“Where are the sheep?” were the first words Ragoczy could make out.
“They must be in the pen next to the barn,” said one of the other two. “For winter.”
“ … have your knife?”
“Both of them.”
“Are there any guards?” This man slurred his words as if he had had too much to drink or his face was very cold.
“The grooms have quarters above the tack-room. They’re supposed to keep a watch on the livestock.”
“ … better be quick.” Slurred speech again.
“What about dogs?” followed by an answer Ragoczy could not hear.
“This way.” And one of them led the way past the horse-pasture and down the hill toward the barn.
Ragoczy remained where he was. He could follow the men, he could go to the stable and wake the grooms, but both would lead to the necessity of explaining what he was doing out of his house without a guard in attendance. If he returned to the music-room, the thieves might be gone by the time he climbed the trellis. He stared at the three men as they plodded away toward the barn, and he made up his mind: he would get to the barn ahead of them and cause the animals to become agitated. That would bring the grooms down from their quarters and he could slip away while the thieves tried to escape. Although the snow slowed him, Ragoczy could run much faster than living men; he kept to the shrubbery and other cover as he rushed toward the barn, striving to be silent as he went; confronting the three men directly could only bring problems, so he did his utmost to remain undetected. As he neared the barn, Ragoczy took a chance and rushed across the courtyard that served both the barn and the stable beyond, relying on the dark to cloak him against the snow.
Easing the barn-door open enough to allow him to slip through into the interior, Ragoczy moved down the main aisle toward the poultry-coops and rabbit hutches at the back. When he was about halfway from the door to the coops, he felt along the wall for something to rattle; he found a milk-can next to a pail, and knocked them together. The noise they made was not loud but it roused the animals—pigs, goats, sheep, and cattle all began to clamor as they milled in their various enclosures; almost at once the chickens and ducks joined in; a mule, upset by the cacophony, brayed in the stable.
Satisfied with his efforts, Ragoczy moved toward the side-door, planning to leave before he could be seen. He had got out the door and was in the process of closing it when he heard a shout from above the courtyard, and turned.
“You men! Stop!” shouted one of the grooms.
Ragoczy, hurrying toward the side of the château, saw a light come on in the servants’ quarters, and picked up speed as he heard the confusion behind him increase. A few strides short of the protecting wall, a loud whistle from the would-be thieves halted him; an instant later a knife thudded into his right shoulder nicking the shoulder-blade as its thin blade sank deep into his flesh. Had he been a living man, the wound would have incapacitated him; as it was he staggered, then forced himself to hurry on as he felt blood spread down his back. Now the climb up the trellis seemed to be a tremendous undertaking, and one at which he could not afford to falter. His shoulder was beginning to ache in the deep, grinding way that meant damage. Using his left arm—his uninjured arm—he started up the trellis, doing his best to make little noise and to keep from being raked by thorns.
Four servants in night-robes came bustling out into the snow, two of them carrying cudgels. Staggering across the roof of the dining room, Ragoczy could see the men milling in the spill of light from the door. The noise increased in volume and confusion, and Ragoczy began to fear that Nutzen would be coming to wake him. He reached the window and found the finger-niche to pull the shutter open. The pain was eating into him as he worked the window open and hauled himself into the music-room. He could hear knocking on the door, and so called out, “Yes?”
“Comte,” said Nutzen loudly. “Thieves.”
“Is that what the fuss is about?” he asked, hoping his weak voice would be attributed to his being wakened.
“Balduin has ordered all the servants to help in the search.”
“A fine notion,” said Ragoczy, wincing as he touched the hilt of the knife in his shoulder.
“Do you want to join the search?” Nutzen asked.
“Would the Magistrate approve?” Ragoczy reached over to his back and worked the knife out of the wound, setting it on one of the open shelves, then struggled out of his ruined dolman before going to claim his coat, pulling it on as Nutzen opened the door.
“If I were to stay with you,” said Nutzen at his most stalwart.
“But it is night, and from what little I could see from the window, there is much confusion below.” He could not stand upright without increasing his agony, so he sank into the nearest chair. “Your pardon. I was deep asleep when the excitement began and I am still caught up in sleep.”
“Shall I summon your manservant?” Nutzen asked.
“It is not necessary,” said Ragoczy, wishing Rogier would come of his own accord.
“As a Magistrates’ guard, I should help to apprehend the criminals,” said Nutzen. “But my assignment is to guard you.”
“I would imagine that Ilel will aid in capturing the thieves.” Nutzen looked woeful at this thought. “I suppose so,” he lamented.
“You will be able to show that you remained at your post,” said Ragoczy, wishing Nutzen would leave before the blood soaked through his coat and into the upholstery of the chair.
“And I can state that you stayed in your music-room,” said Nutzen, trying to make the best of a bad situation. “I will attest to it.”
Two loud cries from the front of the château rose above the din. “Thank you. But you may need to help in an arrest.” He made himself remain still as another jolt of pain shot through him.
This was more than Nutzen could endure. “I will send your manservant up to you, and swear him to be accountable for your whereabouts. As soon as I return, he will prepare an account for me of all you have done.”
“If that is what you want,” said Ragoczy; outside a howl of fury nearly silenced the grooms and servants. “They must need your help.”
“I’ll go.” Nutzen nodded, stepped back, slammed the door, and took off down the hallway in long, heavy strides.
Ragoczy sank back against the padded back of the chair, his face sharply delineated by the affliction of his wound. He shuddered and closed his eyes, concentrating on ascertaining the extent of his injury. If his heart had been beating, he would by now have lost a great deal of blood. As it was, he had bled a fair amount, but not enough to throw his body into a dangerous chill, or to drain him of all strength. But he knew he would require Rogier’s help if he were to keep this laceration a secret. “As secret it must be,” he muttered.
Ten minutes brought Rogier to the music-room, his dressing-gown secured over his pale-gray shirt and dark-blue unmentionables. He let himself in, announcing, “Two men have been detained.” Then his face went ashen. “My master—”
“I encountered a … problem.” Ragoczy stopped. “Two men? I saw three.”
“One is a local day-worker, a fellow called Jiac Relout, the other is a distant relative of one of the important men in the region, I don’t know which one. He said his name is Serge Fabron.” He approached Ragoczy carefully, changing from French to Persian. “What happened, my master?”
“Do we know who the third man is?”
“We don’t know,” said Rogier, turning pale. “You’re wounded.”
“A cut.” He tried to chuckle to show how minor it was, and failed.
“When did this happen?” Rogier demanded.
“Less than half an hour ago,” said Ragoczy.
“Who did it?” Rogier’s voice roughened with concern.
“I wish I knew.” Ragoczy sagged back against the chair. “This will have to be reupholstered.”
“Never mind the chair—let me have a look at the injury,” said Rogier, reaching out to claim Ragoczy’s
coat.
“No,” said Ragoczy. “Not yet. No one can know about this. There would be too many questions if it became known that I was wounded while I was outside the château.”
Rogier considered this briefly. “It could be very difficult,” he agreed, then offered his arm. “I’ll help you down to your apartments. In case anyone should be watching.”
“If you would walk with me, that will suffice.” He got slowly to his feet and turned around. “How much blood?”
“Not much, if one isn’t looking for it,” said Rogier. “But the coat is—”
“Beyond saving? So I fear. I can tell it is becoming sodden with blood.” Ragoczy said as he tried not to become vertiginous as he came around to face Rogier. “I’ll need a basin of water and some rags. Bring your razor and say you are going to shave me; I want no significance assigned to you tending me. You might tell them you will also cut my hair. With the house in an uproar, I have no hope of sleeping so I might as well be groomed; if you will tell them that, old friend.”
Rogier gave a grim smile. “I’ll ask Uchtred to put together a light meal—something with hot chocolate, as a treat. That will take their mind from any activities I perform, and with hot chocolate to soothe them, they will sleep soon enough.”
“Thank you,” said Ragoczy, and took a hesitant step toward the door. “I take consolation in Hero’s absence. This is not an experience I would want her to share.” As he pulled the door open, he staggered, and Rogier came to his side.
“It is better than scorpions on Cyprus,” said Rogier as he assisted Ragoczy through the door and closed it again.
“Or crosses in Mexico,” said Ragoczy as he teetered toward his room at the other end of the corridor.
There was a rush of noise within the château. “Balduin and the rest have returned,” said Rogier.
“Get me to my quarters, and quickly.” Ragoczy’s voice was strong enough to make this a command, but his pale-olive complexion was blanched.
“You may rely upon me,” said Rogier, unobviously assisting Ragoczy.
Ragoczy sagged against his armoire as Rogier got him into his room. “For which I am more grateful than you will ever know,” he said in his native language before he collapsed.
Text of a letter from Professore Attilio Aurelio Augusto Corvosaggio in Antioch, to his daughter, Hero Iocasta Ariadne Corvosaggio von Scharffensee, in care of Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Château Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by academic courier and delivered eleven weeks after it was sent.
To my daughter Hero, the affectionate greetings of her father on this 17thday of February, 1818,
My dear girl;
In four days we set off for Palmyra. Our expedition is at last ready, thanks in large part to Madelaine de Montalia, who has generously provided us with funds for supplies that have proven to be more expensive than anything we anticipated. I am sure you remember her; she sends you her cordial regards, and asks me to inform you that she is still trying to get to Egypt.
I have used the delay most effectively, spending a great many hours with travelers who have passed by the ancient city and have made a number of recommendations about what might be retrieved from it even now.
I still believe that I will be gone for two years at least, and for that reason, I have appointed my cousin Andrea San Otherio to handle my affairs, for as an advocate, he will be in a position to protect my assets and my reputation. Should any misfortune befall me, he will attend to it, so that no unpleasant duties will fall to you. I have provided as much of an inheritance for your sons as I am able to spare from the sums I must provide to my wife. You and she have had your differences, but you will allow that I am obliged to set aside the bulk of my earnings for her maintenance. Any questions you might have for me should be addressed to him in Bologna.
Let me urge you again to consider employment at a well-reputed girls’ school. There is no disgrace in earning a living from teaching, and you cannot expect your Comte to support you forever. Distressing as it may be, you must admit that your current arrangement cannot continue indefinitely, and it is appropriate for me to remind you of this as I bid you farewell for a considerable time. Teaching is an honorable profession for a woman, and one at which you should excel. If your father-in-law dislikes such a solution to your present awkward situation, then let him remedy it in the name of his dead son, or resign himself to the necessity you having to earn a living. I apologize for putting this so bluntly, but you are a well-educated woman, and your knowledge can be as marketable an asset as a pretty face and pleasing manner.
I must hand this to the courier in ten minutes, so I will close with every assurance of my paternal love, and my request that you pray for this expedition, for our safety and our discoveries.
With my affectionate devotion,
Your Father, Attilio Corvosaggio
presently departing from Antioch
2
“But what am I to tell Magistrate Lindenblatt? He thought you were taking your guards with you,” Balduin protested as he watched Ragoczy load the last of his cases onto his older traveling coach, stowing them on the shelf behind his seat and buckle them in place.
“Given the events of the other night, the guards are needed here, as the Magistrate and I have agreed. He has known of my engagement, and he has agreed that it is satisfactory that I go, so long as I employ his coachman. Because of what Relout has told them, there is good reason now to suppose that the robbers are getting no help from me, or anyone here, and that allows Lindenblatt a degree of tolerance in my regard, no matter what the rumors say.”
“But without a guard, some in the region will say you are fleeing,” Balduin said with unaccustomed fervor.
Ragoczy came out of the coach. “The Magistrate knows better. He expects us back in five weeks, weather permitting. If we are gone more than six weeks, we will have to send a message of explanation, if it is not on account of weather. He will know about bad weather.” He gestured to Guion Charget, the Magistrate’s coachman, who was checking the harness on the four red-roan Ardennais cold-bloods. “Hochvall is in no condition to take this journey, and so the arrangement is suitable; I would have to hire a coachman if the Magistrate had not provided his.” He got out of the coach and began to walk around it, making sure it was ready to leave; the dim, early morning light and a little fog rising a hands-breadth above the slush made the coach look as if it were floating in the air.
“And you’re taking just the one coach?” Balduin frowned, searching for factors that might require a delayed departure. “Didn’t Herr Einlass inform you that he had another coach available?”
“He did, but I have already got two coaches on the road with Hero, which means three of them will return, and a dozen horses. I have only one more coach and one more four-horse team in the stable, and I would not like to have to risk all my coach-horses for travel with winter still upon us. You may have some need of a coach during our absence. This way you will have a vehicle and a team to pull it.” Ragoczy had donned a black-wool great-coat cut in the Hungarian fashion, its broad collar concealing the stiffness in his shoulder; his clothes beneath were also Hungarian in style. “You have my instructions, authorizations, and my proposed route of travel. Rogier and I, Hildebrand, and Herr Charget should be sufficient to make this journey.”
“Dietbold could also be spared. With you away, it isn’t always easy to keep the footmen occupied.”
“Hildebrand will be sufficient,” said Ragoczy, checking the straps on the boot of the coach. “If Dietbold becomes bored, he can always be put to polishing furniture.”
Balduin sighed, his breath fogging before his face. “If only I could convince you that there are good reasons to remain here another week at least.”
“There may be excellent reasons, but the invitation is specific, and we are expected at Ravensberg by the twenty-ninth of March, and that gives us just fourteen days to get there,” said Ragoczy. “You will discover I have ad
dressed most of your concerns in my instructions: very little is different than when we went to Amsterdam last summer.”
“But the roads were open in summer,” Balduin protested. “The days were longer.”
“And we were set upon by highwaymen,” Ragoczy added helpfully.
Balduin glanced up at the pale clouds smeared across the sky. “There could be snow again tonight.”
“But probably not until tomorrow or the next day,” said Ragoczy, “and with luck, we should be at least fifteen leagues along the road.”
“A pity you don’t know Charget better,” said Balduin, making a last effort.
“Yes,” agreed Ragoczy. “But the Magistrate vouches for him: who am I to question his judgment.” He continued around to the side of the coach and opened the door. “Two fur rugs, a basket of brandy and cheese.” These would be for Charget and Hildebrand, but there was no reason Balduin should know that. “A box of books. Trunks in the boot, and the presents for our host and for his niece, as a betrothal gift. We are expected at the Old Wagon in Saint-Gingolph tonight, and so we must leave shortly. It is nine leagues to Saint-Gingolph and not all the road is completely cleared of snow.”
As if to add urgency to Ragoczy’s remarks, Rogier, dressed for their journey, came out of the side-door, bearing a leather-bound chest in his arms. “Your medicaments,” he explained as he prepared to climb into the coach with it.
Saint-Germain 21: Borne in Blood: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 28
