Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain

by Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn, 1942-

  The sound of footsteps in the innyard recalled von Wolgast to his present predicament; he got up and went to the door, leaning against it while he listened, hardly daring to breathe.

  “Baron?” The voice was low but von Wolgast recognized it.

  With a sigh of relief, he opened the door to Tancred Sisak. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” he said in a rush of feeling that took him aback.

  Sisak patted von Wolgast s shoulder as he stepped into the room, as much to calm him as to extend any sign of friendship. “Not what you’re used to, by the look of it, but better than it might have been,” he observed. Unlike von Wolgast, Sisak was dressed in fashionable, well-

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  fitting clothes, his hair newly trimmed, his face shaved without mishap, and he smelled faintly of cologne. “But necessity is a stem goddess, isn’t she?” He had the same continual, meaningless demeanor of bonhomie that had so pleased von Wolgast at their first meeting.

  “As I need not tell you,” said von Wolgast, gesturing apologetically to his surroundings. “I must thank you for meeting me here. Circumstances being what they are—”

  “You dare not be seen on the streets,” said Sisak. “It is not easy to be a fugitive.” His teeth flashed in what might have been a smile. “I have some experience of it.”

  “You’ve told me,” von Wolgast reminded him. “And I would not have sent word to you without your understanding of the risks I am ninning. It is all absurd of course, and no doubt it will be cleared up—” It was less than the truth, but he wanted to be sure Sisak would be persuaded to help him.

  “My dear Baron, if you intend to lie to me, I will not be able to help you,” said Sisak, cutting short the recitation von Wolgast had begun. “You killed your wife, or arranged to have her killed. You killed Nadezna or arranged to have her killed. You kidnapped that Englishwoman with the help of your hired agents. I am sure you had your reasons.” His smile remained fixed in place. “Will you tell me the truth, or shall I leave?”

  “My wife,” said von Wolgast sullenly, “was entirely mad. She had been confined in the care of nuns for some years. Nadezna had tried to blackmail me. The Englishwoman was a gamble that failed.” He shot a single look at Sisak. “You know how things can go wrong, no matter how well you plan.”

  “Better than you do, Baron,” said Sisak with another show of teeth.

  “No doubt, no doubt,” said von Wolgast urgently, continuing with more confidence than he actually felt, “I knew I could rely on you to help me. Our dealings together have always been profitable, have they not? We have been useful to each other in many ways; you might even say we have a genial friendship. I’ve done a lot for you, haven’t I?” He had not intended to beg, but he heard himself and felt appalled.

  “Yes; our dealings have been profitable for us both,” said Sisak, his eyes making a complete record of the horrible little room.

  “And they can be again, if you and I can hit upon the means to retrieve my fortune,” von Wolgast encouraged him. “In spite of all this, I am a wealthy man.”

  “Yes, I think so, too,” Sisak told him. He was waiting for something, but had no intention of hurrying the thing he sought.

  “Fine.” Relief swept through von Wolgast, making him giddy. He had

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  to bite his tongue to keep from babbling his thanks. He cleared his throat. “I cannot stay here after tomorrow morning, so if there is some way you could arrange for me to remain safe, I would make it worth your while.”

  “Yes, you will,” Sisak concurred; from the way he went on, it was apparent he had been planning this from the first. “As soon as it is dark, I will come back for you. I have one of my ships in the harbor. I will make a room available to you, and we can do our business in better surroundings than these.”

  “That will not take much. A bam would be an improvement,” said von Wolgast, making an attempt at wit.

  “Yes, this is not the Kreuzfahrer Hof, is it? and you have no one so lovely as Nadezna with you, but—” His gesture indicated his acceptance of the state of affairs. “Something will be arranged, to our mutual benefit.”

  “Better days are coming,” von Wolgast said, hoping devoutly this was true. “The worst is over.”

  Sisak chuckled. “For both of us, I trust,” he said smoothly, then took a brisker pace. “I will not stay. This is not the most secure hiding place in Trieste, Baron. Expect me about two hours after sundown. I will take you to the ship, and we will make our arrangements there.”

  “I look forward to it,” said von Wolgast, doing his best to rise to the occasion.

  “I should think so.” Sisak took a last glance around, then left.

  To von Wolgast, the remaining hours in the day went by at a turtle s pace, lumbering from minute to minute at an ever-slowing rate. Never had the sun taken so long to drop below the horizon. Now that he had some reason to hope, von Wolgast spent much of the interminable afternoon making plans, refining them, discarding them, until he had arrived at two or three he was certain would return him to a place in the world where he could live as he was bom to live. He had two other matters to attend to before that could happen: Reighert would have to be discredited and Ragoczy would have to die.

  When Sisak returned he was dressed in a heavy sailor s jacket and carried a djalabah with him. “You’d better put this on,” he recommended. “Leave your coat here.”

  “But that—” von Wolgast protested, hating the thought of donning Arabian robes as much as he wanted to save his suit.

  “The police are looking for a hunted European—a man in a suit. They might expect a disguise, but not anything like this: the reports have suggested you may have grown a beard or dyed your hair. They will not

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  pay as much attention to you if you are dressed like an Arab,” Sisak explained, then waited while von Wolgast made up his mind.

  “Very well,” he said, tugging his coat off and flinging it away “You’re probably right; I would do well to be rid of the rest of my clothes.”

  “Not at night,” Sisak said knowledgeably. “In daylight your shoes would give you away if nothing else did.” He watched while von Wolgast wrestled himself into the enveloping cotton robe. “You’ll find it as comfortable as a nightshirt.”

  “It is like wearing a tent,” von Wolgast complained. “Should I have a turban, or is there a hood?”

  “You don’t know how to wrap a turban,” said Sisak as if he thought this was a failing. “I’ve brought a hood for you,” he went on, holding it out. “The tassel goes in the back.” He snickered as von Wolgast pulled it on. “Keep your head down when you follow me, and say as little as possible.”

  “I will,” von Wolgast said, too frightened to be excited; it was borne in on him that he was taking the greatest gamble he had since he fled his lodge in Austria. What became of him in the next hour would set the seal on his fate for years to come. He faltered when Sisak stepped back into the courtyard. “I am worried about the innkeeper. I’ve paid him a lot of money, but he might still say something, if he thought he would get a reward.”

  “Yes, so he might,” said Sisak with a fine show of unconcern. “Which is why my man Mamoud will come back after midnight and bum the place to the ground.”

  This announcement did not so much shock von Wolgast as it vexed him. “Will that not mean questions? I don’t want to make my presence known, even after the fact.”

  “Who will answer the questions? The landlord will be ashes with his inn,” said Sisak, and motioned to von Wolgast to follow him. “Not too fast,” he warned.

  “No; we don’t want anyone to think we are being chased,” said von Wolgast with a show of caustic humor that was lost on Sisak.

  “No, we don’t,” he said as he started down the courtyard, only glancing back once to be sure von Wolgast was behind him.

  Along the narrow stone streets of Trieste they went, their route indire
ct and unobvious, but leading eventually to the waterfront. They reached the docks without incident; the Greek freighter Alecto was ready for loading, large crates stacked on the pier, a single watchman protecting the cargo. It was not a very prepossessing ship, well enough kept but ruthlessly utilitarian, but it looked like Valhalla itself to von

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  Wolgast. The smell of tar and seawater was very strong on the night air. At a sign from Sisak a crewman removed the gate from the gangplank, and Sisak led von Wolgast aboard, no questions asked, and scant attention paid. It was apparent Sisak knew the freighter well, and went down a maze of corridors to a row of spartan staterooms, indicating one to von Wolgast. “This is where you will stay, when we are done with our negotiations.” It was the first words he had addressed to von Wolgast in the last half hour.

  Two weeks ago von Wolgast would have been disappointed; now he sighed once, and said, “When does the ship sail?” He did not want to be within reach of the police any longer than absolutely necessary.

  “The day after tomorrow,” Sisak told him. “We will have plenty of time to conclude our arrangements.”

  “And where are we bound, when we leave port?” He had a moment s dread that he would be on his way to a destination where he could be detained, or some place so remote he would be unable to find a way to gain access to his money.

  “South Africa,” said Sisak. “I have recently established an office there. I am certain we can turn that office to our mutual advantage.” His manner suggested that failure to do this would end the voyage for von Wolgast before the ship arrived.

  “Among the blacks?” von Wolgast could not keep from asking. “Lazy, dangerous people, Fve been told, without respect for Europeans. It might be better to consider South America.”

  “The blacks are kept well in hand,” said Sisak. “You need not pay any attention to them unless you employ them as servants. And they are far less danger to you than any peasant in Europe. As for South America, you would soon be surrounded by half-breed Indians who are just as lazy and unreliable as blacks are.”

  The force of this statement shook von Wolgast to the marrow of his bones. “Mein Gott, this will take some getting used to,” von Wolgast said, feeling sweat on his face.

  Sisak ignored von Wolgast s exclamation, glancing around the stateroom. “I’m going in to have a cognac in the main cabin. Join me when you are ready. I think you will find everything in order.”

  “What do you mean?” von Wolgast demanded, anticipating the worst. “I brought nothing with me.”

  “All the more reason to inspect the stateroom. I mean that there are clothes—not as well-fitted as you are used to, but serviceable and un-obvious—a razor, soap, a toothbrush, socks, shoes—I had to guess the size—a pad of paper, pencils, a pen—in short everything you will need

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  on the voyage.” He looked amused. “You did not suppose you were going to be tucked away in the hold, did you?”

  Von Wolgast shrugged. “It never entered my mind that—”

  “That you would be taken care of?” Sisak asked. “It isn’t lavish, but it will suffice until we reach South Africa.” He held up his hand. “There are books and magazines in the main cabin. Most of them are in Greek or Italian, but a few are in German, so you will have something to read.”

  “What about newspapers?” von Wolgast asked sharply.

  “Do you mean you want to know more of how your exploits are being revealed?” Sisak inquired with false cordiality. “Be glad we do not have such things aboard, or some of the crew might become curious.”

  “I have wanted to find out what has been said about me, and by whom. It gives me some notion of what I am up against, so I will know how difficult it will be to get my hands on my money once I am settled away from Europe. How I will establish myself again will depend in part on what is written about me.” He noticed the heavy latch on the stateroom door. “You expect trouble?”

  “No, we expect there may be heavy seas, and you will want to secure everything you can, including the door.” Sisak slapped his hand on his thigh. “Well, shall we say twenty minutes?”

  “In the main cabin,” agreed von Wolgast. “Where will I find it?” “Go along this corridor until you must turn. Bear right and it will be the first door on your left.” He backed out of the stateroom, adding, “Oh, and think about South Africa again. It is preferable to a prison cell, blacks and all,” before leaving von Wolgast to take stock of his situation.

  “Twenty minutes,” said von Wolgast as the door closed. After a moment s consideration he set the latch, deciding it was the prudent thing to do. Satisfied he would be undisturbed, he pulled open the narrow closet and saw four thick sweaters, two shirts, two pairs of dark trousers and an oilcloth coat hanging there. Relieved, he pulled his hood and djalabah over his head, wadding them up and thrust them under the pillow on the single bunk. He chose the darkest of the sweaters and put it on, telling himself he would blend in better in such a garment. The small mirror on the inside of the closet door showed him an image that seemed alien to his eyes, and he told himself confidently that his own mother would not be able to recognize him. He regretted now that he had sold his pocketwatch in Gorizia; he would have to obtain another. With a sigh, he released the latch, opened the door, and went down the companionway to the main cabin.

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  This turned out to be a small salon paneled in oak, with half a dozen wooden chairs and two tables bolted to the floor. A leather-padded bench along the wall provided more seating and a bit more comfort than the chairs. Shelves with braces across them held a number of books, and periodicals were stacked in a brass container near the door. It was as close to luxury as anything on the Alecto was. Five portholes provided a glimpse of the harbor, their brass fittings not quite tarnished, but not polished either, and a small bar at the far end of the cabin, now unoccupied, added a sociable note.

  Sisak was seated at one of the tables, a pony of cognac held lazily in his fingers. Beside him, a man with Turkish features in an Italian silk suit was quietly explaining something to Sisak. He fell abruptly silent when von Wolgast entered the cabin.

  “Good evening, Herr Baron,” said Sisak with an ironic inclination of his head. “You will find your name on the passenger list is Manfred Baron, from Berlin. You are traveling for your health.” His laughter was short. “This is my . . . colleague, Mamoud. Mamoud, Herr Baron. You have no need to know his family name; it would mean nothing to you in any case.”

  The Turk rose and bowed Prussian style, with a clicking of his heels. “Herr Baron, an honor,” he said in quite acceptable German.

  “And to you,” said von Wolgast; he glanced around the cabin. “Are we the only ones?”

  “For tonight, yes. Tomorrow we will be joined by two retired schoolteachers who are trying to make their way around the world before they die,” said Sisak. “They will pose no problem, two men, from Graz, both over sixty.”

  Von Wolgast was not so sanguine. “If they are schoolteachers, they may have kept up with the reports in the press. If they were to report anything ...”

  “If such a problem arises, Mamoud will attend to it.” Sisak nodded in the Arab s direction. “And speaking of such things, I recall there is the matter of the innkeeper to deal with.”

  Mamoud rose and said something in a language von Wolgast did not recognize, bowed again and left.

  “You may consider the problem solved,” Sisak informed von Wolgast as they were left alone in the main cabin.

  “You mean that... that fop is going to burn down the inn?” von Wolgast demanded. “That’s absurd.”

  “We do not all employ debauched priests to do our work,” said Sisak, indicating the chair Mamoud had just left. “Sit down, Herr Baron; we

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  have much to do before we retire for the night.” He set his cognac aside, reached behind his chair and pulled
out a leather portfolio.

  Reluctantly von Wolgast took the chair Mamoud had just vacated, his attitude fussy; if he had had a handkerchief, he would have used it to wipe the chair first. He settled himself, his eyes on the portfolio. “Here I am,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Sisak. He patted the portfolio. “I have been thinking about your situation for some days, Manfred, and I think I may have hit upon the solution to your immediate predicament.” It sounded like the rehearsed speech it was. “You have to consider your future now, so that you may contrive to retain as much of your wealth and your company as is practicable. Do not let me rush you into anything. Still, I want you to give me your undivided attention for the next half hour or so.” He opened the portfolio and drew out what was obviously a contract. “I had my solicitor draw this up last week, in case you decided to turn to me in this arduous time.”

  “I see,” said von Wolgast, fighting off a sudden sense of panic. “Tell me about the contract.”

  “You will want to read it over tonight,” said Sisak at his most affable. “But its principle provision is the creation of a partnership between you and me for the purpose of running your arms manufacturing from a company in South Africa.” He paid no heed to the shocked expression on von Wolgast s face. “This way, you will continue to realize a portion of the profits you have worked so hard to achieve, I will realize greater profits from dealing directly with a company in which I have part ownership, and the authorities will not be able to challenge our partnership, for it will be part of a much larger consortium of businesses held by South Africans and operated in many countries overseas.” He beamed at von Wolgast. “As you see, I have considered everything.”

  The enormity of this proposal left von Wolgast stunned; he realized that he was in no position to refuse the terms offered him, that he had been neatly trapped by the arms dealer for whom he had had veiled contempt. He held out his hand. “Let me see the terms.”