by Andre Norton
“I do not know—except there is something which the old Elector left me—something which they want. I think they will want to keep me hidden until they can obtain it.”
“And who are your enemies?”
I could think of at least two, but that the Gräfin and the Baron had the power to send me into a royal fortress as a hidden prisoner, that puzzled me. What part could Lisolette’s father have in this game? Was he some friend or ally of the Baron, ready to lend his assistance? If I said as much as I suspected, what would be the girl’s reaction?
“Those I know of are two,” I answered slowly, deciding to voice no suspicions. “One is the Gräfin von Zreibruken, the other the Baron von Werthern.”
Lisolette’s expression did not change. “Of them,” she waved a hand, “I have never heard. Because the Elector is dead there will be many changes. I have heard my father, his senior officers talk. The new Elector—few men know him well. He has been away for so long. They are uneasy over what he may do. But orders have come and my father knows it is best to obey them for now. When they sent the man—he obeyed that one. It is always so, I think, when one ruler dies and another comes—people are afraid and some lose everything. Her friends lost much—their lives!”
A rage which was not childlike or young suddenly contorted her features. “Yes, those who had served her best—they were killed! And she was shut from all which could help them—or herself. She had to wait a long time—she had to wait for me!”
That look of rage was gone, in its place was such an expression as might transfigure the face of a worshipper. “Yes,” she continued, “she has a use for you. Even though you are a Harrach. That must be true, or I would not have been sent to bring you here. Now.” She got to her feet with brisk decision. “Here you must stay. You need have no fear of surprisal.” Her smile was sly again. “This part of the fortress has no visitors. There are too many dark tales about what has happened. Also I shall show you—if any do chance to come—for it may be when they find you gone they will bestir themselves to search farther than usual. Now attend carefully!”
With the air of a governess instructing a none-to-bright pupil, she picked up the single candle and beckoned me back to that section of the wall through which we had come. The panels were carved with a series of heraldic animals, grotesque and unpleasant.
With her thumb Lisolette pressed hard on the bulbous eye of a griffin and the response was the back swing of the next panel.
“It is easy enough, as you see. I must go. But you stay here—and I shall see you again—when it is the time. Leave the door unbarred.”
“And a candle?” I asked even as she turned to cross the room.
She frowned. Then dipped the one she held, holding its flaming wick against that of another which stood, hardly higher than a stub, on a nearby table. Without another word she slid the bar from its hold at the door and slipped out into a hall, which I could see did hold some light, leaving me alone in what she had made certain I would understand was an ill-omened chamber.
I waited for a long moment, listening for any sound. The silence itself seemed strangely to hold some quality of apprehension. I made a careful circle of the room with that stub of a candle. By the massive, ornate furniture this chamber, many times the size of my former cell, had either been meant to house a visiting lord, or else a prisoner of such rank that he must be given some of the treatment of an honored guest.
However, it must have been long abandoned. Though the floor had been swept, there was a thick deposit of dust on the bed itself and the smell of mold and decay was strong. I discovered two windows behind drapery heavy with grit. Both were wider than the slit which had been my only opening on the world, but they were well covered with a cross-hatching of bars set very firmly into the stone. I could see little in the dark without.
I opened the wardrobe and looked at what it held. The dress in which Lisolette had played her ghostly role that night was not the only one. Another of the same archaic fashion, but of a deep crimson shade, also hung there. While on the floor were set several pairs of slippers, each having high heels. I touched the red dress and found it to be of a damask far heavier than any fabric used in this modern time and I wondered if it could be possible that both gowns were in truth once worn by the vanished Ludovika.
There was something else in the wardrobe, standing on the floor beside the frayed satin slippers—a box which had the appearance of a book—such as those massive wood-bound Bibles which are sometimes found in ancient churches. But that this was a box was evident by the fact that there were hinges at one side of the upper cover, and a small lock at the other. The top was carved to resemble the tooling on the cover of the book one could so readily compare it to. But there was no engraven cross. Instead that same symbol of an encircled star was picked out in a red which either had been recently renewed, or which time had not dulled. For the book-box certainly possessed the look of age.
I had pulled it out on the floor to see it the better. Now I tried to raise the lid. However the lock held tight and I had no luck in that. Setting aside the candle, I picked it up. It was heavy and it was certainly not empty, for as it shifted, loose contents moved from one side to the other. Another possession of Ludovika—perhaps one which held that which so engrossed the mind of Lisolette?
Baffled, I returned it to its place and closed the wardrobe, going once more to sit on the chair where I had perched earlier and try to make some coherent sense of what had happened to me. It was true I had been freed from the cell. Not only that, but I had been introduced to the passageways within the walls where I might play a successful hide and seek if any searchers were aroused in the morning to hunt me down.
On the other hand my freedom depended largely on the whim of a girl, who, if she were not mad, had thoughts and beliefs which bordered on that state. How did I know that at that Very moment she was not denouncing me to her father? Still what purpose would she have had then in bringing me out of my cell at all? And her own night activities—for she plainly had been playing ghost in the fortress—would be revealed.
No, I believed I was safe—for now—from any betrayal from Lisolette. Slowly I went over in my mind, as best I could, everything she had said to me. I thought it apparent that she believed she was in some way acting under the guidance, or by the wishes, of that woman so long dead. In other words, she was, by the old beliefs, possessed. But as long as she thought she had been led to free me for some purpose, I could perhaps prevail on her to believe that I should not only be free of my cell but the fortress itself.
I was tired, the sleep I had earlier fought now half drugged me. Sleep—dared I try to sleep? Yet I could not continue without rest. I eyed the dusty bed and at last gave in to the demands of my body and stretched myself out on its surface.
Chapter 15
I awoke into a dull grayness, lighter than the night which had closed me in when in the cell. Yet it was still not day. I sat up on the bed and swallowed once, and again. My throat and mouth felt as if the chamber's dust had seeped in to coat them both. I would have given much at that moment for even the bitter beer which had been offered me in the cell.
Now that I could better look about me I noted that the gray light came from the other side of the room, running in lines along ancient curtains which must not have been drawn for years. My stocking-covered feet felt the grit on the floor carpet and, though I could not see it in this light, I was sure that dust puffed up with every step I took. However, I continued until I reached that drapery-covered wall and drew back the edge of an ancient fabric which slit and tore under my hands. Then light did burst in upon me with a near-dazzling glare.
This was day and the windows here were wider than those through which I had tried to see earlier. Also I was not looking out into open space, rather down into a court completely surrounded by the bulk of the fortress. There was no entrance into this inner space save two doors, one in the wing on my left, one cutting the section immediately opposite me. Both were
closed, nor could I note any signs of life at any of the blank-seeming windows within my range of vision.
I was careful, once I had discovered the disintegrating state of the curtains, not to pull them back too far. It was not necessary to do so in order to be aware that I had merely moved from one prison into another. For the window before me was also latticed by bars. However, to see the day—and a portion of sun which filtered down into the courtyard—was invigorating to the spirit. I arranged the draperies carefully that some of that blessed light could enter the room.
Though the door was unbarred, I knew better than to venture out. But I was both hungry and thirsty, and I could not be sure that Lisolette would have any desire, or perhaps even any chance, to supply me with food or drink.
I could not judge by the degree of light just how late was the hour. The time could be near midday for all I knew. To be pent here was hardly better than to be celled below. Had they discovered my absence from there? They must have by now. If so, certainly a search was up. Lisolette might not have believed they would come in this direction, but I had little faith in her confidence. So I turned back to survey the room itself once more.
I could, of course, retreat into the passage, as she had showed me. Only the candle she had left was burned away, and to enter that dark warren within the walls with no light was something I would do only as a last extreme. The cumbersome pieces of archaic furniture in the room must have stood there two hundred years, perhaps even more. I thought if anyone tried to draw the curtains on the bed those might simply fall into shreds, so cobwebbed were they by age. The wardrobe did not promise any shelter. No, it would have to be the passage, without a light.
In spite of myself I kept creeping back to my vantage point at the window. Surely if a search were in progress throughout Wallenstein, there must be some evidence of it. Sooner or later I would see someone move beyond one of those windows, even open a door and venture out into the silent courtyard. Yet at the moment I might be standing in a long deserted ruin where not even a bird crossed the sky.
Finally I dragged a stool near to the window where the light gave me a measure of confidence and sat there, once more attempting to marshal my thoughts into some helpful order. I must eat, more than that I must drink. The needs of my body kept breaking in upon my poor attempts to plan what I could do. Only, to find either food or water, I would have to leave this hiding place, venture out into ways I knew nothing about, where I could be easily recognized for what I was by the first inhabitant of this pile who I was unlucky enough to meet.
Or I could go back to my cell, perhaps confounding my wardress by appearing—but I did not know any way out save that which would be hidden from me once the wall window closed. If I only had a candle and could go exploring farther!
There might be other passages to be found besides those giving upon the cells— The cells! I recalled then Lisolette's second play-acting the night before. How she had crooned her “Death—death—” before that other patch of wall. Had that marked another cell, the abiding place of a second prisoner? If so—who was she—or he? What other enemies to the state (if that was what I was considered) had been immured here?
Suppose I could do for that unknown what Lisolette had done for me. Thus find a companion in distress who would—or could—aid—
I tensed, swung around. So silent had been that room that the silent sound seemed to reverberate as strongly as had the bells which had signaled the Elector's passing back in Axelburg. I could not at first locate its source—a scrape—a ring of metal against metal—a—
The time it took to cross the room, lay hand on the eye of the beast who guarded the tunnel way could be measured by my quickened breaths. Once there, I still hesitated, determined not to enter until I knew that I must.
That sound, louder—familiar—!
I choked down a gasp. That I had heard before—a servant's scratching on a door as a plea to admit an inferior—far different from a demanding knock. However, though I faced the door, I remained where I was, watching. Nor did I call out any permission to enter.
The heavy barrier swung inward. At the sight of the slight figure it now framed I relaxed. Lisolette swung through the crack, shut the door quickly, and stood with her back against it, peering about until she saw me.
She was carrying a small basket and this she put down on the floor, leaving it behind as she crossed the room, light as the wraith she played by night, coming to stand before me and look searchingly into my face. Seemingly having made sure of me so, she gave a brisk nod and gestured to the basket she had left.
“Food, drink—” She kept her voice to a low thread of whisper. Then she laughed silently, the sly, malicious quirk back about her mouth. “The sisters are praying—they think the evil one took you! They have not yet told my father—or any of the men. It is good that their rule keeps them to their part of the castle. I think that they are afraid—afraid of having to report you are gone. They are so sure that she was of the devil—they pray against her all the time, you know. That is why their kind first came here long ago. They were sent to watch her, to make sure that the devil could not get past their relics and their prayers to help her. Only—she was too strong for them.
“When they found her gone they said she was dead. Dead!” Lisolette tossed her head. “They were all fools! How could they even know what she could do when she wished. They said she was dead, yes, but they knew— that is why they always stayed—why they were commanded to stay—to keep her bound by their eternal praying. Now they will say you are dead, too.”
Once more she laughed. “Is it not fitting? They will send soon, I think, some message to my father saying the prisoner died of the fever, and that they will bury her in their crypt. My father will be relieved, because this is a secret matter, and one who becomes too knowing of secrets comes also into trouble. So you need have no fear—”
“Lisolette!” This girl was far lost from reality, I thought with a shiver, for I have a horror I cannot control, of the unnormal, the mind-broken. She lived in another world of the night and her own acting. “Lisolette!”
Something in the sharpness of my tone must have broken through her absorption in her own beliefs and concerns, for now she looked at me with more of a natural consciousness in her face.
“It is good that they are not hunting me yet.” I drew that much out of her garbled talk and hoped that what she said was the truth. There was a kind of sense to it. A reason that my absence had not been reported aa yet—either through some fear on the part of my wardress or else because of superstition. If I had that much on my side— Only, how long would their covering of my escape continue? I could not accept Lisolette's blithe assurance that they would continue it long. Also, what if those who had sent me here should come seeking what they wanted of me? I could not see either the Grafin or the Baron calmly accepting any account of my death without definite proof,
“They will not be hunting you,” she nodded again. “You should hear them! They are praying until the very walls of that cursed chapel of theirs rings! How she laughed when they tried to pray her into nothingness!”
She was sliding off again into her fantasy world.
“Am I the only prisoner? Last night—you called ‘death’ outside that other wall.” I must get her away from her belief that Ludovika had something to do with our present when that unfortunate was long since dead.
“He is there But she does not care about him. Why should she? She has me—and a use for you. She does not need him—”
“Who is he?”
“The soldier—the one they brought from Axelburg— the friend of the Elector—the old Elector—” Her impatience was growing stronger. “She has no wish for any friends like that! He is like those who made trouble for her in the days when she was a great lady—before she passed beyond to her own power. She has no use for him—”
A soldier from Axelhurg who had been a friend of the old Elector—Colonel Fenwick? I could not be sure. There was apparently n
o chance to enlist Lisolette in his favor, I guessed, not now. But if it were he—and he could be freed the same way—! I must play Liso-lette's game—until I could move on my own.
“You are sure she wants me to do something for her?” I must humor her for now.
Lisolette nodded vigorously. “I must go—Frau Spansfert will be looking for me. She is afraid that my father will send her away if she does not know everywhere I am. But also she is afraid to tell him that she does not for much of the time. However, he is anxious about his own affairs, so forgets all but those now. He has the men out drilling and has called for the accounts to be explained to him. Already he has inspected the cell of the soldier three times today. I think he is very unsure who his new master may be, and he does not want to lose his place here—it suits him well.”
The tone she used in speaking of her father was one of lofty contempt. However, the information that the commander of Wallenstein was so uneasy was not too promising. His daughter might not find that menacing. I did—not being enmeshed in her own private world.
“I need some candles.”
I spoke abruptly, my thoughts looking ahead to plans of my own.
“They are in the basket. I shall bring you more food tonight. We must go together to her place. She will want to speak to you—tell you what you must do.”
Abruptly the girl turned then and was at the door before I could put out a hand or raise my voice to stop her. I was uneasy enough to follow her and slide into place the bar she had used the night before to seal off this ill-omened room. Making sure that was in place, I turned to inspect the contents of the basket.
I found a plentiful supply of bread and cheese, as well as a bottle of water. For which I was thankful, having no desire for wine or the sour and bitter beer. There was in addition, four candles, the thick kind usually meant for carriage lanterns, rolled in a piece of newspaper. The latter I smoothed out and found that it was undoubtedly several days old, for it carried an account of the soon-to-be-expected arrival of the new Elector and the plans for the interring of his predecessor, upon his arrival, in the crypt of the cathedral built by their far distant ancestor, the redoubtable Axel.
