Marguerite turned and left. As she crossed the foyer beyond the sitting room, she heard Donskoy turning the key in the door of his red salon.
FOURTEEN
Jacqueline's laughter trailed away behind the salon's closed door. So, I've been dismissed, Marguerite thought, seething with resentment.
As Donskoy had instructed, she started back toward her chamber. Jacqueline brought out the worst in her; with each step, the prickle of anger at the nape of Marguerite's neck grew hotter. When she reached the door to her chamber, she stopped abruptly. Then she hoisted her skirts and spun on her heet, striding back down the hall to the stairs. She descended quickly, then padded across the foyer toward the drawing room. Trying not to be seen, she peered around the edge of the open door frame. The room beyond remained empty, as she had expected. And the door in the corner, which led to Donskoy's red salon, was still closed.
Marguerite entered the drawing room and crept toward the small arched door. When she reached it, she crouched and peered through the keyhole. Only the end of the red divan was visible. A green dress lay upon it, emptied of its bearer. Marguerite pressed her ear to the hole. She felt a cool stream of air-along with a rush of excitement. She could overhear the conversation almost perfectly. Donskoy was speaking.
"Marguerite will conceive soon," he said. "Mark my words. Zosia has seen it."
"Zosia?" replied Jacqueline contemptuously. "Bah! I've never understood why you trust that crone."
"What does trust have do with anything? I find her useful. But Zosia is really quite harmless, Jacqueline. I do not understand your irrational Fear of her."
"It is not fear, Milos. I am wary. I have not lived so long or so well without my share of wit."
"Indeed, my dear. You possess more than your share. After all, you command the intellect of many scores of women, as well as infinite charm."
"Quite true. So you might indulge a clever friend when she tells you to remain on guard, even in the midst of your delirium-a delirium, I might add, that your darling Zosia is all too eager to promote."
"Dear Jacqueline. Fretting makes you, too, an old crone, and all for no cause. Zosia serves me well; that is why I endure her. Her potions merely offer a means to entertain myself between your anxiously awaited visits. I remain fully in control."
"I do not require your idle flattery, Milos. Listen to what I say. You are too dependent upon Zosia and her brews."
"You are mistaken, my dear. I am dependent on no one, not even you."
"No? You live your life wallowing in the throes in some alleged curse, when half of the hex is just a dark fantasy fabricated by a conniving old Vistana."
"Ah, the crux of it surfaces again. Your own abnormal fears, your own hatred toward the dark-eyed dregs of this world. Do not attempt to settle your old scores through me, Jacqueline."
"If the subject weren't so painful to you, I might remind you of your own grudge against their kind. But that shouldn't be necessary-you can never forget, can you, Milos?"
"Enough, Jacqueline!" He paused, but the recovery was smooth. "Why must you pick at every scab till it bleeds? This is an old conversation, and my patience does know a limit. I shail tel! you again: Zosia is not a threat. Vistani witches lose their powers when they do not wander. She is like a tiger without teeth and claws, completely tame. We shall end this topic now, Jacqueline, before you sour my temperament completely. I enslave Zosia; the reverse is a fantasy. The old hag serves a useful purpose. Marguerite serves a useful purpose. And you, my dear, might also serve a purpose, if you could remember it. You did not come all this way to quarrel, did you?"
"No, indeed," replied Jacqueline. A little catlike growl rippled up from her throat.
"Then come closer."
"Why?" she purred. "So that you can enslave me too? So that i might know the merciful hand of Lord Donskoy?"
He chortled. "If you desire it. Come closer. You sometimes forget who is Lord, but I can be merciful. In fact, I shall allow you to punish me some more with your sharp little tongue."
"Hmmm. So tempting. But not yet," she teased.
"Why delay? You would not have that particular tongue but for me."
"For the game. Only with you can I turn my own condition into such a delicious diversion, and I insist on savoring the chance. How would you iike me to look tonight? A redhead, perhaps? A blonde? You appear particularly robust this evening. Perhaps it shall be many."
Still crouched outside the door, Marguerite gasped- half from jealousy, half from the picture Jacqueline's words conjured in her mind-then she clamped her hand to her mouth.
"Hmmm, Donskoy?" Jacqueline continued- "Tell me your pleasure."
"You present many interesting options, I agree. And it is so seldom that you grant me first choice."
"I am feeling generous," came Jacqueline's coy reply. "After all, you have had to endure the company of your parochial little wife for weeks. It's a wonder you haven't died of boredom. Shall I open the cabinet and choose one of your old favorites?"
"I alone open that cabinet," Donskoy said sharply. His voice carried an unmistakable warning. "I know you are itching for a glimpse of the old ledger. But mark my words, it's not to be."
"Donskoy, I am hurt. This is no time for business. Please, by all means, open the cabinet yourself. If I am itching, as you put it so vulgarly, it is only with the urge to entertain you,"
"Hah. The woman speaks of vulgarities as if they offend her."
There was a pause, a brief rustle. Unable to see what was happening, Marguerite imagined Donskoy tending the hearth.
Jacqueline continued, "Shall I make the choice simple, and go without? I shall lose my eyes, but I shall yet see your fire. And I shall lose my ears, but I shall yet hear your eager pleas for release. Pity, though; I shall be unable to speak." She gave a dark little laugh. "But perhaps you would like that, mon cher?"
Donskoy chortled juicily.
Marguerite grimaced in disgust
There was a sudden noise behind her. Startled, Marguerite fell over backward, turning her head sharply toward the sound. Griezellbub crouched just inside the drawing room. His throat swelled, and he made the hideous sound of the death rattle. When he had finished, he pulled his mouth wide, as if to grin proudly. Then he shambled out of sight.
Marguerite silently cursed the toad, then quickly returned her ear to the keyhole.
She heard Donskoy asking, "What are you doing, Jacqueline?"
"Didn't you hear that-that rattle? Your little bride might not be so dull after all. Perhaps she is eavesdropping. I'd accuse Ljubo or Ekhart, but they know better than to play the voyeur."
"It was probably Yelena," Donskoy said. "She wriggles about the keep like a worm in a salt barrel."
"Nonetheless, I shall investigate." Jacqueline's voice was playful. "Without the ribbon, hmmm?"
"You would open the door like that? Hah! I thought you too vain for such a spectacle."
"Then you thought wrong. A moment please. Mow this could be amusing."
Marguerite stood up so quickly that her vision began to blacken. She raced across the drawing room into the foyer, then pressed herself against the wall beside the entrance. There was no time flee any farther. The door to the salon had creaked open, and she could hear Donskoy calling out from within.
"Why Jacqueline," he cried, between bouts of mirth, "you've literally lost your mind. Come back here and set things right. I choose the one you harvested last month-my expensive imported gift."
Marguerite shivered. She could only guess at the perverse game Jacqueline and Donskoy were playing, but her mind had conjured an unbelievable image- one she could not dispel. Surely she was wrong.
A long pause ensued. Marguerite could hear someone stirring in the drawing room, but no one spoke. She dared not move.
Then Donskoy called out again. "Jacqueline? Are you all right?"
"No one," came Jacqueline's disappointed reply. She was still in the drawing room. "Pity," she said. "I should have liked to s
ee the reaction." Her voice began to fade. "So this is the one you choose? The one I am wearing now?"
The salon door closed again, muffling Donskoy's reply. Marguerite peered around the corner. The room was empty. She drew in her breath, then crept back to her station at the keyhole.
Donskoy and Jacqueline were both laughing.
Jacqueline cooed, "Are you sure? It could be very interesting without."
"Perhaps," Donskoy replied. "But I would miss your tips."
"Mmmm. No doubt."
"Without lips you have no voice."
"Why Milos," cooed the temptress, her words dripping with honey. "So often you scold me for excessive chattering."
"I do not wish you to speak/
"What then?" asked Jacqueline coyly. She paused, then laughed darkly. "Ah, I believe I understand. Shall I cry out then, Milos, cry out like some weak wench desperate to summon the castle guard? No one would come, of course. Even if your men were here, even if Ekhart did not think me some recurrent rash, I coutd scream and scream, and no one would come."
"Yes," said Donskoy simply, as if ordering a biscuit for breakfast "I'd tike very much to hear you scream."
Marguerite's face went white. Ashamed and repulsed, she fled from the chamber and raced up the stairs, desperate to escape the perversions of her husband's salon.
She found the door to her chamber hanging open, and Zosia sitting in the chair by the fire. Griezeltbub squatted upon her bed. Both the old woman and her toad turned to stare at Marguerite, one with eyes that were dark and sparkling, the other with immense yellow orbs.
"Curiosity satisfied?" Zosia chuckled.
Marguerite ignored the question. "Why in the name of the gods are you here?" she asked hoarsely.
"For the test," replied the old woman. She rose, bringing forth a chamber pot.
"The test?" exclaimed Marguerite. "But you always come in the morning."
"Mot for this," said the old woman. "This test will be special. And it must be done now."
She handed Marguerite the pot. Marguerite sighed, returning the container when she had finished. By now, this strange event was almost commonplace. More than a week had passed since Marguerite drank the potion, and two tests had occurred since then. Both had confirmed she was not with child.
"Why is this test so special?" Marguerite asked.
Zosia turned and walked toward the door. "Because when I am finished, it will show you carry a son."
Marguerite gasped. "But is it true?"
Zosia shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no, but either way it will be true soon enough. And for your sake, Donskoy must believe it is true now."
"But if I don't conceive-"
"You will," said Zosia. "I have seen it. But first, we must calm Lord Donskoy. He grows too anxious, and an anxious man fathers a nervous child."
Marguerite was too bewildered to protest. Then she thought of Donskoy down below with Jacqueline. Perhaps Zosia knew best.
The old woman motioned to Griezell, who leaped from the bed and shambled to the door. Then both the toad and the old woman departed.
Marguerite sat down at the edge of her bed. For a moment, she was quiet. Then she pressed a pillow to her face and screamed. And in the castle below, within the red walls of Donskoy's salon, another scream echoed her own.
FIFTEEN
Marguerite lay in her bed, drifting uneasily toward sleep. She wondered whether Zosia had showed her husband the results of the doctored test. Night had fallen hours ago, but Donskoy might still be preoccupied with Jacqueline Montarri, barring visitors from his salon. Even for such a momentous announcement, Zosia would wait.
From outside came a noise that brought Marguerite upright in an instant. She sat inside her bed curtains, listening. The sound came again: a long, peculiar wait, resembling the eerie moan of a wounded cow. The hairs on the nape of her neck rose like tiny quiils.
For a moment, Marguerite hid behind the walls of her velvet tomb. Then came the familiar crunching of wheels on gravel and the anxious, muffled whining of Ekhart's hellish pack. Marguerite climbed out of bed and went to her window. She parted the shutters only slightly, afraid that the light of her hearth would draw the gaze of someone outside-as if it were her actions that should be hidden under cover of night.
She needn't have worried. Earlier the clouds had opened themselves and drenched the land, Now the sky was almost clear, the moon full and bright. Its pale yellow glow readily overpowered the feeble light from her window.
Marguerite squinted, studying the scene below. She failed to see a tortured cow, but she really hadn't expected one; the sound that drew her from bed had not seemed natural. Ekhart stood beside his wagon, holding a lantern aloft. Three black shapes crouched in the back-the hounds, readied for the hunt. Beside them lay a long black crate.
Ljubo stood in the clearing beyond, facing away from the castle. He waved his lantern back and forth, as though signaling. He appeared to be waiting for something-someone. The associates? Jacqueline? The dark-haired woman had mentioned an excursion in the drawing room. But wouid she and Donskoy's men go out in the dead of night? Marguerite sniffed and shook her head, answering her own question. When else? The night suited this crew quite well.
A slender woman astride a dark horse appeared from the direction of the stables, then turned her high-spirited mount in a sharp circle. Doubtlessly it was Jacqueline. She wore black leggings and tunic, like a man, though her silhouette remained decidedly feminine. Lord Donskoy came next, pulling his mount alongside Montarri's. He raised a black, shining object to his lips, a crescent-shaped horn, and the peculiar wail sounded once more.
After several moments, a rider emerged from the forest that ringed the clearing and approached the castle. One by one, a dozen men followed suit, streaming out of the wood. They were Donskoy's associates, clad in black. Among them, Marguerite spied two guests she recognized from the wedding feast, a man with a humped back and another with only one arm. They each brought a hound or two of their own. Ljubo greeted the newcomers with a nod, then shambled to the wagon and climbed up beside Ekhart.
With the party fully assembled, Donskoy's loyal pair dimmed their lanterns. Ekhart raised a whip. It arched through the air, then cracked sharply over the ponies' backs. The cart jerked forward and rumbled into motion. The riders fell in behind, in pairs. Following the mud-and-gravel track, the procession snaked across the clearing and slipped into the woods beyond.
Marguerite knew where they were headed: to the rim, where lost travelers were brought close by the currents in the mists. And this time, she could hardly convince herself that Donskoy's men were attempting a rescue.
At first, she had no intention of following. Her chamber was locked, and the secret passage in her wall had proved dangerous. Besides, what was it to her how her husband and his men entertained a guest?
Marguerite paced, a caged animal. The hounds in the tapestry watched as she passed back and forth. Without thinking, she made a holy sign in the air, mimicking a gesture she had often seen in Darkon, when the village priest found it necessary to enter a temple defiled by undead.
Moments later, she had donned her leggings and her traveling gear and was crouching before the tapestry. She triggered the moving stone, then followed the dank artery toward the adjacent chamber, silently mouthing a prayer to keep the mechanism working. To her relief, the secret door at the opposite end swung open, allowing her exit. When the door to the hallway groaned and screeched, she did not even flinch.
"Let them hear me,I' she whispered defiantly. "I am not a prisoner." But her bravado was false; she knew that only Zosia and the mute remained in the castle.
Marguerite went directly to the stables, seeking the horse with the ridiculous misnomer of Lightning. One of the other mounts might have been faster, she knew, but her lack of skill made her choose the familiar beast. She rooted through the tack room for a saddle and bridle, then struggled to prepare the horse. Lightning puffed out her belly to keep the saddle loose, but Margueri
te was wary. She waited until the horse exhaled, then drew the cinch tight. With bridle slipped over the mare's flickering ears, she led her mount to the gate and parted the enormous doors. When they were closed behind her, she hoisted herself into the saddle.
Glancing backward only once, Marguerite proceeded down the rutted track that led to the rim. The road was muddy and laced with puddles, but a grassy hump rose in the center above the muck. Marguerite kept Lightning to this ridge, hoping to make better time. She was not sure what she expected to accomplish by following her husband and his associates; certainly, she knew better than to dare interfere with whatever they were doing. But she had to see, to learn for herself if her darkest fears had substance.
As she crossed the stone bridge, a dark shadow swooped low past her ear-an owl perhaps. She gripped the mare's neck and pushed on, riding steadily until she reached the fork in the road. There she allowed herself to pause and regain her breath, wishing she had thought to bring a flask of something warm to drink, or least a skin of water. The wagon's tracks confirmed her suspicions about the group's plans; the mud showed the clear imprint of hooves and wheels, leading to the right, toward the rim.
Marguerite followed. The trees pressed in around her, dark and menacing. Shaken by the wind, a black spruce flailed its arms, freeing a rain of loose cones to assault her. Lightning twitched and whinnied as one struck her flank. Marguerite reached forward to pat the mare's neck, but the gesture was as much to reassure herself as her mount. She tapped her heels against the horse's belly, and Lightning trotted on.
As the road began to climb into the hills, fast, low-flying clouds cast flickering shadows across its surface. Soon, Marguerite knew, she would be approaching the spot from which she and Donskoy had gazed down at the mist-covered valley. She dismounted and led her mare by the reins, picking her way carefully over the sharp boulders that sprouted up from the rough track.
After several minutes, Marguerite heard voices ahead. She tied Lightning to a tree and continued on foot. When the voices grew louder, she left the road and, ignoring her fears, climbed over the top of the ridge. A short distance down the other side, she stopped and crouched on the hill, peering out through the branches of a shrub.
To sleep with Evil (ravenloft) Page 20