Borne in Blood (Saint-Germain #20) 8

"Nutzen is falling asleep," Rogier said to Ragoczy as he came into the laboratory shortly after midnight; most of the household had retired three hours ago, and it was not surprising that Romolo Nutzen was inclined to join them, though he had vowed to Magistrate Lindenblatt that he would watch Ragoczy from sunset to sunrise.

"At the top of the stair, or the foot?" Ragoczy asked, not taking his eyes off of the alembic before him. "And Ilel?" He was fairly certain that the daytime guard, Hermann Ilel, was not up.

"He retired with the rest," said Rogier. "I think he is growing accustomed to life in this household. His curiosity is diminishing. Nutzen, whose name must be ironic, is at the foot of the stairs on the second floor, between the guest rooms, your own quarters, and mine."

"It has been most inconvenient, having those two determined to find us at a disadvantage." He moved back on his stool and looked over at Rogier. "At least Hero is bound for Scharffensee. She was more troubled by the Magistrate's guards than I am. She said they were intrusive. It made her uncomfortable when I spent time alone with her, knowing we might be observed."

"Do you think we will have to accommodate them much longer?" Rogier asked.

"I hope not." Ragoczy adjusted the little flame under the almebic. "This should finish distilling in an hour or so."

"Will you remain here, or are you going to retire?"

"I thought I might go to the library and look at what van der Boom has sent."

"The new chest that came yesterday, or the chest that Gutesohnes brought?" Rogier cocked his head toward the dying fire. "Shall I build that back up?"

"No reason to," said Ragoczy a bit distractedly as he studied the alembic and finally adjusted the flame again. "Have you sent off the household accounts to the Magisrate yet?"

"No, not yet. I have to ask Uchtred for his kitchen records-how much of the food came from local farms and how much from your property. And how much from your trading resources."

"The fruits we had from Italy last summer, for example?" said Ragoczy. "Yes. They will want to know if our supplies exceed our uses, and if they do, what we do with the dispensables."

"They will also want to verify our purchases and costs," said Ragoczy, feeling very tired. "If I had some proof regarding the robbers, I would gladly provide all I know to the Magistrate, but, alas, I do not have any dependable information, not that would demonstrate that the rumors are nothing more than malice and worry."

"Do you have suspicion as to whom the culprit might be?" Rogier looked toward the door and continued in the language of Persia fifteen hundred years ago.

"Nothing that is defensible, or legally convincing; I am not fully convinced of it myself," said Ragoczy, also in the Persian tongue. "I would like to find a clue that would direct the Magistrate's inquiry toward those who might bear some responsibility in this situation; it would probably require more guards posted in private homes, but it might stop the outlaws."

"Would you actually make such an accusation toward anyone in the region?" Rogier asked.

"If I had verifiable evidence, I would," said Ragoczy. "This atmosphere of misgiving is becoming hard to bear."

"Then you do think they are being helped," said Rogier.

"I do. At first I doubted it, but no longer." He went to his chair by the fireplace and turned it to face the other chair in the laboratory. "Consider what has happened. Two merchants have lost their goods to highwaymen in the last month-this, in spite of the added patrols of Magistrates' soldiers assigned to those routes kept open in winter. These are men who have braved the elements to deliver their merchandise to market ahead of many others, when the roads are dangerous because of the weather; many of the most frequented roads are not safe for any traveler. Yet they were stopped by the robbers, who had good information on these merchants, and were prepared to attack them in the most precarious parts of the snow-clogged roads. That might be luck once, but twice? I cannot believe that the robbers keep men posted on two different roads all through the winter on the chance they might happen upon a prize." He shook his head. "So I must conclude that they were told of the merchants, what they carried, and what roads they traveled."

"It is a curious coincidence," said Rogier.

Ragoczy made a sound between a laugh and a snort. "Curious indeed. You and I have faced greater dangers over much longer time and have rarely had to deal with highwaymen sent specifically to ambush us. In more than nineteen centuries that has happened-what?-three times? The Baghdad road was the worst."

"Not that we haven't been ambushed in the ordinary way occasionally," said Rogier.

"Alas," Ragoczy agreed wryly.

The two were silent, then Rogier said, "I take it you are planning to go out tonight."

"For an hour or two, perhaps," said Ragoczy. "To walk the northwest end of the grounds, and to observe the road. I may go as far as the horse-pasture. I would rather we not lose any more sheep."

"Some claim you have given them to the robbers," said Rogier, his face set in disapproving lines.

"It is easier to think that than to admit the thefts are actual crimes."

"Will you be looking for the robbers, or will you be taking care of other needs?" Rogier kept his voice low.

"Tonight I will search for robbers. I am not overcome with hunger, not yet, and it is a three-hour walk to Sacre-Sang just now, which would make it likely that the guards would realize I was out of the chateau; I will need an excuse to go there openly, and tend to finding nourishment before I return. Hero has only been gone three days. In two or three days I should probably find a sleeping woman to visit as a dream, but not tonight." He started toward the door. "If you need me, you will find me in the library, at least for an hour. After that, I will leave as I have left on other occasions-through the music-room window. I will be back well before dawn."

"Do you think you might actually rest then?" Rogier asked as he prepared to secure the door behind them; Ragoczy, he knew, slept little, but on those rare occasions he did, he fell into a stupor that immobilized him for a minimum of three or four hours at a stretch.

"I may," said Ragoczy, and made for the stairs, his crisp footfalls muffled by the carpet. Rogier let this pass. "I will go to my quarters shortly. I will not retire for a while."

Speaking a bit more loudly, Ragoczy said, "Until morning, then," he said in French. He pointed to the foot of the flight of the stairs, where Romolo Nutzen was propped against the wall, his eyes closed.

"Yes. Until morning," Rogier repeated, adding to Nutzen, "If you would like some coffee, I would be pleased to make it for you. You seem a bit drowsy."

Nutzen shook himself and moved out of the way of Ragoczy and Rogier. "Coffee would be helpful," he said, his face coloring brightly. He yawned suddenly and reddened more deeply.

"If you will attend to that, old friend," Ragoczy said. "I will thank you and bid you good-night." He nodded and went along to the library, closing the door as soon as he entered. He turned up the low-burning oil-lamp by the door and went to light two others, for although his dark-seeing eyes could manage very well in such dimness, reading required a bit more light.

One chest of books-the larger one, carried by Gutesohnes-had been set on the floor, the smaller, delivered yesterday, had been placed on the reading-table. Ragoczy chose the chest on the floor, lifted it almost effortlessly to the reading-table, then unbuckled the broad leather straps holding it closed. Inside were thirty books, six months of Eclipse Press publications, each wrapped in heavy paper, with the title of the book contained printed on the paper. There was also a broadsheet announcing the Eclipse Press titles for the next eight months. Setting this list aside, Ragoczy began to remove the books from the chest, unwrapping each and folding the paper before examining the volume inside. The first was Hallowed Halls: a history of English public buildings by E. J. E. Mayfield-Jeffries, its text augmented with engravings by Harmon Dene. Ragoczy skimmed the first fifty pages, then carried the book to its place on the shelf. Next was Raison d'Etre: pensee et romans, in which Professeur Durand Oiepied struggled to reconcile the illogical elements of storytelling with rationality. Third was Blutwissen, W. G. W. Sieffert, Graf von Ravensberg's work on the nature of blood. In an hour Ragoczy had unwrapped and shelved nine of the books; only the concern for the contents of his alembic on the floor above pulled him away from this task as the clock over the mantle struck one.

This time Nutzen was awake, a deep cup of coffee half-finished on the third stair. "Comte," he said.

"Guard," Ragoczy acknowledged. "Is the coffee to your liking?"

"For the most part, yes," said Nutzen. "I like a bit more cream, but your man doesn't know that."

"You must inform him," said Ragoczy, preparing to move by him. "I have to attend to something above-stairs."

Nutzen scooped the cup out of the way and stepped aside. "Are you going to be long?"

"Probably not," said Ragoczy.

"I should stand outside the door, shouldn't I?" he asked as if suddenly aware of the backstairs that led to the top floor of the chateau.

"If you would prefer to do so, by all means," said Ragoczy, keeping all testiness out of his answer.

"The backstairs are uncarpeted," said Nutzen.

"You would hear me if I should descend them." Ragoczy waited, knowing pressing Nutzen would only serve to incline him to accompany him. "But you have your duty to do; you might as well come with me."

After several seconds of mulling, Nutzen said, "I see no need to do that." He almost smiled. "If you are longer than half an hour, I will have to come up to you."

"I will keep that in mind," said Ragoczy, and went up to attend to the alembic and the opalescent liquid that had been distilled from its contents. By the time he came down the stairs, Nutzen had finished his coffee.

"Twenty-three minutes," he said to Ragoczy. "Are you off to bed?"

"No; I am going to the music room. When I cannot sleep, I sometimes find that caring for the instruments I have collected is a worthwhile and soothing exercise that quiets the mind. I will probably nap on the couch there." He nodded to the guard as he went on down the corridor and let himself into the music-room, opposite his library. As soon as he had the door closed, he pulled off his coat and flung it over the back of the handsome couch, then gathered together four cushions and piled them on the couch in the approximate shape of a man sleeping, after which he arranged his coat on top of it, and angled the couch so that it could not be fully seen from the door, in case Nutzen should take it into his head to check on him. That done, he opened two cases of viols and lutes, removed a chittarone from one of them and set it out on the top of the closed forte-piano. For more than a quarter-hour he played the chittarone in a desultory way, pausing frequently to adjust its tuning-pegs and drone-strings. At the end of that time, he put the chittarone back on the top of the forte-piano; he had other things to do now.

The bottom drawer in a cabinet containing scores, music paper, replacement strings, horse-hair and rosin for bows had two woodworker's smocks and a heavy, black-silk Hungarian dolman; Ragoczy removed this traditional tunic and put it on over his white-silk shirt, fastening the frogs carefully. From a pocket in the dolman skirt he withdrew black riding-gloves, which he donned before closing the drawer and going toward the main window at the end of the room. He drew back the thick velvet draperies and levered open the shutter of the end window, then opened it and stepped through into the blowing night. Standing on the roof of the dining room, he closed the window and shutter, making sure he could reach the small niche in the shutter that would allow him to open it from the outside. There was a skittish wind blowing, not hard, but aleatorially; Ragoczy was relieved not to have to deal with a blustery, snowy night. Certain he could return to the music-room without great difficulty, he made his way along the roof to the edge and let himself down along the trellis that in summer sported climbing roses but now could boast only thorns and brittle whips and twigs. Ragoczy climbed down, taking great care not to snag his clothes on the thorns, and to be careful of his gloves. As he reached the ground, he stopped in the angle of the wall with the extension of the dining room and took stock of his surroundings. Finally, satisfied that none of the staff was up, he carefully made his way toward the side of the house away from the barn and the stable; there was no reason to alarm the animals.

Trudging toward the front of the chateau, Ragoczy was careful to scuffle a confusion of his footprints in the snow, so that it would not be easy to determine if a man or a marten had come this way; there was so little wind tonight, and no snow falling, that any tracks would be clear come morning. He reached the approach drive and kept to the edge of it, going down to the gate to the estate. During the day it was kept open, but at sunset it was closed and the lock put in place. He inspected both the lock and the gate itself, searching for some sign of trespass. Nothing seemed out-of-place, but he took the time to tug a fallen branch near the edge of the road by the old gatehouse, the last remnant of the old Medieval villa Ragoczy's chateau had replaced. He reminded himself that this coming summer he would have to have this taken down and a proper gate-house built. But that was for later; a wailing from high up the slope reminded him that wolves were still about.

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 chateau, 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 chateau 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 chateau."

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 chateau. "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 Chateau 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