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Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain

Page 67

by Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn, 1942-


  “Of course, Manfred,” said Sisak, handing a copy of the contract to him. “You must be aware that since I am contributing the more significant portion of protection, my share is sixty-five percent. You may not think that is entirely fair, but without me, it would not be possible for you to reclaim any of your money, so you will see my portion is not unreasonable. Call it a service fee, if it will make the matter easier for you.”

  “Sixty-five percent, leaving me thirty-five,” von Wolgast echoed hollowly. “I suppose you’re right. I am in no position to dicker.” He thought

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  that he should make some greater protestation for the unequal division, but the words would not come. He wished he had schnapps or cognac to drink, so he could blunt the pain of this agreement, but none had been offered, not even for a fraudulent toast to their venture.

  “No, you are not,” said Sisak with immense gratification. He was silent for a short while, giving von Wolgast a chance to look over the first few pages. “As you can see, this requires you establish yourself in South Africa and that you not leave there. I cannot have my partner apprehended on murder charges, can I? Your assets would be frozen in Germany, and that would not do either of us any good. You see, these terms make it necessary that I do my utmost to keep you out of the hands of the police. It is not as if you will be without any fortune. And when war comes, we will both prosper as never before.”

  Von Wolgast swallowed hard: he had no real alternative other than to accept the terms laid out for him, no matter how usurious. Sisak had imprisoned him as certainly as the police in Berlin wanted to. “I will agree to that with a single exception.”

  Sisak regarded him in some astonishment. “What would that be? You have just escaped the law by a slim margin, and you say you do not want to remain in safety? Do you have dreams of going to Tibet, or New Caledonia, or—”

  “No,” said von Wolgast with grim purpose, the result of weeks of rumination and plotting. “I want to find Franchot Ragoczy and kill him.” Now it was Sisak s turn to be alarmed. “Franchot Ragoczy? Surely you can’t want to endanger yourself on his account?” He saw that von Wolgast was sincere, and did his best to persuade him to see the foolishness of his desire. “I should have thought you have had enough of him. Doesn’t it make sense to leave him alone and save yourself?” He indicated the contract. “If it is so important to you to have him done away with, it must be possible to find someone, such as Mamoud, to do the task for you.”

  “I will not permit him to be free in the world while I am a fugitive. His mission was nothing more than an excuse to display his pride at the expense of the Czar, who was taken in by Ragoczy s display. I will not let a charlatan end all I have worked for. If I must accept so much loss, he cannot be allowed to exist.” His small eyes glittered.

  “Must you do it yourself?” Sisak asked, aware that von Wolgast was unwilling to consider giving up his revenge.

  “Reighert is beyond my reach, at present,” said von Wolgast sarcastically.

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  “But isn’t there someone else?” Sisak asked. “Someone you have engaged this way before?”

  “There is a fellow in Amsterdam, named Bernard. I have tried to reach him but without success; I think he may be hiding from the police, for there has been no news of his capture.” He stared at the nearest porthole. “It would not be the same, having someone else kill him. I have to do it myself.”

  Sisak shrugged. “If you must, you must.” He pretended to think a bit more. “But I have one condition I would like you to weigh in regard to locating Ragoczy: let me have the task of finding him for you, through my agents, so you will not have to be in Europe one hour longer than you must. I will have an investment to protect, and you will have your neck.” It was a concession he was willing to make in order to convince von Wolgast to accept his other, more important terms; it would also provide him the opportunity of keeping von Wolgast in his sights.

  “I have told you that I have no wish to stand trial or be sent to prison,” said von Wolgast with the air of one suffering an injustice.

  “No, nor should you have to, if we arrange this wisely. I will accept that one change in this partnership.” He touched the contract again. “Read this carefully and think it over. You may have some questions, which I suppose you will ask me in the morning.” He did his best to look sympathetic. “You will not like some of the clauses, but if you give them due thought, you will see that they are not only necessary, they will make it possible for you to continue without constant anxiety in regard to the German authorities. I think you will conclude that the contract is a reasonable one, benefitting us both and ensuring our continuing affluence, if not on the scale you have known before, it will be opulent enough for South Africa.” He all but shoved von Wolgasts fingers more tightly around the document. “You are an experienced businessman, Manfred, and you will not let your pique stop you from doing what is best for your company. Will you?”

  Von Wolgast made himself say, “I want my business to flourish.” Never had the truth had such a bitter taste.

  “And this contract will guarantee it will. You will be in a position to contribute to key decisions, and you will stand to profit from the enterprise.” Sisak put the portfolio back under his chair. “You will live at ease in South Africa while your company continues to produce arms, and to sell them to a range of buyers you would not be able to reach without a great deal of—”

  “Yes, yes,” von Wolgast cut through Sisaks recitation. “You do not need to hammer in it. I do know what you intend. I cannot make

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  changes in what you propose without putting more than my fortune at risk, which I do not wish to do. So I will read over what you have set forth, and I will not object to any of the particulars, if you will promise me you will help me to rid the world of Franchot Ragoczy.”

  “If you insist,” Sisak told him. “I hope you will reconsider.”

  “Doing it myself?” von Wolgast asked, “Or having it done at all?” “Both, actually,” said Sisak in a measured tone. “You must understand that Ragoczy has become something of a hero in important eyes. His welfare is considered worth looking after by police from Amsterdam to Moscow. If you could wait, a year, two, three, he might more easily be reached, and his death would cause less sensation than it would in the next several months.”

  “So he has become famous, and at my expense,” said von Wolgast resentfully. “I would appear to have done him a favor.”

  “I think not,” Sisak corrected him. “The Count shuns attention; he has declared he prefers his privacy to the glare of public notoriety.” He leaned forward, looking von Wolgast directly in the eyes. “Use a little sense, Manfred. Put it off for a year at least.”

  “When Ragoczy will be back in Russia, no doubt guarded by a dozen Cossacks. No, thank you. I would rather reach him while I can, and while his death will provide vindication for me.”

  “Vindication?” Sisak made a gesture of exasperation. “It would be more likely to make your situation more ... let us say, constrained than it already is. You have enough hanging over you, and yet you wish to increase the burden.”

  “I have to know Ragoczy is dead. I trust no one else to do it.” He gave a laugh that was not good to hear. “I have earned the right to do this, Tancred. I do not want to have to rely on asshssins and such men, who can be paid to change their alliances.” He shook his head. “No. I want to see his blood.”

  Now Sisak was aggravated, and he put his hand on von Wolgast s knee. “If you must do away with him yourself, at least choose something less messy than blood. There are poisons that cannot be stopped and take a long time to kill.” To press his argument, he said, “Think. You could administer the poison and leave him to weeks of agony.”

  “I would not see it,” von Wolgast protested. “He would die and I would not be there.”

  “Ah, but he would suffer, and yo
u would see the start of it, and you would know there would be no cure.” Sisak rubbed his hands together. “A little pitchblende in his food and there is nothing that can be done. The radiation in the mineral will eat away his guts, and no physician in

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  the world can save him.” He smiled encouragement.

  “How can you be so certain?” von Wolgast asked warily; the notion of prolonged suffering made him listen with interest.

  “I learned it from a man who spent many years learning how to kill. He said he was taught this by the sorcerers who lived near diamond mines, where pitchblende is often found. The mineral has something in it that glows very faintly. The sorcerers told the man I knew that the reason for it was the demon that killed was present.” He leaned back. “Tell me you will consider it. I will obtain some for you, if you decide it will do as well as a shot to the head with a pistol.”

  “Poison,” said von Wolgast as if tasting the word. “All right, I will consider it. But”—he held up his hands to make his stipulation—“I will have to administer it. And see what it does. I must see him suffer; if it takes a long time, so much the better.”

  “Yes; very well. I will procure the pitchblende.” Sisak picked up the pony and tossed off the cognac, then he looked narrowly at von Wolgast. “You’d like some, too?”

  It was degrading to have to ask; von Wolgast kept himself from saying what he thought about the position he was in. “I’d welcome it, thank you.”

  “And we can toast our contract,” said Sisak as if the idea had not occurred to him until this instant. “An excellent notion,” he enthused. “What a good omen.” He got out of the chair and went to the untended bar, reaching behind it for a regular glass. He poured a small amount of cognac into it from his own flask and brought it back to von Wolgast, holding it out in a way that made von Wolgast have to reach for it. “Here.” He refilled his pony and lifted it. “To our partnership, Manfred. To success.”

  “To success,” von Wolgast repeated dutifully, then added, “And revenge.” With that he drank the cognac in a single swallow.

  Text of a letter from Horace Saxon in Chicago to Rowena Saxon in Amsterdam.

  Chicago, Illinois May 10,1911

  Dear Rowena;

  Vm pleased as a colt in a carrot patch that you’re going to come and stay with me in San Francisco. We’ll have a wonderful time. You can stay as long as you want, whether I’m here or not. I know you’ll like

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  the city. I’ve been about the world a bit and I haven’t found anything to match it, not for setting and not for style. You’ll see that for yourself when you’re here. It means the world to me that you’d come to bring some joy to the twilight of my life. Not that I mean to keep you tethered to me to be a nursemaid or that I am in my dotage; that’s not the case at all. If I learned nothing else about you, Rowena, I’ve learned you’re a bird who will not have her wings clipped, and I won’t be party to anything that hampers you. You got my word that I’m not going to try anything of the sort. With all that goes on in San Francisco, you’ll be able to have all the excitement you want without having to stay at my side, unless you want to, and if you do, you can stay as long as you like. Whatever you decide. I’ll be glad to know you’re just a telephone call away. I’m going to see to it you have a telephone, and no argument, not so I can check on you, but so you can keep in touch with the friends you’re going to make without having to leave your studio to do it.

  As you can tell, I’m on my way to Baltimore to meet your boat. You’ll come back to California with me in my private car, so we can have a little time to get face-to-face acquainted, and you’ll have a chance to look at the country. This letter is being sent via my solicitors there with instructions from me on booking your voyage. All you have to do is choose the ship and the port you like, and end up in Baltimore. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m taking care of the cost so all you have to do is put your trunks aboard and put a quarter out for the waiter if you like the service.

  For once your mother approves of what I’m doing for you. She’s written to me twice, the first time beside herself because she was sure you were ruined, the next time to tell me how I shotdd handle presenting you to all those grand ladies of San Francisco she used to turn her nose up at. She is determined to make the best of what she calls the “unhappy events. ” I’ve written back telling her I know a thing or two about society, and that we’ll do fine. I didn’t mention that I found you a great studio with north light, the way you described in your letter. It’s out on Clay Street, and I can’t say for sure, but I think you’ll like it. I know your mother is worried about earthquakes, and has been ever since ’ 06 , but I told her we got the worst out of the way for a while. My house stood up fine through the shaking and the fire, which did the most damage, stopped three blocks away from my house.

  I’m a little worried about this Rupert; he sounds like a real fly in the ointment, talking out of turn. Your mother says he’s been going around saying it wasn’t his fault you fell into the hands of kidnappers, and that

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  he tried to make sure you weren’t in their hands a second longer than you had to he, but that they had you for three days, and everyone knows what that means. She says he is telling anyone who will listen that he was forced to end your engagement because your honor has been smirched, that he didn’t have any choice about it. Your mother calls him paltry, and acts as if this is something new in him that she is shocked to see, as if he went bad suddenly, like butter. I don’t see it that way. He sounds like a scallywag to me, all airs and graces so long as everything goes his way, and then sulky as a wet cat when it doesn’t. Your mother says she thinks that you ought to question what that Ragoczy fellow did, but I take a different tack on it than she does. From what you told me, he came and got you and has kept his eye on you since then, which is what any real gentleman ought to do. You make sure and tell him Ym in his debt for what he did for you. It might not mean much to him, but what he did for you means the world to me.

  I’m looking forward to seeing your paintings and displaying some of them in my house, if you’ll let me. Don’t you fret about coming here, you’ll like it fine. I know no one can make up for what happened to you, but I’d like to think you can get over it better here with me than in England, with your mother fretting over you, or in Europe, with all the reminders around you. Whatever you decide eventually. I’m honored you’re giving me the chance to help out. And Rowena, you know I don’t mean the money.

  Until Baltimore, Your loving grand-father, Horace Saxon

  10

  Around them the fields of tulips were sultry as a tropical sunset; not far away a windmill turned its sails in the brisk spring breeze. The weather had turned pleasant at mid-May and now, in the second week of June, with the promise of summer burgeoning everywhere, Holland was showing itself at its most picturesque.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” Rowena told Ragoczy as the strolled along the narrow path beside the little canal, the only people within a

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  kilometer of the place. She was wearing a handsome spring suit of caramel-colored linen, a lilac-silk blouse with a high collar of matching lace, and neat shoes with Louis heels; she had left her straw motoring hat at home, preferring to let the wind muss her short-cropped strawberry-blonde hair. Her smile was almost relaxed, although the strain of the last few months lingered in her golden eyes, as she stopped and put her hands on his shoulders. “Why is it I always think of you as taller than you are?” she asked before she kissed him. “You never seem short to me.”

  “A matter of perspective? With those shoes on, you and I are very nearly the same height,” he suggested when he could speak. His dark eyes rested on her face, his hands at her waist, holding her, content to memorize her features and to take in the whole of her. “I thank you for your telegram; I did not want you to leave for Ame
rica without saying good-bye.”

  “And I did not want to go without seeing you. When the letter arrived last week from my grand-father, I had to let you know what I had decided to do. Mister Sunbury made finding you quite easy.” She took his hand as she resumed walking, looking at nothing in particular, content to wander wherever the path led. “Have you ever been there? America?”

  “Not to where you are going. I’ve been in South America, and up into Mexico, but not to San Francisco; that city did not yet exist when I was in Mexico.” He paused, his memories stirring. “It is no longer the place I remember, not Peru, not Mexico. The Spanish have seen to that.”

  “You told me about Peru, about Cuzco and the Incas, and the Dona Azul. But I won’t find any of those, will I? It was more than two hundred years ago that you were there,” she said, proud of remembering this. “I didn’t know about San Francisco, but I was sure it wasn’t built yet, if you had been there.”

  His eyes grew distant. “One of my blood was there, in San Francisco, more than fifty years ago. She said it was quite beautiful.” As always, the thought of Madelaine de Montalia brought a pang of special loneliness to him.

  Rowena caught something of this from his demeanor. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  He was about to dismiss the question when he decided she deserved an answer. “It is something that comes to those of my blood, in my life. It is one of the things that make our circumstances as . . . intricate as they are.” His voice was soft but penetrating. “Because vampires must seek life, we can no longer be lovers together when both of us have

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  changed; life is the one thing vampires do not have to give one another.”

 

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