Hotel Transylvania (40 page)

I will take it upon myself to see that le Comte's body is removed to his parish church immediately, and that such notice as must be given of his death be delivered to the proper authorities. If you are not too incapacitated by this terrible event, perhaps you will allow me to visit you and read with you the Great Words that will assuage your sorrow.

In the name of God, who even now welcomes your beloved husband to the Glories of Paradise, I am always

Your obedient cousin,
 

L'Abbé Ponteneuf, S. J.

Chapter
11

Hercule closed the paneled door of Saint-Germain's traveling coach with a grim nod of satisfaction. He had fulfilled all his master's instructions and still had time to help the sorcerers load their equipment on the heavy-bedded cart that stood at the back of the stable. He swung around the coach for one last check of the harnesses, and found them polled up too tightly on the right-wheeler. He made the adjustment and felt new pride as he patted the dappled-gray flank of the right leader. He could hardly wait to take the reins in hand once again, to feel that surge of delight that only driving gave him. His rolling gait was as ungainly as a bear on its hind legs, but with the braces that Saint-Germain had designed for him, he was no longer a cripple. He shouted for a groom, and it was less than a minute before two of them appeared.

"I'm off to the cart loading," he said grandly. "But if there is anything you think needs my attention, then one of you come double time to fetch me. But you make sure there's someone here with these horses. I don't want to hear my master say that these cattle of his aren't properly cared for."

One of the grooms bowed his acceptance, and the other nodded as he quailed under Hercule's formidable stare.

"I'll be back from time to time to see that you're doing it right," he warned them; then, with that curious swaying walk, he swung out of the barn. It was a dark night, he thought, and there would certainly be rain later. He could feel the rain in his scarred knees, and remembered that Saint-Germain had told him that he might feel that discomfort for some while, perhaps his entire life. Most of the time it did not bother Hercule, but tonight, when his driving might mean the difference between death and survival to his master, he did not like to feel unwell. He squared his shoulders and strode toward the cart that was drawn up between the stables and the rear entrance to Hôtel Transylvania.

"Give you good evening," he said to the woman sorcerer who struggled now with two huge baskets filled with boxes of various sizes.

"If you would give me a good evening," she snapped, "you would help me to load these baskets."

Secretly pleased for the opportunity to show the stern sorceress the extent of his capabilities, he pulled himself onto the bed of the wagon, then hauled up the baskets. "Where are the ropes? You will have to tie these down if you are not to have those boxes all over the road between here and the coast."

"Tie them, then."

He did as she told him, securing the ropes with two strong knots. "What else do you have to bring from the cellar?"

Mme. Lairrez put her hands on her hips and directed her intelligent gray eyes on him. "We have several more loads like this one, and of course, the athanor. We will leave the old one behind, but the new one..."

Hercule clambered off the wagon. "I cannot leave the stables, but I will help you load whatever you bring up." He felt a warming to the strong-willed Mme. Lairrez. "If I am here, I will be able to hear any call for me. Tell your companions I will do the loading for them."

But Mme. Lairrez was not quite sure she was prepared to deal with this friendship. "We have very special equipment. You may not know what is to be done with it."

He smiled down at her. "I am a coachman, Madame. I may not know about your special equipment, but I know more than any of the rest of you about how to load a wagon."

This argument carried much weight with Mme. Lairrez. She studied the wagon bed, nodding twice to herself. "Very well, friend Hercule. You may do the loading. We would be grateful for your assistance."

"I rely on you to tell me which of your equipment requires special handling."

"There is a great deal of glass," she said slowly, "but it is the athanor which is most dangerous. You see, we have just heated it, and it will soon reach the temperature at which it will produce the jewels. But the heat is terrible. The athanor is made according to the Prinz's order, and has been impregnated with a certain substance, else the athanor itself would melt with the great heat." She stopped speaking suddenly, thinking that she might have said too much.

"You bring me the... whatever it is, and I'll see that it is loaded safely." He sounded confident as he said it, but even he did not know what he would do if the thing were as hot as Mme. Lairrez intimated.

"Very well," she said, though her tone was skeptical.

When she had gone, Hercule swung back up onto the bed of the wagon and was standing there when Roger came from the darkened Hôtel, three cases in his arms. "Is the coach ready?"

"It is," Hercule answered. "It could be on the road in a matter of minutes." He felt slightly defensive at being found at the wagon, and added, "The sorcerers need a hand at this."

Roger agreed. "They are unused to being so few. When Cielbleu died, there were too few of them in this Brotherhood to manage all the projects they had developed. I am not particularly surprised that they are working so slowly." He cocked his head toward the brick facade of the Hôtel. "It is strange to see it so, is it not?"

Hercule looked at the dark windows and felt the eerie silence. "It is like a grave," he said, and shuddered.

"I wonder what will happen?" Roger said to the blank face of Hôtel Transylvania.

"Whatever it will be, I have given my word to wait for le Comte, and that I will, though the Devil come and roar at me.”

"A noble sentiment," Roger said, looking up at the coachman on the wagon. "I hope your resolve will not have that test." He favored Hercule with an ironic nod and went into the stable, returning somewhat later with empty hands. He stared again at the Hôtel. "It is not natural," he whispered.

Hercule had heard him, and responded, "It is waiting."

"Yes." Roger shook the fatalistic mood off, and was encouraged to see the English sorcerer emerge from the cellar stairs. "You will need some help," he said, relieved.

"Thank you, sir, I will." Beverly Sattin was sweating freely as he lugged two sacks up the stairs. He stopped to catch his breath. "There are twenty-seven stairs between the cellars and here."

"Let me help you with the last six," Roger said, going to take the largest of the sacks.

Sattin thanked him again, then once more bent himself to the task of pulling the remaining sack up the stairs and over to the wagon.

As Hercule was lashing down the second sack, a strange noise caught all three men's attention, and they turned toward the Hôtel, apprehension in their stances. The sounds, like a distant rush of water, died, sounding now like a hive of subterranean bees.

"It comes from the Hôtel," Hercule said softly.

"It comes from the cellars!" Beverly Sattin turned away abruptly and raced for the stairs he had just climbed.

"Do you think... ?" Hercule could not finish the question.

"I think that you would do well to get onto your box, coachman. If our master comes through this, he will not want to tarry."

Hercule accepted this without comment, climbing down from the wagon and striding away toward the stables.

Roger stood uncertainly, listening for the sound that seemed to rise from the very ground. It grew neither louder nor softer, but Roger, hearing it, felt fear transfix him. He looked down as if to burrow with his eyes toward the combat he sensed raged beneath him. Then, as if impelled by a vast, invisible force, he raced toward the cellar stairs and plunged down them.

Domingo y Roxas turned in alarm as Roger appeared in the sorcerers' cellar. Mme. Lairrez was occupied with wrapping some earthenware jars in straw and greeted Roger's entrance with the exasperation she had kept controlled for so long.

"Sattin," she said with asperity, "if you want me to finish this task with all our jars unbroken..."

But Beverly Sattin, who was holding an armload of very old books bound in heavy leather, was as startled as she.

"What is it, Roger?" he demanded as Saint-Germain's servant stared anxiously about the room.

"Don't you hear it?" Roger cried out to them.

"Hear it? Hear what?" Domingo y Roxas put aside the wooden supports that would be used to carry the new athanor to the cart.

"That noise. That sound. It is louder here." Roger glared at the floor. "You must hear it."

The three paused; then Domingo y Roxas said, "It is the athanor." But his tone was dubious, and the others shook their heads.

"I don't know what it is," Sattin said. "It is not the athanor."

"There is a door into the vaults," Roger said as he listened to the sound. "Somewhere, there is a door!"

"His Highness told us earlier," Sattin said, trying to remember now the location. "It is a trapdoor, I think, in the floor. In the north? Perhaps in the north part of the cellar."

"Well, find it\"
Roger cried, remembering all he had seen when Saint-Germain had set him to watch Saint Sebastien.

Mme. Lairrez stopped her packing once again. "You may look for it if you like, but I have obligations as well. I must have all this on the wagon and ourselves away from here before dawn. I will not allow you to stop me." She took one more straw-wrapped jar and pushed it into the huge basket with the others.

"One of you?" Roger pleaded. "Ragoczy is in danger. He is in terrible danger."

Beverly Sattin put his books aside. "As you wish. I will help you find the door." He refused to meet the reproachful eyes of his two Guild Brothers. To mollify them, he said, "It will not take long, and we owe a great deal to His Highness."

"Go, then." Mme. Lairrez relented. "And may you find him safe."

Roger looked at her. "Amen to that, Madame." Then he set off into the dark behind Beverly Sattin.

Excerpt from a letter from Duc de la Mer-Herbeux to le Comte de Saint-Germain, dated November 5, 1743:

...The plan you have confided in me of your trip to England comes at a most fortuitous time. I trust that your offer was in earnest and that you are still willing to bear one or two messages to the Crown for me. You need not make a formal delivery of these packets, which I have enclosed with this letter. You will do well to hand them to my friend Mr. Walpole, who will know best what to do with them.

...I had your note yesterday, but the delicate nature of the communications I am sending with you have delayed my responding until now. I had thought to see you at Hôtel Transylvania earlier this evening, but it was closed, apparently due to some illness in the staff. So I have taken the liberty of sending these by messenger to your manservant, who you have told me has your utter confidence.

While you are in England, I hope you will learn what you can about the matter with the Stuart claim. Charles Stuart is apparently serious about challenging George's right to the crown. Far be it from me or France to question the right of George II to his throne, but you may understand why our Beloved and. Most Catholic King Louis XV is concerned in the affairs of Charles Stuart, also a Catholic, and one whose claim to the throne comes from older associations than does His Britannic Majesty George II's. You will be ideally placed to observe the sentiments of the government and any comments you would care to pass along to me would be most heartily appreciated.

I have prepared a note for that scholar of your acquaintance, Mr. Sattin, who you tell me has been studying in France for many years. In this note I commend your friend for his abilities and suggest that he continue in the same manner to the credit of a worthy patron in England. I beg that your friend Sattin will not too much discredit me.

...Several weeks ago you made passing reference to a planned visit to Prussia. As you have said you will return to France by summer, I trust we may speak further then of those plans.

...It is late and I am eager to retire. I wish you a pleasant journey and calm seas for a swift passage (although my experience has almost always been to the contrary). This and the enclosures by my own hand, are bringing you the humble thanks of

Your most indebted

Pierre René Maxime Ignace Ferrand Vivien
 

Laurent Montlutin