrupted by one of the servants. The latter was most likely. He was coatless and his sleeves were rolled up. There was gun oil on his fingertips, and he carried a half-full glass of wine in one hand.

  “What is it, Brother?” Luka asked Iosef, also speaking Svanish. “The man in the starched collar said it was urgent, but as usual he had nothing useful to tell me.”

  “Thank you Pravec,” Iosef said to the footman. “You may retire.”

  “Very good, Highness,” Pravec answered. “Shall I rouse the coachman about preparing the carriage?”

  “No need. Luka will attend to it.”

  “As you wish, Highness.”

  When Pravec had left, Luka raised an eyebrow at Iosef and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Why am I—”

  “Julius von Raabe attempted to kill me tonight,” Iosef explained, unbuttoning his overcoat to show the knife wounds. Now that the servants were gone, there was no further need for concealment.

  “What?” Luka exclaimed.

  “Well, either myself or Mordechai,” Iosef amended, leading the way across the foyer in the direction of the attached carriage house. “But I understand that Varanus intended to visit Von Raabe this evening, so if I was the target, she may be in danger.”

  “I most certainly was,” announced Varanus as she stormed into the foyer from the servants’ passage.

  “Doctor!” Ekaterine exclaimed. She ran to Varanus and embraced her friend tightly. “I thought you might be dead!”

  “I am perfectly fine,” Varanus said. There was a pause. The front of her dress was covered in blood. “Now,” she added. “I am perfectly fine now.”

  “You have blood on your dress,” Iosef noted dryly.

  “It’s mine,” Varanus answered. “Your shirt has holes in it.”

  “I did not put them there,” Iosef said.

  “What happened to you?” Varanus asked.

  “Julius von Raabe attempted to murder me,” Iosef explained. “And you?”

  “What a strange coincidence,” Varanus said. “Julius von Raabe attempted to murder me as well. And my son.”

  Iosef did not comment on this last point. He had always regarded young Friedrich as something of an unfortunate distraction.

  Varanus hesitated for a moment and added, “And on that note.…”

  “Varanus…?” Iosef asked. “What have you done?”

  “Alis…Friedrich and his friends had nowhere else to go,” Varanus told him. “Or rather, his friends had nowhere else to go, and he refused to leave them.”

  “What?”

  Varanus turned toward the passage and called out in German, “Come in!”

  Iosef’s eyes narrowed as Varanus’s son entered the foyer, followed by a young man and woman. All of them were disheveled, exhausted, and frightened, and carrying heavy bags of luggage or medical equipment. To Iosef’s irritation, Friedrich smiled at the sight of him. For some reason, during their first meeting in London ten years ago, Friedrich had gotten it into his head that they were somehow friends. But then Friedrich’s expression turned to one of bewilderment. Iosef looked no older than he had at their previous meeting.

  Before Friedrich could ask any annoying questions, the girl next to him caught sight of Ekaterine and gasped aloud, not quite with delight and not quite with relief. She dropped the bags she was carrying and threw herself into Ekaterine’s arms, clinging to her like a drowning woman would cling to driftwood.

  “Muse!” she exclaimed.

  Though confused, Ekaterine smiled and took it all in stride. “Hello Miss Chromoluminarist. There, there, you’re safe now.”

  “I was afraid they had taken you too,” the girl rambled, clearly on the verge of losing her wits.

  “Too?” Ekaterine asked.

  Friedrich was the one who answered, as he stormed up to Iosef and Varanus:

  “Stanislav and Erzsebet have been taken, and I mean to find them. We must do something immediately before those men get away!”

  Iosef looked at Varanus and asked in Svanish, “What is he going on about?”

  “Two of his friends were kidnapped by Von Raabe’s men,” Varanus explained. “I fear he is insistent about rescuing them.”

  “Of course he is.” Iosef sighed. “To be honest, I am more than a little annoyed at my recent treatment by our once friend.”

  “As am I,” Varanus agreed. From her tone, Iosef knew she understood what he was getting at, and he suspected her sentiments were much the same. “A shame, really. He was very pretty.”

  “So I recall,” Iosef said. “And a good conversationalist. Very learned.”

  Varanus nodded. “A pity, but certain things simply cannot stand.”

  “Indeed.”

  Luka looked at them, his eyes shifting from one to t
he other. “To be clear,” he said, “we are talking about hunting him down and brutally murdering him, yes?” He emptied his glass in one gulp. “Because if everyone here is alive and well and we are not plotting revenge, I have an elephant gun in need of cleaning and a bottle of wine that I would like to finish.”

  “Brutal murder, yes,” Iosef told him. “Revenge aside, Von Raabe must surely have his reasons for trying to kill us.”

  He paused, thinking better of mentioning Mordechai’s cultist theory in front of Ekaterine, who would surely become unnecessarily excited and insist on investigating it herself. He would inform Varanus and Luka privately once they had departed.

  He continued, “If Julius learns that we are not dead, he will simply redouble his efforts until the deed is done. In addition to his original motives, he now has self-preservation to inspire him to deeds of violence. I would prefer to resolve that little problem now before he can recover and try again.”

  “Agreed,” Varanus said. Her voice carried a hint of regret, which did not surprise Iosef. Julius had been a very pleasant diversion for her until now.

  “I will ready the coach,” Luka said, excusing himself and making for the carriage house.

  Iosef addressed Ekaterine: “Sister Ekaterine, would you be so good as to take Varanus’s…guests upstairs and secure them someplace quiet until we can decide what to do with them?”

  “Of course!” Ekaterine replied. She detached one arm from the enthusiastic girl’s grasp and held it out to Friedrich and his other friend. She addressed them in German, “Welcome to our home. I understand you’ve all had a bit of an ordeal, so I want you to be sure to make yourselves comfortable during your stay.”

  “Not too comfortable,” Iosef reminded her.

  “Sufficiently comfortable,” Ekaterine said cheerfully. Taking Friedrich’s hand, she gently led the mortals up the stairs. “Now then, come along and I’ll get you some nice hot baths and a little sherry. Just the thing after whatever’s happened to you.”

  Iosef turned to Varanus and resumed speaking in Svanish. “Julius is residing at Count von Steiersberg’s house in Prague, is that correct?”