Part 17 (1/2)

XI.

Zschokke stopped and grunted, tapping d'Amato on the chest. The water merchant staggered back as if he'd been dealt a weighty blow.

The huge steward pushed open a door. It creaked, of course. Zschokke shoved d'Amato through it. Then, he lifted up his candle, and proceeded down the corridor.

Kloszowski didn't know where they were within the house. They had been led a long way away from the great hall, through pa.s.sages and up staircases. They could be either deep in the depths of Udolpho, or high up in one of the towers.

They had pa.s.sed through a derelict part of the building, and he had imagined that Zschokke was a little afraid, casting too many careful looks about him, flinching away from the holes in the walls and the screened-off rooms. Kloszowski hated to think what might put a fright into the giant brute.

These were the guest apartments.

Antonia was trying to smile, and talking to the steward, asking him questions about the family, and about the house. Zschokke interjected a few groans into his grunts.

'This reminds me very much,' the dancer was saying, 'of the daemon-blighted inn of von Diehl's The Fate of Fair Florence; or: Tortured and Abandoned.'

They came to another door, and Zschokke pushed it open. There was a fire burning in a grate in the room beyond, which was decorated in the Cathayan style, with silks and low tables and pieces of porcelain. The steward pointed a finger at Antonia.

'For me?' she said. 'Thank you. It looks lovely. Very homey.'

Kloszowski was in the room next door, a tiny cell with a bare cot, a single candle, and a thin blanket. This was what they thought fitting for a cleric, obviously. Next time he was forced to take a disguise, he'd pick something likely to win him better accommodation. Zschokke slammed the door behind him, and he was alone.

There was a thin window, and the rain steadily spattered against it. Kloszowski peered through, but couldn't see anything beyond the trickles of water.

He stripped off his habit, and got out of the novice's boots. His feet were still filthy from the forest mud. The rest of his clothes were ragged and grimy from his spell in the dungeons of Zeluco. He undressed, tearing his britches to pieces, and unpicking the rags of his s.h.i.+rt from his chest and arms.

There was a basin of water by his bedside. He remembered d'Amato's Yellow Ague, but a.s.sumed that up here in the mountains they wouldn't be buying from a bloodsucker like him. Obviously, they had enough rain to fill their own b.u.t.ts. He washed himself thoroughly, and felt better than he had in months.

Oddly, there was a full-length mirror in the room, the one non-ascetic touch of the furnis.h.i.+ng.

He stood naked before it, and held up the candle.

The dungeon hadn't been good for him. There were bruises on his wrists, ankles, back and chest, and he had scabbed-over wounds on his knees and hips. He could see his bones too clearly through his skin, and his face was more haggard than romantically gaunt.

Still, that particular ordeal was over.

Then, his image in the mirror shook, and distorted, as if a ripple were travelling across a still pond. The frame lurched forwards, and the mirror swung open like a door.

Kloszowski tried to cover himself with a towel. His heart beat too fast. Something came out of the dark s.p.a.ce behind the mirror, and seized him by the neck, pulling his head down.

XII.

There was nothing for it but to do the deed herself. Vathek was too spineless for the business. And, in any case, she would never have trusted him to carry it through.

In the months since she had first seduced the lawyer, Christabel Udolpho had learned many things. She knew now that there was not one will, but many different, mutually irreconcilable wills. Old Melmoth Udolpho changed his mind daily, and insisted on newly-drafted testaments. Some he would sign, some he would abandon.

She dressed carefully, in tight riding britches and a loose blouse, then pulled on her soft leather boots and spent some time braiding her hair. Vathek watched her, chattering about nothing, going over and over the plan. He was confused about the details, but she had them down cold.

The lawyer touched her neck, and let his thin fingers creep into her hair. She felt a thrill of disgust, but suppressed it and gave him a winsome smile in the mirror.

Vathek was a vile creature, hirsute all over his body, and given to sweating. There was some animal in his soul, she was sure. A pig, or a bear. But he wasn't strong, not in his limbs or in his mind. He was easy to lead.

Christabel touched the furred back of Vathek's hand, and rubbed her cheek against his arm.

Soon, it would all be over. Soon, all the fortune of Udolpho would be hers. Then, she could take lovers for herself, gratify her own wants. Aleksandr, the cleric of Morr, had seemed interesting in a reedy, sly sort of way. And she'd heard the maids talking about the giant, Odo Zschokke, and how his manly parts were in proportion to the rest of him. A tiny flare of desire raised her hackles.

Her hair crackled with electricity, and expanded a little, giving Vathek a slight shock. He withdrew his hand, and tried to laugh.

'Be sure to finish him,' he said. 'You must be sure.'

Christabel smiled as she pulled the falconer's gloves on. They were fine leather, and felt good on her hands. She had strong hands, from hours of practice with harpsichord and duelling sword.

After the fortune was disposed of, and the Black Cygnet's treasure found, she would have to turn her attention to Lawyer Vathek. Perhaps an accident might be arranged. A fall from the south wall. An encounter with wolves.

She stood up. She was taller than the lawyer, and he had to look up to meet her eyes. His smile was shaking. He was afraid, of what they were about to do, afraid of her She patted his shoulders.

She had dictated the final will, naming herself sole heir to the house and fortunes of the family. Old Melmoth, the blind fool, had signed it, imagining himself to be dealing with a minor business matter. All the other wills were bundled up in scrolls in Vathek's office, waiting to be burned.

Melmoth could not live much longer. Not without Dr. Valdemar's infusions to keep him going.

Christabel opened a drawer, and pulled out a ball of copper wire. It was supposed to be for the harpsichord. She unravelled a length and held it up before Vathek's face. His eyes wavered.

She bit through the wire, and held up a loop of about four feet, the ends tied around her thick-gloved hands.

She pulled the loop tight, and it straightened with a musical tw.a.n.g. It would do the job.

'I'll be back,' she told Vathek, and stepped out into the dark hallway, moving silently through the gloom towards the doctor's rooms.

Very soon, she would be very rich. And then they'd all tremble.

XIII.