Borrower of the Night: The First Vicky Bliss Mystery (10 page)

The room grew very silent. A rustle of the draperies, at a sudden breath of wind, made us all jump. Gradually the stillness spread again. I found myself staring dreamily at the bright shape of the candle flame. It took some effort to wrench my eyes away; the whole business was a perfect example of hypnotic technique, and it was damnably effective. The silence was not the absence of sound; it was a positive force that seemed to grow and strengthen. Silence, concentration, and a single point of moving light in darkness…. Yes, very effective. It was hard to keep my mind critical and controlled.

A prickle ran down my back. The planchette had moved.

I lifted my hands until my fingertips barely brushed the planchette. So far as I could determine, the others had done the same. I could have sworn no one in the circle was exerting enough pressure on the planchette to move it.

It moved again. Rocking unsteadily, it shifted toward the side of the circle.

Miss Burton’s voice was hoarse with excitement.

“Is there a spirit present?”

At opposite sides of the circle of alphabet cards were two cards bearing the words “yes” and “no.” The planchette sidled across the table and nudged the “yes” card.

Someone gave a little gasp.

“Quiet!” hissed Miss Burton. “Do you wish to communicate with someone here?”

The planchette edged coyly away, and then, with a swoop, again pushed the “yes” card.

“What is your name?”

The diabolical little wooden triangle teetered out into the center of the table. It hesitated. Then it moved purposefully around the alphabet cards.

“K-O-N——”

My elbows ached. I watched the animated chunk of wood with horrid fascination as it bobbed and dipped around the “N” card, scraping back and forth in painful little jerks. I realized that I was mentally describing its actions with words I would have used for a living creature. It seemed to be alive, to be directed by a guiding intelligence.

After an uncanny suggestion of struggle, the planchette slid slowly toward the “no” card. “No” — then “no” again — then it gave a violent heave —
upward
, against six sets of fingertips. It fell over and lay still. I felt as if something had died.

“What the hell,” George began.

“Hush,” said Miss Burton solemnly. “There is conflict — a hostile entity….”

The candle needed trimming. The room was noticeably darker. The other faces were dim white blurs. I rubbed my elbows, and wondered how much practice it would take to manipulate a planchette unobstrusively. It could be done. It had been done, in thousands of fake séances. Maybe it didn’t require practice. I mused, ignorantly, on the eccentricities of the subconscious.

“This is a very strange thing,” Schmidt began, and then gasped. “Look — the young countess!”

Irma had fallen back in her chair, arms dangling at her sides. I could hear her breathing in low, deep sighs. It was a horrible sound.

Blankenhagen got to his feet.

“Don’t touch her!” Miss Burton’s voice stopped the doctor as he reached for Irma’s wrist. “She is in trance. If you try to waken her, it could be disastrous. Let me handle this. Irma — can you hear me?”

There was no answer. The doctor looked from Miss Burton to the unconscious girl. Miss Burton took a deep breath and said distinctly, “Who are you?”

For a few seconds there was only silence. Then, from the sleeping girl’s mouth, came a voice speaking a strange garble of words. It sounded like German, but it was a form of the language I had never heard. Or…had I? It sounded vaguely familiar.

Then, for the first time, my hair literally bristled. I had heard the language before, when a visiting professor of Germanic literature read some of the
Meistergesang
of the sixteenth century in their original form. Irma was speaking
Frühneuhochdeutsch
— the earliest form of modern German, the language used by Martin Luther and his contemporaries.

Miss Burton scribbled like a maniac, taking the speech down in phonetic symbols. Her cold-blooded competence was repulsive.

The voice — I couldn’t think of it as Irma’s — stopped.

“Why have you come?” Miss Burton asked.

This time, prepared, I caught some of the answer. I didn’t like what I heard. Tony understood, too; his breath caught angrily, and he pushed his chair back.

“This has gone far enough,” he began, and was cut short by the scream that ripped from Irma’s throat. The next words were horribly clear.

“
Das Feuer! Das Feuer
!” She shrieked, and slid sideways out of her chair.

Blankenhagen caught her before she hit the floor.

That broke up the séance. Miss Burton moved about lighting candles. Her eyes glittered. Blankenhagen knelt by Irma, and the rest of us huddled in a group near the door.

“What did it mean?” George hissed. “That last word?”

“Fire,” said Tony uneasily. “Fire.”

“What fire?” George demanded. “Is she trying to tell us the
Schloss
is going to burn?”

“How should I know?”

Miss Burton came back to the table.

“Did anyone recognize the language?” she asked briskly.

I gave her a hostile, unbelieving stare, which didn’t disturb her in the slightest, and turned to Blankenhagen.

“How is Irma?”

“She recovers,” the doctor said shortly.

“She will feel no ill effects, except for great weariness,” Miss Burton said complacently. “I have seen deep trance before. My dear Elfrida, how fortunate. You told me the girl was susceptible, but I had no idea!”

The countess hadn’t moved from her chair. She didn’t look at Irma.

“Now, the language,” Miss Burton went on. “A form of German, I believe. Professor Lawrence?”

“Not now!” Tony said angrily.

“Professor Schmidt? Really, this is too important—”

Schmidt was too shaken to argue. I felt a touch of sympathy for the little guy when I saw his twitching face; he was like a man who goes out hunting for a lost pussycat, and meets a tiger. With a despairing shrug he took the paper Miss Burton thrust at him.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered. “It is the early form of modern High German. ‘I am the Gräfin Konstanze von Drachenstein; from the sunny land of Spain I came, to die in this place of cold winters and colder hearts.’”

“Lousy prose,” George said critically.

Schmidt hurried on.

“Then, it is something like this: ‘There is danger everywhere. I cannot rest. I cannot sleep, here in the cold of eternity. Let me see the sun again, let me feel warmth, breathe the air. Give me life. She has so much; let her share life and breath with me. Let me have—’”

The sobbing cry might have been the ghost’s own addition to Schmidt’s translation. It was Irma’s voice, though. Supported by Blankenhagen, she had raised herself to a sitting position. As we turned, guilty and surprised, she slumped back with closed eyes.

“Idiot,” said the doctor furiously. “It is criminal, what you do! To put such insane ideas into the girl’s mind—”

“It is you who are insane, to deny the evidence of your own senses!” Miss Burton was as angry as Blankenhagen. Two febrile spots of color burned on her sallow cheeks. “You heard her; you must know it was not Irma who said those words. Possession by the spirits of the dead is a well-documented fact; only a bigoted scientist would deny—”

“
Herr Gott in Himmel
,” bellowed Blankenhagen. “Will no one stop that cursed woman’s mouth?”

He surged to his feet, lifting Irma as if she were a child. Miss Burton’s color faded; she fell back a step as the irate doctor advanced on her. I decided it was time to intervene.

“I’ll stop it,” I said. “If she says another word, I’ll gag her. Come on, Doctor. You’d better get Irma out of here.”

Miss Burton gave me a long, measuring look, and decided I was not only willing to carry out my threat, but capable of enforcing it. The
Gräfin
smiled like Andersen’s Snow Queen. George was smiling too, but he looked rather thoughtful. Tony didn’t say a word; he just moved up behind me and put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Of the whole group, the one who was most upset was little Herr Schmidt. His face was puckered like that of a baby about to cry.

“
Furchtbar
,” he muttered. “I am ashamed; I did not know she heard. I did not realize—”

George gave him a slap on the back.

“Don’t kick yourself, Schmidt. It wasn’t your fault. Well, ladies, I guess it’s time to break up the party. Thanks for an interesting evening. Not much fun, but interesting.”

The light touch was inapropos. Blankenhagen bared his teeth at George and stamped toward the door. I started to follow, since it was clear that the
Gräfin
didn’t intend to go with her stricken niece, but Tony’s hand held me back.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “
Gräfin
, you once said I might explore any part of the
Schloss
. I want the keys to the crypt, please.”

“The crypt?” The
Gräfin
laughed musically. “You are thinking of going there now? I admire your courage,
mein Herr
, it is an uncanny spot by night, even for a skeptic. But if you are determined, come to my room and I will give you the keys.”

I caught up with Blankenhagen in the hall.

“I’ll show you where Irma’s room is,” I said. “You may need some help.”

His rocky face relaxed a little.

“You are good,” he said formally.

The only thing he needed me for was to undress Irma and put her to bed. I wondered at his modesty; a doctor shouldn’t be embarrassed about female bodies, even bodies as gorgeous as Irma’s. Then it occurred to me that maybe he was thinking of her as something other than a patient.

The girl didn’t stir as I wrestled her into one of her hideous nightgowns and tucked her in. She was a little thing; it wasn’t hard for me to handle her. But I didn’t like the flaccidity of her muscles, or the depth of her trance. As soon as I had her in bed, Blankenhagen took over. After a few minutes she began to mutter and stir.

In the silence I heard footsteps outside—Tony and the old witch, going after the keys. The footsteps didn’t stop, they went on up the stairs. The cold-blooded female hadn’t even looked in.

I moved closer to the bed and took Irma’s hand, which was groping desperately, as if in search of something. Blankenhagen gave me a faint smile of approval. I felt absurdly complimented. The smile made him look almost handsome.

Finally Irma’s eyes opened, and I gave a sigh of relief. Blankenhagen leaned over her, murmuring in German—repeated reassurances, comforting and semi-hypnotic. The technique seemed to work; her face remained calm. Then she turned her head and saw me.

“It is the
Fräulein Doktor
, come to sit with you,” said Blankenhagen quietly. “She will stay—all night, if you wish…?”

The question was meant for me as well as for Irma. I answered with a prompt affirmative, and patted the kid’s hand.

Gently but decisively it was withdrawn.

“Thank you. You are good. But I would like my aunt.”

“But—” the doctor began.

“My aunt! I must have her, she alone can help me….
Herr Doktor
, please!”

Her voice rose. I recognized the sign of incipient hysteria as well as Blankenhagen did. Our eyes met, and he shrugged.

“Yes, of course you shall have her. I will fetch her.”

Irma’s eyes closed.

“I’ll get the
Gräfin
,” I said in a low voice. “You’d better stay here. If Irma changes her mind I’ll come, any time.”

“
Sehr gut
.” He got up from his chair with an anxious glance at the girl, who lay unmoving. He opened the door for me, and as I was about to go out he moved with a quick grace I hadn’t expected in such a stocky, solid man. He kissed my hand.

“You are a good woman,” said Blankenhagen, in a burst of Germanic sentimentality. “I thank you for your help… I apologize for what I thought…”

I didn’t know what he had been thinking about me, and I didn’t particularly want to know. He was still holding my hand — his hands were big and warm and hard—when Tony appeared on the stairs that led to the next floor. He stopped, with a corny theatrical start, when he saw us. Blankenhagen released my hand, and Tony came on down slowly, his eyes fixed on me.

“Got the keys?” I inquired.

“Huh? Yeah. How’s Irma?”

“Not good. She wants Auntie. God knows why.”

Auntie chose that moment to make her appearance. I think she heard me. She gave me a mocking, ice-blue stare, and spoke to Blankenhagen.

“I will stay with my niece tonight. Thank you, Doctor.”

“But I—”

“I will call you if there is need. But I think you may sleep undisturbed. I know how to deal with this. It has happened before.”

The door closed on our staring faces, but not before we had seen Irma’s face turn toward the old woman, and heard her breathless greeting.

Blankenhagen made a movement toward the closed door, but I grabbed his arm.

“Better not,” I said. “She’ll throw you out of the hotel if you interfere. She has the right.”

“And I have none,” Blankenhagen muttered.

“No,” Tony agreed. He glanced at me. The glance was friendly; he had concluded that the doctor was falling for Irma and was therefore safe from my predatory clutches. “Better go to bed. See you all in the morning.”

I observed the awkward angle of the arm Tony was hiding behind his back, and I remembered why I had come to Rothenburg. I had not come to rescue oppressed damsels. Let the boys take care of that.

“Go to bed, while you explore the crypt?” I demanded. “You’ve got the keys behind your back right now. I’m coming with you.”

“The crypt?” Blankenhagen repeated. “Why in the devil’s name do you want to go there?”

“Why not?” I said flippantly. “Maybe we’ll meet Konstanze. That’s where she — er — lives, isn’t it?”

“I should not go with you,” Blankenhagen muttered. “If I am needed—”

“You weren’t invited to come,” Tony said indignantly.

“I invited myself,” said the doctor, with an unexpected gleam of sardonic humor. “I do not know what you are doing, but if I were in your shoes, I would not mind a companion. There are forces abroad in this place which are not good, though they are not supernatural. For safety it is best to travel in groups.”