Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain

by Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn, 1942-

  “Mister Bowen is asleep again,” Roger reported as Ragoczy left his bedchamber. “I looked in on him ten minutes ago and he was unaware of it.”

  “Good. I am not eager to have to deal with him just now.” He drew on his black Florentine gloves and took the valise Roger held out to him. “For one thing, I share his belief that I am the cause of Rowenas being kidnapped, but an extended bout of recrimination will do none of us any good.”

  “You cannot be blamed for all the misfortunes in the world, my master,” Roger reminded him with the despondent certainty of long acquaintance that it would make little difference to Ragoczy. He held out a thick muffler and watched as Ragoczy wound it twice around his

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  neck. “You are not the cause; you need not take it all upon yourself,” he added for emphasis.

  “No; not for everything: but I must accept responsibility for this.” He reached out his hand and laid it on Rogers arm. “You know where the necessary documents are if you require them.”

  “I will not need them,” said Roger firmly.

  Ragoczy sighed, his voice lightly ironic. “Even vampires die, eventually.” His eyes grew somber. “Notify Golovin and Sunbury if there is reason, and go to Madelaine. She will need you.”

  Roger made a gesture of exasperated capitulation. “If you wish it, I will do it. But it will not be necessary.”

  “I hope so,” said Ragoczy with feeling as he reached for his Russian coat. “I will wire you, probably from Innsbruck, when I have her safe. If you do not hear from me in five days, notify Inspector Blau that I am missing, and tell him where I was going. I’m sure he can work out some proper arrangement with the Austrians if it is necessary.”

  Roger did not move from where he stood. “I will expect you in four days, my master.”

  “I trust you are not too optimistic, old friend,” said Ragoczy as he left the room.

  “Your pistol is in your coat,” Roger called after him, hoping it would not be needed; he did not hear Ragoczy s answer, if there was one.

  The Darracq started at the first turn of the crank and as Ragoczy climbed into the driver s seat, he took goggles from the pocket of his coat and fixed them in place over his eyes; on a long, cold drive, they would be useful protection. For the few seconds it took him to adjust to the presence of the containers of fuel strapped to the rear of the automobile, he reminded himself the boot was full of his own supplies. He turned the automobile in the flagged court in front of the Schloss, then started down through the trees to pick up the road out of Hausham. The afternoon was cloudy and he anticipated rain by nightfall, when he would be higher into the mountains, at Achenkirch if it rained, or near Maurach if it held off a while. He rehearsed his route in his mind as he left Hausham for Tegemsee: south into Austria, then west-by-southwest to Innsbruck, then south again to Steinach, east to Schmim, and from there up the slope to Madern. From there he would have to use his blood bond with Rowena to find the Baron s lodge.

  The rain began near Jenbach, mixing with snow and sleet as the evening grew colder. Now the road was treacherous, steep and slippery at once. At every turn Ragoczy was threatened with skids and slides that required all his skills to negotiate without trouble. He diminished his

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  speed but only enough to keep from fishtailing on the road. The headlamps made the ice glisten, and turned the sleet and snow to a shower of jewels coming out of the dark and howling heavens. Ragoczy held onto the wheel and pushed on; by nine he had the road to himself.

  Shortly before he reached Innsbruck, he felt the first tug of Rowenas presence, as slight as a fragment of remembered melody; he clung to it, using it as an invisible beacon to guide him. As he made his way through the outskirts of Innsbruck, Ragoczy reminded himself that within the living memory of many in that city such a night would have made all travel impossible. Even the truly desperate would not venture out into such weather. The automobile had changed all that, and made this pursuit he had undertaken possible, at least until an avalanche blocked the road or he ruptured a tire on hidden rocks. Telling himself that such things were impossible, he drove on to the south, his progress becoming slower until the snow—for now it was too cold for rain at this elevation—dwindled and stopped, and for the first time the clouds began to break up.

  At Schmirn the Darracq could no longer wallow its way through the drifts, and Ragoczy left it in the lee of a small inn an hour or so before dawn. He thought briefly about securing a horse—one like Gregor Ein-satzs sturdy Rhinelanders perhaps—and as quickly rejected the notion. In snow so deep and on steep terrain, a horse could rapidly become as much a liability as a motor car. Keeping his goggles and coat on, he retrieved snowshoes and walking staff, both of his own design from the boot of the automobile, strapped the snowshoes on his feet, and took off up the hill, moving at speeds that were well beyond what living men could achieve, with or without snow. His long, gliding stride left tracks behind him as if a massive yet lightweight animal with round, threetoed feet had been there. Now he was being guided by the strength of the bond, bringing him unfailingly to her; he felt Rowenas presence poignantly, and he longed for her to have the capacity to experience the bond as he did, so that she could take succor from him; her fear and loneliness were an endless pang for him. As he made his way up the mountainside, he reminded himself that he had had no link with De-metrice when he found her in prison, and none with Aenath when he had first been commissioned to bring her back from the encampment near Eburacum. If he had been able to reach those two, he could surely locate Rowena.

  Dawn came much too soon to suit Ragoczy, who had hoped for another forty minutes of darkness; his formidable stamina was somewhat reduced in the daylight even with his native earth lining his boots. He

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  paused on the brow of a long ridge and looked about him: below to the north lay a hamlet he supposed must be Madem. There were no signs of automobile tracks in the snow; only the runners of sleighs had come and gone from the place since the last snowfall. At another time he would have been struck by the beauty of the little village huddled against the rising shoulder of the Geier Spitze with the first promise of spring showing at the edges of the melting snow; this morning it seemed to him to be an arduous landscape filled with obstacles and snares. His goal lay beyond the small valley to the east of him. With a quick, hard sigh, he resumed his trek, making himself move faster, determined to reach his destination by midaftemoon. As he began his descent, a pregnant doe who would in another two weeks have a fawn at her side, leaped from the small copse ahead of him, bounding away through the shining morning. Ragoczy watched her go, remaining still for nearly a minute until the doe was well away from him; he did not want any frightened animals to draw notice to his progress. Continuing his journey, he kept careful scrutiny on the slopes above him; as the day warmed, melting shelves of snow could come suddenly loose and drop on whatever lay beneath them. He had no desire to waste precious time digging himself out of any unexpected avalanches when he already begrudged every minute of delay.

  By the time he saw von Wolgast s lodge Ragoczy was aching from his long exertions crossing the mountains. It was a little after three, the afternoon mild with cotton-puff clouds floating gradually eastward; Ragoczy was glad of the chance to halt while he took stock of the place: the lodge was in the chalet style with an elaborate balcony above the front porch; there were signs of many footprints around the porch, now turning to muddy slush. The lodge was built in a hollow in the mountain, surrounded by pine trees and birch, ideally concealed and readily defendable. The impression of two runners with horseshoe prints between them indicated that someone had recently arrived by sleigh, which meant that the outbuilding behind the lodge was a stable. He moved a little closer, taking care to remain in the cover of what seemed to be a berry thicket just shedding its cloak of snow. It was tempting to rush directly up to the lodge, pistol at the ready, to demand
Rowenas immediate release, but if Ragoczy had learned nothing else over the millennia, he had learned that such assault was an act of bravado, often costing far more than it gained: until he knew how many men were in the house and where Rowena was being held, any precipitate act on his part would be apt to turn her into a hostage or a corpse. So he kept to his place, all his concentra-

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  tion on the lodge and what the blood bond told him of Rowena.

  Some little time later, a thin man in a heavy coat came stamping out of the front door and turned toward the stable, his brown hair longer than was fashionable. As he walked he flicked a burning cigarette from his fingers, then went into the stable where a loud whinny welcomed him; Ragoczy suspected the horse was hungry. Ten minutes later, the thin man went back into the lodge, brushing hay from the front of his coat as he went.

  The impression Ragoczy received from Rowena was of two men in the lodge, one of whom had kidnapped her in Amsterdam; the other had been waiting in Innsbruck. Both spoke German, of which she had some knowledge, and she was aware she was being used to bait a trap. With care he induced a light hypnotic sleep in himself and began to probe more determinedly for her. When he returned to himself, he was fairly certain she was being held, bound and gagged, in an upstairs room at the rear of the lodge, a location he could not reach straightaway without exposing himself and Rowena to the two men in the lodge. The men inside were undoubtedly armed and were demonstrably inclined to harm Rowena before taking him on. He decided he would wait a while longer, until the hollow fell into shadow and he could move nearer without attracting attention.

  A movement at the edge of his vision startled him, and he slid his hand into his pocket to grasp the pistol as he turned and saw a fox staring directly at him, black eyes alert. He stifled a laugh before it reached his throat, let the pistol settle back into the depths of his pocket, and resumed his surveillance of the lodge.

  By the time the hollow was shrouded in deep purple shadows, Ragoczy was ready to make his attempt. Lashing his snowshoes and his staff to his back, he slipped forward, keeping to the patches of darkness as he approached the lodge from the side away from the stable— he did not want to take the chance of the horse announcing his presence with friendly neighing. Drawing near the east wall of the lodge, he hunkered down in the shelter of snow-draped pines where he could listen to the voices in the central room on the ground floor. As the day dimmed, his senses grew stronger and he soon began to make out full sentences.

  “. . . from her family yet,” said the rougher of the two.

  “Perhaps not. You will have to drive down to Madern tomorrow morning, to see if any telegrams have been brought up from Steinach.” This voice was richer, the accent more aristocratic, definitely Prussian;

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  Ragoczy warned himself again about the urge to make assumptions. He would need to identify the men beyond question before he got Rowena out, or any accusations against them would be suspect, for the testimony of a terrified Englishwoman would have little credibility against a highborn Prussian in a German court.

  “Why not the afternoon? If the road is still bad, there will be only one delivery, and it will most likely be after noon.” There was a whine in this request, as if this were a continuing issue of contention between the men. “Besides, its better to have as few tracks to this place as possible.”

  This last made sense to the other man. “You will leave at one, when the day is warm, and you will pick up my Mors for the drive into Steinach if nothing is waiting at Madern. The road should be passable.” His laughter was plummy, mocking. “You have said you like to drive the Mors; why waste this opportunity?”

  “All right. Tomorrow I will go to find out if her parents have responded to the telegram.” He sounded displeased. “I still say it is reckless to keep her here.”

  “You would rather take her to Berlin? Here we cannot be approached without knowing about it in plenty of time to deal with her. Why should anyone think to come here, Reighert? Unless they were told about this place, what reason would anyone have to think she was here?” There was a threat in those last words.

  Ragoczy strove to place the voice, knowing he had heard it before.

  “But Steinach is a small place. If the police are notified, they would quickly learn that the telegram was sent by me, and all they would have to do is wait for me to come again, and then where would we be?” The thin man was fretful; Ragoczy could hear him pacing the room as he continued his recitation of worries. “You may think this place is safe because we can spot people coming, but if we do, where do we go, then? If we take to the mountains, all they have to do is follow our tracks. I don’t like it, Baron.”

  “Will you be quiet?” the other demanded. “Mein Gott, you would think you are a novice at these things. You disgust me, with your carping and dithering. Sit down. Have some schnapps. It is going to be a quiet night.”

  After a short pause, the thin man said, “What about. . . her?”

  “What about her?” came the challenge.

  “She hasn’t been fed today, and she will want to use the toilet, has asked to since early morning. She needs to do that twice a day at the

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  least.” The whine was back in his voice. “She’ll be the devil to clean up if she isn’t attended to.” This grudging admission indicated he knew who would have to do the cleaning, and resented it.

  “You can take her to the toilet if you watch her, as you did before,” said the Prussian and Rogoczy was certain it was von Wolgast. “If you must, see she has some tea and a little bread. There’s no point wasting food on her.”

  This last statement chilled Ragoczy more than the wind off the high, snow-laden peaks.

  “You’re not going to kill her?” said the thin man, more from dread that it was what the other planned than certainty that he could not do it.

  “Not I: you.” The Prussian laughed, an overripe sound, reminding Ragoczy why he had never enjoyed Baron von Wolgast s company on the few occasions they had actually met. Who was this Reighert, he wondered.

  “Oh, no,” Reighert said with unusual force for him. “I took care of your wife. You want to be rid of Miss Pearce-Manning, you must do it yourself. I will not be the only one with blood on my hands, not for you, not for anyone.”

  “There need be no blood,” said von Wolgast at his most soothing. “I believe I mentioned that she could be abandoned somewhere in these mountains. If we take all her clothes, she will not last a night.”

  Hearing this callous plan, Ragoczy vowed to himself that one way or another, the Baron would answer for what he had done, and what he intended to do. Public disgrace would be the least of it, though the man deserved ignominy and imprisonment at the least. If the courts failed to punish him, Ragoczy would not let him escape.

  “And what if she is found?” Reighert asked. “What if she—”

  “You had better go attend to her, since you have not abandoned all your Jesuitical sensibilities, it would seem.” Von Wolgast sounded bored and annoyed.

  “While you sit here, drinking schnapps?” Reighert turned this to an accusation.

  “Anything to dispel the stench of your vile cigarettes,” said von Wol-gast.

  Ragoczy heard Reighert tramp up the stairs, and knew it was time to move. Slipping through the shadows, he made his way around to the back of the lodge, and used his sense to determine which shuttered window concealed her; the growing despair and her ongoing fight against it went through him, and he rebuked himself for having to subject her

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  to the loneliness and despond she had endured. Now that the two men were separated, he would have a chance to deal with them without exposing Rowena to greater danger.

  This would be difficult, he knew, for he would have to time it carefully. He was glad now he had waited so long, for it was sundown, and his full strength was returning. Searching ou
t footholds and places to grasp the outside of the lodge, he began to climb toward the window of the room where Rowena was being held. However he dealt with Reighert, it would have to be silent and quick, for he had no wish to alert von Wolgast to their presence. Reaching the window and clinging to the eaves behind the icicles with one hand, Ragoczy was preparing to pull the shutters off their hinges when he heard Reighert come into the room. He went still and listened.

  “The Baron says you can have bread and water,” he informed Rowena. “Just like a penitent. I’ll bring it up directly.”

  Rowena s answer was muffled; Ragoczy knew she was gagged.

  “Get up. I’m taking you down to the bathroom.” Reighert paused. “I’m going to untie your legs now. Don’t do anything that will make me have to hurt you.”

  Again an indistinct answer, followed by the thud of feet striking the floor; Ragoczy knew her legs were numb from being tied to the iron frame of the bed.

  “Stand up,” Reighert ordered, then swore impatiently. “You’d better lean on me,” he appended in a tone of ill-usage. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  This was the most hazardous part of his plan; Ragoczy made himself alert to every movement, every sound around him. Stealth and cunning were as necessary now to Ragoczy as his strength: with meticulous care he began to pull one of the shutters off the window. It took great control to accomplish this silently, and as the shutter came free there was a sudden cracking of wood, not loud but enough to be heard inside the room beyond. Ragoczy waited, hoping the noise had attracted no attention. When there was no alarm raised, he flung the shutter away into the trees and pushed the window open, hearing one of the hinges squeak. Again he paused, anticipating discovery, and when it did not happen, he slipped into the room, encouraged to find that the door into the corridor was ajar, so that a slice of light spilled in. That meant he would have to ease it open only once, reducing the risk of his apprehension by Reighert. Moving swiftly, making almost no sound, he went to the door and peered out through the crack between the door and the frame.