A Sojourn in Bohemia

by G. D. Falksen

  “And this doesn’t bother you?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” Julius said. “As you can see, I have my heir, a spare, another one, and a daughter. So there is little reason to fear a difficulty of inheritance. The Von Raabe lineage is safely ensured, so why shouldn’t my wife enjoy a few…conversations with a younger man?”

  “How broad-minded of you,” Varanus remarked.

  Julius led Varanus into a cozy little sitting room with dark green paper and paneling. There was a fire burning upon the hearth and the lights were low, the shadows pleasantly enfolding; it immediately put Varanus in mind of their evenings in Prague, which, she realized, must certainly be the intention. It made her smile slightly.

  “Broad-minded?” Julius mused, as they sat facing one another in a luxuriously upholstered tête-à-tête chair. “Perhaps. I do like to think of myself as a modern man.”

  “Better to be modern than archaic,” Varanus agreed smugly.

  “But…” Julius added, running his fingertips across the back of Varanus’s hand, “we do have an agreement as well. What is permitted for the goose is permitted for the gander.”

  “A splendid policy,” Varanus said, leaning forward and fixing Julius with her eyes. With the room so pleasantly dark, the light from the fire glinted in Julius’s eyes and made a soft glow around his golden hair. “Perhaps Iosef and I should implement it.”

  Julius reached out with his other hand and stroked the soft skin beneath Varanus’s chin, making her smile and inhale deeply.

  “Nothing like a weekend in the country for trying new things,” he murmured, as he leaned forward and kissed Varanus’s lips.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Varanus had planned to spend the next day in seclusion until nightfall in order to avoid the threat of sunlight, but she arose from meditation to find that the Von Raabes had already taken the necessary precautions. She found the house curtained and dark, lit by countless lamps and candles that were being set out in anticipation of the evening’s festivities. She had previously confided in Julius regarding her and Iosef’s sensitivity to sunlight—a “hereditary condition”, the medical study of which had first brought them together—but she had not expected the household to have taken steps to accommodate them. And when she arrived in the dining room for breakfast, the sole comment on the matter came from Mechtilde, who proudly showed her and Ekaterine the family’s emulation of their new “Russian fashion”. It was enough to make one laugh, but at least it was convenient.

  The guests began to arrive in the late afternoon. By that time the decorating of the house had been completed, and again Varanus was taken by surprise when she returned downstairs after some work on her latest medical monograph. The theme of the festivities truly was that of a pagan spring, or at least of an aristocrat’s imaginary fancies of one. There were wreaths of fresh-cut boughs and bouquets of flowers everywhere, which tickled Varanus’s nose with their intoxicating scents. When the guests arrived, they did so wearing horns and crowns of flowers, which stood out curiously against their conventional evening dress.

  The sight of it all amused Ekaterine tremendously. She had long ago become convinced that all Latin Christians were secretly pagans, and she made it quite clear that this soiree was further proof. Varanus could do little but sigh as her friend descended the stairs in her most outlandishly colored gown, with flowers in her hair and a pair of small antlers that one of the Von Raabes must have given her. She soon left Varanus behind and began flitting about the thirty or so guests, introducing herself as “the Queen of the May” and imparting her blessing on each of them.

  “I see that Ekaterine is enjoying herself,” Varanus heard Iosef say to her, as she surveyed the crowd in the house’s sitting room.

  Varanus almost jumped at his voice. She turned and saw him standing in the doorway wearing a pair of horns like most of the other men. They did rather suit him, she reflected, but it was still a strange thing to see. It was like he had been transformed into some sort of satyr by the festivities.

  “True,” Varanus agreed, glancing back at the party. “Well, why not let her have her fun?”

  Those assembled were unquestionably a collection of aristocrats, most of them local nobility from Prussia and Pomerania, if their accents were an indication. It was almost amusing to see them drinking, chatting, and even dancing in their festive adornments to music played on a phonograph. Varanus did find it odd that they had elected not to enjoy a small orchestra, but perhaps the intent was to maintain as intimate an environment as possible. This was more a private entertainment for friends than a display of ostentation.

  “Indeed,” Iosef said. “The past year has been strangely peaceful for us. Why shouldn’t we enjoy ourselves?”

  Though the way he spoke, it was clear that the enjoyment would belong to other people. And that was to be expected. Varanus still saw pain in his eyes, and she knew that the loss of Sophio was still weighing on him, as it had for years.

  “A wise philosophy, My Lord,” Varanus agreed. “Why…I haven’t killed anyone in months. It is peculiar, but not unpleasant.”

  “Quite so, Varanus. Peace is certainly peculiar.”

  Varanus paused for a moment before she spoke next, her voice low so they would not be heard:

  “My Lord, how are you…faring?”

  Iosef glanced at her. He put on a smile that Varanus knew was forced and said, “I am well enough, Varanus. And that is all that need be said on the matter.”

  “Of course.” Varanus knew better than to press her mentor, especially with the pain of Sophio’s death so fresh. She quickly changed the subject. “I see that Countess von Raabe is in high spirits tonight.”

  Iosef made a soft noise of irritation. “Indeed.”

  Augusta, like the other Von Raabes, was busy mingling and entertaining her guests. But seeing that she had been observed, she flashed a smile in Iosef’s direction and gave a discreet nod.

  “I do believe you have an admirer,” Varanus said.

  “I had noticed.”

  “Did she trouble you much last night?”

  Iosef chuckled. “She attempted to seduce me over a particularly enthralling Coptic manuscript, but I evaded her. Politely, of course.”

  “Of course,” Varanus agreed. “I do apologize for your tribulations, My Lord.”

  “There is no cause for you to apologize, Varanus,” Iosef told her. “Whatever your motivations for coming here, I came of my own choice. I intend to plumb the depths of Julius’s knowledge and to avail myself of his library during our stay. If I must outmaneuver the advances of his wife while I do so, it is a small price to pay.”

  “She is still quite attractive,” Varanus teased.

  Iosef smiled genuinely at this, though it was faint. “I have no interest in younger women,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  “And what of your dalliance with Julius?” Iosef asked.

  Varanus blinked at him, surprised at the observation.

  “Pardon?” she demanded.

  “I am not unobservant, Varanus,” Iosef replied. “Nor do I speak in judgment of you. Julius is a handsome man, I suppose, and he certainly has a ready charm about him. You have accompanied me on my long journey to find hidden knowledge that I do not yet understand and which may not even exist, and for your patience I am grateful.”

  “It is not a student’s place to be patient or impatient with her teacher,” Varanus reminded him.

  “Even so,” Iosef said, “I grasp blindly for shadows while you enjoy the affections of flesh and blood. I think perhaps the student has more clarity than the master.” He paused and looked across the room toward Julius, who was in conversation with an old bearded man. “Ah, and I believe that will be the Polish antiquarian Julius mentioned to me.”

  “More shadows, My Lord?” Varanus asked.

  “Indeed.” For a brief mom
ent, a smile flashed across Iosef’s pale lips. “Perhaps this time I will catch one. Excuse me, Varanus.”

  “Of course, My Lord.”

  Varanus frowned as she watched Iosef cross the room. There was still so much anguish in his every movement. No one else could see it, of course. Iosef was too subtle for that. But Varanus saw it. She saw it in his eyes and in the too-controlled form of his posture, calculated to hide any hint of depression. At a glance he seemed perfectly content, if a bit distant, and that veneer of contentment was what gave him away, like a smiling mask that was not quite right.

  They very thought of Iosef’s loss saddened Varanus, as it did whenever she reflected on it. She quickly looked away from him and at Julius, smiling to herself as the two men greeted each other cheerfully and Julius made introductions with his aged companion. As Iosef and the antiquarian began speaking, Julius turned his eyes toward Varanus and smiled at her. He nodded politely, but there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, and the sight of it made Varanus feel pleasantly warm beneath her high collar.

  As she traded knowing looks with Julius, she caught sight of something familiar out of the corner of her eye. She already knew that it was Korbinian even before she turned and saw him drinking wine beneath the mounted head of a stag, which had been adorned with laurels and flowers for the occasion. Korbinian had been silent since leaving Prague, and seeing him now gave Varanus an unpleasant turn. Blood trickled from his eyes and mouth, and he was ghastly pale, just as he had been for months whenever he had shown himself.

  It troubled Varanus to see him so affected, but at the same time it angered her. Nothing was wrong, and no one had died in almost a year, certainly no one she cared about. And that was a pleasant change. So why was Korbinian behaving so monstrously? Could he really be so jealous of her? But that was absurd!

  Across the room, Korbinian smiled at her and softly mouthed the words, “What man could not be jealous of you, Liebchen?”

  Varanus was suddenly shaken out of her thoughts by voices in the hallway behind her. More guests had arrived, and she was still standing in the doorway, blocking their path. Varanus quickly stepped to the side, but she did so casually as if she simply fancied inspecting one of the wreaths. There was no cause to be rude, after all.

  But the speakers did not enter, instead lingering in the shadows just beyond the door where they would not be overheard by the others. Curious, Varanus glanced into the hallway and saw two men standing there, both of them somewhere in their forties, both of them tall and handsome and noble of bearing. They wore cavalry uniforms, which were curiously set off by the horns and flowers in their hair. The men spoke in hushed tones, but Varanus had no difficulty understanding them. From their accents she surmised that one man was Hungarian and the other likely Austrian.

  “Yes, but have your men found any trace of my daughter?” the Hungarian demanded in a low voice.

  “Possibly,” the Austrian said, his tone far more relaxed than that of his companion.

  “Possibly? That is the best your spies can do?”

  The Austrian bristled slightly. “They are doing their best, Istvan. I have an interest myself, you know. Do not forget, she is supposed to be my wife.”

  “Well.… That will not happen if the child is not found, will it? And she will have earned herself a whipping before I give her to you.”

  “Poor child.” The Austrian chuckled. “Whipped both before and after her wedding. Perhaps she will learn something from it.”

  The Hungarian chuckled too, but his tone was humorless. “That has not been my experience with my daughter,” he said. “Now then, what have your men discovered?”

  “My men have not yet found her,” the Austrian answered, “but it seems that the violinist is in Prague. Some sort of radical. It is possible that she is still with him. If that is so, Prague is where we will find her.”

  “Find the violinist, find the girl,” the Hungarian mused. “And have they found him?”

  There was an uncomfortable pause.

  “Not yet, no. But it is only a matter of time. They know that he is in Prague; they simply have not located his hideout. These revolutionaries, they have bolt-holes everywhere. You never know where they are staying.”

  “I am becoming impatient, Franz,” the Hungarian pressed, his tone both angry and desperate. “It cannot be difficult to find a musician. They are not known for their subtlety.”

  However cordial their conversation until now, a sense of discontent suddenly fell across them. The Austrian bristled at the Hungarian’s words, and the Hungarian, perhaps realizing that he had overstepped himself, grew uneasy.

  “You are in no position to be impatient, Istvan,” the Austrian told his companion. His tone remained friendly, but there was an edge to it. Of the two, he held the position of power.

  The Hungarian quickly bridled his anger. “Of course, Franz. Forgive me. I.… My paternal outrage has gotten the better of me.”

  This seemed to satisfy the Austrian, and he answered soothingly, “Fear not, Istvan. There is no need for forgiveness between friends. What man could possibly take offense at the words of his father-in-law?” There was little sincerity in his voice, and it was clear that the son-in-law, and not the father, held the position of authority between the two of them. But having asserted his authority, he then continued with the matter at hand: “My men are making inquiries. They have drawn upon the assistance of the police as well, but, of course, I would prefer to avoid calling too much attention to the situation.”

  “Of course.”

  Varanus kept herself inconspicuous as the men finished their conversation and entered the sitting room. She doubted very much that they even noticed her in passing, which was just as well.

  She turned back to the room and saw Ekaterine hurrying toward her with a glass of Champagne in each hand. Varanus sighed at the sight of her friend dressed up like a faery queen. What made it all the worse was the fact that the antlers and the floral crown actually did suit her, which Varanus found most intolerable.

  “Hello, Doctor!” Ekaterine exclaimed in her native Svanish, handing one glass to Varanus before taking a rather long drink of her own wine. “Isn’t it a splendid party?”

  “It’s…colorful,” Varanus replied. Indeed, what else could one say about a scene that most closely resembled a theatrical interpretation of some pagan Bacchanal. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “So very much!” Ekaterine said. She made a wide, slightly tipsy sweep of her hand to encompass the room. “I’m meeting so many new and moderately interesting people.”

  “I see.”

  “And Mechtilde has been introducing me to eligible young men whom I have no interest in knowing! It is such fun!” Ekaterine grinned. “And I’m the Queen of the May, as you may have heard.”

  Varanus sighed. “You certainly are enjoying yourself, and entirely too much.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “You keep insisting that,” Varanus said, unable to hide a smile at her friend. “I am skeptical.”

  “Nonsense,” Ekaterine replied. She finished her glass and, looking around for an empty place to put it, quickly hid it behind a stuffed pheasant on a nearby table. Taking Varanus’s arm, she asked, “And what have you been doing all evening, my dear Doctor?”

  “You mean what have I been doing for the past hour?” Varanus asked.

  “Yes,” Ekaterine answered brightly.

  “I have been wandering from room to room, admiring the ambiance.” Varanus smirked. “Of which you, apparently, are a part.”

  Ekaterine gasped excitedly. “I rather like the idea of being part of the ambiance. Like an artist’s model!”

  “Dear God, no,” Varanus said with a sigh. “You’ve done enough of that while we were in Prague.”

  “And soon to continue upon our return,” Ekaterine assured her.

 
Varanus shook her head. Then she took another look around the room and its “ambiance” and shook her head yet again, this time deeply and slowly and with rather more resignation.

  “Flowers, antlers, and wreaths,” she remarked. “I wonder who thought of all this.”

  “I think it looks rather nice.”

  “It does look rather nice,” Varanus said. “I simply wonder whose idea it was. I never imagined Prussian aristocrats as being the sort to transform a perfectly decent sitting room into some manner of Druidic grotto.”

  Ekaterine grinned. “It simply goes to prove my theory.”

  “Theory?”

  “That you are all pagans here in the West,” Ekaterine announced proudly. She leaned in and lowered her voice, whispering in Varanus’s ear, “Which I’ve known all along.”

  “Are you drunk?” Varanus asked.

  Ekaterine gasped and pulled herself up into a huff, which she could only maintain for a few seconds before giggling. “The Queen of the May is never drunk, Doctor. I am intoxicated with my own divinity.”

  “Divinity and Champagne are such good companions, aren’t they?” Varanus mused, finally taking a drink. It was rather good.

  “The best of companions,” Ekaterine agreed. “Like us!”

  “Ah, but which of us is divinity and which one is the Champagne?” Varanus asked.

  Ekaterine did not reply but rather pointed at her antlers, as though that answered everything. Varanus rolled her eyes.

  “Such a pity Luka couldn’t join us,” Ekaterine said.

  “That is what he gets for not pretending to be an aristocrat.” Varanus paused. “Where is he, by the way?”

  “Downstairs drinking with the housemaids,” Ekaterine replied nonchalantly.

  “Of course he is,” Varanus grumbled.

  It was not uncommon for Luka to spend his idle moments with a mixture of wine and romantic companionship, but Varanus would be very annoyed at him if he stirred up trouble during their visit.

  “Well, I must be off,” Ekaterine announced. “A queen’s work is never done.”