House of Bathory (24 page)

Chapter 67

S
OMEWHERE IN
S
LOVAKIA
D
ECEMBER 25, 2010

D
raska woke to a strong smell of ammonia. She covered her nose in disgust, opening her swollen eyes as best she could.

The woman in the barred cell next to her squatted over a plastic bucket, urinating.

“Where am I?” Draska muttered. Her mouth tasted like dry cotton, her tongue thick. Her head ached, pounding at her temples. The air was dank.

“Ah, you are awake at last,” said the woman, urine still splashing into the filthy bucket. “We thought they had drugged you to death. You’ve been unconscious for days.”

“How long—where am I?” Draska struggled out from under a blanket on a soiled mattress. She tried to focus her eyes in the dim light, the room illuminated only by burning torches.

“We don’t know,” whispered the woman, as she pulled up her dirty leggings. “We don’t know where we are. Or why. All we know is that ghoulish men and women bring us food and water. We hear screaming, pleas for help.”

“What?”

“It’s true,” said a voice with an English accent. “Please speak in English, I can’t understand but a little Slovak.”

“Why we here?” Draska tried to find words in the foreign tongue.

“We are all kidnapped in Bratislava. At night, near nightclubs or bars.”

Draska pulled her dirty blue hair from her eyes so she could see better. She already knew much more than she wanted to know.

The English woman added, “There is a white-haired freak called Count Bathory who questions us. Where did they kidnap you?”

Draska shook her head, trying to clear the drugged confusion.

“From above. I worked for Count Bathory.”

The other girls jumped away from the bars, staring at her in horror.

Chapter 68

R
IVER
V
AH,
U
PPER
H
UNGARY
D
ECEMBER 25, 1610

Z
uzana came upon Janos at the river below the castle. He was wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, motionless. Frost had collected on his hair, coloring it white, as if he had aged overnight.

“Janos! Are you—”

He did not answer, his open eyes did not blink. The white stallion stood motionless at his side.

“Wake up, Janos. Wake up!” she said, shaking the immobile figure. Her face creased in terror.

She shook him hard. He did not respond, his eyes staring blindly at the moving water.

The horse reached out with its soft muzzle, nudging him.

Janos blinked. He looked up at Zuzana, with no recognition in his eyes.

“Janos! Are you ill?” she asked, her hands frantically moving over his face, trying to bring it back to life. “Do you have the falling disease?” She wanted to scream.

“No, no. Do not worry,” he whispered, his voice still sounding far away. “I am…listening.”

“You will die of cold. Look at the ice on your hair, your eyebrows. How long have you been here?”

Janos looked around slowly at the frozen edge of the River Vah, the light reflecting off its surface.

“Perhaps—all night?”

“We must get you to the castle at once! You are as cold as a graveyard bone.”

“I am all right,” he said, rousing himself slowly from his position.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked at her eyes, stormy blue in worry. “I needed to think.”

“Think by the warmth of a fire, you fool!”

“Too many distractions. It is difficult to explain.”

“It is madness, that’s all.”

“No, Zuzana. The world is a torrent of madness, I need to hear beyond. I have had these spells since I was a child. They are normal and healing for me.”

The stallion nuzzled his neck.

“Must you be so alone that you risk freezing to death?’

“I was not alone. I was with my horse.”

Chapter 69

H
OFBURG
P
ALACE
V
IENNA
D
ECEMBER 25, 1610

P
alatine Thurzo was brought before King Matthias, who was seated in an enormous high-backed chair, playing chess with Counselor Klesl. The King looked up, annoyed.

“You look hard traveled, Count Thurzo,” he said, surveying him. “What matter keeps you away from Court?”

Klesl stood up, bowing to the king, and moved a few paces back.

“I have been overseeing business in upper Hungary,” responded Thurzo. “And meeting with commanders on the Ottoman Front. I wanted to see with my own eyes what progress the royal army has made. I will give you a full report tomorrow.”

The King grunted. “And naturally you would have taken lodging in the Bathory family castles behind the front lines?”

“Your Majesty, they are my relatives—my wife’s cousins, aunts, and uncles. And mine. Of course I would enjoy their hospitality.”

“Perhaps you had time to meet with family members in your travels. How did they embrace the news of a murderess staining the Bathory name?”

“Your Majesty?”

“Thurzo!” the King shouted, pounding his fist on the oak armrest. “Are you loyal to me or to your Bathory relatives?”

“I am forever loyal, steadfast and true to the Habsburg crown,” said Thurzo, bowing low and fingering his velvet cap in his hand.

“Yet, Thurzo, you do not convince me that your devotions are not divided. I ask you again. What say the Bathorys of Erzsebet’s murderous ways?”

“They beg you send our cousin to a convent,” said Thurzo, lowering his eyes before the King. “She would spend the rest of her days behind the church’s walls.”

“Ah. Of course, a convent,” sniffed the King. “An ironic place for the remaining years of a Calvinist-turned-Lutheran countess. She will never be heard of again, and her riches would remain in the Bathory family, except for a handsome dowry paid to the Catholic Church.”

Thurzo touched his beard, and then dropped his hand to his side.

“The family pleads with you, King Matthias, to keep the secret of her vicious bloodletting. If the common people learn there is truth to the rumors, we will have peasant uprisings as we did forty years ago. Our family—
your
allies—will be in danger. Your political and military strength on the Hungarian Ottoman front will be compromised.”

“Do you not think the Countess should be tried for her blood crimes?”

“Let the family convince her to enter a convent, I beg you, Your Majesty.”

“NO!” roared the King, slashing the air with his bejeweled hand. “Neither I, nor any Habsburg, shall be blackmailed by the Bathory family!”

“Your Majesty!”

“Gabor Bathory betrays the Crown and bargains with the devil himself in Constantinople. Loyal servants have reported two envoys have been sent to the Sultan on Gabor’s behalf!”

“Gabor is indeed a Bathory, but he does not represent—”

“No, Thurzo. Hear me: You shall apprehend the Countess and bring proof of her crimes to me. She shall be tried before Parliament. The Bathory name shall be a curse word in the mouth of generations to come. Bring me proof!”

“My Lord—the girls who have disappeared or died are servants. Lawful conduct—”

“No,” said the King, looking again at the chessboard. He made a swift move, capturing Klesl’s knight. His frown eased in satisfaction. He turned to Count Thurzo, knowing that the Count was very much aware of what the King was about to tell him.

“My distinguished Palatine…the Countess has made a fatal move. She invites daughters of impoverished noblemen to
Č
achtice. Should she lay a finger on those girls, the House of Bathory will fall. As King and defender of the law, I shall see that Erzsebet Bathory is tried and beheaded.”

And that,
thought the King,
is how the game is played.

Chapter 70

B
RATISLAVA,
S
LOVAKIA
D
ECEMBER 25, 2010

D
aisy, a blanket wrapped around her damp shoulders, accepted the clerk’s offer of
slivovica
—Slovak plum brandy—and sipped it slowly. She tried to stop her body from trembling.

“Let me escort you to your room,” said the clerk. He flipped up a sign at the desk that read I W
ILL
R
ETURN
M
OMENTARILY
. “You should take a hot shower. I can bring you food, yes?”

“No. No, thank you. I just want to rest.”

The man pressed the button for the glass elevator.

“I am so sorry,
Slecna
. We have so little crime here. But now, with this killer loose, it is not safe for any girl.”

He took her room key and unlocked the door. He snapped on the lights and gasped.

“Holy shit!” said Daisy.

The room had been torn apart, ransacked. The mattress was flipped over, her clothes strewn across the floor. Her empty backpack was tossed in a corner.

Daisy shook uncontrollably, her teeth chattering.

“I will call the police immediately,” said the clerk. “You will stay next door, take hot shower now. I will pack up your belongings and deliver them. Put on chain. Do not open the door for anyone.”

He muttered something in Slovak, switching off the lights. He hurried down the stairs to get a key to the vacant room.

Daisy stared out the window at the falling rain. Then she remembered the ledger in the safe. She entered the code.

It was still there.

Chapter 71

H
OTEL
T
HERMIA
P
IESTANY
S
PA
I
SLAND,
S
LOVAKIA
D
ECEMBER 25, 2010

T
he Hotel Thermia restaurant manager, Ludomir Mylnar, called the waitress Dalena into his wood-paneled office and explained the situation in rapid Slovak. Betsy noticed how the woman threw anxious glances toward the manager and picked at her cuticles.

“This American woman, she is your mother?” asked the young woman in English.

“Yes,” said Betsy, her eyes stinging with tears.

Dalena’s face softened.

“Please tell me anything you can remember about that night,” said Betsy, wiping her eyes. “You and the valet were the last people to see her.”

“Yes, I want to help,” said Dalena, looking at Betsy and then to the hotel manager. “She ate alone, at a table in front, looking out to garden. She was kind, she spoke a little Slovak. She had gray hair.”

“Yes,” said Betsy.

“She left a good tip.”

“She would.”

“And I remember. She was sent glass of champagne.”

“By whom?” said Betsy.

Dalena looked up at the manager. He nodded for her to continue.

“Count Bathory.”

Betsy froze. “
Bathory?
”

“Yes,” said the manager. “He is man of great wealth who takes the waters here. Bathorys have come for cures at Piestany for centuries.”

“Centuries?”

“Even Countess Erzsebet Bathory would take the cure. Her attendants set up tents by the hot springs of the River Vah. She would spend weeks here, bathing and purging. It’s part of the history of Piestany.”

“And this Count Bathory? Who is he?”

“Some say he is direct descendant. The Count has been coming here since he was little boy, I am told. He is elderly gentleman now.”

“Why would he buy my mother champagne?”

“She is an attractive woman, no?” said the manager.

Betsy shrugged.

Jo
hn
offered. “Yes, for a woman her age. Quite intelligent and lively.”

“Perhaps he was making—gesture to the lady,” said Mylnar.

“Did he leave with her?”

“No. He left before,” said Dalena. “I remember him gesturing farewell with his cane.”

“And the valet brought the car around for her?” asked Jo
hn
.

“Yes. We have checked,” said the manager. “She tipped the valet. He remembers her distinctly.”

“Did anyone follow her?” asked Betsy.

“No one knows,” said Mylnar.

“Where does this Count Bathory live?” asked Jo
hn
.

The manager looked uncomfortable.

“You must have a billing address, right?” asked Jo
hn
. “Telephone number?”

“We cannot divulge that information,” said Mylnar.

“You don’t understand,” said Betsy. “My mother has disappeared! She was probably kidnapped!”

“There is no reason to think that because a gentleman buys a lady a drink, that he is guilty of kidnap. She left alone.”

“Yes, but her car was found abandoned just over the bridge. Someone—”

“I am sorry, Madam. I cannot discuss the personal information of a guest.”

Jo
hn
rose from his chair. “I don’t think you understand. If you don’t give us this information now, we will get it through the police and with the help of the American Embassy. That would bring a lot of unwanted publicity to Hotel Thermia.”

The manager jutted out his chin. “I repeat. I cannot divulge this information about one of our guests.”

Betsy closed her eyes, composing herself, then she stood.

“I thank you, Mr. Mylnar,” she said, “for your cooperation, at least as far as my mother’s last meal with you. And especially you, Miss,” she added, nodding to the waitress.

The waitress stared down at the carpet.

“I think you can expect a visit from Detective Whitehall, who is working with the Bratislava police,” said Jo
hn
. “I believe Count Bathory’s whereabouts will be of great interest to them.”

Jo
hn
opened the door for Betsy, who hurried out into the hall, her face covered with her spread fingers. He knew she would not want anyone to see her cry.

Mylnar tugged at Jo
hn
’s sleeve.

“I didn’t want to alarm the lady’s daughter,” said the manager. “But you aren’t the first to inquire about Dr. Grace Path. A tall blond man with blue eyes was asking about her a week before.”

“An American man? A Slovak?”

“No, he had a distinct Hungarian accent. He asked if I know the whereabouts of Dr. Path, that he was a research associate from Budapest. I told him I had never heard of the lady but would he like to leave a note for her in case she should come to the spa or restaurant.”

“He smiled at me. A smile that chilled my bones. ‘No message,’ he said. ‘I will find her.’”

Jo
hn
was digging for the rental car key in his pocket when Betsy’s phone rang.

“It’s Daisy,” she said.

“That’s all you need,” said Jo
hn
, looking back across the parking lot to the illuminated entrance of the Hotel Thermia Spa and Restaurant. Snow blew, intermittently obscuring the building.

“Get in the car,” said Jo
hn
. “I’ll start the heater up.”

Betsy listened in horror as Daisy told her about the stranger and being locked in the tower, how the room had been ransacked, but the ledger was safe.

“Daisy!” said Betsy, her words rushing. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Just dirty and banged up from climbing. You got my e-mail, right? I was cold, like totally shivering. But the hot shower helped a little.”

“You were probably in shock.”

“I’m OK.”

“Can’t you—could you promise me to stay in the hotel until we get back?”

“And when is that? I can’t just sit in a hotel room rotting away. And I want to catch that dick who locked me out on the tower.”

“NO!”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean—”

Jo
hn
grabbed the phone from Betsy.

“Daisy, you are going to have to believe Betsy. The strange old man who tried to trap you is a lunatic—and deadly.”

“Well, he is not going to keep me locked in a bedroom in Bratislava for days. He is just an old looney-tunes with pearly whites. Besides—I can go without my Goth makeup, put my hair in a hat, no one will—”

“What did you say he looked like?”

“He’s an old guy with a cape, white hair.”

“Did he have a cane? A silver-tipped cane?”

“Yeah! How did you know?”

“Just stay inside the hotel, Daisy. That ‘old guy’ could be more dangerous than you can imagine.”