Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain
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“Have you ever gone after big game? Cape buffalo? Lions? Elephant?” Persuic asked, his eyes alight at the prospect.
“Alas, no,” said von Wolgast with a sigh. “I have a business to run; perhaps when I retire I will go to Africa to hunt.” He would do nothing of the sort and he knew it; Africa was a furnace, or so he had been told, full of dangerous diseases and horrendous insects, and populated by filthy black savages who regarded white men with undeserved contempt. No, he thought, in spite of the lure of elephant and rhinoceros and lion, he would keep to Europe for his hunting, where people knew how to show respect, and where the animals were formidable enough.
“The hunting in my country is very good, Baron,” said Persuic. “You could find many things to . . . shoot at.” His implication was broad enough for a public entertainment, but von Wolgast laughed anyway.
“Isn’t that why you have come to me, Herzog?” He reached for another cigar, smelled it and lit it. “My guns should bag real game for you.” “Game indeed,” said Herzog Vaclav Persuic, his eyes alight with anticipation. “And the hunt long overdue. The land is filled with . . . vermin.” He regarded von Wolgast with curiosity. “Does it ever trouble you—the uses your guns are put to?”
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“No,” said von Wolgast. “It bothers me when my guns aren’t put to use. When that happens, I will be bankrupt.” He grinned wolfishly.
“I understand,” said Persuic. “This is the German good sense that the whole world admires.”
Von Wolgast managed a modest shrug. “It is the way to run my business. If men are determined to go to war, why should I take the blame for it? With or without guns, there will be war if men are prepared to fight. They will find weapons, if only the stones in the field. The world is full of gun suppliers. If no one wanted guns, we would not exist.” He made an eloquent gesture of acceptance and turned toward the campaign desk supported by stacks of antlers for legs. It had stood in the family hunting lodge until von Wolgast brought it to Berlin. “This was my fathers favorite piece. The top was used in the Crimea. The antlers were trophies from hunting.”
Herzog Persuic was not impressed. “You say this to tell me what?” “That our guns are reliable and have been for nearly a century. I am certain that this improved firing mechanism we are currently testing will be to your satisfaction.” He studied a painting on the far wall. “And if it is not to your satisfaction, it will undoubtedly be so to others.”
“I understand you, my friend.” Persuic rubbed at his clean-shaven chin as he nodded. “I will relay your messages to my superiors, of course. They will make their decision based upon the report I submit.” “And I trust the report will be favorable,” said von Wolgast, doing his best to appear confident.
“If your field tests are as impressive as your descriptions indicate, I would be a fool to do less than recommend the purchase. The field tests will be the most persuasive argument you can offer.” He glanced up as the clock over the mantle struck the hour. “You mentioned entertainment?”
Von Wolgast hated being pressed, but he did his best to appear cordial. “Yes. So I did. I have arranged for a private supper for us, at the establishment of... a friend.” He pursed his cupids-bow mouth lasciviously. “You will not be disappointed, I think.”
“Excellent,” approved Persuic, determined to take full advantage of his position as buyer. “One hears so many things about Berlin—I am looking forward to the evening unfolding.”
“Very good,” said von Wolgast as he fingered the watchfob crossing his white satin waistcoat. “I shall send for the carriage directly. In the meantime, have some of this kirschwasser”—he poured a little of the clear, potent liquid into a sherry glass and held it out—“to mark this occasion.”
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Persuic took the proffered glass and watched while von Wolgast prepared a second for himself. “Prosit,” he said, lifting his glass in salute.
“Prosit,” answered von Wolgast as he prepared to drink. “This is my private stock.” His pride was justified; the liqueur ran down his throat like a hot finger.
“Superb,” said Persuic, willing to be generous. “If your artillery is as good as this ldrschwasser, we will prevail.”
It was folly to ask which we Herzog Persuic meant: von Wolgast tugged on the bellrope to summon his butler. “Consider this an indication of my standards,” he told Persuic before he drank again.
“Promising,” Persuic conceded, not wanting to promise too much. He made a last nod to their business. “I am favorably impressed with the designs you have shown me. I am certain you have a superior device. You will have your deposit when I have seen your field tests. We will establish a delivery date when the deposit is made.”
“This is most welcome, Herzog Persuic.” Von Wolgast knew better than to appear too satisfied. “I look forward to our continuing association.”
“As do I,” said Persuic, setting his empty glass aside. “Shall we be off, then?”
To von Wolgast s annoyance, his butler had not yet answered the summons of his bell. He tried to cover this lapse with the offer of another drink. “It is a cold night, Herzog. I would not want you to be chilled when we arrive at. . . our destination.”
“Nor would I,” said Persuic, his expression revealing his eagerness to be off at the nights entertainment. “If it is all you claim.”
“I venture to guess you will be as pleased with the evening as you will be with the guns.” Von Wolgast turned as his butler came to the door. “About time, you dolt,” he burst out, his face darkening. “We will want the carriage at once. At once. The side door.”
“I have already sent word to the stable,” said his butler, his features expressionless. “If you will come now, the carriage should be ready.” Von Wolgast was tom between annoyance that his butler should so overstep himself as to give orders before receiving any from him; at the same time he was pleased that he did not have to ask Persuic to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. He compensated by asking brusquely for his cloak and Persuic s greatcoat. “We want to leave at once, Schmidt. See to it.”
“Helmut will have the carriage at the door,” said the butler, who answered to Schmidt, but who had been bom Hovarth. He helped von Wolgast into his cloak, then held the door open as the two men de-
scended to the street level of the house. There he brought Persuic s greatcoat.
“Very good,” said Persuic as he donned the garment. “It might snow tonight.”
“Sleet is more likely,” said von Wolgast with evident distaste. “The streets will be fairly empty, at least.”
“They should be,” agreed Persuic as he stepped out the side door to where the double-sprung berlin waited, the coachman swathed in a multi-caped driving coat, holding the four steaming Oberlanders, their flaxen manes and tails kept long against their liver-chestnut coats. “A fine team,” he said as he climbed into the berlin and made himself comfortable facing front.
“Thank you,” said von Wolgast, taking the backward-facing seat with ill-concealed annoyance. “They are the pride of my coaching stable.” He retrieved the fur lap-rug from under his seat and offered it to Persuic. “It will take us twenty minutes to reach our destination.”
Persuic took the fur rug without hesitation, opened it and spread it over his legs. “Raw weather.”
“And we will make a late night of it,” said von Wolgast with a smile admixed with a leer. “You will want to be comfortable, coming away.” “It may be, too, that I will not be so well-dressed then,” said Persuic, matching von Wolgast s salacious grin.
“Precisely.” He tapped twice on the ceiling of the carriage as a signal to Helmut to set out. There was a second, woollen lap-rug; von Wolgast used it as the carriage moved forward, turning into the street at a solid trot. “They say the automobile will rule the streets eventually.” “For drudgery, perhaps,” said Persuic absently. He was looking out at the night, an appreciative shine in his eyes. “But
why should anyone give up the elegance of carriages? What man would prefer one of those noisy, dangerous contraptions to this?”
Von Wolgast shrugged. “They say—” He stopped as he caught sight of two uniformed men riding by. “A hard night to be out on the Kaiser s business.”
“It is their duty,” said Persuic, an implication of criticism in his tone. “It would not be fitting for them to refuse because they are cold.” “True; very true,” said von Wolgast, curious about a man willing to plot against the state and still regarding the Kaisers soldiers with military demands. Since he could think of nothing he felt was safe to say, he kept quiet, hoping that Persuic would change the subject so that he would not have to. He leaned back as the berlin bowled along toward the private house near the famous studio of ballet run by Nadezna. It
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was not the newest part of town, but it possessed a fading grandeur that complemented the grand theatres and the Oper that made the district famous.
“I am concerned,” Persuic said a little later. “If anyone should learn of our dealings, it could be difficult for both of us.”
“You may be assured of my discretion.” Von Wolgast sat a bit straighten “A man in my profession would not long survive in business if he allowed the details of his agreements to be known beyond his office.”
“But surely,” said Persuic, expressing himself carefully, “you have certain obligations to . . . shall we say make available? the records of your dealings to any official of the government? Mightn’t you have questions asked of you if the situation in the Balkans was to change?”
This was an issue of some delicacy, and von Wolgast knew it. “It is possible. But that would depend.”
“Upon what?” The question was immediate and sharp.
“Upon the nature of the inquiry and the position of the inquirer, and the reason for it,” said von Wolgast. “If the order does not come from those sufficiently powerful, then I refuse all demands, until the request came from an office that had the authority to make demands of me. It would not be prudent to do otherwise, for I have no wish to become embroiled in the machinations of politicians, which would be the case if I honored every petty summons presented to me. There are enough military men in the government that this does not often happen. They are no more eager to have their activities scrutinized than I am to reveal what my . . . clients would rather not have known. You may be confident of my discretion.” He managed to smile, though it was an effort, and the result was more of a grimace. “I have never been so—” He stopped as the carriage swayed heavily and the steady trot was interrupted.
Overhead Helmut swore colorfully and comprehensively as he strove to restore order among the horses.
“There’s a body in the street,” Persuic remarked as he glanced out. “The man’s been shot, by the look of him.”
“How can you know?” asked von Wolgast without thinking.
“His blood and brains are smeared all over the paving stones,” said Persuic with little interest. “The horses aren’t used to the smell of blood, are they?”
“They aren’t warhorses, if that’s what you mean,” said von Wolgast testily. “I have not thought they needed to be.” Their steady progress resumed; the body was quickly left behind.
Again Persuic said nothing as they continued on. Finally, as they
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slowed to a walk and entered the narrow alley leading along the back-streets to their destination, he remarked, “They say we’ll have revolution here soon, as they did in Russia.”
“Its possible,” von Wolgast responded carefully, not knowing Persuic s opinion of such an event.
“A wise man could turn a revolution to his benefit.” He gave von Wolgast a measuring look. “There would be a need for experienced men, men who could provide many things the new leaders would want.”
“I suppose that is true enough,” said von Wolgast studiously. “The requirements may prove . . . expensive. Revolutionaries are not often wealthy.”
Persuic coughed for emphasis, making a point of not looking directly at von Wolgast. “But there are always men with means who can bring the new leaders the things they want. And new leaders often want many, many things.”
“Which are provided in return for a few . . . concessions,” said von Wolgast, giving a nod he hoped looked decisive; in a swaying carriage, it was difficult to make appropriate gestures.
“I am pleased we understand one another,” said Persuic, his handsome features marred by a cynicism that startled von Wolgast, who had expected zeal instead. “Most of those who are in my position have been foolish enough to go to Krupp with their proposals, but I am not one of those.” He cocked his head to the side as if listening to a distant song. “I have thought the matter out thoroughly. Krupp may choose among many buyers and ask prices that are as high as fools are willing to go. You, I have learned, will make adjustments in the payment for the chance of eating into the business now dominated by Krupp. You can only do this with a superior product and moderate prices, and prompt delivery. You also cannot select those whom you will permit to purchase your guns: you must accept any buyer who can meet your price. So, we will deal well together, I trust?”
This meticulous summing up of his predicament surprised von Wolgast, but he was experienced enough to reveal little of his emotions. “There is truth in what you tell me,” he responded carefully, wanting to expose no weakness to Persuic. “How does it affect our dealings?” “That remains to be seen,” said Persuic, concentrating on the buildings they were passing. His manner grew brisker. “That new mechanism of yours will be the crux of the matter.”
“Ah,” said von Wolgast with a knowing nod. “Of course. You will want to be certain you can outfire your opposition.”
“That is the purpose of artillery, or so I have been taught,” said Per-
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suic primly, as if discussing horticulture instead of guns.
Again there was a brief silence between the two men. Then von Wol-gast rubbed his thick hands together and said, “Enough of such matters. We are almost at our destination. Less than five minutes now. Let us put these considerations behind us until we return to my house.” His small, bright eyes were alight with carefully concocted enthusiasm.
Persuic showed his teeth. “There are lovely women, you say?”
“Dancers,” von Wolgast confirmed; his face glistened as he went on, his cheeks becoming flushed. “They are not children, not most of them, but not hags, either. There are ten of them living in the house.”
“That means they are skinny; dancers always are,” said Persuic, not quite pleased. “A man likes something to hang onto.”
“Skinny, yes. But willing. And very supple. They can do the most amazing things with their bodies.” Von Wolgast licked his lips licentiously.
The carriage swayed as if to underscore this observation. It was the last turn on their journey.
“Yes, there is that.” He laughed, and the fur rug slipped a short way down his lap. “I hope we will arrive soon. I will not want to contain myself much longer.”
“We are almost there,” said von Wolgast. He felt the Oberlanders slow their walk, indicating they had passed through the arch into the private courtyard of the house they were going to visit. “At last.”
“A discreet place,” said Persuic. “Like that place you keep your wife.”
Von Wolgast winced. “Hardly comparable. There are no nuns here.” And no lunatics, he added inwardly.
“Where are we, precisely?” asked Persuic.
“Near the Oper,” said von Wolgast, deliberately vague. “The establishment is private.”
“Gambling?” Persuic gathered up the laprug as the carriage came to a stop and Helmut scrambled down from the driving box to open the doors and let down the stairs.
“Heavens, no,” said von Wolgast. “That would attract the notice of the authorities.”
Persuic went down the steps ahead of his host and peered up into the darkness of the three-storied house. The lamps at the door were bright with gaslight, and a servant stood on the threshold to welcome them; he bowed to the two arrivals.
“I will have the horses in the stable, Baron,” said Helmut as von Wolgast descended from the berlin. “I will need twenty minutes to be ready to depart.”
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Von Wolgast nodded as he followed after Herzog Vaclav Persuic to the entry of the house. He gave his cloak to the servant, saying, “Thank you, Pflaume,” as much to establish his credibility with Persuic as to show any courtesy to the majordomo.
“Nadezna is expecting you,” said Pflaume, who long ago had been the costumer for Nadezna and had become her majordomo when his fingers lost their agility to arthritis. “In the withdrawing room.” He nodded in the direction of the stairs but gave no further instructions.
“Nadezna!” exclaimed Persuic with the first show of astonishment. “I saw her dance—what?—ten years ago, shortly before she retired. She must be thirty-five or more now.”
“This is her house,” said von Wolgast with a show of nonchalance as he climbed the stairs to the main floor.
“But I thought she had become a teacher, and choreographer,” said Persuic, revealing his fascination as he came up behind von Wolgast.
“She has. But she has dancers who depend upon her, and she does not teach every hour of the day. Nor will she teach forever. Her patron will not care for her then, and she has grown used to living well.” Von Wolgast glanced back at Persuic, assuming the fun of sharing private knowledge. “This place is a well-kept secret. Even that patron of her school knows nothing of it.”
“So she is making money for herself,” said Persuic, not quite approving. “A woman of her sort must look to her old age, as you say.”
Nadezna herself met them at the top of the stairs, her crimson mouth widened in a smile, her dark hair done in a dancers knot on her head. Her slanted eyes were emphasized with kohl as they had been on the stage. The mauve satin dress she wore was a nice blend of high fashion and Giselle , the nipped waist raised; when she moved a deep inverted pleat down the center of the skirt revealed a panel of densely pleated silken gauze dyed to the same shade as the satin. The capped sleeves were shorter and more puffed than the current German mode required, but her famous, expressive arms were revealed, so this French affectation was not too extreme. Her shoes were also mauve satin, hardly more than ballet slippers with a minimal heel. Her long neck was emphasized with a wide choker of pearls, peridots, and diamonds, the gift from a wealthy lover who was said to have been killed in a duel for her favors. She had never been classically pretty; her beauty was more exotic than that of soft, blonde German girls. Now that she was in her early forties, the angles of her face were sharper than twenty years ago but this could be faulted by only the harshest critic.