Borne in Blood (32 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland
From the gate he made his way along the old stone fence in a northeasterly direction, skirting the brambles that encroached and would need to be pruned back in the spring. He reached the stile that gave access to the shortcut to the outer fields; there was a mound of undisturbed snow on each step. Farther on, he came upon a dead rat that was more than half-eaten. He left it where it was, not wanting to deprive any animal of a winter meal. The land, which had been rising, now dropped down into a declivity when Ragoczy noticed that there was a new break in the old stone wall, and a large disturbance of snow, almost as if a wild boar had wallowed in it.
Charily he approached the opening in the wall, studying the break but finding nothing that suggested men had made it. There had been rumors of bears in the region, and Ragoczy knew from long experience that they were much more dangerous than wolves. The thicket on the far side of the wall also showed signs of a large animal having waded through it not long ago. Satisfied, Ragoczy climbed back up the slope and continued along the wall, stopping when he heard a rustling in the undergrowth and saw a shadowy creature come bustling out of a den and disappear into the brambles beyond. Too small for a badger, too low to the ground for a fox, he thought: a weasel or a ferret, startled by something up ahead. Ragoczy crouched down in the brush, watching and listening. A whispered warning from beyond the wall caught Ragoczy’s full attention; he kept utterly still as he saw three men clamber over the rough stones. Two of them held hunting rifles, the third carried a large basket and a bull’s-eye lanthorn.
“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 17
th
day of February, 1818,
th
day 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.
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