Bloodborn (17 page)

As they reached the end of the bridge and rattled onto the cobbles of the Neuestadt District, Ulrika thought she saw a flash of black streak past out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look out the window, holding her breath. She let it out again when she saw that it was only Madam Dagmar’s coach splitting off from theirs as she headed home to the Silver Lily. She laughed to herself. A vampire jumping at shadows. For shame. But after their visit to Mathilda’s domain, perhaps it wasn’t an unreasonable reaction.

A few minutes later they rolled through the gate into the Altestadt and then came to Hermione’s house. As they stepped down to the drive, Gabriella turned to Hermione one last time.

‘I do not ask that you do nothing,’ she said. ‘If you suspect Mathilda, by all means, spy on her, follow her, bribe her acquaintances, gather what proof you may. Just don’t attack. Not until I am able to present our case to the queen. Have I your word on that?’

Hermione looked sullen, but at last nodded. ‘Very well, sister, but I am certain that we will find that we should have acted when I said.’

‘If that it the case,’ said Gabriella. ‘Then I will humbly beg your forgiveness.’

As she and Rodrik and Ulrika turned to enter their own coach, Ulrika found Famke looking at her. The girl gave her a sad smile, then turned and followed her mistress into her house.

As they neared Guildmaster Aldrich’s house, Gabriella once again rapped on the roof of the coach and called for the driver to stop.

‘You must return to your inn,’ she said, turning to Rodrik.

The knight did not move. ‘The situation grows more dangerous, m’lady. The killer is still at large, and you have made an enemy of Lady Hermione. I must be at your side to protect you.’

‘I wish that you could be, Rodrik, truly,’ said Gabriella, ‘but I am still not well enough established in this fat fool’s house. He only barely accepts me. If I were to tell him that you were joining his household he would rebel and go to the witch hunters. Fear not. It will be soon, I promise you.’

Rodrik still looked obdurate, but at last he stood and stepped to the door. ‘I pray that it is, mistress. For a fat fool cannot keep you safe as I can.’ He pushed open the door and stepped down, then bowed in Ulrika’s direction. ‘Nor can an alley cat.’

Ulrika rose in her seat, growling, but Gabriella shoved her back down. ‘Enough!’ she said. ‘The feuds within the sisterhood are bad enough. I will not have my children at each other’s throats as well. You will apologise to each other.’

Ulrika glared at Rodrik through the door, then snorted and lowered her head. ‘Forgive me, sir knight,’ she said. ‘I am sorry for my anger.’

Rodrik looked like he would rather spit on her, but he too bowed. ‘Forgive me, fraulein,’ he said. ‘I should not have insulted you. I too am sorry.’

Though it was clear neither of them meant it, Gabriella chose to accept their statements as contrition. She nodded. ‘Very good. I hope you can remain as civil in the future. Good night, Rodrik. Uwe! Drive on!’

Ulrika looked back as the coach trundled away. Rodrik followed it with angry eyes before turning and striding towards the inn.

Proof that Gabriella had been right about Herr Aldrich’s state of mind was apparent as soon as the coachman let them off in the townhouse’s carriage yard. The guildmaster barrelled out of the back door of the town house in a robe, slippers and nightcap, his round face red in the light of the lantern he carried.

‘Where have you been?’ he barked. ‘Where did you take my coach?’

‘On business with the sisterhood, mein herr,’ said Gabriella coolly. ‘It is no concern of yours.’

‘Is it not?’ cried Aldrich, spewing spittle. ‘Is it not? Do I not have neighbours? What will they think when my coach comes and goes at all hours of the night?’

‘Why they will think you have a mistress,’ said Gabriella, smiling as she crossed to him. ‘Like every respectable merchant prince.’

Aldrich was not so easily put off. ‘You must be more discreet,’ he said. ‘Alfina did not come and go like this. Only when it was absolutely necessary, and always only after informing me.’

Gabriella tried to go around him to the door, but he stepped in her way. Ulrika saw he was trembling, and there was perspiration on his brow.

‘I have allowed you to stay here,’ he said, scratching his neck. ‘But I will not allow you to trample over me without a by-your-leave.’

Gabriella raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you wanted to see me as little as possible,’ she said. ‘I thought you wanted me to leave you to mourn your dear Alfina.’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘But… but you cannot leave me in the dark. You cannot make of my house a… a way-station without… without…’ He scratched his neck again as he searched for words.

Gabriella smiled sweetly and reached forwards to pull his hand away from his neck. There were old scars there. ‘I think I understand, mein herr. And there is no shame in seeking solace in the depths of heartbreak.’

He looked up at her, and the shame in his eyes made Ulrika turn away. ‘It isn’t that I’ve forgotten her,’ he said. ‘It isn’t that–’

‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Gabriella. ‘Who could, once they had looked in her eyes.’ She took his hand and led him towards the house. ‘Now come, let me comfort you. I will put you to bed and tuck you in.’

As they reached the door, Gabriella looked back at Ulrika and gave her an exasperated grimace, then put her arm around Aldrich’s slumped shoulders and led him inside.

Ulrika twitched, overcome by a quiver of disgust, though she wasn’t sure if it was for Aldrich, Gabriella or herself.

She followed them inside.

As Ulrika pulled off her wig and unlaced her bodice in Gabriella’s apartments, she thought back over the evening’s events and marvelled that the countess had successfully kept Hermione and Mathilda from killing one another. Ulrika had been resigned to the fact that the meeting would end in bloodshed and murder, but by keeping her cool and standing her ground, the countess had defused the situation and bought herself some time.

Growing up her father’s child, Ulrika had always admired martial prowess and good generalship – had she not fallen for Felix because of his skilful sword and quick mind? But she had never thought of language and argument as a martial art. Scholars and politicians who split hairs and talked to hear their own voices bored and disgusted her, but Gabriella’s display of diplomacy this night had been masterful. Ambushed, outnumbered, backed to the wall and with her allies mutinying, she had still managed to win free without a life lost, and all with words, all without lifting a hand in violence.

Ulrika knew she could not have done the same. She was a fighter, not a talker – if she had been a better talker she probably wouldn’t have lost Felix. But she knew mastery when she saw it, and Gabriella had it. She hoped she could one day do half as well.

All this made her think of the other Lahmians she had so far met, and she laughed to herself. She had certainly had the luck of the draw when it came to mistresses, hadn’t she? Mathilda was friendly enough in her coarse fashion – at least when she wasn’t being threatened – but her life of pimps and thieves and blackmailers, and her willingness to wallow in filth and live by the degradation of others, did not appeal. Dagmar was a quivering non-entity, a follower, not a leader, and Hermione was just a horror, a snapping little shrew who could not tell friend from foe, and who lashed out at the hands that tried to help her.

Yes, Ulrika had been lucky. Gabriella was a woman to look up to, a woman of honour and resource, who did her best for her queen and her sisters, with little thought of personal glory. Ulrika could not have chosen better, and she was proud to serve under her. She suddenly felt pity for poor Famke, bound to a bad mistress and subject to her rages and fevered whims. How would she grow wise, learning at the knee of such a witless, frightened harridan?

Ulrika donned a robe of embroidered Cathay silk and went to warm herself by the fire. Gabriella had told her early on that as a vampire she no longer needed heat to live, but she still felt the cold. Indeed, since she had risen from her deathbed, she had never truly been warm unless she was feeding.

She curled herself in a high-backed leather chair beside the hearth, her thoughts still worrying at the conflict between her new ‘sisters’. It seemed inevitable to her that, left to their own devices, Hermione and Mathilda would soon go to war, and one or both of them would die, while the true killer of the Lahmians remained at large. Personally, Ulrika didn’t care much one way or the other. She was too new to this strange midnight society to have developed any loyalty to Queen Neferata, or any sense of belonging to her sisterhood. These were not her people. Not yet, at any rate.

Gabriella, however, was another matter, and if she wanted to keep her sisters alive and find the murderer, then Ulrika did too, and would do what she could to help. The question was, what? She could certainly do no more than Gabriella already had to make peace between the two women. Really, the only way to patch things up would be to find the real killer. But how was she to do that? She could return to the sewer grate where the little man had left the tunnels and sniff around, but his footsteps and his scent had undoubtedly been obliterated by a day’s worth of Nuln traffic, so she would likely not be able to follow it. What other leads did she and Gabriella have? Would they have to wait for the killer to strike again? That would only make things worse between the sisters.

Then a thought came to her and she turned to the day-bed where Imma the maid slept, still recovering from the rough feeding Ulrika had subjected her to the morning before. She was reluctant to wake her. The poor girl was no doubt terrified of her now, but she was the only one who knew any details of Alfina’s last days. Of course, Gabriella had already questioned her, but perhaps she had missed something.

Ulrika stood and crossed hesitantly to the day-bed, then sat on the edge. She put a hand out and shook the maid gently. ‘Imma, wake up,’ she whispered. ‘I must speak with you.’

The girl moaned and mumbled, but did not wake.

Ulrika shook her again. ‘Imma.’

Slowly the maid opened her eyes, then blinked around her stupidly for a moment, before discovering Ulrika leaning over her. She gasped, her eyes wide.

Ulrika put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not be afraid, Imma,’ she said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

The maid covered Ulrika’s hand with her own, then pulled it to her lips. ‘Oh, mistress,’ she said, kissing her fingers. ‘Oh, mistress, do you wish to feed again? Please say you do.’

Ulrika pulled her hand away, aghast. ‘But… but I nearly killed you.’

‘I care not,’ said the maid. She looked up into Ulrika’s eyes, pleading. ‘I would die a hundred times to be yours again, mistress. You are so strong. So…’ She trailed off and turned her head to expose her neck. The wound Ulrika had given her was still raw.

Ulrika stood abruptly, fighting to keep her face from betraying her nausea and contempt. It was the same reaction the young knight Quentin had had, and it made her sick. She had attacked the girl, nearly killed her, and the little fool loved her for it. Had they no self-respect? Were they all so weak? Or was it the feeding that weakened them?

Her mind flashed back to her time with Krieger, as they had travelled from Kislev to Sylvania. She too had weakened. She too had let him feed. She too had come to long for it, to melt in the bliss of powerlessness. Unfortunately, the reminder that she had also been weak did not make her feel any less contempt for the maid, only more for herself.

‘No, Imma,’ she said at last. ‘It is too soon. You must regain your strength first. I require something else of you.’

‘Name it, mistress,’ said the maid. ‘It is yours.’

Ulrika ground her teeth and sat again, out of reach. ‘I only want you to think. That is all. Countess Gabriella asked you before if Mistress Alfina received any letters or visitors before she was killed, and you said no. I want you to think on it again. Are you certain of this? Did she behave in any peculiar way on that last day? Did she do anything unusual?’

The maid seemed disappointed to be turning the conversation away from more intimate subjects, but dutifully put her mind to it, folding her hands across her breast and lying back to stare at the ceiling.

At last she shook her head. ‘I remember no visitor or note, mistress, although she might have received one without my knowing. I usually brought up her correspondence in the evening when she awoke, but sometimes if I was on an errand, or laundering her clothes, the butler would bring things up.’ She shrugged. ‘And as I said before, she fed strongly from me that last night, so strongly that I did not know that she was gone until I woke later. I suppose that was unusual. She usually bled me very lightly, for she was long-lived and did not require much.’ She sighed and looked doe-eyed at Ulrika again. ‘Sometimes it was absolutely ages between feedings.’

Ulrika coughed. ‘Do you think she bled you so strongly so that you wouldn’t know she had left?’

Imma frowned at that. ‘Maybe so, mistress. If she was disobeying Lady Hermione’s orders by going out, then she mightn’t have wanted me to know. I would never have betrayed her by telling, but the ladies are suspicious sometimes, and don’t like to take chances with secrets.’

Ulrika nodded, lost in thought. So Alfina went out of her own accord, and tried to cover her tracks. Why? What had drawn her out? She must have received some message or been under some obligation. Did she have a secret lover? Had she been a traitor to some other vampire house?