Hotel Transylvania (12 page)

"Now, why?" Saint Sebastien said, waving Châteaurose aside.

Tite came stalking up to Saint Sebastien and held out his hand. When he opened it, he revealed an uncut diamond of slightly bluish cast rather larger than a hen's egg.

Saint Sebastien sat up abruptly, and Châteaurose swore.

"He says that the Sorcerers' Guild was given the secret of jewels by a strange man claiming to be Prinz Ragoczy of Transylvania."

"Is it genuine?" Châteaurose asked, awed by the huge stone.

"Le Grâce claims that these stones are made in the alchemist's oven, the athanor. Apparently, whoever the man is, he has a formidable secret, even if the stone is not real." Tite regarded his master evenly, and waited while Saint Sebastien stared into the fire, apparently seeing nothing.

Eventually he said, "Show him into the blue salon, Tite, and tell him I will join him directiy. I want to know more of these stones."

Tite bowed and withdrew, a cynical grimace settling on his features as he closed the door.

"Well?" Châteaurose demanded impulsively as soon as they were once again alone.

"Prinz Ragoczy, Prinz Ragoczy. Where have I heard that name?" Saint Sebastien directed his gaze toward the rain- spangled windows. "I should know that name—"

"What about the jewels?" Châteaurose interrupted him. "Will Le Grâce give us the secret?"

"Certainly
The calm in Saint Sebastien's tone made the word frightening. "One way or another, we will learn the secret." He rose from his chair and paced down the library. "I will want you to proceed on this matter with Jueneport and d'Argenlac. That girl is mine. She has been promised to me since before her birth, and I will not let her go. I charge you with the matter, and I remind you that I will not tolerate your failure. Remove Saint-Germain from our path and distract the aunt. She will be given us on a platter by her uncle."
 

Châteaurose bowed deeply. "As you wish."
 

Saint Sebastien was almost at the door when he turned and said softly, "If you fail, Châteaurose, you will regret it more than you can imagine." Then he was out the door, leaving Châteaurose alone, feeling very cold, though he stood in front of the fire.

Text of a document written in Latin on parchment, sealed in a chest in Saint Sebastien's library, dated August 19, 1722:

By the names of Asmodeus, Belial, and Astoreth, by the Vow of the Circle and the Oath of the Blood, by the Rule and the Sign:

I, Robert Marcel Yves Etienne Pascal, Marquis de Montalia, promise the Circle and its leader, Baron Clotaire de Saint Sebastien, that upon the birth of my first legitimate child, I will mark that child for service to the Circle in whatever way the circle sees fit

I affirm that I am at present unmarried, but am betrothed to Margaret Denise Angelique Ragnac, and that any child born of this union will be recognized by me as legitimate, and be my heir if male.

Should I default in any way on this agreement, may the advantage which has been secured for me be forever revoked, and neither the sea, nor the land, nor the sky be sufficient to hide me from the wrath and vengeance of the Circle and the Powers of Satan, which shall endure for all eternity. Signed and witnessed this day, and to be without limit in my life, or until such time as my firstborn child shall pass the age of twenty-one years without being taken in service to the Circle.
 

Sworn to in the mortification of the flesh and the Rites of Blood:

Robert Marcel Yves Etienne Pascal

Marquis de Montalia

PART TWO

Madelaine Roxanne
 
Bertrande de Montalia

Excerpt from a letter from l'Abbé Ponteneuf to his cousin le Marquis de Montalia. Dated October 16, 1743:

...I have had the felicity of hearing your daughter perform some airs, with Saint-Germain accompanying her on the guitar. They were practicing for your sister's fête, and Madelaine was kind enough to invite me to listen. I confess I am not overly fond of the guitar—it lacks the subtle tones of the lute and does not have the celestial sound of the harp. Yet I will allow that Saint-Germain plays it prettily, and that the music he has composed shows Madelaine's voice to advantage. I was pleased to read the text of the airs, for the sentiments expressed are wholly acceptable to me, and I am certain would be to you. It is to Saint- Germain's credit that he does not follow the modern taste for dissonant chords and jarring melodies. His music, on the contrary, harks back to the old forms, even to the modal harmonies of several centuries ago.

Occasionally Madelaine must confront Beauvrai or Saint Sebastien socially, which is lamentable, but cannot be avoided without giving a serious affront, which would lead to scandal and gossip, which would significantly reduce Madelaine's chances of making an acceptable match. I have taken the liberty of giving her a little warning about Beauvrai and Saint Sebastien, telling her that their reputations are such that her name must be sullied if she is seen with them. This is no prevarication on my part, for it is perfectly true that it would harm her immeasurably to be in their company. I did not think it wise to reveal the truth of the matter to her, for such knowledge could not but stain that sweet innocence which makes her so truly admired.

...Your inquiry of the 8th, regarding Madelaine's religious devotions: l am honoured to tell you that you have no reasons to fear for her soul in any way. She is good, chaste and kind. She attends Mass on the Lord's Day and on Friday, and makes her Confession on Wednesday or Saturday. Her devotions are genuine and her faith sincere, even as you told me.

Your concern over Saint-Germain would also appear to be groundless. When questioned about him, Madelaine said that she found his attentions flattering, and certainly an asset to her socially, but that an alliance with a man of his age and background was out of the question. To be doubly sure, I talked to Saint-Germain himself. He was generous in praise of Madelaine, complimenting her on her singing and her excellent mind. But there was nothing of the lover about him. Indeed, I have not seen him show her any particular attention greater than what he shows to other ladies, except in the matter of music, which is easily understood. He was equally attentive to Mme. Cressie until she fell ill a short while ago. Be certain, my dear cousin, that your daughter is not on her way to losing her head to Saint-Germain, nor he his over her. Your daughter has superior good sense, and you need not fear she will give her heart against the wishes of her family. In our conversations, when I have sought to school her in the ways of the
world, she has made it plain that she perceives her duty and does not shrink from it. Of course you would want her to respect the man who will be her husband, and to regard him with affection. Madelaine has the presence of mind to be aware of these necessities, and has assured me that she will bestow her hand circumspectly.

Let me, mon cher Robert, again plead with you to make peace with God and the Church, for the days of men are few, and your life is short and full of sorrow. Your errors are long past, and your repentance is profound. Do not despair of the Infinite Mercy of God and Holy Mother Church. Dearer to God is he who has sinned and repented, who has lost the way and come again to it with a full heart, than those who are without error the whole of their lives. Confess, my cousin, and make your Act of Contrition, so that you may again take Communion and be among those who taste the Body and Blood of Christ. Pray to the Virgin for intercession. You have said that your sin is great, for you denied the Lord. But Peter did even as you have done, and he knows glory in Heaven. What God will forgive in Peter who was His friend, He will forgive in you. Give me your promise that you will go at last and make confession....

You may be certain that I am always watching over your daughter, and that I will be swift to chastise her for error if she surrenders to temptation. She has always the lives of Saints and Martyrs to guide her, and my exhortations.

In the Name of the Lord, in Whose eyes all men are His children and each other's brothers, I send you my blessings and the assurance that you are ever in my prayers. For the Redeemer came for us all, mon cousin, and in His name I have the honor to be

Your most devoted cousin

l'Abbé Alfonse Reynard Ponteneuf, S. J.

Chapter 1

When the pen sputtered for the third time, Madelaine flung it down in disgust.

"What is it, my dear?" her aunt asked her from her seat at the window. They were in the largest of the withdrawing rooms, a good-sized salon of slightly old-fashioned design, where six high windows gave the north and western prospect that in most instances was pleasant, but today was marred by a thin, persistent trickle of rain that lacked the gentle grandeur of a good downpour and at the same time gave all its disadvantages.

La Comtesse had had her embroidery-frame moved nearer to the windows so that she could make full use of what little light there was. She looked up now, tugging absentmindedly on a strand of wool. "What is the trouble, my dear?'

"This pen!" Madelaine shook her head vehemently. "I will never get all the directions written, never." She glared at a stack of sealed notes of fine cream-laid paper. "That's only fifty-seven. There are over three hundred of them."

"Well," Claudia said reasonably as she set another petit point stitch, "you may summon Milane and give the task over to him. You," she pointed out, "were the one who said you wanted to help with the fête."

"I must have been mad." She pushed away from the little table where she worked. "Oh, aunt, never mind. I have a headache. That visit from le general this morning has put me in a bad temper. As if anyone
cared
about the Austrian Succession. What does it matter if the Elector of Bavaria or Fredrick is on the throne?"

"Well," her aunt explained as she worked her tapestry, "you see, Madelaine, while Fleuiy was alive, we had years and years of peace, which the generals hated." She was busy for a moment with her yams, then went on. "Now Fleury is dead, and the King's mistress is in favor of war—very foolish of her, I think. It will cost her His Majesty's affections one day, you mark my words. We all have learned to despise Maria Theresa of Austria, and now that the English support her, it is obvious that there must be war."

"It's stupid. It's stupid and wasteful!" Madelaine had gone to the windows and stood looking out. She was very pretty in that wan light, her dark hair showing the fine warm color of her flawless skin to perfection. She was simply dressed in flowered taffeta over a simple petticoat of eyelet linen. Her panniers were very moderate, even for morning at-home wear. A wide sash of rose satin circled her narrow waist, and because it was cold in this great house, she had draped a Spanish fringed shawl around her shoulders and tied it below her bosom. A ribbon of the same rose satin as the sash was threaded through her hair, catching up the long curls in an artless cluster.

"The King wishes the world to know that he will govern for himself, as did his great-grandfather. Oh, it is foolish, for there are able men around him who thrive on such work, and he, poor man, does not truly enjoy the tedium of government. Dear me," she added, breaking off. "I did not mean to sound disrespectful of his Majesty, who, naturally, is a glorious monarch." She turned her attention to her needlework for several minutes, and then said, in quite another voice, "Do not worry, Madelaine. The fête will be a success. You will be overwhelmed with compliments and attention, and will very likely spend the next day abed, recovering from all your gaiety."

"Oh, aunt. I did not mean it. I am out of sorts. I think it must be the weather. I was promised to ride this morning, but this rain..." She turned abruptly from the windows and walked back toward the table.

"It
is
hard to stay indoors when it would be delightful to be outside," Claudia allowed as she carefully selected another length of yarn, holding it against her canvas. "How vexatious," she said in a different voice. "They may say what they will, but these hanks came from two different dye lots. Well, I suppose I must work on the background until I have the time to consult with the dyer." She sighed and pulled a long twist of light-blue yarn from her needlework box.

Madelaine, who was busy trimming a new pen, did not hear most of this. She looked critically at the ink in the standish, and tipped a little water into it. "It might have been this," she said to the air. "The ink is getting dreadfully thick."