Tempting Fate (85 page)

“That is not possible,” Ragoczy said somewhat dryly as he began to knot the velvet bow around his neck.

“I did not…” Roger faltered.

“I know.” Ragoczy’s vulnerable compassion filled his countenance, and he met Roger’s blue eyes with his dark ones. “If you wish to leave, you may. But do not try to protect me from this.”

“And if you should die?” Roger asked sharply.

“You know what to do,” was Ragoczy’s laconic answer. He bent to pick up his dress shoes of shining patent leather. “Have our luggage ready by midnight, if you decide to travel with me.”

“By midnight, very well.” Roger’s expression was impassive, and he resolved not to betray his concern again.

“Put the cases in the dustbin in the pantry, then dress in workman’s clothes and take the dustbin away. If those SA or Thule men are the snobs I think they are, they will pay no attention to you. A plumber’s case should be sufficient disguse. I will join you at the rail station half an hour before the train leaves. I’ll need a change of clothes.” He indicated his finery. “This will hardly do for the train.”

“Hardly,” Roger agreed, attempting now to match Ragoczy’s urbanity.

“Excellent,” Ragoczy approved.

“And what will I tell the staff?” Roger asked a bit later as Ragoczy reached for his fur-collared black evening coat.

“Undoubtedly they have heard about the two men. A few dire hints should be sufficient.” He picked up a brush and began to set his hair in order. “Blind men do this so well, but I am always left with the dread that I haven’t got it right. Perhaps it’s because I can see everything but myself.”

Roger, who had discussed this with Ragoczy on various occasions for nearly two thousand years, said nothing. His glance wandered over the room, selecting those items he would pack and those he would leave behind. Ragoczy had not kept a house in Berlin since the time of Frederick the Great, and that meant that he would have to provide certain of Ragoczy’s particular necessities, including enough of his native earth to render him comfortable.

“If there is any difficulty, send Balas to Madame Ilse’s before eleven, with the message that there is trouble with the drains. It might be wise to spill some water in the cellar, so that the staff will not be surprised at such a message. If I have not heard from you by eleven, I will go to the rail station at five.” He adjusted his cuffs and brushed his sleeves. He was very elegant now in his long coat. All that was lacking was a hat, and he took a fur cap from the armoire, placing it carefully on his head.

“There may be snow tonight,” Roger mentioned as Ragoczy started toward the door.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He inclined his head very slightly. “Until tomorrow, old friend.”

Roger answered absently, already gathering up clothes and preparing them for the trunk he had so recently unpacked.

Ragoczy left his house by the back door and made his way down a narrow alley to an even narrower passage that led to Franz-Josefs-Kai fronting the Donau Kanal. It would take him a bit out of his way, but he was fairly confident that his departure would then be unnoticed by the two men whose automobile had Bavarian tags. He walked quickly, finding the icy air to his liking. He passed a group of Czech women, probably residents of the Zinskasernen from their look and manner, hastening toward the Marienbrücke and chattering among themselves. One of the women curtsied to him, and another crossed herself. Ragoczy favored them with a negligent bow before striding away from them.

Madame Ilse’s establishment was not in the most elegant part of the city, but it was near enough to the Theater an der Wien, the Musikverein, and the Ringstrasse that it was readily accessible to those who found its fervid appeal more compelling than the refined pleasures of concerts and operas. There were certain concessions, however, and the concert this evening was one of them. Those who needed to salve their consciences with a nod to culture could spend an hour or so listening to chamber music before taking a place at the gaming tables or retiring to one of the very private rooms with a compliant young lady for company.

“Herr Graf,” said the butler as he took Ragoczy’s coat and gave it into the care of a lesser servant. “A pleasure to see you again, if I may say so, Mein Herr.”

“You may say whatever you like,” Ragoczy responded good-naturedly as he handed over his fur cap, not with some regret, for it was warm and he would be leaving it behind. He Strolled into the grand salon, where Madame Use herself rose from the bargelike sofa where she usually held court, and came toward Ragoczy with open arms. “Herr Ragoczy! How kind of you, Graf.” She spoke Wienerisch, as everyone in the city did, but with an underlying trace of her Silesian origins. She was an ample woman somewhere between thirty and forty, with an enviable complexion, pale blonde hair, and avaricious eyes. As she linked her arm through Ragoczy’s, she favored him with an enthusiastic smile. “You will enjoy our entertainment tonight, I think: it is something uncommon.”

“I am all anticipation, Madame,” he assured her with unfelt gallantry.

“And later, perhaps, you will wish to avail yourself of something more … exclusive in the way of amusement.”

“As you say, perhaps,” Ragoczy murmured as he returned her to her sofa and bowed over her ringed hand. He made an unhurried circuit of the grand salon, then entered the largest of the gaming rooms, remembering the nights he had walked through his own establishment in Paris. The styles were different, but the underlying frenzy was not. He had encountered it before, from Nineveh to Wu-An to Namur to Tlaxcala to Paris. Only the stakes changed: the lust remained the same. He purchased a reasonable number of chips from the cashier then went to the rouge-et-noir table.

“So you are back,” said a fair-haired young woman about half an hour later.

Ragoczy looked up. “I am waiting for the music to start.”

“I’ve heard that before, but they always stay at the tables,” she said, taking the empty chair beside him. “The concert begins in ten minutes, and you’re winning.” The ancient cynicism was at variance with her fresh features and lithe body, but was clearly the most genuine thing about her.

“In bon punto,” he said, rising and tossing a chip across the green baize to the dealer.

“But you’re winning,” the woman protested even as she took his arm firmly.

“And another time I will lose. Why does that bother you?” He tweaked her fair curls, sighing. “My dear, would you be terribly offended if I asked you to bring me one of your associates who has dark hair?” Those light curls reminded him too much of Gudrun, and her youth was an uncomfortable echo of Laisha.

The young woman shrugged, but her back stiffened. “As you wish.”

Ragoczy held out three embossed chips to her. “In recompense, for any disappointment I have given you.”

The three chips represented twice what it would cost the Graf to take her to bed, and the young woman made no attempt to suppress her smile. “Naturally, at Madame Use’s we are eager that the patrons should have the best entertainment.” She pulled away from him and said, “Dark hair? Tall? Short? Buxom?”

“Dark hair, over twenty-five, if you please. Hungarian or Polish or Slav, it doesn’t matter to me.” He would not be with her long in any case, and he wanted as few memories stirred as possible.

“Russian?” the fair-haired woman asked.

“I think not,” Ragoczy said sardonically.

“We have a Hungarian woman on the staff, but she’s playing the flute tonight. I could send her a note for afterward…” The three chips seemed to require that much effort, at least.

“Fine.” Ragoczy was about to go into the concert chamber but was stopped by the fair-haired woman’s low laugh.

“I understand,” she told him with a salacious wink, “that Beatret plays flute very well.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ragoczy said, and entered the concert room.

An hour later, when the fourteen-piece ensemble had made its way through three Vivaldi concerti, Ragoczy began to wonder if he should continue to wait for Beatret, for he had the uneasy feeling that he was under observation. In an establishment like Madame Ilse’s, it was possible that men with enough money would be able to follow him, or, if they were desperate, pay for his capture. It was nothing to look forward to, he thought, knowing that any extraordinary display of strength here would bring about the sort of notice he was anxious to avoid.

“Herr Graf,” said a voice beside him, and he looked up to see the Hungarian flautist who a few minutes ago had been playing reverse turns and runs with the little orchestra. “Lisi said you wanted to spend some time with me.”

Ragoczy rose and kissed her hand. “Enchanté, Madame.”

“Merci,” she responded awkwardly, but determined to show him courtesy.

“How much time have you free?” he asked as the other listeners made their way from the concert chamber to the supper room and gaming tables, or to more intimate assignations.

“All evening, Herr Graf. The next music on the program tonight is string quartets, and then Beethoven piano sonatas. My flute will not be required again until Wednesday night.” She proffered the case as if it were proof.

“Then you might not be averse to spending a few hours with me.” He offered her his arm as he said this.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said in her reserved way, and indicated which direction they should take when they entered the wide hallway.

Beatret’s room, like most of the women’s rooms, was on the third floor, a small, well-decorated place with an unusually large bed and four large paintings dominating the walls, done in a style reminiscent of Rubens. There was also a settee, a dressing table, a washstand, and a beautiful antique chair with heavily-padded arms. The carpet was thick, decorated with a border of badly-executed cabbage roses, and the draperies were heavy enough to put the room in twilight on the brightest day.

“Madame Ilse requires that we settle the price first,” Beatret said.

“I would like to engage you for the entire night,” Ragoczy responded at once.

“That is more expensive,” she said, then added, “but I like it better. It’s less demanding. I should warn you that if you want to do anything out-of-the-way, I will have to get Madame Ilse’s permission. She’s very strict about that.”

“Nothing out-of-the-way, I promise you.” He did not add that he intended to do little more than discuss music until it was time to leave. He held out the rest of his chips. “I believe this will cover it and leave something extra for you.”

Beatret stared at the chips. “Very generous.” Her voice was flat, as if she feared what might come next.

“I have two favors to ask of you,” Ragoczy explained gently.

“Go on,” she said, a careful look in her eyes.

“First, I would like you to drink two or three glasses of wine.”

“Why?” She had not put down her instrument case, and she raised it slightly, as if requiring its protection.

“Because I want you to be sleepy.”

“Do you like your women asleep?” she asked, unsurprised. She had been at Madame Use’s for three years, and there was little that could faze her.

“No. I want you to rest. That’s all.” He indicated the bell pull. “Two tugs means wine, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Do you bring yourself off while watching me sleep?” She was beginning to be amused by him. “I can close my eyes and work you, if you like. I have strong hands.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, giving the bell pull two firm shakes.

She lifted her shoulders. “As you like. What is the other favor?”

“If anyone should ask, do not tell them how we passed the night.” He pulled up the chair and sat down.

Beatret laughed once, harshly. “No need to fear that. A woman like me doesn’t want it spread around that she’s most interesting asleep.”

“I’m sure you do not have to deal with those like me very often.” His dark eyes were ironic, although his manner was unfailingly polite.

“Not very often,” she agreed with a giggle, and turned at the knock at the door. She went to open it, and a liveried servant brought a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses into the room, opened the bottle with a flourish, and left as soon as the two glasses were filled.

“Have your wine, Beatret,” Ragoczy said, and watched while she took the glass.

“You’re not joining me?” she asked.

“No.” He watched her as she drank, and said, when she put the empty glass down, “In a few minutes I will want you to have another glass. In the meantime, you might care to tell me where you got your training on the flute. You play quite well, and from what I heard downstairs, you have some background in music.”

“My father taught me,” she said shortly. “When I was younger.”

Ragoczy reached over and refilled her glass. “You do Vivaldi well.”

“I like it,” she said. “But Herr Graf, I hope you are not one of those tiresome men who always want a woman like me to tell him the details of her life.”

“Only if you wish to. Otherwise, you can tell me what you think of Bach and Mozart.”

Beatret drank her second glass of champagne more quickly than the first. “I like Mozart. Bach not so much. Haydn is enjoyable.” She refilled her glass for herself. “My father wanted to transcribe Paganini for flute, but never did much with it.” She finished the glass and gave him an inquiring look. “Should I have another?”

“If you wish, It will go flat, in any case.”

In the end, Beatret drank five glasses of champagne before her eyes became heavy and her slurred words disjointed. She was glad to get into bed, to have Ragoczy tuck the covers in around her as she murmured a few senseless phrases of thanks.

Ragoczy sat in the antique chair, listening to the sounds from the lower part of Madame Ilse’s. He heard the string quartet play at midnight, and the piano at two. Shortly thereafter, the house became quieter. Finally a distant clock struck four. Ragoczy rose and went to the window.

It was a long way down to the pavement, but there was a narrow ornamental balustrade that ran around the house just below the fourth-floor windows. He opened the window and climbed out.

Earlier that evening it had snowed, and there was now a thin film of ice on the balustrade, and a frigid wind that whipped over the city. Ragoczy eased Beatret’s window closed and then steadied himself on the narrow, slippery surface. He wished he had worn something more substantial than his patent-leather evening shoes, but anything else would have attracted attention, which he did not want. The balustrade was slick underfoot, and the house was dark.