Bloodborn

by Nathan Long

‘You used that excuse before,’ said Hermione. ‘But what of your Kislevite protégée, who wears dresses and long hair when you bring her to my parlour, but is a mannish, shock-headed spy out of my sight? Did she perhaps let you go home alone, and instead follow poor Dagmar home?’

  ‘She did not,’ said Gabriella. ‘She was with me the whole night.’

  ‘Was she?’ asked Hermione. ‘Dagmar was killed before her coach reached the Silver Lily. Who but you and I knew she was out?’

  A memory flashed through Ulrika’s mind – something black darting quickly in the corner of her eye as she and the others had travelled back from Mathilda’s in Hermione’s coach. She had looked out the window and seen only Dagmar’s coach, and thought she was jumping at shadows, but had there been something there after all?

  Gabriella sighed, exasperated. ‘You still have presented no proof, Hermione. Well, I have proof you are wrong. Ulrika and I were attacked ourselves this night, by the killer. He nearly killed me. He did kill Herr Aldrich and poor dear Imma.’

  Hermione stared, shocked. ‘Aldrich is dead?’ She recovered herself and bared her teeth. ‘Then it was you who killed him! Another blow to our network of spies. You do your work well, traitor.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ said Gabriella patiently. ‘The beast killed him.’

  Hermione’s eyes blazed. ‘And where is your proof, sister! Can you prove it was not you?’

  ‘Certainly, I can,’ said Gabriella. She turned to Rodrik. ‘Beloved, you saw what had occurred at Aldrich’s. Tell her.’

  Rodrik nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. A cunning look came into his eyes. He turned to Hermione. ‘I’m afraid I did not see what occurred, m’lady,’ he said, stiffly. ‘I arrived after the fact. It might have been as the countess says. It might not.’

  Gabriella rocked as if struck, and turned on Rodrik. ‘What! What do you say? Do you dare lie? You saw the wreckage! You saw the blood, and poor Imma dead!’

  Rodrik inclined his head with perfect politeness, but there was a curl to his lip. ‘I did indeed see all that, mistress,’ he said. ‘But I was not there to witness the attack, or the attacker, and cannot be certain there was one. The countess and her new servant could have just as easily caused the damage themselves, as some sort of cover.’

  ‘Ha!’ cried Hermione, jubilant.

  Gabriella stared at Rodrik as if he had become a stranger. ‘Rodrik, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nor can I swear that the Kislevite did not go out on the night Madam Dagmar died,’ Rodrik continued as if she had not spoke. ‘For all I know, the countess went out too.’

  Gabriella snarled. ‘What are you saying, villain? You were with us that night. You know we did no such thing!’

  Rodrik bowed, looking smug. ‘Countess, I do not. As you have so ordered things that I am no longer allowed to stay at your side, and am instead removed to an inn, I do not know what occurs when I leave you at your new home. I cannot therefore say that you are innocent of these crimes.’

  Gabriella advanced on him, her eyes blazing with fury. ‘You jealous little infant! You will betray me because we were parted for three days? What of your vow to protect me?’

  ‘None of that,’ said Hermione primly. She was enjoying herself now. ‘Do you deny that he is telling the truth? Can he vouch for any of your tale?’

  ‘No he cannot,’ said Gabriella through her teeth, then raised her eyes to meet Rodrik’s. ‘But he could certainly trust the veracity of what he did see. He could certainly give his mistress the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Hermione again. ‘You have no witnesses then!’

  ‘And neither do you!’ Gabriella shot back. ‘Rodrik cannot vouch for us, but neither can he say we did anything other than what we say we did. He wasn’t there.’ She turned on the knight again. ‘But I do know something he can vouch for.’ She raised her chin and glared at him. ‘Tell the truth, sir. Have I at any time in your hearing spoken of conspiring with Madam Mathilda or with the von Carsteins against Hermione or any of my Lahmian sisters?’

  Rodrik hesitated, frowning.

  ‘Come, sir,’ Gabriella snapped. ‘Speak!’

  Rodrik squared his shoulders. ‘No, m’lady, you have not, though I am not often in your presence these days.’

  Gabriella smirked, and was about to turn on Hermione, but Rodrik continued.

  ‘But I have heard you say that you thought Lady Hermione the least suited to lead here in Nuln,’ he said evenly. ‘And that you wished she had died instead of the others.’

  Gabriella froze, like a cat settling to spring, eyes boring into Rodrik’s. ‘You spoiled child.’ She started stalking towards him, shoulders hunched and eyes glaring. ‘You petty little–’

  Hermione stepped before her, holding out her arms. ‘You will not touch him, sister. He is under my protection now. Stand away.’

  Gabriella snarled, her fangs and claws extending. ‘And you will not tell me what I may do with my swain!’

  Hermione jumped back, a look of triumph in her eyes though she was miming fear. ‘She attacks me! She is with the killers! Champions, defend me!’

  Ulrika went on guard behind Gabriella, watching her back, as all around the room von Zechlin’s exquisites jumped from their languid poses and strode forwards to surround them, drawing their rapiers. Famke stepped forwards to stand at Hermione’s shoulder, her face troubled, while Otilia backed quickly to the door.

  ‘Rodrik!’ called Gabriella. ‘Take von Zechlin. Ulrika and I will handle the bitch and her curs.’

  But when Rodrik drew his sword, he stepped away from the countess and instead joined the closing circle of Hermione’s men.

  ‘I am sorry, my lady,’ he said, and pulled down his collar to show his neck, revealing two scabbing puncture wounds. He had been freshly bled. ‘But I am no longer yours to command.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE POWDER KEG

  Gabriella stared at the bite marks then turned towards Hermione. ‘How dare you bleed a swain of mine!’

  Hermione laughed. ‘He is yours no more. You neglected him for too long. I could not bear to see him so forlorn.’

  Gabriella swivelled back to Rodrik. ‘Traitor!’ she growled. ‘Oath breaker!’

  Rodrik raised his sword and pointed it at her, looking noble. ‘I did not turn away from you, m’lady, until you turned away from me.’

  Von Zechlin pushed past Rodrik. ‘Enough talk! Attack!’ He lunged at Gabriella with his rapier. His men followed suit.

  Gabriella batted the blade aside and slashed at him with her claws, but he dodged back and the men to either side of him slashed at her.

  Ulrika dodged three blades of her own, now desperately wishing she were dressed in her riding clothes, no matter how bloodied and torn, and had her sabre at her side. Armed and able to move, the seven men who surrounded them would have given her few qualms, but encumbered and bladeless, she wasn’t so certain. She kicked a delicate Tilean table at her opponents, making two of them stumble. Beyond them, she saw Hermione dragging Famke back towards the corridor door.

  ‘Hermione is retreating, mistress,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Should I kill her?’

  ‘No,’ grunted Gabriella, clawing the arm of the gentleman next to Rodrik. ‘Not without permission from the queen. We must escape.’

  Ulrika grunted with annoyance. ‘Very well, mistress.’ Obeying the queen’s law might be the death of them.

  Her three opponents came in again. They were indeed fine blades, as Hermione had bragged. Each stabbed at her in a different place so that she could not block them all. She blocked none.

  She let two of them stab her through an arm and a leg while twisting away from the one that aimed at her heart. The pain was excruciating, but what did it matter? A drink of blood and the wounds were soon no more than a memory. She caught the wrist of
the man who had made the heart thrust and tore it open to the bone with her claws.

  He screeched and crumpled and she had his rapier. Armed at last! The two others were drawing back for second thrusts. She stamped into a straight lunge and ran the first through the heart, then whipped the blade out again and parried the slash of the second as it whistled towards her head. He fell back, wide-eyed as her blade snaked for his neck.

  The violence and scent of flowing blood made her want to pursue him, but she held back. Gabriella had ordered her to escape, not kill.

  ‘This way, mistress!’

  Gabriella leapt back from Rodrik and von Zechlin and another of Hermione’s gentlemen. The countess had a blade now too, and a dandy lay across a chair, bleeding on the upholstery.

  ‘Stay back!’ she cried.

  The gentlemen didn’t listen, and came in again.

  Ulrika blocked the attack of von Zechlin’s man, while Gabriella knocked away Rodrik’s and von Zechlin’s blades. The countess was no swordswoman, but her inhuman speed made up for any deficiencies of form. She kicked von Zechlin into the man Ulrika had earlier driven back. They went down together, slipping on an Araby rug but, as she faced Rodrik, he dashed the rapier from her hand with his heavier sword, and raised it to strike.

  ‘Mistress!’ cried Ulrika, and tried to push to her side, but the other men got in her way.

  She hacked at them as Gabriella faced Rodrik and spread her arms.

  ‘Truly, sir knight?’ the countess asked, raising her chin. ‘Will one bite truly turn you? Will you strike your sworn lady?’

  Rodrik hesitated, sword quivering, eyes pained.

  Gabriella snarled and struck, a pistol-shot slap across his cheek that slammed him to the floor. He gasped, stunned, staring up at the ceiling as the deep claw marks on the left side of his face welled with blood from ear to chin.

  Ulrika pinked her two opponents and dived through them to Gabriella. The countess was reaching for Rodrik to finish him, but from behind came a streak of powder-blue silk.

  ‘Mistress, look out!’

  Gabriella turned just as Hermione slammed into her and the two women crashed down through a low table in an explosion of gilded splinters and crinolines. Hermione’s claws were digging into Gabriella’s throat.

  ‘Mistress!’ Ulrika leapt forwards, raising her rapier to run Hermione through.

  ‘No!’ gasped Gabriella.

  Ulrika cursed and flung the blade away, then grabbed Hermione by her hair and the back of her dress and hauled her up. Hermione twisted in her grasp, spitting and clawing, and scratched Ulrika’s face. Ulrika tried to peel her off, but she clung to her head and neck, tearing.

  Ulrika wrenched back with her head, leaving Hermione holding nothing but her long wig, then threw her at the harpsichord. Hermione crashed into one of its legs and snapped it. The heavy instrument clanged down on top of her, splintering the parquet floor.

  Von Zechlin and the surviving men cried out in alarm and ran for the instrument.

  Gabriella laughed and took Ulrika’s hand. ‘Well done, beloved! Now, come!’

  They ran for the door as clangs and sounds of struggle followed them. Only Famke blocked their way. She stood on guard, fangs and claws extended, but her eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Step aside, girl,’ said Gabriella calmly.

  Famke’s gaze twitched from her to Ulrika, then to the confusion behind them.

  ‘Your mistress needs you,’ said Ulrika.

  Famke shot her a look that might have been gratitude, then ran around them towards the harpsichord. ‘Mistress! Are you hurt?’ she cried.

  Ulrika threw open the door and she and Hermione made to run into the hall. Otilia was scrambling back from them, face white. She had obviously been listening at the key hole.

  Gabriella shoved her aside and they ran for the front door. Behind them, Hermione’s voice raised, shrill with rage.

  ‘Get them! Leave me! Get them!’

  The sounds of pursuit followed them as they burst out into the drive. Ulrika looked back into the house. Von Zechlin and two of his men were pelting down the hall for the door.

  Ulrika stopped at the bottom of the steps as Gabriella opened the door to the coach. ‘Should I kill them, mistress?’ she asked, going on guard.

  ‘In the street?’ barked Gabriella. ‘Foolish child. Get in!’ She shoved back Lotte, who had peered out to see what the trouble was, and plunged into the coach, then rapped on the ceiling for the driver to go before Ulrika had got all the way in. ‘Go! Fly!’ she shouted.

  Ulrika slammed the door as the coach rumbled forwards, then looked out the window and back. Von Zechlin and his men were spilling out of the house and skidding down the stairs after them. Rodrik came last, wheezing and holding his bloody face.

  It looked for a moment as if the gentlemen were going to pursue the coach down the street, but von Zechlin looked around at the pre-dawn traffic and called them back. Ulrika smiled as they trudged back into the house with many an angry look. Having to maintain a respectable front must be such a disadvantage.

  The last thing Ulrika saw as the house vanished from view around a corner was Otilia, the housekeeper, glaring in her direction, then slowly closing the door.

  After a few streets, Uwe the coachman’s voice came from above. ‘Where shall I take you, mistress?’

  Gabriella sighed and leaned back against the bench, tidying her dishevelled coiffure. ‘A very good question,’ she said.

  Ulrika turned to her, taking her hand. ‘Mistress, let us leave this rat’s nest and go back to Sylvania.’ She gestured angrily back the way they had come. ‘Who among them is worth saving? Rodrik is a vain fool, and Mistress Hermione is so concerned with her standing that she strikes out at those who would help her. While we have been trying to find the killer she has hampered us and thwarted us at every step. Let her die!’

  Gabriella brushed dust from her skirts and adjusted her bodice. ‘Would that I could,’ she said. ‘But one does not go against the orders of the queen. I must continue the investigation, with Hermione’s help or without it.’

  ‘But how?’ Ulrika asked. ‘We have no house, no allies. What will we do?’

  Gabriella smiled, tired. ‘We will have to make new allies.’ She raised her voice and rapped on the wall. ‘Uwe! South of the river! To the Wolf’s Head!’

  Ulrika’s raised an eyebrow. ‘Mathilda?’

  Gabriella laughed. ‘Hermione was so convinced the she-wolf and I were in collusion when we were not, and now she has driven us together. Her actions make realities of her fears.’

  As they drove through the waking city, it was clear that the discovery of Dagmar’s corpse had stirred Nuln’s vampire hysteria to new heights. The charm sellers were thicker than ever on the streets, hawking garlic and leather collars and silver pendants in the shape of Sigmar’s hammer or the twin-tailed comet. Broadsheet vendors cried their headlines.

  ‘Brothel of Blood in the Handelbezirk!’

  ‘Vampire harlot found dead!’

  ‘Witch hunters close brothel, arrest whores by the dozen!’

  Street-corner demagogues shrilled at the men and women trudging to their jobs on the river and in the manufactories.

  ‘They walk among us!’ shrieked one. ‘From the high to the low! From the rich to the poor! And it is our lust that allows them in! Resist the harlot! Resist the mistress! Be pure in your own heart and ye shall be safe!’

  ‘Can you trust your wife?’ cried another, spraying spittle. ‘Can you trust your daughter? All women are vampires! All beauty is witchery! All must burn!’

  And it seemed that the people were taking the messages to heart, for everywhere she looked, Ulrika saw men and women eyeing each other suspiciously. A group of austerely dressed men watched with distrust as a pretty young apple-seller pushed past them with her barrow. A group of childre
n ran after an old woman in widow’s black, pointing and singing, ‘Vampire! Vampire! Don’t let her catch you!’

  The very air seemed tense with fear and suppressed violence. Nuln, the city of cannon and blackpowder, seemed ready to explode.

  It was full dawn when they at last found their way through the milling slums of the Faulestadt and reached the Wolf’s Head Tavern, then turned down the narrow alley between the tottering tenements and waited at the disguised gate that guarded the hidden court.

  At their coachman’s call, Red, the henna-haired woman who had been their escort on their last visit, peeked over the top of the wall and looked down at them.

  ‘She’s having her kip,’ she called. ‘And ain’t t’be disturbed.’

  ‘It is a matter of some urgency,’ said Gabriella, leaning out with a veil over her face. ‘And touches on her safety.’

  Red’s head pulled back and Ulrika heard a brief murmur of discussion behind the wall, then she popped back out.

  ‘Y’better come in, then,’ she said. ‘Hang on.’

  Ulrika and Gabriella sat back in their seats and waited as the false wall swung noisily in and the coach rumbled forwards into the muddy yard.

  Lotte peered out through the louvres at the ramshackle buildings and rough men that surrounded them, her eyes growing wider by the moment. ‘Are we safe here, mistress?’ she asked.

  ‘Safe?’ said Gabriella. ‘I cannot say. But we have so far received more courtesy here than in Hermione’s gilded halls. Hopefully we shall also receive a fairer hearing.’

  She and Ulrika fixed their veils in place and stepped from the coach, leaving Lotte to wait, then once again followed the red-headed hoyden as she led them down past the wards of misdirection and confusion to the subterranean world below the Wolf’s Head, and then through the hidden door into Madam Mathilda’s opulently shabby parlour. There was a wait there as their guide disappeared through a further door and had a conversation with Mathilda’s maid, but at last the door opened again and Mathilda herself came out, barefoot and spilling out of a belted red satin robe. Her hair, previously a wild black mane, was wound around her head and wrapped in a pink scarf.