Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
“Oh, Maxl,” Gudrun said, capitulating. She felt so lonely, so wholly isolated that it seemed petty of her to deny Maximillian this pleasure, particularly since she was reasonably certain that the owner of the newspaper would not take long holidays away from his work, and might even give her a chance to keep up with the life she had left behind. “Very well, if Jürgen is willing. But first do let me have the repairs made.”
Maximillian beamed. “Of course, Rudi. Mein Gott, you don’t think I’d ask a man like Dietrich Eckart to stay while the place looks like this, do you?” He gave one of his robust bursts of laughter. “You’re house-proud, my dear Rudi, and all I can say is … thank goodness.”
It was an effort to answer his smile with one of her own, but Gudrun managed, all the while reassuring herself that it was the fatigue and disappointment of her trip that made her so suddenly frightened.
Text of a letter from Madelaine de Montalia to James Emmerson Tree.
Montalia
August 5, 1918
James Emmerson Tree
16, Rue des les Frères Gris
Faubourg Saint-Germain-des-Prés
Paris
My dear Mr. Tree:
You did me the kindness of writing to me in French, so I will return the compliment and write this in English; it is excellent practice for me. Should I commit any grotesque error, I hope you will forgive me.
I have your letter of last month finally, as it took more than four weeks to get here. I see that you are interested in discussing the plight of those deprived of their homes through this dreadful war. I am more than willing to speak with you, if that is what you wish, but I must warn you that you are not going to find a tale of woe at Montalia. My château here is a glorious old pile which has been in my family for centuries; indeed, this is where I was born and grew up, so I have a sense of restoration here, of continuity. If you search for those driven into proverty and homelessness, this is not the place to find one.
My home on the Marne, Monbussy, I have been informed by the Army, has fared badly in the war. That saddens me a great deal, Mr. Tree. Monbussy was added to my family holdings not long after the Revolution, and it has been much treasured. To know that it has been bombarded by artillery distresses me greatly, yet I know there is little I can do but hope that when all is over I will be allowed to go there once again and see it put in order.
You tell me that a Major Phillippe Timbres recommended you contact me. How kind of him. I must tender him my congratulations on his promotion. He called upon me at the time I had to leave Monbussy and was most kind in discharging his duties.
Let me suggest that in coming here, you travel first to Avignon, which is a most interesting place, as well as being the quickest route to Montalia. There is a train to Digne you may take, or if you plan to drive an automobile, I must inform you that the only other dedicated automobilist in this area is myself. It is difficult to get petrol in the best of times, and with the shortages of war, you will find something of a hazard in getting petrol. I would also urge you to carry a full set of replacement tires, as these roads are primitive and there are few places that can provide proper repairs. I keep a small supply of petrol here at my château, so once you arrive there will be little problem, but you may experience some inconvenience getting here. On the coast it is otherwise, and I confess there are times it seems to me that those living here in the mountains often take delight in rejecting all that is popular near the ocean.
But to continue your directions. Once you reach Digne, take the road to Saint-Jacques-sur-Crête, then take the east road toward Estfalaise. There is a fine waterfall you will see after the crossroad for Sage Disparu, and just beyond that there is a long, high meadow, almost a plateau; near the end of it, you will find a stone gate on your left. That is the entrance to my home. The château is some little distance along the road, but the drive is not steep, for there was a time when carriages instead of automobiles used this road, and the horses, after dragging the coach up such rugged slopes, were in need of a rest.
The winter is severe in these mountains and I would not advise you to come any later than the end of October, unless you are inclined to pass the New Year at my château, which you are welcome to do, but might not suit you, as I have heard that there is hope that the war will be ended with the year. A man in your profession doubtless hears more than I, and you must be in a better position to weigh the merit of such rumors, but if it should be that you cannot get here until spring, I will quite understand.
The constabulary at Saint-Jacques-sur-Crête has a telephone, and should you need to get a message to me, you may call there and ask that one of the postmen bring it with my mail. This has been done in the past and will certainly be done until such time as I have telephone lines strung to Montalia.
One thing I feel I should tell you: I am an archeologist, and if the war in the Middle East should be resolved in the next few months, I will make application to go there to resume my studies at various excavations. My last expedition was in the Sudan, and it is my fervent hope that it has not been too much disturbed by the fighting. Think of lying buried in sand for three thousand years, brought to light at last only to be destroyed by bullets and bombs. Should my request be approved, I will leave as soon as preparations are made, but I will make every effort to see you before I leave. As much as I have dreaded the destruction of Monbussy, I have felt a far greater fear for the dig in the Sudan.
I look forward to your visit, Mr. Tree, and trust that after such enterprise you will not be too disappointed.
It is my pleasure to be
Most sincerely yours,
Madelaine de Montalia
7
“I’m hungry,” Laisha whined as she pulled on Ragoczy’s hand. She was shivering, though the night was warm.
“Yes, I know,” he responded kindly, suppressing the desire to speak sharply to her. It had been more than a day since he had found food for her and she had done her best not to complain. “It will have to be a bit longer, Laisha. It’s hard to wait, but you’ll do it.”
“How long?” Her huge eyes glowered up at him accusingly.
“Another hour, perhaps a little more.” He was waiting for the windows of the houses to go dark, but he did not tell her that. Since sunset they had lain at the edge of the field, alert to everything around them. In the distance a dozen farmhouses clustered together around a wooden church with a steeple like a witch’s hat. Most of the windows were bright, and there was still movement in the little village. Ragoczy had seen enough to know that the farmers were aiding the insurrectionists, but was relieved to discover few signs of activity.
“An hour?” From her tone, she felt it was eternity.
“That’s not very much, Laisha. An hour is a tiny thing.” But as he said it, the memory of other hours came back to him, and each stretched on forever: hours in the full enervating power of the sun outside Babylon, hours in plague-maddened Thebes, hours in Salonika as the earth shook, hours in a cell under the Circus Maximus, in a slave caravan outside Tunis, on the cliffs near Ranegonda’s castle, in a flooded temple, in an abandoned Crusaders’ stronghold, at a bedside in Careggi on a Passion Sunday, in a burning cellar in Paris …
“It’s not,” Laisha stated, putting her fist to her mouth and biting rebelliously. Her face was smudged with dirt, her hair was tangled, and the loose-fitting trousers and shirt he had found for her three days before were already stained and torn at the knees. He supposed that he did not look much better.
“Perhaps not,” he agreed, touching her head lightly. “But if we don’t wait, it might be very … unpleasant.”
She drew away from him a little, not quite pouting.
Without speaking, he took her hands in his and crouched down beside her, waiting until she deigned to meet his eyes. “Laisha, do you recall the men with the guns at Kielice, and how difficult it was to get away from them? Five people were shot that night, and two of them were children. Do you remember?”
“Yes.” She nodded solemnly. “You tricked them.”
“I tricked them,” he agreed. “But it was a desperate chance and there’s little likelihood that we would be lucky again. The nearer we get to Breslau, the more danger we’re going to encounter. There isn’t just one war going on here, Laisha, but many, and it would be bad for us to be caught up in any of them. I know you’re hungry and thirsty and tired,” he went on, warmth in his tone. “We’ve had to take too many risks, and that has made it impossible to live sensibly. You’ve been brave and cheerful. I know it isn’t easy for you, hiding out and making do with straw beds and scraps of cheese, but it’s the only way to get through this to safety.”
Laisha sniffed. “I don’t know why I can’t get something to eat. The men were having sausages…” She looked wistfully toward the distant houses. “I saw them.”
“And so did I,” he said. His voice was soft, but there was a quality of command in it that made her look at him once more. “I also saw they had guns with them. It is better to be hungry than dead, my child. You’ll have supper before the night is too far gone, and you will eat in safety.”
“But how? Where?” Her eyes were awash with tears and she thumped her legs with her fists.
Ragoczy smiled slightly. “Why, in church. Where else should we find charity?”
His irony was lost on the child. “Will the priest feed us?”
“I don’t think we’ll ask him,” Ragoczy said. “There is a side entrance to the sanctuary, and if we go in there, we will do well enough. That’s where the tithing basket is kept and at this time of year, it is well-filled. If you wish sausages, Laisha, you’ll have them. We’ll bring a few with us, as well.”
She ran her tongue around her lips. “And bread?”
“Certainly.” He dropped back down onto the ground. “We have only to wait a bit. Be comfortable. We may not have much rest tonight.”
“Why not?” The question had little importance to her and she did not wait for an answer but curled up beside him, her head pillowed on his arm. She twisted uncomfortably once, settled, and lay still, her fatigue bringing her sleep almost at once.
Ragoczy watched her with a contemplative expression that was not quite a smile. There were so many complications since he had become Laisha’s
ipso facto
guardian. Guardian. He turned the word over in his mind in several languages. Guardian he had been before many times, but not with a ward. He was childless, after the manner of his kind, yet now he had a child. His eyes were no longer sardonic and he kept still so that he would not disturb her rest.
It was almost two hours later when Ragoczy gently shook Laisha awake. Her eyes opened quickly, fright-wide, but changed at once as she saw him. “Is it time?” she asked apprehensively.
“Yes.” He braced his head on his hand. “We have to go quickly once we begin to move. There are dogs in the village, but if I have a little time I can quiet them for as long as it will take us to raid the tithing basket. Then we must hurry.”
Laisha stared at him. “How will you quiet the dogs?”
He looked away. The questions would come, and they would have to be answered, he told himself. But what if that trusting face should turn from him in dread? Ragoczy’s dark eyes were enigmatic as he turned back toward her. “Those of my blood have certain gifts, Laisha. One of them is a limited control of animals. It is strenuous, and cannot be used on the run. But if I lie still here, I can influence the dogs, and for a while each will be in a stupor. When I become active, I won’t be able to keep that control, but with luck the dogs will take a few minutes to wake up.” He waited for the revulsion he had seen so many times before to show in her face, but to his surprise, the child grinned.
“Can you teach me how?” she asked eagerly.
Ragoczy shook his head. “No. It’s not a thing that’s taught: it’s … acquired. And it isn’t always safe to use. Here, with very little to watch but the fields, I can take the risk, but if there were others here, or if we had to move suddenly, then it would not be wise for me to try it.” He doubted that she understood, but he hoped she would have some sense of the particular difficulties of this manipulation and would not regard it as an ability available at any caprice.
An owl drifted overhead and suddenly plummeted down to seize a hapless mouse. There was a single shrill squeak from the mouse, and then the owl was flying off silently with supper held tightly in its talons.
“What happens?” Her dark eyes were sparkling.
“You won’t notice much,” he said kindly, amused at her absurd disappointment. “I’ll just lie here. You’re not to disturb me. I will know when it’s done.”
She glared at him, obviously convinced that he was deliberately withholding a treat from her. “Why shouldn’t I disturb you?”
“Because that would cause a great deal of confusion in me and the dogs would be aware that something was wrong, and we would not get the sausages in the tithing basket.” There were greater, more subtle dangers, but these he did not mention, knowing that this girl would be distressed by them, as so many others were.
“I wish we still had the horse,” she said quietly.
“So do I, Laisha. It would be … helpful.” They had left the horse at the last inn they had used. Soldiers had come with orders to arrest all foreign travelers; Ragoczy and Laisha had had less than five minutes to escape out a window and slip into the wood before the terrified innkeeper opened their rooms to the armed men. Ragoczy had paused only to grab his bag and a small leather pouch containing a few gold coins; then he climbed down the two stories to the ground.
“Could we get another one?” She looked woefully down at the ruined knees of her trousers.
“Perhaps.” He handed her the bag he had carried. “Hold on to this for me, will you? If something goes wrong and we must run, I will be a bit…”—he did not want to frighten her with stories of the disorientation he felt when brought suddenly out of his special concentration—“confused. If I am, I’m depending on you to make sure we keep this. It’s very important. All right?”