Blood Red (9781101637890)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “But that is not why I do it, Marie,” Rosa exclaimed. “I do it because it is something I must do, like the great old knights of the stories! Noblesse oblige, as they said in the ancient days.”

  “Well, I don’t understand that,” Marie replied after a moment. “But there it is, then.”

  The gong sounded for dinner, and Marie made a little shooing motion with her hands. Rosa turned with a care for her finery, and left the bedroom, relieved that Marie would be cared for, but wondering just what Marie really thought of her.

  6

  THERE was a new guest at dinner, a dark young man, ill at ease in a formal suit, who the Graf placed next to her at the table. The wonderful aromas wafting from the dishes on the sideboard were very distracting, but not so distracting as another handsome young man.

  “I don’t believe that I know you, sir,” she said, as the manservants came around with the soup. She nodded at the fellow to indicate she accepted the soup, as she saw others doing.

  “That is because I only just arrived,” the young man replied, his hand twitching a little as if he would have liked to loosen his collar. She recognized his accent with a start as Hungarian. It seemed an age since she had last heard Hungarian, and yet it could only have been two or three weeks. “I came to make a request of the Count, but as I come from a remote region, I left more than a week ago and had not been able to communicate with him once I had his permission to visit. I gather that was before he called this gathering. I have been forced to borrow this clothing.”

  “Mine is equally purloined,” she whispered in a conspiratorial manner, making him smile. There was something about this young man she liked immediately, although she did not know why. There was a faint sense of Earth Magic about him, but there was something else too, much stronger, that she couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, the magic was actually part of him, the way it was part of an Elemental.

  “I have no idea why the Count wanted me here tonight,” the fellow continued, looking perplexed, as he accepted a modest portion of the soup. “I do not usually take part in entertainments like this. They are not what I am accustomed to. A good, big wedding perhaps, or a harvest fair would suit me better. I have never even worn a suit like this one before.” He looked about to see which spoon the others were using before taking one up. “I am glad to be among friends, else I would surely be a laughingstock.”

  “I, too, am more accustomed to bratwurst and beer in a bierhalle at Oktoberfest,” she agreed. He shared a relieved smile, and when the farmer on the other side of her said, “I would not turn down a good plate of sauerkraut and wurst right now,” all three of them laughed.

  The Graf must have had the sharpest ears in the world, for he spoke up from the head of the table. “Be content, my friends. I think you will enjoy this dinner, even if you are not accustomed to this sort of dining, and tomorrow dinner will be good, hearty fare and we will have our own little bierhalle. Complete with brass band! My people have a fine little band, and have consented to play for us all.”

  The farmer and the stranger both brightened considerably, and the three of them happily discussed peasant festivals they had attended in the past, joined not only by the Landsknecht who looked as ill at ease in his suit as the stranger, but by the musicians and artists. Rosa had the sense that the same sort of conversation was going on all around the table, but she could only hear those nearest her.

  It did seem strange to be eating asparagus and duck cutlets and other delicacies while discussing the merits of the gallop over the polka, and the charms of sausages, beer, and various rustic cheeses.

  When the dinner was over, they all adjourned to the music room to listen to the performances of three of the guests—a remarkable pianist, a violinist, and a soprano who sang so beautifully it brought tears to Rosa’s eyes. By that point, Rosa considered the latest arrival to be her new friend. They had been properly introduced, they seemed to have a great deal in common, and she knew his name was Markos.

  “Markos Nazh,” he said, which she knew was the proper pronunciation of what was spelled “Nagy,” and literally meant, “the Great.” He blushed when he said it, and she laughed.

  “Do not take blame upon yourself for the hubris of your ancestors,” she teased as they made their way to the music room. The new gown flowed around her in a delightful manner, soft and luxurious, making her feel unexpectedly pretty. She really was not used to thinking of herself in those terms, nor to trading banter with young men that was not identical to the sort she would have if they were her brothers. Was this “flirting”? If so, it was very exciting!

  “My ancestors were not known for modesty,” he replied, blushing still harder. “Bloodthirsty, yes. Hunters of vampir and other deadly things, so I suppose that both the pride and the bloodthirst are excusable.”

  “And you?” she asked, as they entered the room, and looked for empty chairs. The room itself was gorgeous, like the inside of a jewelry box, all gold and velvet and polished wood. A piano, some music stands, and chairs were arranged at the head of the room, with velvet drapes closed over the windows behind them and a huge harp pushed to one side.

  “I would like to think I have the accomplishment without the overweening pride, though it is nothing to yours.” They were taking their seats for the impromptu concert by that time, and it seemed rude to continue conversing, since the musicians were taking their places. Rosa did not often get to hear music, not even of the sort that the musicians in the villages played, and she settled herself to make the most of the opportunity, focusing all of her attention on the musicians.

  And after the concert, they all retreated to a comfortable room, neither too big nor too small, too imposing nor too plain. There were comfortable chairs and settees with side tables scattered about the area, and servants kept them all supplied with things to drink. Rosa noticed that, while no one was abstemious, no one was getting tipsy either. This wasn’t a room she had been in before, but it overlooked some of the gardens and the windows were open to a pleasant breeze. One of the professors and two of his students claimed her company before she could resume her conversation with Markos, and she realized that as the “prize” guest, she needed to spread her attention about. So with regret, she left Markos talking to the Graf and Gunther, and discussed Romanian customs—or at least the little she had seen—with the learned man and his protégés.

  The servants came around again with drinks; Rosa was glad she had a good head for alcohol—which rather came with being German, she supposed, since beer was served at every meal but breakfast. “I prefer the Count’s affairs to any other,” said Professor von Endenberg, with a sherry in one hand, as his pupils invited her to sit with them. “One is not required to retire with the other men to the billiard room for cigars and port after his formal dinners. I dislike cigars, I have no taste for port and I am bad at billiards.”

  “Is that what one does?” she asked, taking that proffered seat and settling back into the cushions of the sofa. “This is a new world to me. I have lived in the Schwarzwald for most of my life. I have never been at an affair such as this.”

  “Are you likely to be again?” the professor asked, looking alert, as if she had greatly increased his interest in her.

  “The Graf seems to think so,” she replied, and shrugged helplessly. “I am feeling very much the fish out of water.”

  “And I shall be happy to place you back in water.” He all but rubbed his hands together in glee. “You have unearthed my private hobby, my dear young woman. I have been studying Society as if it was a foreign culture for quite some time now—though I dare not write up my findings, or I might just discover I have incurred the wrath of people who could make my position at the university very uncomfortable!”

  “If this is no imposition—” she began.

  “On the contrary! You give me an audience!”

  The professor was now aware of her background, and shor
tly she learned just how happy he was to explain to her what a “dinner” entailed in any other establishment than this one—and everything else he could think of as well.

  The professor had not exaggerated, for he proved to be the embodiment of everything she could have asked when it came to explaining how the Great and Wealthy did things—and why. This was a gentleman whose entire life was composed of studying, explaining, and understanding customs—and for her benefit he utilized all his expertise to analyze the customs of Society, and explain them to her, with the eager assistance of his pupils. She could not possibly have imagined a better education in the lives of the “upper crust.”

  The Graf and Marie had been a great deal of help in getting her started, and she already had an outsider’s knowledge of Society, gleaned from her mother’s magazines, romantic novels, and the newspapers—but she did not have the knowledge of Society from the inside. The professor and two of his noble pupils did.

  She listened intently, mentally filing it all away with the other information she had, and rewarded him afterward with a minute description of the vampir she had destroyed in Romania, and how he had differed from other vampir she and the Bruderschaft had hunted in Germany.

  “Chiefly in his nest,” she said. “The one in Romania hunted to kill, and kept only the women he had brought with him. He ranged widely and alone. I am not sure what the women were preying on—animals perhaps, but more likely, minor Elementals. The vampir who had settled in the Schwarzwald stuck close to his nest, and rarely missed a chance to convert a girl to one of his consorts. The only time he did not, it was because he was interrupted in feeding.”

  “Were you ever able to save those girls?” one of the students asked, looking a bit disturbed. “The ones that the vampir didn’t slay outright, I mean.”

  “If he had not made them drink of his blood, yes,” she said, but it was with a frown. “The problem is making them understand that once they have been prey to a vampir, they can be called by any other, and the call is very seductive, like the call of the drug to an opium fiend.” She thought it was not a good idea to tell these respectable gentlemen why this was so. That the call, and being fed upon, was quite literally seductive and literally addictive. Vampir magic—whatever it was—persuaded the women that the vampir was the best lover they had ever had, and after that, human lovers failed to satisfy. Formidable as her reputation was, she didn’t think it would be enhanced by describing such a thing to these men. To the Graf, to Gunther, there was no question that she could speak the truth, and they would not think the worse of her for being so bold, even crude. But for these gentlemen—better the information come from another gentleman.

  “What on earth sort of magic is that?” the professor wondered.

  “I am not certain it is magic at all, at least not of a sort that I can recognize,” she had to say. “While the Romanian vampir did have strong traces of blood magic about him, the German ones did not.”

  “Perhaps it is a psychical resonance?” suggested one of the students. “Some special power of the mind.”

  That triggered a discussion of powers of the mind that was entirely new to her—she had never been aware there were such things until now—that she listened to, rapt with attention, drink forgotten in her hand, until she found herself fighting off yawns. Looking around, she realized several of the guests had already excused themselves and presumably sought their beds.

  As soon as an opportunity presented itself, she did that herself, made her goodnights to Gunther and the Graf, and went off to her room. She considered saying goodnight to Markos, but he was deep in conversation with the artists and the singer, so she didn’t want to interrupt him.

  She had chosen a moment to leave when the rest of the guests had either already gotten to their rooms, or were still deep in conversation. The vast building was curiously silent and mostly dark. During the day there was always work to be done, and always servants doing it, for the Graf believed in the saying “many hands make light work,” and preferred that his staff have enough leisure to keep what magical abilities they possessed sharp as well as attending to their duties. Most of the staff had already gone to bed, and those that were still awake and serving would not be required to rise at dawn. As a consequence, the enormous manor seemed unpopulated, with only the few lamps showing the way to the guest rooms providing pools of dim light. She could have been wandering the rooms of the palace of the Sleeping Beauty in the old fairy tale.

  She realized, as she reached her room and found her bed turned down and waiting, that she was both exhausted and elated.

  For a moment, she could not imagine why she should be exhausted, until she realized she had been thinking harder tonight than she had in a very long time. Thinking was exceptionally hard work, harder than most people who got by on very little thinking realized.

  As to why she was elated—well, that was easy. Although she liked almost all of the Bruderschaft, and loved many, not even her beloved Papa was intellectually challenging. Tonight she had been among people who were her equal or superior in intelligence. She’d had the most intellectually stimulating discussions tonight that she’d ever experienced.

  As she stood there, just inside the door to her room, Marie appeared as if she had been magically summoned. That might have been mysterious, or given rise to suspicion that the maid was somehow spying on Rosa, but now that Rosa knew Marie was also an Elemental Mage, that ability to merely appear when wanted was no mystery. The maid could even have been napping on the settee in the sitting room, but the moment she sensed Rosa’s powerful Earth energies nearby, she’d have awakened.

  Marie stood beside the dressing table, and Rosa moved to her, and into the pool of warm light created by the lamp that stood beside the mirror. “I trust the evening was fruitful, my lady?” the maid asked, as she removed the hair ornament and helped Rosa out of the dress, leaving her in her shift, then helping her into a confection of a dressing gown made of silk lace.

  Rosa took her seat on the padded stool in front of the mirrored dressing table. “My head is full,” Rosa replied, a little ruefully. “I had no idea from the stories in newspapers that Society was so complicated.”

  The maid laughed. “It is, for those who are born into it, and more so for those who are elevated into it. It is more complicated for females than men. Men can and do overlook whatever differences in class, education, and rank they choose to. Women do not have this luxury, for the doyennes of Society will see to it that they pay and pay dearly, if they dare to transgress.”

  Rosa wrinkled her brow at that, but a moment later, it became clear to her. These “doyennes of society” were no different at bottom than the leading dames among the gossips of her own village. Within that little “society,” their word was law, and the law was respectability. She had escaped their tongues because the only times she appeared in the village she was dressed as demurely as any of the other maidens, she kept her eyes downcast and she spoke little. So far as the gossips knew, she was in service elsewhere—it was not wise to allow people outside the Bruderschaft to know you were a member. You could bring great danger on your family that way. As far as the villages were concerned, the only members of the Bruderschaft outsiders knew were Gunther and one or two of the eldest. The rest were shadows in the forest, people you knew were out there, but never glimpsed.

  The professor had explained all this as best he could, but he had done so from a male perspective, not a female one. Possibly this was a side of Society he had not truly seen.

  So, now thanks to the professor, Rosa had more tools to dissect Society with, and she saw that the queens of Society were like the female tyrants of the villages. Rosa understood that, and she understood why. In the rest of the world, the real power was all consolidated in masculine hands. It was even codified into law. Only in decreeing and enforcing the rules of etiquette and behavior did the women of Society have the opportunity to become “powerful,�
� though men could still overrule them. Power was power, and no matter how petty the power was, some people just had to feel they had it over someone else.

  “So, I must be quiet and meek and polite to a fault,” she said, thoughtfully. “Well, it scarcely matters to me that some old harridan sees me as subservient to her.”

  “That is your best battle plan, my lady,” Marie agreed. “Think what it is that most young ladies in Society are pursuing. Good marriages with someone richer or higher in rank than they are. They must put themselves forward without transgressing, or risk the ire of their families for not trying hard enough. But should you find yourself in need of functioning within Society—well, what is it that you will be there for?”

  “Certainly not that!” she laughed, looking into Marie’s face via the mirror. “Likeliest is that I will have strong need to keep myself from being noticed. I see what you mean. Because I do not need or want what Society is promising to an unmarried woman, there are fewer rules for me as well.”

  Marie nodded, taking down her hair and brushing it with firm, gentle strokes. “If you are endeavoring to keep from being noticed, I recommend no powder or paint at all, and only the most simple and modest gowns of your wardrobe. You will be taken as lately come from school, and if you apparently have no fortune, will be of no interest to anyone. You may observe from the sidelines, among the wallflowers.”

  Rosa sighed with regret, though she could see the logic and had come to that conclusion herself. If she were on the Hunt, as Fritz had been, her best defense would be invisibility. Absolutely logical—but she had been enjoying herself so very much being the center of attention tonight.

  Marie pursed her lips, and raised her eyebrow. Rosa waited to see what witty thing the maid would say. Marie was proving to be highly entertaining. Rosa was quite certain that this was not the normal relationship between maid and mistress (even if she was only Marie’s temporary superior) but she was also quite certain that the shrewd young woman would never behave like this with anyone who was not a fellow magician. Probably not even then, unless she had been invited to do so, as Rosa had invited her.