by Nathan Long
Famke pursed her lips. ‘In truth, Countess Gabriella and a few others whispered the same, but not in council. Mistress Ludwina holds secrets on everyone. None dare speak against her for fear of their disloyalties being exposed.’
Ulrika smiled, showing her fangs. ‘Well it is good, then, that we are already cast out, isn’t it?’ She turned for the rope that they had hung from the hole in the ceiling. ‘Come. Let us find her. She will lead us to our enemy.’
As Ulrika and Famke left the ruins that surrounded their hideout and started in the direction of the Great Bridge, they saw three figures walking towards them on the dark street and went on their guard. The silhouettes were all of shapely women, though one wore men’s clothes and had a rapier at her side. Ulrika laid her hand on her hilt, fearing the Lahmians had found them, but as they got closer she sensed their heartbeats. Still that was no guarantee, was it? They might be Mathilda’s swains.
‘Evening, lovies,’ said one of the women, giving them a once-over. She wore a revealing red dress and had her hair hennaed an improbable maroon. ‘Ain’t seen you around before. You new to the game?’
‘The – the game?’ said Ulrika.
The women burst out laughing.
‘Y’don’t have t’play innocent with us, dearie,’ said a hollow-eyed blonde. We’re all on the stroll here.’
‘Flash clobber,’ said the mannish one, nodding approvingly at Ulrika’s clothes. ‘Did y’nick that blade?’
Ulrika grunted with understanding. The women were harlots and their drake, and had mistaken Ulrika and Famke for the same. She was about to try to answer in kind when Famke beat her to it, reverting to her old accent as she had when she had talked her way into the black hotel.
‘Sorry, pet,’ she said. ‘Dead tired, we are. A pack o’ Tilean pikemen hired us earlier. Twenty o’em. I feel like a pin-cushion.’
The harlots all laughed and made lewd retorts, but the maroon-haired one kept an appraising eye on her.
‘Y’stayin’ around here, then? In them ruins?’
Famke laughed. ‘Oh no, just ducked in fer a wee. We – we’re actually looking fer a place, if y’know one.’
Maroon-Hair folded her arms. ‘Who d’ye work for? That Foundry mob?’
Famke shook her head. ‘Nobody now. We was tricking north of the river, but didn’t fancy the rent. Who’s boss down here?’
‘See Turo at the Laughing Bear,’ said the blonde, nodding back the way they’d come. ‘The Valantinas run the docks, and they don’t care for freelancers.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Famke, waving goodbye. ‘We’ll see him now. Ta for the warning.’
‘See that y’do,’ said Maroon-Hair as she started off the other way with her friends. ‘We don’t care much fer freelancers either.’
‘Were they hunting for us?’ Ulrika asked out of the side of her mouth as she and Famke walked off. ‘Or was that as straightforward as it seemed?’
‘I don’t know. They’re not from Mathilda’s mob. That I’m sure of. I would have smelled it. But…’ Famke shrugged.
Ulrika looked back and saw that Maroon-Hair was looking back too. Was it the natural suspicion of a whore guarding her turf, or something more sinister?
‘We’ll be very careful when we return,’ she said. ‘And if we find them skulking around, we’ll find another place.’
Famke pouted. ‘I like our place.’
‘As do I,’ said Ulrika. ‘But I like living more.’
Mistress Ludwina was not one for rapiers and kneeboots. As Ulrika and Famke watched her emerge from a hidden door in an alley near the Chalice of Caronne, they found her dressed as a juggler, with another Lahmian as a singer, a third as a dancer, and a trio of hulking swains dressed as their bodyguards and tip collectors. Ludwina wore a mask, parti-coloured rags, and a low-cut bodice that showed off ample curves. Her fellow performers were likewise attired. No one would ever remember their faces.
Ulrika smiled as she and Famke followed them at a distance. Their disguise was a good one for gathering information. Performers could go anywhere in the city and enter almost any establishment, high or low, and listen to the gossip around them as they did their show. The question was, were they spying for the Lahmians, or did they have some other purpose?
Ulrika and Famke followed them from the rooftops as they paraded along Handelstrasse, then slipped down to observe them from the shadows when they entered some tavern to perform for the customers and chat them up afterwards. They were excellent entertainers, and Ulrika had to remind herself that she wasn’t there to watch them spinning knives and turning handsprings, but to see if they made any clandestine assignations while they were at it.
At a place called the Elm, she caught Famke grinning like a child as she watched Ludwina juggling lit candles.
‘Enjoying the show?’ she asked.
Famke shrugged, chagrined. ‘It isn’t that. It’s that I’m here. Free. There are no locked doors around me. I can go where I please. I can run across the roofs and walk through the streets.’ She swallowed. ‘I can’t tell you how I’ve missed it.’
Ulrika pressed her hand, an answering lump forming in her throat. ‘I know the feeling well. When first the countess let me out to hunt down Murnau it was like I was drunk. The wind on my face. The stars overhead. The chance to stretch my legs. But… you must beware. That first time, I got so drunk on freedom I forgot to hide from the sun and nearly burned to death.’
Famke’s eyes widened. ‘I will remember, sister.’
An hour or so later upon a street of prosperous taverns to the east of the Gunnery School, Ulrika and Famke watched from the roofs as Ludwina and her companions exited a tavern called the Third Wilhelm. They were turning south when Ludwina suddenly stopped and looked north as if she saw something, then turned and whispered to the others. They split up immediately, calling ‘goodnight’ to each other as if parting for the evening, but then spreading out and moving in the direction Ludwina had indicated by alleys and parallel streets.
Ulrika let the others go and kept her eyes on Ludwina, who took to the rooftops as her companions moved ahead at street level. Ulrika and Famke slipped from roof to roof to keep up with her, but stayed well back, afraid she might be able to feel their presence with senses other than hearing and sight.
Half a block on, Ludwina paused and looked around. Ulrika and Famke ducked, afraid she had noticed them, but she stepped to a chimney and knelt beside it for a moment, then moved on.
Famke started ahead again, but Ulrika held her back. ‘We need follow no further,’ she said, nodding at the chimney. ‘That was the whole purpose of this expedition.’
‘What did she do?’
Ulrika shrugged. ‘Left a note? Made a mark? Whatever it was, she separated from her companions to do it, so it is most certainly something of which the Lahmians would not approve. Wait until they move on, and we will find out.’
They stayed where they were until they saw Ludwina rejoin the others on the street below and make a great show of cursing when they shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads. She led them off in a hurry to the west, as if in pursuit of some quarry, and Ulrika at last rose and made her way with Famke to the rooftop and the suspect chimney.
They crept around it, prodding its bricks and examining it from base to top until Famke paused.
‘Here,’ she said, and pulled out a loose brick, then handed Ulrika the slip of parchment behind it.
Ulrika unrolled it. It was a list, written in what looked like Tilean or Estalian. Whatever it was, Ulrika couldn’t read it, but some of the names were untranslated – Stirwood, Lashmiya and Sommerzeit, which was the name of the month that was fast approaching. There was also the initial K, which might stand for the Emperor, Karl Franz. She held it out to Famke.
‘Can you read it?’
Famke peered at it, then shook her head. ‘It is ancie
nt Tilean. I’ve learned some from Mistress Hermione, but not enough.’ She pointed to a word. ‘That is “to go”, or maybe “went” or “will go”. Hmmm. With some time, I might be able to work out more.’
Ulrika rolled it up again. ‘It seems obvious she is telling the Sylvanians the Lahmians’ plans, but the details aren’t as important as who it was left for, and the fact of her treachery.’ She tucked the parchment into her belt pouch, thinking, then turned to Famke. ‘You will stay here and watch the chimney to see who comes to retrieve it, then follow them when they leave. Do not approach them or attack them. I only want to know where they go. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sister,’ said Famke. ‘But where will you be?’
Ulrika grinned. ‘I am going to give this parchment to Countess Gabriella.’
Famke gasped. ‘You’re going back to the Lahmians?’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be staying. I’ll meet you back at the cellar.’ She gripped Famke’s arm. ‘And remember, be careful when you go back. If you see those harlots about, or anybody else, don’t go in. Go back to that filthy attic we stayed in the night before last. I’ll find you there.’
‘Yes, sister,’ said Famke.
Ulrika patted her arm, then turned to go, but Famke held her back and kissed her on the cheek.
‘I am glad I ran away with you,’ she said. ‘I am happier now than I have been since Hermione let me kill my father. I should have come away when you asked me the first time.’
Ulrika remembered back to her trip to Praag, and shuddered. ‘I’m glad you didn’t. It was nearly the death of me. But I’m glad you’ve come away now. It is good to have someone to fight beside.’
She kissed Famke in return, then turned and sprang for the next roof, elation filling her breast. What a difference having Famke with her made. Though she hadn’t known it until now, what had been missing since she had left Gabriella was a companion to share the good and the bad with. She had thought she’d had it with Stefan, but he had been playing her for a fool, pretending to be her friend in order to get close to the Lahmians of Praag. There was no such worry with Famke. They had been friends from the moment they had met, and were of like minds about their position in the world, and in Lahmian society. She was the best friend Ulrika could have hoped for.
chapter eleven
THE MORNING SUN
Though part of Ulrika wanted to stride straight through the Chalice of Caronne’s front door, then fight her way to Countess Gabriella and personally deliver the evidence of Mistress Ludwina’s treachery to her on bended knee, she knew she shouldn’t do it. First, she didn’t want to get caught, and second, fighting and possibly killing her erstwhile sisters would not play in her favour when she ultimately wanted to make her triumphant return to Lahmian society.
If she didn’t deliver the note personally, however, how could she ensure that it would actually get to the countess? If the brothel were riddled with spies, it might never reach her, particularly if Ulrika wrote ‘For the Countess’s Eyes Only’ upon it. Indeed, anything addressed to ‘Countess Gabriella’ was likely to be suspected. On the other hand, if she didn’t mark it as important in some way, Gabriella might wait to open it. How could she alert her without alerting her staff?
Then she had it, and hurried to the row of inns near the College of Barristers. At this time of night, they were the only places she could be sure of finding pen, paper and envelopes. She purchased the necessities from the night clerk at the Wig and Gavel then sat at a corner table and composed her letter, which was brief and to the point:
Mistress,
As proof of my loyalty, I present this treachery, delivered into the hands of your enemies by Mistress Ludwina, of your own house.
Your daughter,
Ulrika
Then, with her best imitation of a masculine hand, she inscribed the envelope:
To Madame du Vilmorin
From Felix Jaeger, Esq.
Regarding Our Recent Acquaintance
Ulrika smiled. To anyone who didn’t know Felix, the name and subject line would suggest a recent visitor to the brothel writing with either a complaint or a compliment, but to the countess, who had helped Felix and Gotrek slay her errant blood child, Adolphus Krieger, and foil his plans, it would suggest some new development on that front, which she would find entirely unwelcome in present circumstances. She could not help but open it as soon as she received it, and when she did…
Ulrika folded Mistress Ludwina’s roll of parchment and tucked it into the envelope next to her note, then sealed it with wax from the candle on the table. She then returned to the night clerk and took out some coins.
‘I need this delivered, tonight,’ she said. ‘Can you have a boy take it over? And he must not know who it came from, am I clear?’
The clerk looked at the coins on the counter – two gold crowns – a fortune. His eyes widened.
‘Certainly, madam!’ he said. ‘I will see to it right away.’
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘I shall be watching to be sure you don’t speak of me. If you do, I will take back the envelope, and the coins.’
‘No fear, madam. No fear.’
Ulrika returned to her table as the clerk rang the bell and a sleepy boy stumbled out from the back. With her inhuman hearing she heard the clerk tell him where to deliver the envelope – and that was all. The boy took it and left on his errand. A moment later, Ulrika rose and saluted the clerk, then followed the messenger.
After making sure the boy made it safely to the Chalice of Caronne and delivered the envelope into the hands of Madam Reme, Ulrika started across the city towards the rooftop where Famke waited, hoping she might find her still there. But as she sped back across the shingles, Ulrika was reminded of another roof, and her steps slowed.
The shadowy Sylvanian had told her to return to the rooftop where he had vanished when she was ready to join his army. She had meant to go back the very next night and pretend that she was eager to turn her coat, but then Famke had come and the Lahmians had attacked the plague house, and she had been on the run ever since.
Well, if he had heard any rumours of that night, then perhaps he would believe she was ready now. She ran to the building on the west side of the Emmanuelleplatz and climbed to the roof. He was not there. She settled in to wait. He did not come. She got up and paced around. Still he did not come. She paced some more, and then, on the ridgeline of the roof, found a note, finger-written in the black coal soot that coated the slates.
‘Not until you have changed your mind.’
Ulrika cursed the vampire’s smug prescience and looked around, glaring into the night.
‘And how do you know I haven’t?’ she called.
There was no answer.
She dropped down to the street again, cursing the time she had wasted, and began heading once again for Famke. But as she came around a corner she found the street around a Shallyan hospital blocked by an angry mob, and heard a remembered voice raised in fiery oratory.
‘The sisters of mercy serve Shallya no more, my friends!’ the voice cried. ‘They have traded the dove for the bat and their healing herbs for belladonna. They have been corrupted by foul fiends in female form, and now feed on those they once healed.’
Ulrika’s lip curled. It was the charismatic vampire hunter that she had seen before in the Reik Platz, and who had nearly been the death of her when he had set his followers after her. He stood on the steps of the hospital, dressed as before in black, with a bandoleer of stakes across his chest, his huge hammer held aloft in one hand and a torch in the other.
‘Break down the doors and drag them out!’ he was shouting. ‘Burn their foul nest. They must be exposed for the bloodsuckers they are!’
Ulrika stared at him as she edged around the crowd, marvelling at the stupidity of mankind. With war coming, and sickness, maiming and death soon to follow, the S
hallyans could be the one thing that kept the city alive, and yet this fool wanted to destroy them. Amazing.
‘Strike!’ he cried, turning and pointing his torch at the hospital doors. ‘Strike in the name of the Empire!’
Aye, thought Ulrika, disgusted, in the name of the Empire, strike a blow for the enemy. Well done, friend. But as she turned away and started to push through the last few onlookers at the edge of the mob, she paused, a cold prickle running up her spine. Had she imagined it? She looked back. There had been something, something in the way the firebrand had pointed his torch, something in the way he had moved and turned, that seemed familiar to her. Was she just remembering her previous encounter with him? No. It wasn’t that. It was his posture, the way he held himself, she had seen it before. He stood like he was a king, like all he surveyed was his to take.
A dagger of poisoned ice pierced her heart. The Sylvanian – the vampire with the shadowed face, the enemy she had just gone to look for upon the rooftop where he had defeated her. He was the firebrand! And he had fallen into her hands like an answered prayer!
She edged closer, just to make sure. Yes. It was him. Now that she knew to look, there was no mistaking him. He had the same build, the same stance, and his voice, though raised to a fever pitch now instead of purring smooth threats, had the same rich resonance. Ursun’s teeth! In two leaps she could – but no, he was too powerful, and the crowd would tear her apart the moment she attacked him. He was untouchable here. She would have to follow him until he was alone – indeed, she would follow him until she knew where he made his lair. The more she learned of him and his methods before she killed him, the more she could bring to Gabriella when she brought her his head.
And so she slipped again to the rooftops and watched, sickened, as he and his mad followers stormed the Shallyan hospital and dragged out sisters and patients alike, beating and stoning them and then fighting the city watch when they finally arrived as the place blazed behind them. But though revolted, she felt at the same time a certain appalled admiration for the Sylvanian’s methods.