by Sarah Rayne
‘Stuff her cunt with rotten vegetables.’
‘Hold her down and take turns with her,’ said the greasy-faced guard, leering.
‘I wouldn’t touch the bitch,’ said the guard whose face had been clawed. He drew out a handkerchief and pressed it to his cheek, his expression sullen.
The woman ignored them all. She lifted her great haunted eyes to where Catherine still stood helplessly at the room’s centre, held by the other two guards, and recognition showed in her face.
In a soft throaty voice, she said, ‘Hello, little sister.’
Chapter Twenty-one
Michael telephoned Varanno immediately after breakfast, requesting Tobias to make the connection, and explaining to Catherine’s mother that after all there was no cause for concern; Sister Hilary had returned – he believed there had been some kind of misunderstanding about the arrangements. He was extremely sorry for his previous call which might have aroused concern.
‘No doubt I am at fault,’ he said, urbanely. ‘Since my illness, I am sometimes confused, you understand . . .’
Bianca was purringly sympathetic. ‘We are glad to know what has happened, Mr Devlin.’ Her English was good but more accented than Catherine’s. Michael caught himself wondering what she looked like.
‘My husband is away from Varanno today,’ said Bianca, ‘but I am pleased to have your call. It is a concern if someone fails to arrive when expected. In these days there are so many terrible things that can befall travellers.’
There was a faint ironic note, as if Bianca Bathory found life amusing. This was a lady who was probably very aware of her attractions.
‘I didn’t meet her,’ said Hilary. ‘But Catherine’s father was extremely attractive.’
‘How did I sound?’
‘Convincing. Have you always been such a facile liar?’
‘It was necessary to allay their fears,’ said Michael equably. ‘It was important to let them think we don’t suspect anyone inside Varanno.
‘Do we?’
‘Don’t we? Why did that creature – Ficzko – follow Catherine? It’s very probable that Franz-Josef or his wife ordered it.’
‘Yes,’ said Hilary, frowning. ‘Yes, of course. It’s only—’
‘It’s only that by the cold light of morning, the phantoms and the ghouls pale a little?’
‘Yes.’ Hilary found it a bit awkward to talk about last night because of how last night had ended. Was it better to ignore it, or to have a calm, adult discussion and explain that it must not happen again? She had no idea. You were supposed to avoid what was called the occasion for sin, which in this case meant keeping Michael at arm’s length, but in view of their self-imposed mission, that would be difficult. She wondered if she was making too much of the whole thing. Perhaps Michael automatically went into a kind of preseduction act if he was alone with any female under fifty. Some men did that on the basis that nine times out of ten they were rejected, but the tenth time they were not. Michael would not have had many rejections. Hilary put down her empty tea-cup and said, ‘If you are ready, I think we should make a start.’
‘To the castle on the hill? To Csejthe?’
‘To Csejthe,’ said Hilary.
‘Lead on, Lady.’
It was far easier by the morning light to manoeuvre the BMW out of the Red Angel’s yard and on to the high road. They stopped at the first petrol station they came to, and Michael paid for a full tank of petrol and asked for the oil and water and tyres to be checked. ‘Because we won’t risk any kind of breakdown again.’
‘I’m glad one of us has plenty of money,’ said Hilary, and saw him grin.
‘Aren’t you breaking all the vows one by one now? That’s poverty just gone, and last night it was chastity . . .’
Hilary said, ‘Would you like music as we drive?’
‘Did we bring any Mozart?’
‘I believe so.’
‘It’d be the only way I could bear your driving,’ said Michael.
‘You can’t see my driving!’ Hilary was nettled.
‘I can hear it.’ He grinned again and his hand came out to close over hers briefly. Hilary had the thought that he was becoming far too practised at this.
As they sped towards the mountain road, the measured tones of the Jupiter Symphony flooded the car’s interior.
‘Have we a plan of campaign?’ asked Hilary as they stopped at a low roadside inn later in the morning.
‘Not in any detail.’ Michael had asked Hilary to keep a look out for somewhere to break the journey after an hour or so. He was perfectly relaxed with her driving – but he guessed that it was putting a strain on her.
They drank the roadside inn’s excellent coffee, and Hilary found herself enjoying sitting here in casual clothes, as if they were a couple on an ordinary motoring holiday. It did not matter how one looked, not really, but it was nice to think that one blended into the surroundings. The borrowed trousers and sweater were comfortable, and Michael had lent her a plain shirt which was too big, but which went surprisingly well under the sweater with the white collar folded outside. Before they set off she had showered using his soap again, and she could still smell it on her skin, expensive and luxurious. Be careful, said Hilary to Hilary.
‘I think all we can do for now is get as much detail about Csejthe and its inhabitants as possible,’ said Michael, draining the coffee in his cup. ‘And then lay it before the Viennese police. If there’s anything to lay, that is. Sorry if that sounds somewhat ambiguous, by the way.’
‘With photographs,’ said Hilary, determined not to rise to any bait.
‘Yes, if we can. You’re happy about using the camera, are you?’
‘I think so.’ Hilary had carefully studied the camera Michael had produced, which he said was called a night-sight camera.
‘It’s one that’s used by the armed forces,’ he had said. ‘For night-raids. It operates with infra-red light, I think. They used it in the Gulf War and also on snipers’ rifles.’
‘Is it – official for you to have it?’ said Hilary and Michael grinned.
‘Not entirely,’ he said. ‘I got it through – we’ll call it private channels. No, I didn’t steal it and no one stole it for me. It was a matter of a favour being returned unexpectedly. Bread cast on the waters and returning tenfold. But more or less above board. It’s been enormously useful and it’ll be so now. There’s nothing to alert anyone, you see.’ He tapped the camera’s surface. ‘No flash bulb. It’s no good our getting inside Csejthe with immense stealth and then waking the whole zoo with flashbulbs exploding everywhere.’
‘No, of course not. How does it work?’ said Hilary, examining the camera. ‘Don’t be too technical.’
‘It’s what’s called image intensification. The shutters are here, I think . . .’ His hands felt for the camera. ‘Yes, here. And this is the lens. See? The focus is just beneath. It’s pretty simple to use. And quite portable.’
‘Yes. Does it produce ordinary photos?’
‘Not quite ordinary. It doesn’t make use of light and conventional photography needs light – either natural or artificial. With this you get a kind of green and white set of images. But they’re recognisable images. If we can shoot the corpse-creatures in Csejthe they’ll be identifiable. Good evidence.’
‘What about developing the film?’
‘That isn’t something you can get done quite anywhere. We won’t be able to take a roll of film into the Austrian equivalent of Boots and collect it the next day, but any organisation with specialist dark-room facilities could develop the film. The military can do it, of course, or I could ask Reuter’s or WPN.’
‘What about the police?’
‘Yes, the police would have the technical equipment.’ He spoke as if arranging for the developing of night-sight photographs was a minor difficulty, and Hilary remembered that he would have been intimate with high-ranking military personnel and international organisations through his work.
Hila
ry stowed the camera away in the BMW’s glove compartment, wedging it firmly with a sheaf of the maps provided by Reuter’s. ‘Shall you wait in the car while I go up to the castle?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Michael at once, and the scowl drew his brows down in a black bar.
‘I didn’t suppose you would. But you know if you stayed behind it would be far—’
‘Easier for you?’
‘I was going to say quicker.’
‘Whither ye go, I shall follow. If not quite shoulder to shoulder, then at least hand in hand. Maybe even roped together like mountaineers. Would you tie yourself to me?’
He could not see her of course but, for all that, his eyes appeared to be filled with mischief. Hilary said, composedly, ‘Have you finished your coffee? Then shall we go on again?’
‘Ever onwards, lady.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call me that.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘No, I don’t.’
Places that were sinister and threatening by night usually took on a different face by day. Hilary was fully prepared for the mountain road to appear fresh and untroubled in the brightness of morning, with Michael at her side and Mozart’s exquisite music pouring out of the BMW’s speakers. She was pleased to find that she remembered the road pretty well, because it was an efficient thing to do. She would concentrate on being efficient because it would keep the fears at bay.
Michael was unexpectedly helpful about the direction. He said things like, ‘About an hour out of Debreczen I recall seeing a farmhouse with a steep gable roof somewhere on the right.’ And, ‘It feels as if we’re going down an escarpment, and if so you ought to be able to see a church with twin spires somewhere ahead.’
But as the road climbed, Hilary fell silent. This was the way she had come last night; ahead was the road she had travelled two nights ago, when she had followed Catherine. Had it really been only two nights?
Both times the nights had been full of fear and terror; now it was full day and brilliant sunshine – the kind of strong bright light that often lights a late autumn day – but, despite the sunshine, Hilary was cold. Would the dwarf-creature Janos be lying in wait? Did he trap all unwary motorists, or only lone women at night? It was probably the latter; if motorists had started to disappear on this stretch of road, there would have been an investigation. There would certainly have been a good deal of talk locally. People liked to tell you about haunted roads and ghost-ridden mountain passes. Hilary put this viewpoint forward and Michael said consideringly, ‘I think you’re right. They couldn’t have any kind of organised capturing. Tobias at the Red Angel would certainly have known about it, if so. That dwarf-creature probably saw the car headlights, and decoyed you to the castle on the chance that you were alone.’
‘Yes, of course.’ This made Hilary feel better.
And then they rounded a curve in the road, and the cliff rose steeply on their left, and Hilary saw quite clearly skid marks in the road and splinters of rock strewn about. This is where Janos darted across the road and I crashed. She could make out the jutting rock obscuring the castle path. At the end of the path was Csejthe and the corpse-creatures who had bathed in the blood of their caged victim.
Hilary drew the car as far as possible on to the grass verge and, in a rather uncertain voice, said, ‘We’re here.’
Michael said, ‘We aren’t going to argue about this. I’m coming up there with you.’ And Hilary felt a huge relief, because although it might be difficult – and certainly impractical – for him to come with her, it would have been unbearable on her own.
He looped a belt about her waist and fastened it round his left wrist – ‘So that there is no possibility of us becoming separated,’ he said. In his right hand he carried the ash walking stick that he preferred to the white one. Hilary slung the camera around her neck by its strap, finding it lighter than she had expected.
The fear closed about her more strongly as they made their way along the narrow path. It was fringed with thick undergrowth on both sides, and beyond the undergrowth was the sweep of the mountains, with dark green patches of pine-trees scattered across. By daylight it was possible to see that the path had been cleared, making it possible to walk up to the castle with reasonable ease. But it had not been cleared to a degree that made it look as if it were regularly used. Whoever was behind Csejthe and its terrible occupants was extremely clever.
‘We’ll take chronological shots,’ said Michael as they made their way carefully upwards. ‘Can you do that? Showing the approach, showing the apparent desolation. And than as we get nearer more shots showing that it isn’t deserted at all. Those will come out as ordinary snaps. How bright is it? I can’t feel any sun . . .’
‘There’s some mist,’ said Hilary. ‘But it’s patchy, and I think the light’s bright enough for ordinary photographs.’
‘Then it’ll only be inside the castle that you’ll need to use the night-sight lens. All right?’
‘All right.’
It was easy and rather comforting to slip into the old relationship as they walked up the track. The mist thickened as they went higher, but the sharp scents of autumn were all about them, and although the undergrowth did not encroach on to the path, it brushed their ankles with light, feathery fingers as they walked. The pine scents drifted into their faces on the light wind.
Hilary guided Michael’s footsteps and warned him of uneven ground and tried to see the easiest way. It was bad enough to approach this place with your full sight, and it must be a million times worse if you were blind, but Michael was showing no fear. Hilary thought he was even finding it stimulating.
‘Keep up a running commentary as much as you can,’ he said. ‘Tell me how close we are getting, and what you can see. Make me see it as well.’ Hilary wondered if this was merely a ploy to concentrate her mind on something other than being frightened, but Michael’s voice was sharp and businesslike. Was this how he had sounded when he took his camera crew and interpreters on assignments in devastated cities and war-torn capitals? His expression was absorbed and rather remote, as if there were only one thing in the world for him at the moment, and that thing was Csejthe Castle.
The mist swirled around the crouching bulk of the castle as they approached, but Hilary levelled the camera carefully and took two or three shots. It seemed to be a simple enough technique, and there was satisfaction at having mastered the mechanism.
‘Patrick Lichfield you aren’t,’ said Michael repressively when Hilary reported this small success. ‘But if you can get a plain record, that’ll do.’
The castle looked deserted but, as they drew nearer, Michael feeling his way impatiently with the stick, Hilary thought it did not feel deserted. This might be because she knew what dwelled at its heart, but she thought that there was a dark brooding aura about it. This is a place where evil has stalked and where something ancient and hungry has survived. Elizabeth Bathory, the Blood Countess. Immortality from immersing your body in blood. I’ll stop thinking about her. I don’t think I believe in her anyway.
‘We’re about fifty yards from the castle now, Michael,’ she said, ‘and the mist’s all round us.’
‘I can feel it,’ said Michael. ‘Damp and clinging. Does it hide the castle?’
‘No.’
‘Then we should . . .’ He stopped and his hand closed about her wrist painfully. ‘Somebody’s coming,’ he said in a sudden urgent whisper. ‘Can you hear? Someone’s coming from out of the castle. Get us into hiding! Quickly!’
Another couple of minutes and they would have been seen. If Michael had not possessed the abnormally sensitive hearing of the sightless, they would certainly have been caught.
Hilary responded instantly, plunging into the undergrowth at the side of the path, pulling Michael with her. The bracken was thick and there were patches of dogwood and briar, almost waist-high. As they half rolled, half slid into the rough concealment, the thick branchy stems caught Hilary’s hair and scratched her hands.
They lay face-down in the bracken, several feet from the path, and a little below it. Hilary was vividly aware of the feel of Michael’s thigh against hers. His arm came around her waist.
‘Hidden?’ he said in a thread of a voice.
‘Yes, but keep absolutely flat. I’ll watch and tell you when it’s safe to move. They’re coming down the path.’
‘Who?’
‘Janos and three of the attendants.’
The mist, which had seemed so eerie earlier on, would be their friend now. It would hide them. And as the four men drew nearer, it was clear that they were deep in conversation; Hilary strained to hear. But her knowledge of the language was patchy and they spoke in the thick dialect she remembered, so that she could make out only a phrase or two. She saw Janos bend his arm at the elbow, the fist clenched in an unmistakable gesture of obscene description, and there was a burst of derisory laughter. At her side, Michael stiffened and his arm tightened momentarily about her.
The four men were level with the makeshift hiding place now, and Hilary held her breath. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest. Please God don’t let them see us. They won’t be expecting to see us and they certainly won’t be expecting to see me. They’ll have discovered that I escaped, of course, and they might think I’ve gone to the police – are they called police here? But they won’t expect me to come back on my own. Nobody would come back here after getting free. Not alone. You’d come with all the king’s horses and all the king’s men . . .
Probably the men were going to the roadside to see how well the path was hidden in case she was bringing help of some kind. Something like that. There they go. They’re nearly at the foot of the path. I can hardly see them through the mist. We’re nearly safe. Or are we? I think there’s something I ought to have remembered . . . What is it?
As the four men neared the road, Hilary relaxed, letting her head fall against the thick, springy ground, feeling the soft damp earth against her cheek.
