Masks and Shadows (8 page)

The sound of thunder mingled with the deep-voiced chanting. It rolled down the long corridor, rattling the porcelain vases.

Through the open window, rain and darkness spattered into the palace of Eszterháza, but still the chanting did not stop.

“Now listen carefully, Franz Pichler,” the voice said. “I represent an important and powerful fellowship of men. In Eszterháza, this prince may fancy himself supreme, but in the wider world, we could crush him at will. And if we are pleased with your service, we can raise you to great heights.”

Franz began to shiver again, only partly from the cold. “What . . . what heights?”

“Have you never dreamed of making a career in the capital? Free from the provinces forever?”

Franz's voice came out as a scratchy, incredulous whisper. “The Burgtheater?”

“The Burgtheater in Vienna is yours for the taking, should you desire it. Lead roles, comic roles, a directorship . . . Certain members of our group are admirably placed to instate you in whichsoever role you fancy.”

“And the Prince?”

“The Prince will be helpless to lift a finger when we remove you from Eszterháza. But.” The voice tightened, shifting into aristocratic accents. “
But
. We are powerful friends, Herr Pichler, but we are even more powerful enemies. Should you try to regain the Prince's favor by bringing him the tale of this meeting, for instance . . .”

“No,” Franz said. “I won't. I swear!”

“Indeed,” the voice said, “you will not. You know that I found you here, in the Prince's own prisons, and passed all of his guards to come to you. There is nowhere in the world that you could hide where I or another member of my fellowship would not find you. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Franz swallowed. “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing, for the moment, but rest and heal yourself. It would be wise for you not to express your resentment of the Prince. But once you are free again . . .”

Something dry crackled as it was passed into his hand. A slip of paper. “Let no one find this. When your jailers light your candle once more, you'll see that it is our mark. After you are released, you will receive your first instructions, and you will know them to be true by recognizing that mark.”

Cloth whispered across the floor. Soft footsteps stepped away from Franz.

“Do we have an understanding, Herr Pichler?”

“Yes,” Franz whispered. He clutched the paper in his hand. “Yes!”

The barred door opened and then firmly closed, leaving Franz alone in the darkness.

Smoke slipped in through the open window, pooled on the ground, and slid slowly back along the corridor, toward the sound of the chanting. It paused a moment outside the doorway, then, sluggishly, gathered itself and trickled, little by little, underneath the door.

A moment later, the chanting came to a final halt, leaving the air ringing with its absence. A deep-voiced chuckle of satisfaction sounded within the room.

On the wooden floorboards of the corridor, where the smoke had passed, spots of blood mingled with the raindrops from the open window.

“Your Highness!”

Rain-soaked soldiers burst into the music room, interrupting the violin concerto. Charlotte started in her seat and turned to stare, caught between irritation and curiosity.

“Your Highness.” The lieutenant dropped to one knee before the Prince, while his fellows bowed deeply behind him. Water dripped from his uniform, landing perilously close to the Prince's bejeweled shoes.

“Well, lieutenant?” Prince Nikolaus's eyes hardened. “How do you explain this intrusion?”

“I apologize, Your Highness. But we saw—you need to know—”

The lieutenant gasped for breath. Charlotte saw mud spattered across his uniform breeches. He'd been riding, then, and hard, to bring back his news.

“Well?” Prince Nikolaus leaned forward, his eyebrows drawing together. “What do you have to tell me?”

“We found the singers, Your Highness, as you commanded. That is, we think . . . The horses certainly came from your stables.”

“And the couple themselves?”

“I . . . I'm not sure, Your Highness.”

“Well? What did they have to say for themselves? Bring them in here—we'll all recognize them.”

“I'm afraid we can't do that, Your Highness. The horses were unharmed, but the couple—the bodies—”

Charlotte drew in a breath. Against her will, she glanced at the orchestra. The instruments had been laid aside as the kapellmeister and all the musicians listened intently. To her and to the rest of the court, the singers were only names and faces, masked each night behind a different role. To the musicians, they were flesh-and-blood people, and colleagues, as well.

“The bodies had been disfigured, Your Highness. As if they'd been ripped apart and . . .”

“And?” the Prince prompted. His face was pale and stern.

“. . . And sucked dry,” the lieutenant finished weakly.

Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She did not care to hear any more music tonight, after all.

Chapter Six

“I know what it was that killed them.” György leaned across the house officers' table in the servants' hall, fixing Anna and Erzebet and two other listening maids in his gaze. “It was old Ordog.”

“Or-
what
?” Anna asked.

“Ordog?” Erzebet snorted. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“I'm not. It all makes sense. This demon comes in a thunderstorm, tears his victims into twenty pieces”—he ticked off the points on his fingers—“and at the end”—he lowered his voice to a thrilling whisper—“he
drinks all their blood
!”

Anna grabbed hold of the bench beneath her to keep herself still.

“No one believes in demons anymore,” Erzebet said.

“No one? My grandfather says—”

“Yes, yes, my grandmother told me stories by the fire, too, all about her cousins and her uncles and all the horrors they had seen, but none of those stories were true.” Erzebet patted Anna's shoulder without taking her eyes off the footman. “We're not little children anymore, to be frightened by hearth tales.”

I'm not a child
, Anna thought bleakly.
But I am frightened
.

The howling of the storm outside sounded even in this inner room. If there had been windows, would she have glimpsed faces peering in from the darkness? Mouths with long, yellow teeth that dripped blood?

“You're frightening Anna,” Erzebet said. “Look, she's as white as a ghost!”

“I am not,” Anna said. But her voice cracked as she spoke. Humiliating tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back. “What does an Ordog look like?”

“Nothing,” Erzebet said quickly. “Because he doesn't exist!”

György ignored her. “Great and dark, with flaming eyes. You'll know he's coming after you when you smell the stink of swamp mud in the air. Then you'll hear hoofbeats following close behind you, though you'll see no one when you turn to look.”

“But . . .” Anna took a deep breath. “How can you protect yourself?”

“Against old Ordog?” György gave a shout of laughter.

“György,” Erzebet said, through gritted teeth.

“Oh, all right.” He sighed. “You don't need to worry about anything, little Anna. This palace is strong, and we're under the Prince's protection here. No monsters can get in. It's only the villains, the traitors and the fugitives running around in thunderstorms at night that run the risk of meeting Ordog. Satisfied?” he added, glaring at Erzebet.

“Nearly. Anna, what did your mistress say about all this?”

“My mistress?” Anna blinked. “What would she have to do with any of it?”

“She was sitting with the Prince when the soldiers came, wasn't she? I heard there was a real commotion. Ladies fainting—”

“Oh, not the Baroness. She wouldn't do that.” Anna paused. “But perhaps . . . perhaps her sister might.”

“That von Höllner woman? I could well believe it.” Erzebet rolled her eyes. “But didn't the Baroness tell you anything?”

“Only that the evening had ended badly. She hardly ever gossips, though.”

“Oh well. We'll find out soon enough what really happened. Try not to worry—you know, it was probably only wolves.”

“Wolves?” Anna repeated. Her voice rose up to a squeak. “
Wolves
?”

The other maids burst into giggles.

Erzebet sighed. “Anna . . .”

György smirked. “
Wolves
?” he mimicked, falsetto.

The other maids nearly exploded with mirth.

Red-faced, Anna pushed herself up from the table and hurried away, ignoring the sound of Erzebet calling her name.

“Ha!” Anton crowed, as his ball sank smoothly into the table's pocket. “My advantage at last, you dog! Get me a drink.”

“Get yourself one.” Friedrich leaned over the table, pretending to study the position of the balls. The din of the other officers' voices filled the smoky room. Behind him, one man's voice rose above the rest, laying a bet on what had killed the two actors.

“Ten
gulden
it was bandits!”

“Bandits?” Anton looked up. “What the hell are you thinking, Lautzner? Bandits don't drain their victims of blood!”

“Then what do you think it was?” Lautzner retorted. He looked around for support from his friends. “A
wampyr
? Old Ordog?”

“A ghost?” one of his friends supplied, waving his beer stein. He snorted with laughter at his own wit and raised the stein for a hearty swig.

“It wasn't a ghost,” Friedrich muttered.

“What was that?” Lautzner's friend lowered his stein, frowning.

“Nothing.”

“You have a problem with what I said, von Höllner?”

“No,” Friedrich said, frowning back. “I just said, it wasn't a ghost.” He attempted a careless shrug. “All right?”

Anton stepped up beside him, laying down his cue stick. “Of course it wasn't. We aren't peasants here, to believe in that nonsense, are we?” He stared down Lautzner's friend. “Are we?”