Bloodforged (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

THE GILDED CAGE

‘I will be leaving you at home,’ said Gabriella as Ulrika rode in the coach with her through Nuln to their temporary quarters. ‘I must go on to the Handelbezirk to meet with Madam Dagmar’s old employees, to familiarise myself with procedures and client lists. You will find it boring.’

Ulrika made no reply. She just stared out the window.

‘I have a surprise waiting for you at home,’ Gabriella continued. ‘I think you will be very pleased.’

Ulrika still said nothing, and finally Gabriella sighed.

‘I am sorry I raised my voice to you, beloved,’ she said. ‘But I cannot have you speaking with Famke.’

‘Why is that?’ asked Ulrika, turning from the window. ‘Why shouldn’t I speak to her?’

‘Why is that,
mistress
,’ said Gabriella. ‘You must not forget yourself because I gave you some autonomy during the recent troubles. The crisis is over now.’

‘Why is that,
mistress
?’ said Ulrika through her teeth.

‘Much better,’ said Gabriella. ‘Because, though we are now supposed allies, Hermione is still actively working against me. She does not want me in Nuln any more than I wish to be here, and she is deathly afraid I will be promoted above her. Therefore she will try her best to ruin my name and reputation while I am here.’

‘And what does that have to do with Famke, mistress?’ asked Ulrika.

‘Don’t be dense, girl,’ said Gabriella. ‘Famke is her creature. She is a spy for Hermione as surely as you are a spy for me, and will report anything you say to her mistress. You cannot trust her.’

Ulrika clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms, but she couldn’t contain her fury. ‘Must I see no one but you?’ she cried at last. ‘You killed Holmann! You deny me Famke! Who am I to talk to?’

Gabriella blinked, bemused. ‘You may of course speak to me any time you like, dearest,’ she said. ‘But if you require other playmates, there will be swains aplenty once the new brothel opens its doors. We will have a score of handsome gentlemen to guard us, and the most beautiful women in the Empire at our beck and call.’

‘I don’t want swains!’ Ulrika barked. ‘Have I not said? I let Holmann die rather than make him my slave. I want equals! I want true friendships, not the servile fawning of besotted fools!’

For a moment, Gabriella looked like she would reply in kind, but finally her face softened. ‘Then I’m afraid you will often be lonely amongst us, child. Though I have had good friends over the course of my centuries in the sisterhood, they have been few and far between. There is too much vying for position for most sisters to be true friends. Only when some outside force attacks us do we unite.’ She paused at that, smiling wryly. ‘And sometimes not even then.’

She patted Ulrika’s knee. ‘Our position will not always be so precarious, dearest,’ she said. ‘There will be a time when I will be able to allow you to find true companionship outside my house, but until then, I will do my best to be the friend you require.’

Ulrika turned back to the window, unconsoled. ‘A friend I must call “mistress”,’ she said.

They made the rest of the trip in silence.

Gabriella’s temporary home was in the Kaufman District, a quiet neighbourhood of rich merchants south of the noble Aldig Quarter. It was an unassuming little half-timbered row house, maintained by Hermione for just such situations as this – as a residence for visiting sisters who could not be seen staying at her own house. It had two floors, two bedrooms, a butler, a coachman and a maid – all blood-swains, of course.

Gabriella and Ulrika had lived there since they had crept back into Nuln after leaving the artful carnage to be found at Mondthaus, and to Ulrika it felt more like a prison – a well-furnished prison, to be sure, with heavy oak furniture and coloured glass in the windows and carved and painted ceiling beams, but a prison nonetheless. While Gabriella, Hermione and all her minions were busy arranging new identities and hiding old ones, Ulrika had more often than not been left to cool her heels there with nothing to do except read and pace and brood about the turn her life had taken since she had died.

The maid let them in from the small yard at the back, and Ulrika made to go directly to her room, but Gabriella laughed and caught her hand, holding her back.

‘No no, beloved,’ she said. ‘I will not have you sulking. Come to the parlour. I must go in a moment, but have a surprise for you, remember?’

Ulrika curtseyed but kept her eyes on the floor. ‘As you wish,
mistress
.’

Gabriella sighed and smiled sadly. ‘I know you are chafing against the edges of our life just now, but it will get better, I promise you.’

‘How will it get better?’ asked Ulrika, looking at her at last. ‘We will change this coffin for a bigger one, with whores in it. It will still be a coffin.’

Gabriella frowned. ‘You are determined to be offensive, but you will not bait me. Come.’

She led Ulrika into the tidy little parlour. On the Araby rug in the middle was a great trunk, stood on one end, with brass fittings at the corners, and a key sticking out of the lock.

Gabriella gestured to it. ‘Open it.’

Ulrika hesitated, then stepped forwards and turned the key. The lid swung out, almost of its own accord, revealing that the trunk was a neatly constructed miniature armoire, with a rail to hang clothes on, and little compartments for accessories, shoes and toiletries – and it was packed with male clothing.

Ulrika struggled hard to remain unimpressed, and to cling to her anger, but she couldn’t resist taking one of the doublets off the rail and holding it up. It was beautiful – black velvet embroidered with grey thread – and with slashed breeches and hose to match. There were three more doublets on the rail, in deep shades of burgundy, green and grey, as well as a black cape, a few lace-trimmed white shirts, and tucked below them, a pair of thigh-high black riding boots made of supple Estalian leather, and an exquisite Tilean-made matched rapier and dagger set, complete with sword belt and sheaths.

‘I took the measurements from your ruined riding gear,’ said Gabriella. ‘I know you are more comfortable dressed so, and since you did me such great service as my “drake”, I decided you must be rewarded.’

Ulrika turned to Gabriella, holding the black velvet doublet to her breast. She wanted to shuck her dresses and wig right then and there and try it on. ‘Thank you, mistress. This… this is a great gift.’

Gabriella smiled. ‘I hoped you would like it. You will of course still wear your skirts when we make formal calls,’ she continued. ‘But when you are at your leisure, you may dress as you like.’

Ulrika bowed. ‘Thank you, I…’ She looked up suddenly at Gabriella, her eyes lighting up. ‘May I come with you, now? Will you wait while I change?’

Gabriella pursed her lips. ‘As I said before, it will not be to your taste. I am meeting with the procuress and the kitchen staff, and I am late already.’

‘Then may I go out?’ Ulrika asked. ‘On my own? Just a walk around the neighbourhood? To the park in the Aldig?’

Gabriella’s lips became a hard flat line. ‘Don’t be silly, my dear. It is too dangerous. You know we must be invisible now. The city has quieted somewhat, but the vampire mania has not subsided entirely. All that is required is one spark and we are back to where we were before.’

‘But no one will know what I am,’ protested Ulrika. ‘Do you think I’m fool enough to reveal my claws and fangs? I learned that lesson.’

‘They will know you are unusual,’ said Gabriella. ‘A woman in male attire. The unusual attracts attention, and we cannot afford attention, do you not see?’

Ulrika stared at her, rage beginning to simmer within her again. ‘Then precisely when am I allowed to wear these clothes? You say I may not wear them when we go calling, and I may not wear them in public, but only at my leisure. Do you expect me to stay at home and march from room to room in them?’ She snatched up the boots and held them up. ‘These are for riding, mistress. When may I ride?’

Gabriella drew herself up. ‘Do not take that tone with me, child. I am merely thinking of your–’

Ulrika cut her off. ‘Do not call me child! I am a grown woman. I have travelled the world from Kislev to Middenheim to the Worlds Edge Mountains. I have fought the hordes of Chaos. I have led men in battle. And you will not let me leave the house?’ Her rage was at full boil now, and the world turned red around her, as if she saw through crimson lenses. Her arm twitched with the desire to hurl the boots at a statue of a noble lady with a knight kneeling at her feet that sat on a table across the room, but she held back, and forced herself to speak in an even tone when she would rather have spit the words in Gabriella’s face. ‘You think of me as some kind of doll, to be dressed up first as a girl, then as a boy, then left under the bed when you have tired of playing. Well, I am not a doll, and I am not a child. I will go where I wish to go, and I will speak to whom I wish to speak.’

‘Ulrika–’ said Gabriella.

Ulrika did not slow, and despite her attempt at control, her voice began to rise. ‘I owe you fealty for saving my life and teaching me the ways of your sisterhood, and I will serve you faithfully because of it, but I am not your slave. I am not your dog.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Ha! You said I was your friend. Does a friend say “sit and stay”, and expect one to be happy with a bone and a bowl of water?’

‘Enough!’ snapped Gabriella, then softened her tone. ‘It is because I am your friend that I do this. I know you feel confined, and I know it is cruelty to offer you clothes and no opportunity to wear them, but as I said before, these things will come.’

‘When?’ cried Ulrika.

‘Soon,’ said Gabriella. ‘We live a long time, beloved, and eventually all things happen. When we are established, when we have the measure of the authorities, then we may allow ourselves more leeway. If you have patience, friends will come, freedom will come, you will ride where you wish to ride, and come and go as you please, but not now. Not for a while yet. I am sorry.’

Ulrika trembled with frustration, crushing the velvet of the doublet in her fists, but then she slumped. ‘I am sorry too, mistress,’ she said. ‘I know we must be cautious. I know I must be patient. It is only that…’

‘It is only that you are not bred to this confinement,’ said Gabriella, stepping to her and folding her in her arms. ‘I know. You are a child of the wide Kislev plains, and I believe the cloistered nature of Lahmian life pains you more than the shedding of blood.’ She kissed Ulrika’s cheek. ‘I promise you, dearest. You will ride again, but–’ She lifted Ulrika’s chin and looked her in the eye. ‘But you must make a promise to me as well.’

‘What is it, mistress?’ asked Ulrika.

‘You must promise to obey me now,’ said Gabriella. ‘You must promise to bide here in the house until I give you leave to depart. You must let me be the one who decides when it is safe to go out, and with whom it is safe to speak. These strictures will not last, but until I lift them, I would have your word that you will obey them.’

Ulrika hesitated. She felt like Gabriella was stuffing her into the trunk with the doublets and boots and closing it tight. She wanted to run. She wanted to see the moons. But at the same time, she knew the countess was right. It was too dangerous now. They were on unfamiliar ground, and the population was still too unsettled. With a sigh she nodded her head. ‘Very well, mistress. I will obey you. You have my word that I will stay in the house, and that I will only speak to whom you allow.’

Ulrika felt Gabriella’s arms relax around her. She smiled and stroked Ulrika’s cheek. ‘Thank you, dear one,’ she said. ‘I will make it up to you one day, you will see.’

With another kiss on the cheek, she stepped back and collected her gloves. ‘I wish I could speak to you further on this, but I must go. I will return before daybreak. Feed from the maid if you wish, and I asked the butler to bring new books from the bookstalls. You shall have plenty to occupy you.’

‘Thank you, mistress,’ said Ulrika, and walked with her to the back door, where the maid waited with Gabriella’s cloak. ‘Take care.’

‘I will,’ said Gabriella.

The maid fixed the cloak around her shoulders, then opened the door and curtseyed her into the yard. Ulrika turned away as the girl closed the door again, then paused as she heard the key turning in the lock.

She turned back. The maid had no key in her hand. The door had been locked from the outside.

CHAPTER THREE

ESCAPE

Ulrika stepped past the maid to the door and tried the latch just to be sure. It was locked. Her skin prickled with terrible premonition, and she hurried through the house to the front door. It was locked too.

She turned to the maid, who had followed her, wide-eyed, from the rear vestibule. ‘Fetch the butler. Tell him to bring his keys.’

The girl scurried off, and Ulrika paced the entryway, her long skirts shushing on the polished wood floor until the butler arrived, looking sleepy and holding his ring of keys.

‘Open the door,’ said Ulrika.

‘Yes, m’lady,’ said the butler.

He inserted the key in the lock and tried to turn it, then turned back and bowed to Ulrika. ‘It appears the countess has set the wards, m’lady. The lock will not open.’

Ulrika cursed and looked around. ‘Wards? There are wards? Does she always do this?’

‘Usually only when she sleeps, m’lady,’ said the butler. ‘We must be able to go in and out, to go to market, to deal with tradesmen and–’

Ulrika snatched the key from him, then tried it herself. With her unnatural strength, she bent it, but could not budge the lock. She cursed again and strode to the back door. She had the same result there.

‘Damn her!’ She threw the keys away, then stomped back into the parlour. There were floor-to-ceiling windows there, heavily curtained. She threw open the curtains and fumbled with the hasp that held the windows closed. It opened, and she breathed a sigh of relief, but as she pushed against the windows, they did not move. It felt as if she were pushing against a stone wall.

With another curse she drew back a fist and punched at a square leaded pane. Her knuckles stopped a hair’s width from the glass, blocked by the same invisible stone wall. She snarled and jumped back, then picked up a heavy oak chair and flung it at the windows. The thing bounced back and thudded to the ground, the windows untouched. Ulrika glared at them, fists clenched at her sides.

‘Mistress,’ said the maid softly. ‘Mistress, are you well?’

Ulrika turned. The girl and the butler had edged back to the dining room door, watching her warily.

‘I am fine,’ she said. ‘Go to your rooms.’

They ducked their heads and hurried away, relieved. Ulrika righted the chair, then kicked it savagely, then paced and kicked it again, smashing it into a table.

The countess had locked her in. Ulrika had made a solemn pledge to her that she would not leave the house, and she had
still
locked her in! Ulrika snarled. Now she knew what Gabriella truly thought of her. For all her petting and soft words, she did not trust her to keep a vow. She believed her nothing more than a child, without honour or brains or sense of duty. It was a slap in the face – an insult to her integrity.

Rage filled her again, crimson clouds blurring and warping her vision until the room seemed at the bottom of a stormy red sea. She kicked the chair again, upsetting it. When Gabriella returned there would be a reckoning. Ulrika would not be lulled once again by smooth talk. She would demand her release, and if the countess refused, she would fight her way out, or die trying. She could not allow herself to serve such a duplicitous witch for one second longer. Ursun’s teeth! If she could break the wards that trapped her, she would leave now and never come back. To hell with all this Lahmian intrigue, with its rivalries and subtleties and airless rooms. She wanted out!

A tiny voice in Ulrika’s head reminded her of her vow to Gabriella, but she roared at it and it retreated into a corner, cowering. When the countess had turned that key, she had removed any obligation Ulrika owed to her. There was no dishonour in breaking a pledge to someone without honour.

She leapt at the window, claws and fangs bared, and slashed and clawed at it. It rebuffed her as before, and she fell back panting, but her anger was too hot to let it be. She turned, growling under her breath. If there was a way through the wards she would find it, and if there wasn’t, the countess would return to find her tidy little home torn to shreds.

Ulrika sprinted up the stairs to her room, darted around her canopied bed and crossed to the heavy curtains on the wall that faced the street. She gripped them in her claws and tore them down – and was faced with a blank wall. There was no window behind them. She stared, nonplussed, then ran across the hall to Gabriella’s room and tore down her curtains too. Again there was no window, only smooth plaster.

Ulrika stepped back, mind churning. She was certain she had seen upper windows on the outside of the house. They must be false, to give the impression of normality, while protecting Lahmian guests from exposure to the sun. Quickly, she tried every room on the floor, tearing down the curtains. None had windows.

Ulrika kicked the wall in frustration, then stopped, panting. What about a fireplace? Could she climb up a chimney and out? She ran back to Gabriella’s room and ducked her head under the mantelpiece. No such luck, the inside of the chimney was hardly big enough to admit her head, let alone her shoulders.

With a snarl, she snatched up the poker and slashed at a cherubic marble caryatid that held up one end of the mantel. Its little stone head bounced across the room and stopped below where the window should have been. She laughed and crossed to it, meaning to hurl it at something, then paused, looking again at the wall. There was a shadow on the plaster – a very faint vertical line. She stepped closer. It looked like the impression left on a blotter after one had lifted away the paper – an almost imperceptible tracery of what one had written. She ran her hand over it. There was a shallow depression in the wall, and to the right of it, another. She looked up. An arched line connected them, as faint as the rest.

Her skin tingled with excitement. This house had not been built for the Lahmians. It had been refitted to suit their needs. There had been a window here once. Indeed, there still was, on the outside. The question was, how sturdily had they closed it up?

She raised the iron poker, then paused. This window faced the street. Breaking through it would attract attention. She hurried to the study at the back. Yes. The same shallow grooves in the wall. She smashed it with the poker. The plaster cracked and crumbled. She struck again and made a hole. With her claws she tore at the edges, ripping away the smooth painted veneer until she could see what lay beneath. Only lathing and gravel fill!

She went at the lathing with both hands, ripping out the thin strips of wood and letting the pebbles they held in place spill to the floor. Buried only two inches deep was a wooden window frame. Ulrika ripped and tore until the whole frame was exposed. A thin black-painted wood panel had been set within. She pried at the edges and pulled it out, and saw moonlight. The window looked out into the carriage yard.

Ulrika reached out with the poker, hardly daring to hope, and thrust at a diamond pane. The tip popped through it with a tinkling of glass. There was no ward. She was free!

In her eagerness to be out of the house, she almost leapt through the window then and there, but then caught herself and stepped back. If she were truly to strike out on her own, she must prepare. Suddenly she smiled. How nice of Gabriella to have had the forethought to provide the things she needed the most.

She ran back down to the parlour and stripped out of her plaster-dusted dresses, then pulled on a shirt, the black velvet suit, the leather boots and some gloves. They were all a perfect fit. Next she strapped on the beautiful rapier and dagger, then took the grey suit from its hanger and folded it up. There was no pack, so she slipped the suit into one of the voluminous shirts, tied off all the holes, then knotted the sleeves together and slung it over her shoulder like a bag.

What else would she need? Money. She jogged back up to Gabriella’s room and ransacked her bureau and armoire, taking every piece of jewellery she could find. Under a hat box she discovered a small iron coffer which was filled with fifty golden Reikmarks. She scooped them up and filled the purse that hung from her sword belt. Now she was ready.

Part of her wanted to wait until Gabriella returned, just to confront her with her leaving, but that would put her much too close to morning, and she would have to be far away and under cover before then.

She hurried to the study and the window. A last moment’s hesitation overcame her as she looked out into the yard. It was an enormous thing she was doing, leaving the woman who had saved her and taught her how to get along in her new life. There might be no going back. And who knew what lay before her? Death might catch her that very morning as the sun rose. She shrugged and kicked through the glass. Better to die free than to live caged.

A thrill ran through her as she leapt down into the coachyard and the night wind ruffled her hair. Already she felt better. She padded past the carriage house to the back fence. Now to find a way out of Nuln. If only she could have said goodbye to Famke before she left.

She paused. Why say goodbye? Hadn’t Famke said she wanted to run away too? With a mad laugh, Ulrika vaulted the fence and struck out through the sleeping Altestadt for Hermione’s townhouse.

She wasn’t so inclined to laugh as she observed the place from a rooftop across the broad, mansion-lined Aldig Quarter street upon which it sat. It was a three-storey palazzo in the Tilean style, with elaborate stonework and twisting columns flanking the doors and windows. But for all its filigree it was as sturdy as a fortress, with bars on the windows and a four-inch-thick oak door, and though there were no guards visible, Ulrika knew Hermione’s ‘gentlemen’ were inside, and there were likely wards and heavy locks too, stronger than those that had protected the little safe house. No wonder the Strigoi, with all its strength, had preferred to kill the Lahmians outside of their houses when it could. It would take an army to break down Hermione’s defences.

Of course, it wouldn’t take an army for Ulrika to enter. The maids and men-at-arms knew her, and some little lie would be enough to get her through the door. The difficulty would be getting Famke out again. She was sure Hermione could lock the doors and windows with a snap of her fingers, and then she would be trapped inside. Hermione might kill her for trying to steal her protégée from her, or worse, bring her back to Gabriella.

But perhaps she wouldn’t have to enter the house. Perhaps Famke was still in the garden. With renewed excitement Ulrika dropped down from the rooftop to a narrow side street and circled the block until she reached the back wall of Hermione’s estate. Her heart surged as the tinny strains of an inexpertly played lute reached her ears. That could be only one person. Ulrika tiptoed to the wall and made to spring to the top of it, then paused. What if Hermione was with Famke? Or some of her gentlemen? She strained her senses. No heartbeats, but Hermione might still be there. Ulrika would have to spy it out.

She jumped up and caught the top of the wall with her fingers, then pulled herself up slowly until she could just peer over the wall. Trees and shrubs and statues of lovers dying in each others’ arms screened off much of the house, but by craning her neck and leaning to the left she could just see the veranda, and Famke.

She was alone on the bench where Ulrika had left her, her golden hair gleaming silver in the moonlight as she bent assiduously over her lute, wrestling with a Bretonnian melody – and losing.

Ulrika breathed a sigh of relief, then slipped over the wall and dropped down into the garden. She padded through the trees and shrubs to crouch down at the edge of the lawn, not wanting to step out where she would be in view of the windows.

‘Famke!’ she whispered.

Famke looked up, peeking through her long straight tresses.

‘Who?’ she asked, her playing faltering. Then she saw Ulrika and stopped altogether. ‘Sister! What are you doing here?’

Ulrika put a finger to her lips and beckoned to her. ‘Shhh,’ she said. ‘Come here.’

Famke looked back towards the house, then stood and hurried down the steps and across the lawn. ‘What is it, Ulrika? Why are you sneaking around like a thief?’

Ulrika grinned. ‘I have run away. The countess revealed herself to be without honour or respect, so I have decided to strike out on my own, and I’ve come to take you with me.’ She took Famke’s hand. ‘Come. We haven’t much time.’

‘You… you’ve run away?’ asked Famke, stunned.

‘It was that or die.’ Ulrika stood. ‘Now to the wall, before anyone comes looking for you.’

Famke pulled back. ‘Ulrika, I… How can we do this? It was only a joke. A dream.’

‘It is no joke for me,’ said Ulrika, impatient. ‘Not any more. I tore apart the countess’s house and robbed her blind. There’s no going back.’

‘But it’s impossible!’ said Famke. ‘We will need a coach, and blood-swains, and places to stay.’

Ulrika hefted the purse at her belt. ‘We’ll buy all that. Now, come on!’

Hermione’s voice rang from inside the house. ‘Famke? Famke, where are you?’

Ulrika turned back to Famke. ‘Come, sister,’ she whispered. ‘Before it’s too late.’