Hans was an Earth Master. He had long ago earned the right to decide where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. He could breathe new life into this nearly defunct Brotherhood, and bring new protection to these woods. Hadn’t she trusted him to hunt the vampir nest alone? And hadn’t he done well?
She let out the breath she had been holding in a long sigh. “It is your decision, Hans,” she said, handing him the tail and the medal. “But I think it is a good one, and I shall tell the Bruderschaft as much.”
2
THIS was certainly the longest and most complicated trip Rosa had ever taken. Hans too. Hans had been very intimidated; Rosa refused to let anything like a trip intimidate her. People crossed three countries all the time, perfectly ordinary people who had no magic to help them. She reckoned she should be able to do as much without requiring her hand be held.
She almost wondered if half the reason that Hans had decided to stay in Romania was because he didn’t want to take the trip back.
The trip out had been something of an endurance trial. First, they had been taken by coach and local train to Stuttgart, and then to Munich. Then they had traveled from Munich to Vienna, from Vienna to Budapest, and from Budapest to Bucharest by three separate trains. Then from Bucharest they had taken a series of coaches to get to the village where Matei and Gheorghe had met them with horses. It was rather telling that the journey had probably been more exhausting than the Hunt itself. It had involved learning two new languages as well, Hungarian and Romanian. Hans had been in a state of terror lest they lose their luggage and the special weapons they were bringing with them—not to mention the three sets of special leather gear, one for her, one for Hans, and one in case one of the Romanians would fit it. No matter how many times Rosa had pointed out that they were going to another Brotherhood Lodge, and presumably many of the same weapons—or possibly better—would be available to them, he had still fretted through every train change.
To an extent, not having Hans come along for the return trip will be a bit of a relief.
It had not taken her much effort to persuade Hans to go make his dramatic appearance, wolf tail in hand, crossbow and coach gun at his back and belt, just as the villagers were dealing with the hysterical girl and the mystery of the man-shaped burn spot at the mill. Hans had done very well, but then, when he wasn’t fretting himself to bits that something would go wrong, he was quite imposing and had a flair for the dramatic. He had stalked into the village as the villagers were gathering around the ominous patch of ground, announced himself as the slayer of the vampir that had been stalking their streets that very night, and brandished the wolf tail and unholy medal declaring he had slain the vampir’s consorts and servant as well.
As luck would have it, someone recognized the medal. There was a rush for the man’s house—and lo, beneath the rug in the main room was magic circle painted on the floor, and a search of the place turned up all manner of nasty things and occult instruments.
And when Hans declared himself prepared to remain in the forest and guard the area, the villagers fell all over each other with gratitude.
Rosa had watched all this from a distance, of course. Those selfsame villagers who were lauding Hans, and by extension, Gheorge and Matei, would have instantly branded a woman who dared to dress as a man as a witch. When she was certain that the situation was well in hand, she had returned to the Brotherhood Lodge to pack and wait for the others to return.
They finally turned up just before sundown. She had assumed they would probably return bearing all manner of gifts, and had not troubled to make any supper preparations other than putting out plates and so forth, mending the fire, and making sure everything was as cozy as you could get in a Lodge that was nine-tenths empty.
She certainly hoped Hans would be able to find some new recruits for the Brotherhood soon. The Lodge had been built to hold thirty comfortably. The effect of the huge main hall, with most of the rooms in the wings on either side closed off, was distinctly depressing. The glassy eyes of the heads of trophy stags, bear and wolves looking down from the walls did not aid the oppressive atmosphere.
But when the three men came merrily laughing in through the door, bringing with them the aromas of the many good things to eat that they had been burdened with, the atmosphere lightened considerably.
It wasn’t as if the food was needed. But it was delightful to have been given it freely, in thanks. And the roast hen, the sausages, and the fresh cozonac were all welcome changes to the stews that the Gheorge and Matei seemed to live on. Not that there was anything wrong with stew, and they did vary the recipes, but still . . .
For the first time since she and Hans had arrived here, talk around the table was cheerful and full of laughter. It had helped very much that after discovering the identity of the shape-shifting sorcerer, Hans had had a flash of pure genius, and had led Matei and Gheorghe straight to the priest to ask for his blessing. In the church itself. All three of them had knelt right at the altar and the priest had outdone himself, making a miniature service out of the rite. That pretty much killed the notion that any of the three could be a witch.
“Make sure you all start going to mass regularly,” Rosa said, waggling a drumstick at the three of them. “More than once a week! The more you are in the church, the better. We know, don’t we, Hans?”
Hans nodded his blond head solemnly. “Oh yes. Since there are so many of us, it is easier for us, of course. Our hunting gear is a sort of uniform, like a policeman or a soldier. People just look for the row of hunters in the church and know the Bruderschaft is there, as always. They don’t even look at our faces anymore, really. But that’s why they protect us from the witch-hunters. You see, they’ve seen us in church, taking Communion, being blessed. We didn’t burst into flames or fly out the window. They know us. So they protect us so that we can protect them.” His face lit up. “And I know I sensed someone down in that village with Earth powers! So soon, I think, we will have ourselves another new brother!”
Rosa snorted a little. “Oh trust me, that will not be a difficulty when people realize the Brotherhood also lives quite well.”
Gheorge, who tended to be quieter than his friend, blushed. “Well,” he said, slowly. “We are Earth Mages, and this is country where gold and silver abound. We never saw any reason why we shouldn’t ask the dwarves and the treasure guardians if they would share with us.”
“And so you should do,” Rosa assured him. “So long as no one is greedy, we work hard to protect both the Elementals and the mortals of our forests. There is no reason why we should not be supported in doing so.” She smiled. “After all, one can grow very tired even of noble venison and boar with wild mushrooms if that is all one sees, day after day.”
Gheorghe nodded solemnly, and passed her the basket of bread. Then he slapped his hand on the table. “Bah. What am I thinking? The least we can do is make your return journey proceed in comfort!”
She was about to remind him that they hadn’t exactly come by wagon, but he leapt up from the table and returned with a strongbox. He opened it, and began counting out heavy silver coins. Rosa tried not to let her jaw drop again.
“The dwarves are very good at counterfeiting,” Gheorghe said conversationally. “Of course these are identical in purity to Romanian coins, identical in every way, really. They just never saw the inside of a Romanian mint. There.”
The coins were not small, about the size of a German thaler, and they were marked “20 lei.” There were several of them. She had never seen so much money in her life. “This should be enough to give you first class rail all the way to Munich,” Gheorghe said matter-of-factly. “And make sure you are treated like a noble the entire way.”
“He is, without a doubt, right,” Matei said, as Hans also stared at the money. “He is very good with money.”
“But—” she started to object. Then stopped. That was no small strongbox. And he had
hefted it as if it was very heavy. The Schwarzwald did not have the benefit of sitting atop fields of gold and silver, and there were no helpful dwarves among the Earth Elementals there to grant the Bruderschaft gifts of precious metal.
And she had seen for herself the difference between first class rail travel and second class. Other people would see to it that her luggage was whisked, guarded, from one train to another. Other people would get her taxis to lovely hotels, and get her taxis back to the depot to catch the next train, if she needed to stay overnight. She would have a compartment to herself, with a real bed in it, if the train was a slow one, or if she took a night train.
The thought of sleeping in a bed instead of leaning against Hans’s shoulder all night long, fitfully dozing, was as intoxicating as the wine the men were drinking. I may never again get a chance to travel like this, she thought to herself.
“If we could not easily afford this, I would not offer it,” Gheorghe said simply.
“Then I thank you,” she replied, and pocketed the coins. “Truly thank you.”
There was a night train from Bucharest to Budapest, and Rosa was on it. Most of the cars—second and third class—were full of people who looked resigned to spending a mostly sleepless night. But she was going to be able to sleep!
She settled herself into the private compartment; most of her baggage was in the baggage van, she only needed to keep a portmanteau with her, with the things she needed overnight. She had taken the second special leather gear with the cloth-of-silver inside, the one that they had brought in case one of the Romanians could wear it. And some other gear of Hans’ that was duplicated; an extra pistol and silver bullets, an extra silver dagger, the boar spear they could both use. The Bruderschaft could certainly use them.
She was just glad that no one was likely to want to look in those trunks. She’d have some explaining to do if they did.
The private compartment was about the half the size of her little room at the Lodge; it had its own window with red velvet curtains, a banquette sofa, a footstool tucked under a table beneath the window, a luggage rack overhead, and enclosed in a little cabinet was a basin with a ewer cleverly strapped in.
On the journey in, she had been too aware of all the other people she had been crammed in with to take note anything other than relief when the train had gotten far enough into the countryside to lift the pressure of wrongness she always felt in a city. Now she settled herself for the hour or so before dinner to examine . . . things . . . a little more closely.
There was a sense of slight disconnection from the Earth, which was to be expected when so much metal separated her from it. She’d expected more, actually, considering how fast they were moving. But if she closed her eyes, it was not that difficult to orient herself, and she got fleeting “glimpses” of the native Earth creatures watching the great iron serpent as it flew along the rails.
She’d expected more anxiety, and more of a sense of being walled away from her Element. But the car, though not natural, felt not that much different from a house in a small village. She opened her eyes with a feeling of a tightness inside her being eased. When the gong announced dinner, she was still watching the landscape flow by past her window, marveling at it all. This leg of the journey out had been in daylight, and she and Hans had been crammed in with a family of six that included a toddler who had wailed softly most of the time.
She indulged in a late dinner in a dining car ornamented with sparkling crystal and gilt woodwork, and returned to her private compartment to find a bed where the sofa had been, turned down and waiting, with her nightdress ironed and laid atop the pillow. What a difference money made!
It had been something of a hard journey to get to Bucharest to catch this train in the first place—no amount of money could improve a trip in common coaches. Well, other than being able to sit inside instead of outside. Coaches and horseback were still the most common means of conveyance in most of Romania, and she knew she was lucky to have gotten a coach rather than a seat on someone’s farm wagon as early in the journey as she had. As a consequence, a bed had never looked so inviting, and despite the novelty and noise of trying to sleep on a moving train, she was not awake for very long. When she woke, it was to find that a maid had slipped in during the night and taken away her dress to brush, sponge and refresh it until it looked like new, washed her stockings, underthings and petticoat, ironed everything dry, and then returned it all, hanging up and waiting for her.
How the maid had managed that on a moving train without ever waking her seemed more of an act of pure magic than anything she could do.
She washed up, brushed out her hair and put it up again—there was a ewer of warm water in the little compartment with the basin, and she managed with a minimum of splashing despite the swaying of the car. Then she donned her sober black gown again, packed up her night things in her portmanteau, and returned to the dining car, which looked just as splendid in the morning light as it had last night. After a hearty breakfast, she returned to her compartment to find the bed made, and a freshly ironed newspaper waiting for her perusal.
A porter came to get her bag just before the train was due to pull in to the station at Budapest. She had arranged the full journey at Bucharest, and now she alighted from her car to find a helpful conductor fluent in Romanian, Hungarian, and German ready to direct her to a special waiting room just for first class passengers where she could pass the time until she was ready to board the next train, this one from Budapest to Vienna.
If she had been anyone else, there was no doubt in her mind that she would not have rushed through this journey in such haste. Bucharest was home to many beautiful churches and the Royal Palace, and certainly would have been worth stopping in for a few days. And as for Budapest, well! A week would not have been enough. And then, Vienna, oh, Vienna . . .
But . . . she was an Earth Master, and even though she had shielded herself heavily, she was soon at the point of needing that coffee pot at her elbow, drinking cup after cup of the beverage, mellowed with cream and sweetened with sugar. Budapest etched away at her shields. She felt every wound made to the Earth on which it stood, felt sickened by every poison in its metaphorical veins. Individually, the great iron engines of the trains, belching smoke and steam, did not trouble her much, but crowded together in the station they made her feel ill. She could scarcely feel the Earth beneath all the stone and cement, and what she felt was unhappy. There might have been some Elementals here, but they were none of them good. They were not the sort she would ever attempt to contact.
She was only too happy when it came time to take her place on board the Budapest to Vienna train, although she really couldn’t enjoy the lovely parlor car until the train was well into the countryside. She did not have a private compartment for this leg of the journey, but rather had a seat in the first class parlor car. The porter had taken her silence for shyness, or perhaps grief—she was, after all, wearing black and her ticket listed her as “Frau” von Schwarzwald. He had assiduously seated her in her own plush red chair in the back of the parlor car, with her own little table, set away from the groupings of identical chairs and settees that would encourage socializing. She was glad he had, and glad that her veil allowed her to study the car and her fellow passengers with a degree of anonymity.
Paneled in highly polished wood, carpeted in real Turkish carpets, with red plush curtains at every window and stained glass skylights inset into the roof, she imagined that the parlor car must be a reflection of what the parlors of the very wealthy looked like. She was glad that she was wearing what she had chosen for this journey, even though she had picked it for its imperviousness to travel and not for any other consideration. Her simple, sober gown of black had been lovingly stitched by Mutti after the fashion plates in her beloved magazines out of the very finest of alpaca and delicate linen. As Rosa covertly studied the women around her, it occurred to her with no little astonishment that Mutti’
s handiwork not only equaled that of the fashionable ateliers whose creations were worn by the well-to-do around her, it surpassed them. No one was giving her a second glance, because she fit in with the rest of the folk in this car so perfectly.
She had worn this selfsame gown on the journey to Romania as well, but it was likely that amid the crowding and the wailing of unhappy children and the general weariness of all of the travelers in second and third class, no one had paid any attention to its quality.
Or they assumed I was a servant that had been gifted a cast-off from my mistress. That happened quite a bit, actually, and not only in well-to-do families. In her home village, servant girls often got old clothing as an added benefit from a generous mistress.
She breathed a little thanks to Mutti, for without this gown, she would certainly have found herself embarrassed back to the second or third class carriages where she belonged.
A waiter and waitress moved easily among the tables, offering coffee and tea and plates of pastries. Now that they were well into the countryside, Rosa’s appetite was back and she gratefully accepted both. But she watched carefully how the ladies about her ate, and copied them, cutting the pastries into tiny bites and eating delicately, rather than picking the good things up in an ungloved hand and biting straight into them.
The car seemed to be full of a mix of Hungarian and German speakers. The porter had put her portmanteau in a rack above her head, but after the little waitress in her black uniform dress and stiffly starched white apron had cleared away the plate and cup, the girl offered Rosa a selection of fashionable magazines, so there was no need of the book in her bag. She feigned studying the stories and the fashion plates as she actually studied her fellow passengers.
Blood Red (9781101637890) Page 5