Bloodborn (9 page)

A JOB FOR A SPY

Ulrika followed Gabriella and the others down the stairs to the house’s low-ceilinged subterranean kitchen, and joined them around a wide preparation table at one side of the room. A tablecloth had been spread upon it, and laid across it was the corpse of a woman – Mistress Alfina, Ulrika presumed – in the expensive cloak and dress of a well-to-do merchant’s wife, all terribly torn and bloodied. Hermione gasped when she saw the body. Gabriella remained silent, but clenched her fists and jaw.

A woman in a gaudy, low-cut, plum-coloured dress huddled at the end of the table, leaning miserably against the wall, her flame-red hair and voluptuous form half-hidden under a long shawl she wore draped over her head. Ulrika surmised that this must be Madam Dagmar, who ran the Lahmian brothel, though she seemed at the moment unable to conjure any of a madam’s traditional bawdy cheer.

‘Mistress,’ she whimpered, holding out trembling hands to Hermione. ‘I… I am sorry for leaving the Lily, but… but…’

‘Never mind that, sister,’ said Hermione, tight-lipped. ‘What happened? Where did you find her?’

Ulrika thought it fairly obvious what had happened. She stared at the corpse of the dead vampire with morbid fascination. That is what I shall look like when I die, she thought. She saw Famke staring uneasily at the corpse as well, and wondered if she was thinking similar thoughts.

The late Mistress Alfina may have once been an attractive woman, but it was difficult to determine that from the broken remains that lay before Ulrika. Her fangs and claws were extended in the way Hermione had described the other corpses being discovered, while her limbs were locked in an attitude of furious attack and her face frozen in a hideous snarl of rage.

But it seemed that neither claws nor fangs nor rage had been enough to protect her. Her well-cut clothes had been torn to shreds, as had the flesh beneath them, and a wooden stake had been driven through her heart – so deeply that it came out her back. None of these things, however, was as fascinating, and at the same time repelling, as the quality of her skin. Alfina must have looked young in life, no more than thirty, but now her skin looked a hundred years old. It was as dry and powdery as a parched riverbed, and had sunk in against her bones as if the meat had withered and shrunk within it. She might have been dead for centuries, which, as Ulrika came to think about it, was most likely true.

Ulrika inhaled deeply as a strange mix of smells came to her from the body. Beneath the usual Lahmian scent of musk and spice and dusty corruption was another, a faint putrid odour rising from the body – foul and earthy, like a battlefield full of corpses after a week in the rain.

‘She…’ began the red-haired woman, then shivered and began again. ‘She was hung up on the iron fence outside the brothel. Hung by the stake.’

Famke winced.

Hermione cursed. ‘Did anyone see her? The witch hunters?’

Madam Dagmar shook her head. ‘I do not think so. My doorman, Groff, found her when he went out to get a carriage for one of our gentlemen. He and the grooms brought her in as quick as they could. But… but who could have done this? Mistress, there are three of us dead now! Three!’

Hermione grabbed Dagmar and shook her. ‘Be quiet, curse you! Answer my questions! No one saw her before Groff brought her in? Are you certain?’

Dagmar pulled away from her and covered her face with her shawl. ‘I don’t know! I don’t know! No one said anything! The witch hunters didn’t come!’

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and Ulrika saw that Gabriella shared it.

‘Then at least we can cover it up,’ said Hermione. ‘Good.’

‘It still leaves us with the question of who did it,’ said Gabriella.

‘A beast,’ said Famke.

‘Aye,’ said Rodrik angrily. ‘A savage beast.’

‘Beasts don’t wield wooden stakes,’ said Ulrika. ‘Or hang women from fences.’

Rodrik glared at her, but Gabriella patted her arm. ‘Very true,’ she said. ‘No, this was not as mindless an attack as it appears. It was clearly meant to kill two birds with one stone.’

Hermione and the others looked at her curiously.

Gabriella held up a finger. ‘One, it was to expose poor Alfina as a vampire, as Rosamund and Karlotta had been exposed before her.’ She raised a second finger. ‘And two, it was to cast suspicions onto Madam Dagmar’s brothel.’

‘They mean to ruin us!’ snarled Hermione.

‘Indeed,’ said Gabriella. ‘Whoever “they” are.’

Otilia coughed politely from the stairs. ‘Pardon, mistresses. If I might suggest?’

Hermione turned to her. ‘Yes, Otilia?’

The housekeeper smoothed her dresses nervously, then spoke. ‘Perhaps a trip to the brothel? Perhaps traces left by the murderer could be found there.’

Gabriella nodded approvingly. ‘Very good, Otilia. You are the smartest of us all.’

The housekeeper looked down to hide a blush at the compliment.

‘My men and I will go,’ said von Zechlin, stepping forwards. ‘And kill the murderer if he still haunts the scene.’

Rodrik snorted at this.

‘I will go as well,’ said Gabriella. ‘And as quickly as possible.’ She motioned to Ulrika and Rodrik and started for the stairs. ‘Come. We will–’

‘No,’ said Hermione, cutting her off. ‘Bertholt will see to it.’

Gabriella turned on her, suppressing a scowl. ‘Sister,’ she said mildly. ‘I was summoned here for this purpose. I must go.’

Hermione lifted her chin. ‘You were summoned here to assist me. And I have other work for you.’

‘Other work?’ asked Gabriella. ‘I am to help with the crisis. Not–’

‘And you will be,’ said Hermione. ‘The husband of Alfina, Guildmaster Aldrich, is a blood-swain, but he does not love the rest of us as he did her. He will make a fuss when he learns Alfina is dead. He might rave in public, or go to the witch hunters. He must be quieted. Go to him and comfort him.’ She smiled primly. ‘In fact, it would be best if you took up residence there instead of here. I still need an ear in the guild halls.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Otilia will give you the address.’

Gabriella stiffened, and seemed about to argue, but then nodded curtly. ‘Very well. I see that this is necessary. I will do it, but I will be your frequent visitor.’ She turned again to the stairs. ‘Come, my dears. There is work to do.’

As Ulrika and Rodrik followed, Ulrika passed Famke, who gave her a sympathetic goodbye glance. Ulrika returned it with a shrug and a wry smile. It was a shame she and the girl seemed to be on opposite sides of a bitter rivalry.

‘Damn the little Estalian bitch!’ hissed Gabriella once she, Ulrika, Rodrik and Lotte were safely in the coach and away. ‘She means to keep me out of everything!’

She slapped the bench in frustration. ‘Would that Hermione had died instead of any of the others. She is the least suited to lead of all of them – so concerned with shining in the queen’s eyes, and making sure that I do not, that she will ruin everything.’

Ulrika had to agree with the assessment. The pretty little snob didn’t seem capable of leading a sing-along, let alone a secret sisterhood, but she was clever enough to get her enemies out of the way. Ulrika looked at the address that the housekeeper, Otilia, had written on the back of a visiting card. Babysitting a guildmaster? There would be no excitement in that.

‘And her pack of boudoir pimps won’t find a thing at this brothel,’ sneered Rodrik from where he sat beside the maid. ‘They’ll be too busy keeping their boots clean.’ He leaned forwards. ‘Let me go, mistress. My wound is near healed. I am fit. If there is something to find, I will find it.’

Gabriella looked at him for a moment, then patted his arm. ‘It is a good thought, Rodrik. Someone must go, but you are not the man for the job.’

Rodrik looked affronted. ‘Why not? I am your champion. Who better?’

‘That you are my champion is the difficulty,’ said Gabriella. ‘Hermione’s gentlemen may see you and know that I disobey their mistress’s orders. I need not a knight, but a spy. Someone they do not know.’

Ulrika’s heart leapt with sudden hope. ‘Mistress,’ she said.

Gabriella turned to her. ‘Yes, child?’

Ulrika reached up and pulled off her dark-haired wig, revealing her thatch of short straw-coloured hair. ‘They know your long-haired protégée, but they do not know me.’

Gabriella’s eyes widened and a smile cracked her lips, but then it faded. ‘No, I cannot,’ she said. ‘You are still not ready. Faced with danger, you may make a bigger mess than the killer.’

‘Mistress, I promise you–’ Ulrika pleaded.

‘You have promised before,’ said Rodrik. ‘And still finished soaked in blood.’

Gabriella shot him a hard glance. ‘She is mine to chastise, sir, not yours.’

Rodrik bowed his head sulkily. ‘Aye, mistress.’

Ulrika glared at the knight, but did not retort. She didn’t want to ruin her chances by making Gabriella angrier.

The countess sat in silence for a long moment, staring out the window into the night. Finally she sighed. ‘But I must know. There’s nothing for it.’ She turned to Ulrika. ‘Very well, you shall go.’

Rodrik grunted.

Ulrika suppressed a grin of excitement. ‘Thank you, mistress. You will not regret this!’

‘Quiet, girl,’ snapped Gabriella. ‘You shall go, but you will follow my rules to the letter, do you understand me? You will keep yourself hidden at all times. You will not fight. Not anyone. Not even the killer, should you find him, unless you are in danger for your life. You will not feed. You will speak to no one unless it is absolutely unavoidable, and when you have seen what there is to be seen, you will return to me immediately. This is not an invitation to explore Nuln, nor to play at hero. Am I clear?’

Ulrika nodded respectfully. ‘Yes, mistress. Very clear. I will not disappoint you.’

‘I trust you will not,’ said Gabriella, then her face fell. ‘But wait. This may not work after all. You cannot do this in dresses, and you would drown in Rodrik’s clothes. What am I to send you out in?’

Ulrika smiled. ‘Not to worry, mistress. I packed my old things.’

As they neared the house of Guildmaster Eggert Aldrich, Gabriella signalled the coach to stop, then turned to Rodrik and Lotte. ‘You must leave us here. Take the baggage wagon and find a nearby inn. I will contact you again tomorrow night once I know the lay of the land at this new place.’

‘But, mistress,’ said Rodrik. ‘I am your champion. I must not leave your side.’

‘And who will dress you, m’lady?’ asked Lotte.

‘I’m sorry, Rodrik,’ said Gabriella. ‘My job is to woo this Aldrich and win my way into his heart and home. Until I have done that it would not do to seem to have a rival for his affections. And Ulrika will act as maid, at least for now, Lotte. For I need a spy more than I need a dresser at the moment. Now go, both of you. I will send for you soon.’

Rodrik shot a dark look at Ulrika, then thrust through the coach door with more force than necessary. Lotte ducked her head sadly and followed.

On the snowy street, Rodrik bowed coldly to Gabriella. ‘I pray for your safety, mistress.’ Then he closed the door.

Gabriella laughed and shook her head. ‘As faithful as a dog, and as stupid.’ She rapped on the wall of the coach. ‘Drive on!’

The coach stopped in front of a sturdy, prosperous-looking townhouse in the Kaufman District, where all the houses were sturdy and prosperous-looking, and a bit dull. As the countess and Ulrika stepped down onto the drive and approached the white panelled door, Ulrika thought she had never seen a cleaner, more well-kept street, or one with so little character.

Gabriella knocked, and a few moments later, a thick-set butler in regal black opened the door and looked down his nose at them. ‘Yes?’

‘Herr Aldrich, please,’ said Gabriella. ‘It is about his wife.’

‘I shall inquire,’ said the butler, then closed and locked the door again.

After another short wait, the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard within, then the locks turned and the door flew open to reveal a wild-eyed and panting fat man staring at them, his breeches hastily pulled on under his night shirt.

‘What do you know of my wife!’ he cried. ‘Where is she?’

‘I cannot tell you on the street, Herr Aldrich,’ said Gabriella. ‘Will you invite me in?’

Aldrich’s round face collapsed as he looked at Gabriella, and he staggered back. ‘You… you’re one of her sisters. Oh, Sigmar, it’s bad, isn’t it? Something’s happened.’

‘It is bad,’ said Gabriella. ‘May I come in?’

The guildmaster sobbed and motioned them in, then led them to a dark parlour. When the butler had lit the lamps and withdrawn, he turned to Gabriella with pleading eyes.

‘Tell me,’ he said.

‘She is dead, mein herr,’ said Gabriella. ‘I am sorry.’

Aldrich closed his eyes and sagged into a stout wooden armchair. ‘Dead. I knew it. Somehow I knew it.’ He raised his head. ‘But how? What happened?’

‘The thing which killed her sisters,’ said Gabriella. ‘It has struck again.’

Now Aldrich wept in earnest, sobs shaking his big frame as he mopped at his eyes with the tailing cuffs of his nightshirt. Gabriella shifted with impatience, then sat down in the chair next to his and put a comforting hand on his arm. ‘Mein herr, I am truly–’