“Deer,” said Renke softly. “Two fawns and a doe.” He pointed to a fallen log at the edge of the clearing; the deer were on the far side of it. At the sound of their voices, the doe raised her head, ears turning. An instant later the three bounded away through the underbrush.
“You must know that I am here to find out about this,” Oberstetten persisted, unimpressed by the deer. “The Berliner Morgenblatt did not send me to Bavaria to hunt boar.”
Ragoczy turned to Oberstetten. “My friend, I am sorry to disappoint you, but it would be best for all of us if you did hunt boar.”
Undeterred, Oberstetten persisted, “You’re assuming I can do nothing but print stories in the paper, but I have more influence than that. It is not difficult for me to reach some of the men you have been trying to gain access to; I could, if I knew more about your task. There are men whose private sentiments are not the ones they express in public. In that regard, I am in a position to aid you. If you would tell me something of your intentions, I might be able to suggest to you which of your guests would be inclined to support your purpose. I have assumed from the firstthat this little gathering was for more than hunting, and I am fairly certain that the rest are of a like mind. It would save you time, talking with me now, and it would also serve to reduce the risk of being exposed to those opposing your mission.”
Ragoczy turned directly to Oberstetten. “My mission—if I have a mission—is a private matter.” He did not raise his voice to speak, and
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when he was done, he gave his full attention to Renke.
“But you cannot imagine—you are working against opposition you cannot overcome,” Oberstetten protested.
“Am I.” Ragoczy provided no indication of his state of mind in either his tone nor his stance.
“Gott im Himmel!” Oberstetten swore. “You are worse than the bloody Turks!”
In answer to Renkes signal, Ragoczy moved off again, letting Oberstetten come after him. “Quietly, Oberstetten; quietly.”
“As you wish,” said the journalist, accepting his thwarted purpose for the moment.
Three times that morning they heard gunfire, and twice came the signal of a kill. By the time the sun was nearly overhead, Ragoczy was glad to turn back toward his Schloss.
“Tomorrow we’ll find our boar, unless you would prefer to hunt something else, in which case we will still bring it down,” Renke promised, his face chagrined; he was embarrassed that Ragoczy had not been able to make a kill this first morning.
Ragoczy shrugged. “I would be a selfish host, to deprive my guests the satisfaction of getting their kills first.” He motioned to Oberstetten, who lagged after him. “Come. It is time for dinner.”
“Not an instant too soon,” Oberstetten grumbled. He lowered his head, concealing his face reddened with sunburn and effort.
“As you say,” Ragoczy agreed, beginning to feel the impact of the sun; it was time to be indoors.
“The dinner was a triumph,” exclaimed von Traunreuth when Ragoczy joined his guests in his parlor shortly after four in the afternoon. “Magnificent.”
“A pity you did not join us,” said Grunbach pointedly. “I hope you did not deprive yourself on our account.”
“No; and I beg your pardon for that.” Ragoczy said. “I have a... project I am engaged upon. It has to do with fuels, and it required my prompt attention. I have to deliver my findings to Professor Rieman in Munchen before I return to Berlin.” He hoped that Isidore Rieman s reputation was sufficiently impressive to keep his guests from asking more questions.
“Something you are funding?” asked Teich pointedly.
“In part. I am not . . . unknowledgeable in chemistry,” Ragoczy replied, wondering what these men would make of his alchemical laboratory, where he had spent the last few hours making improvements on his athanor as part of his experiments on petroleum.
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“Reviewing what Rieman wants funded, no doubt,” said Einlass, chuckling at his own sarcasm.
Ragoczy did not respond to the implied challenge in Einlass’ jibe; he sat down and stretched out his legs, resting his heels on the nearest hassock. “Do not tell me that the Ministry of War is not developing fuels.”
Einlass coughed. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“I would,” said Hohepfad, precariously near boasting. “All the world is working to make more efficient fuels, if they have any resources to use: Germany is no exception. And since we have superior scientists, I assume we are making advances beyond what others are accomplishing. It is the only prudent thing to do, with the shadow of war growing wider and darker every day.”
Apfelobstgarten glared at him. “You are as loose-tongued as your wife.”
Stung, Hohepfad straightened up in his chair. “You will not say that about Isabel,” he declared. “And I doubt that anyone in this room is unaware of what Germany has achieved in this realm.”
“What about Ragoczy?” asked Kraftig, making no apology for the insult his question delivered to their host.
“If he is working with Rieman, he probably knows more than the rest of us combined,” said Einlass, dismissing the matter as he deliberately changed the subject. “What do we hunt tomorrow? More boar?”
Ragoczy accepted this ploy without comment. “If you would like. We brought down two today, which is more than we will eat. I have already given one to Renke, to be divided among his helpers. I told him that tomorrow any boars shot would be his. As it is, Martin will have his hands full with the one in the kitchen.”
“Perhaps there will be other game?” suggested Apfelobstgarten.
“Perhaps,” said Ragoczy, and was relieved when Roger appeared with a tray of cheese and wurst.
By evening, Ragoczy s guests were discussing their families, trying not to brag of their children’s abilities and their wives’ devotion.
Von Nordlingen was the one who asked Ragoczy directly, “Where is your family, Count?”
“My parents, and my brothers and sisters are all dead,” he replied carefully and honestly. “Killed by our enemies when they overran our land.”
“No wife, no children?” he pursued, as if determined to put Ragoczy at a disadvantage. “Not even a bastard or two, somewhere?”
“Paul; we’re guests here,” Teich admonished him, speaking the reprimand the others only thought.
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Ragoczy answered the question. “My wife died . .. some years ago.” He folded his arms and waited for the next intrusion.
It never came. Leopold Oberstetten said, “To lose so many. That is very sad, Count.” In the next breath, he mentioned a minor feud going on between factions in the Office of Procurement, and let Apfelobst-garten explain the reasons for the rivalry.
At the end of the evening, while his guests amused themselves with cognac and cigars, Ragoczy found a moment to pull Roger aside. “Well?” he asked, his voice low and with an edge of urgency.
“None of the servants are willing to say much. They know their masters will not tolerate any breach of confidence. But I do think it would be good to be cautious of Apfelobstgarten; his servant carried a note down to Hausham today.” Roger reported in Latin, in the same steady manner that he discussed household accounts.
“Did you happen to notice an address?” Ragoczy inquired in the same tongue.
“The note was going to Switzerland, to a Moritz Vinadi,” said Roger. “It was a private address, I think; there was no business title on the address, in any case. Do you want me to make inquiries about this Vinadi?”
Ragoczy sighed. “Then I suppose I must discover as much as I can about this Swiss; yes, make your inquiries, but carefully. We do not want to make matters worse, not if we can help it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Have you any other impressions?”
“Only that none of these men seem much inclined to peace, not if their servants’ attitudes are indicative; they are all making cryptic remark
s about the possibility of fighting within two years,” said Roger, pausing a moment before adding, “And they are not here out of goodwill. I don’t think most of these men trust you, your motives, or your invitation.”
“So I’ve realized,” said Ragoczy with an ironic turn to the comer of his mouth.
Roger’s faded-blue eyes grew steely. “It is probably useless, but I feel I should warn you, my master, that one of these men may mean you harm.”
Ragoczy did not seem alarmed by this warning. “What makes you say that, old friend?”
“Nothing specific,” Roger admitted. “But when servants are tight-lipped and jumpy, I assume it is not from fear of volcanos—not in Bavaria.”
“I see,” Ragoczy said, taking a long breath. “Do you think it could be from pride? or prudence?”
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“The silence might be; this is something more.” He looked down at the fine Bokhara carpet. “I know it may be nothing, but—”
“Yes; precisely. But.” Ragoczy went back to speaking German. “Very good. I appreciate your telling me.”
“You are going to the laboratory later?” Roger had raised his voice slightly, so that anyone listening could overhear without effort.
“Yes. I must complete my work tonight. I want to be ready for the hunt tomorrow.” He put his hand on Rogers shoulder. “If you will set out my things, I will not need to trouble you.”
“I would rather it were deer than boar,” Roger said, knowing Ragoczy would understand his intent.
Ragoczy nodded, saying, “No doubt Martin would do well with venison.” The expression in his dark eyes was not nearly so off-handed as his words. He gestured dismissal to Roger and went back to his guests, filled with more qualms than he had been the previous day. If Roger’s apprehension was realistic, then he had little hope of achieving the prize Nicholas sought, for none of these men would be willing to help him pursue his mission to the Kaiser, no matter what authorizations he carried.
By early morning, Ragoczy had decided to focus his efforts on von Traunreuth, Koenig Einlass and Werner Hohepfad, all of the Ministry of War; if he could not learn of German intentions regarding arms proliferation through them, he doubted the others could or would. With this resolved in his mind, he went to prepare for another morning tramping about the woods.
Renke was early, his three deputies flanking him as they came up the drive at the side of the house. He regarded the six men waiting for him with amusement. “Too early for city-folk, is it?”
“It is early,” said Volger Kraftig, still heavy-eyed from the previous evenings cognac. “The Count may be right not to drink.”
Renke laughed, enjoying Kraftig s discomfort. “Stick with beer, sir, that’s the sensible thing to do.” He noticed that two more men were coming out of the house. “Lazy fellows.”
Oberstetten took the teasing in good part—his fellow journalists often said much worse to him—but Teich was offended. “You men may know the game in these woods, but you wouldn’t last an hour in Berlin.” “That is why we do not live there,” said Renke. He concealed his satisfaction by lighting his pipe. “There will be time for a smoke before you are all ready.”
To Ragoczy’s surprise, Euchary Apfelobstgarten made a point of becoming his partner for the hunt, although Ragoczy gave him no en-
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couragement beyond what good manners required. “It is your land; if anyone has an advantage, it is you. Yesterday was a disappointment for me. Today I intend to find game to my liking.”
“Then load for deer, not boar,” Ragoczy reminded him, and gave Renke a nod of approval. “We saw a doe and fawns yesterday. Perhaps today we can find a buck or two.” He looked around. “I don’t want any does or fawns killed. Bucks only.”
“Trying to preserve your herd?” asked Grunbach, making this sensible notion sound questionable.
Von Nordlingen answered. “Anyone with an estate like this would do. I know I would, if it was still in my family. Its the only reasonable thing.” He was not quite as effusive as he had been the day he arrived, but his good humor had not deserted him completely. “I’ll wager ten marks that we get at least three bucks today.”
“I’ll take that wager,” said Oberstetten, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a roll of banknotes. “Ten marks says we will get two or one.”
For the next few minutes there was an enthusiastic exchange of bets, and then they prepared to set off into the forest once more, out of the sun and into the dappled shadows of the trees; Renke again walked with Ragoczy, shotgun tucked under his arm and a cartridge case hanging from his belt. His steady, swinging stride set the pace as they made their way up the slope and around to the east. The others moved off in parallel paths to the one Renke chose, two groups going higher up the mountain, one going lower.
“The deer will be active for about three hours more; we will have plenty of time. They rest through the heat of the day,” said Renke. “It is not sporting to shoot them while they sleep.”
“Can you get close enough to do that?” asked Apfelobstgarten. “I should have thought the deer would waken and flee.”
“Men from the city, like you, cannot. You go through the forest like herds of swine.” Renke put a hand to his chest. “I can walk within four strides of a sleeping herd of deer and not startle them.”
“And Ragoczy? What of him?” Apfelobstgarten persisted. “How would you rate his skill?”
“I would reckon that the Count could pass through a herd while they slept and never waken one of them.” His respect was clearly genuine, bordering on awe. He did not look at Ragoczy, preferring to keep his eyes on the trail ahead.
“High praise indeed,” said Apfelobstgarten, glancing once at Ragoczy.
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“And from a man of your experience, warden, I must assume you have reason to know his abilities and to assess them.”
“I have hunted with the Count,” said Renke, his face becoming closed; he had realized belatedly that he had said too much and now wanted to keep from being drawn into more indiscretions.
“So I gather,” Apfelobstgarten said, speculation narrowing his eyes as much as the occasional shards of brilliant sunlight piercing the forest.
Ragoczy realized that to interfere with Apfelobstgarten s questions would only serve to draw attention to them; he remained silent as they continued to go further into the dense growth of pine and oak. Gradually he put some distance between himself and Apfelobstgarten, allowing the man from the Office of Procurement to stay near Renke. He wanted to avoid more conversation with the man. His own company was disheartening enough, he thought, now that he anticipated he would have to inform Nicholas that he had been unable to bring about the support the Czar had envisioned. He was far enough from Renke and Apfelobstgarten to be out of sight, although he could hear them moving along the narrow track. His passage was nearly silent; Renke had been right about Ragoczy s ability to move soundlessly.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision; Ragoczy started to turn even as he heard the noise of gunfire and felt what seemed to be a hot fist slam into his side, catching him just below the ribs on the left. He took half a dozen faltering steps before his legs went out from under him, leaving him sprawled between an oak and a moss-covered stump of a long-vanished pine. When he clapped his hand to his side, it came away bloody. He sat still, trying to absorb the pain which now had him in its clutches. His spine was not damaged: he would recover.
“Oh, Mein Gott!” shouted Apfelobstgarten as he came plunging up the slope, Renke close behind him. “You’re—”
“Shot,” said Ragoczy. “Yes. I am.”
“Who on earth—” Apfelobstgarten began, only to be interrupted by a shout from up the hillside. A moment later, von Nordlingen and Ein-lass came pelting through the trees, their warden behind them.
“I never, I never, never, never thought—” von Nordlingen was protes
ting. “I thought it was a deer. I was sure it was a deer. I never would have fired if I—” He reached the place where Ragoczy lay. “Count. I can’t find words. How can I apologize?”
“Someone might get me back to the Schloss,” Ragoczy said dryly, adding as two of the men bent to lift him, “Not carried, if you please.
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I’m bleeding quite enough without that.” He saw the shock on the faces around him. “ Renke . Now. Before I faint.”
Oberstetten and von Traunreuth were gasping for breath as they stumbled up. “We heard a shot . . . Didn’t think any . . . thing of it,” Oberstetten said between gulps of air. “Then—”
“I will go for aid,” said Renke, as if coming out of a dream. “Do not move him until we can bring a stretcher.”
Ragoczy closed his eyes as he heard his warden hasten back down the slope. “Someone give me something to press against my side.” He was shocked to hear how thready his voice was. Looking up, he realized the men expected him to die; the wound must be worse than he supposed it was. He wondered vaguely how difficult it would be to account for his survival.
Apfelobstgarten removed his hunting jacket at once, and, wadding it up, handed it to Ragoczy. “I don’t want to make ... it any ...” His words faded as he stepped back from the wounded man.
“Christ!” von Nordlingen exclaimed, dropping his shotgun as if had caught fire. “It was an accident”
“An accident,” echoed Einlass, then turned on von Nordlingen. “You fired without being sure of your target.”
“I know, I know,” said von Nordlingen in a steady way, as if repetition would bring real understanding. “I should have made certain. But I saw . .. and he is . . . not so tall. I supposed it must be a deer. He was by himself.” He looked around at the others. “You know how it is, don’t you?”
It was von Traunreuth who answered. “This is a tragic accident.” Ragoczy s thoughts grew muddled; his side was agonizing now, and it took all his scattered concentration to keep from crying out. He no longer tried to listen to the voices around him, but let himself slip into the twilight of semiconsciousness while the others waited for Renke to return with a stretcher. “Roger,” he said, doing his best to make his manservant’s name distinct.
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