Bloodforged (4 page)

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.’

Famke shook her head, looking as if she would cry were vampires able to shed tears. ‘I cannot. It won’t work. I’m sorry.’

Ulrika stepped out of the bushes towards her, anger growing in her breast. ‘What is the matter with you? Do want to live under the thumb of that horrible woman for the rest of eternity? How can you stand to be shut up like this? You are like a doll in a box. Wouldn’t you rather die free than live caged?’

Famke hung her head. ‘I’m sorry, Ulrika. I am a coward.’

Ulrika groaned, and considered slinging the girl over her shoulder and carrying her over the wall by force, but just then the veranda door opened and Lady Hermione stepped out, two of her gentlemen at her back. Famke squeaked.

‘What goes on here?’ asked Hermione coldly as she stepped down to the lawn.

Ulrika fought down the instinct to attack, and bowed instead. ‘For-forgive me, Lady Hermione. I heard Mistress Famke playing while I was walking, and thought I would pay my respects.’

‘I see,’ said Hermione, swishing forwards through the grass as her men spread out behind her. ‘A social call, over the garden wall.’

‘Ah, yes, mistress,’ said Ulrika. ‘I-I know I should have presented myself at the front door, but I thought I would surprise–’

‘So you were only being social,’ said Hermione, cutting her off, ‘when you asked my darling Famke if she would rather die free than live caged?’

CHAPTER FOUR

THE WALLS OF NULN

Ulrika stepped back, keeping her hand away from the hilt of her rapier with difficulty. Famke shrank back too.

‘I–I’m afraid you misheard me, mistress,’ said Ulrika.

‘Did I?’ asked Hermione. ‘Then what
did
you say?’

Ulrika opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She cursed herself. Had she been the countess, the lies would have flowed like wine. Gabriella was never at a loss for words, but Ulrika had not been trained in parlour fencing. She shot a look at Famke, but the girl seemed paralysed with fear.

‘I… don’t remember,’ she said at last.

Hermione shot her a withering look. ‘If you are going to come wooing my ward for Gabriella, you really should be better prepared.’ She held out her hand as more men filed out of the house behind her. ‘Surrender your sword. You will be held here until the countess can be sent for.’

Ulrika took another step back and felt the bushes pressing into her back. The garden wall was close.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I–’

With a sudden spring, she shoved Famke into Hermione, then turned and bolted through the shrubbery.

Hermione shrieked in anger, then started chanting an ear-blistering incantation while her gentlemen bellowed and plunged into the bushes. Ulrika didn’t look back. It would only slow her. A tree before her offered a low branch. She leapt up and kicked from trunk to branch to the top of the wall like a cat, but the air above the wall rippled and thickened as Hermione’s incantation neared its conclusion. It dragged at Ulrika as she struck it, holding her in mid-air and slowing her like a fly caught in honey. The gentlemen burst from the bushes and leapt and flailed below her, trying to catch her ankles.

Ulrika fought against the thickened air, pushing through it with her arms and pushing it away with her mind. Let me go! she screamed to herself. Let me be free!

Suddenly she
was
free, and crashed down ungracefully to the cobbled alley, landing hard on knees and elbows. She scrambled up and ran as the voices of Hermione’s gentlemen roared from behind the wall.

‘Lower the wards, mistress!’

‘She’s escaped!’

‘Fetch lamps, someone!’

‘Goodbye, Famke!’ Ulrika shouted over her shoulder, then turned left at the end of the alley and sprinted away, twisting and turning through the deserted streets without thought for where she was going. She heard no sounds of pursuit, but that was no guarantee. She had no idea of the extent of Hermione’s powers. For all she knew, the lady could fly, though it seemed likely she would be too concerned with appearances to go flitting over Nuln in her fancy dresses. That was not the Lahmian way.

No, Ulrika thought with a tremor. The Lahmian way was to use their influence and position to get what they wanted. Hermione wouldn’t hunt her. She would ask the authorities to do it. Suddenly Ulrika felt the walls of Nuln closing in on her. She had to get out before Hermione blocked off her routes of escape, and she had wasted too much time already, running around like a headless goblin.

She stopped and looked around, getting her bearings. She was in the Temple Quarter, with the towering spires and battlements of the temples of Sigmar, Shallya and Myrmidia looming all around her. Fool! She had run almost to the Garden of Morr – completely the wrong direction. She turned and started south, moving this time at a swift but measured pace, and praying to the gods who would no longer hear her that she was not too late.

A few minutes later, she came to a stop near the High Gate, the main portal through the wall which divided the rich Altestadt quarter from the common commercial vulgarity of the Neuestadt. She had climbed the wall once before, coming the other way, and had almost been caught. She was loath to try it again.