To sleep with Evil (ravenloft)

by Andria Cardarelle

  Ekhart ran his dry, rough fingers over Marguerite's cheek. She spat in his gray eye, but he hardly blinked. He pulled his thin lips a fraction wider, then lifted his hand to his eye and wiped the spittle from his face. He touched his fingers to his lips and blew Marguerite a kiss.

  "Enjoy your insults while you can," he said deeply, "They won't last forever." He turned and started down the slope.

  The associates chuckled, shoving Marguerite after him.

  SEVENTEEN

  At the base of the cliff below the cave, Ljubo stood waiting with the hounds milling about his legs. When the snuffling beasts noticed Marguerite and her escorts, they commenced a chorus of eager baying. Ekhart silenced the pack with a wave of his hand.

  Morning was upon them, turning the sky to the color of steel.

  "Good day, Lady Marguerite," called Ljubo pleasantly. "We're so pleased to have found you."

  Marguerite did not respond. She noticed that her hand had begun to turn blue, so tightly was the half-faced associate squeezing her wrist.

  Ljubo began his characteristic nodding, then pulled his fleshy lips apart to reveal his flecked grin. The gesture was as sudden and lewd as a drunkard spreading his cape to expose himself. As Marguerite neared, she saw that a piece of pink, shredded meat jutted out from between the yellow clutches of the fat man's teeth. She recalled the image of him waddling into the forest with the headless corpse slung over his shoulder, and her gorge rose up. She choked it back, swallowing hard.

  Seeing her revulsion, Ljubo turned his head shyly, then looked at her askance from beneath the awning of his fleshy brow. "So pleased to see you again," he murmured. "Yes indeed."

  "Oh, shut up, Ljubo," snapped Ekhart. "There's no need to keep fawning over this bedraggled little bitch, even if she is whelping. Or will be.*

  "Yes-yes," said Ljubo, rubbing his raggedy hands together. His smile never faded. "Just trying to make her feel welcome."

  "A wasted effort," said Ekhart. He looked at Marguerite contemptuously, sliding his eyes across her body. "She's managed to take, but I have my doubts shell come to term."

  Marguerite's right wrist, still caught in the grasp of the half-faced associate, was growing numb. His companion loomed close behind, touching her hair from time to time, or nudging her with the stump of his forearm. She could feel his fetid breath upon her neck.

  "You can release her now," said Ekhart, addressing the associate. He winked at Marguerite-and she thought to herself that this was the greatest display of expression she had witnessed upon his face. He continued, "You won't run, will you Lady Marguerite?" He made the title sound obscene. "Though t'd like it if you did. "

  Marguerite smoothed her tunic and struggled to stand on her own. Her clothing was still damp, and she was panicked and cold, but she hoped Ekhart couldn't see her trembling. "[have no reason to run," she said evenly. "I am going home, escorted by my husband's faithful servants. [am glad you found me." She thrust out her chin. She had bitten the inside of her lip, and it was bleeding a Jittle, and she hoped this was not too apparent.

  Ljubo snorted hard with mirth, then drew his sleeve across his moist, fleshy nose. Ekhart shot him a glance that could pierce armor. The fat man's eyes rolled meekly away, and he stared off into space.

  With the associates flanking her and Ljubo and the hounds at the rear, the five figures walked together through the forest. Ekhart moved just ahead. Marguerite could not help comparing his rigid, brittle form to Ramus's sinewy, catlike body. She tried to thrust the gypsy's image from her mind.

  In time the group emerged from the wood and stepped out onto the road. The cart stood waiting, with the pair of weary gray ponies anchored in the rigging before it. The associate's horses were tethered nearby.

  The one-armed man and his half-faced companion swung astride their mounts. "Will you be needing us anymore?" asked the former.

  Ekhart shook his head. "No indeed. Ljubo and I can handle the likes of this little rabbit. She may bolt, but she won't get far."

  "Until next month, then," said the man. "Unless Donskoy summons us sooner." He whistled a long, low note, calling his hounds, which came to stand beside their master's horse.

  Ekhart tipped his tall hat to the associates but said nothing. The men rode away, with most of the dog pack trailing behind.

  Ljubo bowed deeply and motioned to the wagon. As Marguerite looked back into the forest, Ekhart cupped her elbow. She shook his hand loose, then pulled herself onto the bench. Ekhart slid into place beside her, pressing his side firmly against hers. He pressed a little harder

  "No indeed," he said. "This little rabbit won't be running again. Mot unless she likes to be hunted. Do you. Lady Marguerite? Do you like to be hunted like an animal And what dank hole would you push your proud little head into next?"

  Marguerite turned her face sharply away. Ekhart made a gesture to Ljubo, who bounded into the wagon bed, followed by the remaining trio of hounds. Marguerite cast a wary glance over her shoulder. To her relief, the black crate was gone. The wagon lurched forward, jostling along the track, carrying them back to Lord Donskoy's keep.

  Presently Marguerite's stomach began to lurch with the motion of the wagon. Her face paled, and she lifted a trembling hand to cover her mouth.

  Ekhart smiled. "Not feeling well, milady? Just like the last trip we made together, just a few short weeks ago. But already you look much older. Not very fresh at all. Soon you'll be shriveled and ugly, and who'll want you then?"

  Marguerite lowered her hand and gave him an icy stare. "It must be the company I'm keeping," she said dryly. Her stomach twisted painfully, and she was forced to look away.

  Ekhart chortled. "Let's see how Lord Donskoy likes his lady when she begins to rot just like the rest of us."

  Marguerite's eyes fluttered. She felt a queer, hollow ache rising in the upper reaches of her gut, opening like a wound, slowing expanding with the rocking motion of the cart.

  Ekhart continued, "Oh, it takes quite a long time for some, like Donskoy himself, and for me. The strong among us are barely affected by this land, compared to the weaklings. But someone so frail as you? Doubtless you'll be sloughing your own fingers just a few days after you've sloughed the child. You'll run them through your hair one day, thinking you're losing it, and your hand will come up bald instead."

  Ljubo gurgled with mirth in the back of the wagon, but a quick took from Ekhart stilled him instantly.

  Ekhart droned on. "Who'll want you then, Lady Marguerite? Maybe even I won't have a use for you …"

  Marguerite had never heard so many words spilling from the old man's lips. Suddenly, she could contain her nausea no longer. She held her head over the side of the wagon and retched. When she had finished, she pressed her face to her shoulder, embarrassed. But the humiliation was nothing compared to the terror that had taken root inside her, growing with each turn of the cart's wheels, with each turn that brought them closer to the keep.

  Ekhart gave the ponies a sharp siap with the reins. They lurched suddenly in surprise, spawning a fresh wave of nausea in Marguerite. She choked it down. Ekhart sneered. "Such a pity you're ill," he said. "Donskoy won't be pleased. Doesn't bode well for the child. Better hang on to that baby, Marguerite. It's the only magic that'll keep his temper at bay."

  The cart jostled and creaked. Marguerite struggled to keep her head high, her eyes fixed ahead. She felt unsteady, but she refused to give Ekhart the pleasure of reacting. She would not let him see her swoon, nor would she allow him to goad her into a reply. She set her jaw, hoping her face would become a pale gray mask like his own.

  The black stream ran alongside the road, winking reflections of the pale dawn light. Then the wagon traveled over the arched stone bridge. Mot long now, she thought, hot long before the keep rises up to swallow me. She closed her eyes to shut out the image, gripping the side of the wagon to keep from falling.

  Unbidden, Ramus came to mind. She remembered the horrific display he had made, cutting into his own skin to rele
ase the crimson serpents. It must have been an illusion, she thought. It had to be. He did it to frighten me away. She remembered his "gift"-the child he claimed to have left behind. That, too, was probably a Me, another fiendish trick. And then she remembered his touch, the sweeping phrases of the violin's song, and suddenly she wasn't sure anymore whether truth was any better than a lie.

  The Vistana's words haunted her. "Go back to your husband, and act as if nothing has happened." How could she possibly manage it? Yet how could she do anything else.

  Marguerite felt a tear spilling from one eye, and she hastily wiped it away. Ekhart must not see her frailty. She felt sickly and weak, and terrified at what lay ahead. It took aI(her strength just to remain seated on her own, to keep from leaning against his stiff gray arm for support. But she would not let him see her yield.

  The wagon came to a halt. "Home again, home again," chimed Ljubo. "Don't you worry, Lady Marguerite. Soon you'll be snug as a thug in your bed. Lord Donskoy won't be mad for long. He gets angry at me too sometimes, but he always cools down soon enough."

  Marguerite opened her eyes and saw the keep looming before them. She was not prepared for the wave of fear that washed over her at the sight. She felt weak and flushed; cold runnels of sweat trickled down her face. With trembling hands, she began to smooth her tangled hair, trying to make herself presentable, to make herself fresh.

  "Worried?11 Ekhart askedf climbing off the wagon.

  "Cold," said Marguerite quietly. It was true. Her teeth chattered together, rattling in her head. "Just c-c-cotd."

  "What a pity." He took Marguerite's arm and pulled her off the bench. "And weak no doubt. I suppose I'll have to help you up the stairs."

  He dragged her to the steps. With each footfall, Marguerite grew more weary. It was as before, when she first arrived, only her condition was much worse. When they reached the top of the stairs, she turned her face and retched dryly. Her stomach was empty.

  "I'm sorry," she said feebly. u[-"

  Ekhart steered her through the door and pulled her up the curving stairs into the foyer. Struggling to regain her composure, Marguerite braced herself against the wall,

  "I can make rny way alone from here," she said. "I must return to my chamber. Lord Donskoy can visit me there. I must lie-"

  Ekhart snorted. "You must come with me." He tugged her forward, leading her into the drawing room. Her husband stood before the fire, pacing. Jacqueline sat in a chair nearby, examining her henna-red nails, They looked up. Donskoy's face was a pale mask of anxiety. Jacqueline smiled with a trace of smug amusement.

  "Your wife," announced Ekhart simply, "has been retrieved."

  "Zounds," said Jacqueline. "What happened to her hair? Mot such a pretty head now. And her skin is positively green. Poor Marguerite, is it the fever? I hope it isn't catching. Where on earth have you been, dear? We've all been worried absolutely to death."

  As Jacqueline prattled on, Donskoy's stare burned into Marguerite. His anxiety quickly gave way to rage, coloring his cheeks a stormy purple. "Well?" he demanded. "What have you to say?".

  His anger struck Marguerite like a club. "I must beg your forgiveness," she said meekly, curtsying so deeply that she slumped to her knee with exhaustion.

  When no one moved to assist her, she struggled back to her feet. "I have made a mistake. It will not be repeated."

  "A mistake?" said Jacqueline coyly. "Which mistake might that be? Where have you been?"

  "I followed you," she said.

  "So now I suppose you pick locks," boomed Donskoy.

  "Well it's not that difficult after all," said Jacqueline, "though it surprises me that she could manage it."

  Marguerite continued, "No. I discovered a tunnel attached to my chamber. I was curious as to where it led. And later, seeing you gone, I followed. I did not mean any harm." She regretted having mentioned the passage, but she did not want to suggest that Yelena had forgotten to lock the door.

  "No harm?" Donskoy boomed. "No harm?" He strode toward Marguerite and took hold of her arm, forcing her to her knees. "You are carrying my son, you little wretch. It doesn't matter what you do to yourself, but as you are with child, I expect you to behave accordingly."I He raised his hand. His open palm hovered like a threat over her head.

  Marguerite gasped and struggled for the words with which she might defend herself. "The child," she whispered.

  Donskoy's expression softened for an instant, then his mouth twisted in a malevolent sneer. "Then I must aim for your face to teach you a lesson."

  "Tut. What a pity," Jacqueline chirped.

  Zosia swept into the room, Yelena in tow. "Lord Donskoy!" the old woman snapped.

  He turned to face her.

  "Think of the child!" Zosia continued. "You should have summoned me as soon as Ekhart returned. Can you not see that the girl is ill? If you value your son, you will leave her to me now."

  Donskoy released Marguerite, then turned aside. "Take her," he said sullenly. "Take this mongrel out of my sight."

  Jacqueline gasped. "Milos. Are you going to let a servant dictate your behavior?"

  Donskoy turned his anger on her. "Hold your tongue, Jacqueline. You forget your own place. The drama with my wife has ended."

  Yelena and Zosia pulled Marguerite to her feet, then helped her from the room.

  In Marguerite's own chamber, they worked swiftly to remove her clothes and put her into the bed. Zosia placed her hand on Marguerite's forehead, and then on her stomach. She frowned.

  "Too hot," Zosia said. "Too hot. You are burning with fever." The old woman turned to Yelena. "Get the herbs-the ones I mixed this afternoon. Bring them to me now.B

  Yelena scuttled out of the room.

  Marguerite turned to Zosia. "Ramus," she murmured. "Ramus said-"

  "Shhhh," whispered Zosia. "Do not speak child. And do not mention that name again."

  Marguerite allowed her eyes to close.

  "Look at me, child." She took Marguerite's chin and shook it. "Look at me and listen. Do not speak of what occurred last night. Do not mention it again, do not think of it again. Do you understand?"

  Marguerite nodded feebly. "But how do you know?" she rasped. "You couldn't know it all …" Her mouth had become a desiccated hollow with a thick, limp tongue, making it difficult to speak.

  Zosia placed two pale, bony fingers on Marguerite's lips, which were now rimmed with white. "Shoosh. Do not mention it again," the crone murmured. "Not again."

  Yeiena returned with the herbs in a small pewter mug, and doused them with hot water from the fire.

  Zosia lifted Marguerite's head and pressed the cup to her lips. "Drink," she commanded. "You are very sick, Marguerite. You must rest."

  Marguerite swallowed something bitter and hot, then Zosia's crinkled, dark-eyed face faded from view.

  *****

  She awoke in a fog of confusion. Donskoy sat before the fire in her chamber, smoking his white pipe as he gazed sullenly into the flames. Immediately, Marguerite let her lids sink low, so that he would not know she was conscious. Sleep, or its illusion, might shelter her a little longer.

  A knock came at the door, and Marguerite heard it open. She did not turn her head to look. She heard a soft rustle and muffled footsteps, and then a woman spoke.

  "How is the patient?" It was Jacqueline.

  "Still unconscious, thanks to you. But Zosia says she will recover in time. She heals as she sleeps."

  "Thanks to me? How could this possibly be my doing, Milos?"

  "She saw you at the rim. She was babbling about it in her sleep."

  Marguerite clenched her fists under the sheet. She hoped she hadn't babbled about anything else. She closed her eyes hard and listened.

  "Then she must have seen you as well, my friend," Jacqueline quipped. "And your associates, And Ekhart and Ljubo. I hardly acted alone or without your consent."

  "True enough. But it was the shock of your actions in particular that drove her into the forest. Ekhart saw her. Afte
r you beheaded that girl, Marguerite raced into the woods like a panicked fawn. We could have lost her to the mists forever."

  "Oh, don't be ridiculous. She couldn't get far. And if she ran headlong into the fog she would have drifted back soon enough. A little worse for wear, perhaps-"

  "E am not amused, Jacqueline. Mot in the least."

  "Forgive me, Milos. I meant no offense."

  "My own child is in her belly."

  "So you believe Zosia? That she carries your son?"

  "I know it."

  "['m glad for you, my friend. Truly I am."

  "Indeed."

  "No, I mean it sincerely. This is what you've hoped for, after all. But it doesn't mean that you and I can't share a few dreams, too, does it?"

  "You dream only of one thing-finding your own head."

  Marguerite let out an involuntary moan. For a moment, her visitors were silent.

  After a time, Jacqueline continued, "Well, wouldn't you do the same, if you could track down the one thing that made you vulnerable? But that Isn't all I desire, Donskoy. You know it is not. I seek your contentment as well. And I could assist you much more- if only you would allow it, if only you would trust me just a little."

  Donskoy grunted.

  Marguerite turned her head, ever so slowly, to free her ear from the pillow. But she dared not open her eyes.

  "For decades I have proved my unswerving affection and loyalty to you," Jacqueline continued.

  "Indeed," replied Donskoy. "You have provided a welcome diversion. I suppose I do owe you a debt of gratitude on that account."

  "And you could thank me, Milos, by giving me the ledger, and the services of twenty of your best men."

  "No. Gather your own henchmen if you wish; it is within your capacity."

  "Ah, but they would not share the unique talents of yours. Ten men, then. And just a page or two from the ledger. Lord Azalin's preferences, for example. And a letter of introduction from yourself."

  "No."

  "Why not, Milos? With your introduction to his court, I could take up your business where you left off. Please, Donskoy. Tell me what Lord Azalin desires most, and how much he is willing to pay."