Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

"It is such a pleasure to have you as my guests in my ville. And to have the chance to thank you properly for rescuing my most valuable councilor, dear Straub."

 

Countess Katya Beausoleil was in her late thirties and was one of the most handsome women that Ryan had ever met. She was a couple of inches below six feet, with a luxuriant mane of tumbling hair as black as the sheen on a raven's wing. Her eyes were almost as green as Krysty's, hidden beneath hooded lids. Ryan noticed that her complexion was surprisingly pale, as though she spent very little time out of doors.

 

She wore a maroon pantsuit in some soft material that he guessed might be velvet. Her only concession to jewelry was a small silver brooch on her breast.

 

Straub had given them instructions how to get to the main building of the countess's ville, and they had driven there in three hours. It was to the east of Memphis, in what looked like an area that had once been very exclusive. The house was better described as a mansion, standing in grounds of a couple of hundred acres, and it had been extensively securitized with sec-steel shutters and heavy doors, as well as gun ports slashed into the walls and battlements erected along the line of the roof.

 

She had seemed pleased to welcome Straub, and he had fawned on her like a puppy, telling her who the visitors were and giving the impression that he had once been the closest of friends with them. It was a strange performance and seemed genuine enough. But Ryan, knowing the old Straub, was still deeply suspicious of the man's motives.

 

"We will be taking lunch shortly," Katya said, motioning toward the main hall. "The room at the far end. You will stay with us for a few days?" She placed her hand on Ryan's arm in a gesture that was noticed by Krysty.

 

"Like to."

 

"Good. I will have my people show you to rooms on the second floor. We eat in fifteen minutes."

 

 

 

THE SEC MEN WERE TACITURN, all seeming to be in their late twenties and early thirties. They were dressed in spotlessly clean casual clothes, well armed with matching chromed Ruger Redhawks, the .44 Magnum with a seven-and-a-half-inch barrel. The impression was of extreme alertness and a calm, self-contained efficiency. They were all very polite but never came anywhere close to being friendly. And that was something Ryan could admire.

 

The six companions were left alone in a large room, well-appointed in a classic predark country-house style lots of padded furniture with flowered-print draperies and covers; polished bronze bowls of scented flowers on polished tables; an upright piano in the corner of the suite allocated to Ryan and Krysty; four-poster bed with heavy tapestry curtains around it; a bright fire blazing in the hearth and small silver and brass ornaments on the mantel. The walls were hung with a number of dark oil paintings, some showing stately galleons, others portraying old-fashioned men in ruffs solemnly skating on frozen polders.

 

"Tasteful," Mildred said. "Kind of thing you'd see in a National Geographic article on stately living in the country shires in England."

 

"Best-dressed ville I ever saw," J.B. agreed, sitting on a large sofa, sinking into the upholstery.

 

"How about Straub?" Ryan was looking out of the barred windows, across a neat herb garden, divided with a patterned box hedge.

 

"Man's mind's fucked," Jak said. "Lost it. Whole suit short of a deck. Only one round left in the chamber. One-way ticket to madsville."

 

Doc nodded. "I can only agree with our young friend. The Countess Katya Beausoleil has broken him in mind and spirit. He is totally in thrall to her."

 

There was general agreement that the evil mesmerist was a spent force. Ryan reluctantly went along with that. "I just wonder whether a snake can change its rattle. He was such a brilliant, swift and evil bastard. Is he playing a deep game?"

 

"Gaia, lover! You saw the way she's mutilated and castrated him. He's a broken man. I almost feel sorry for the poor devil."

 

There was a discreet knock on the door. "The countess would be obliged by your company," the sec man said in a muted Tennessee accent.

 

 

 

THE FOOD WENT with the houseexcellent quality, yet bland and strangely oppressive.

 

They were served brown soup with beef to start, followed by broiled trout with a side salad that had been washed in a bland mayonnaise. Roast pork was next, with perfect carrots, baked potatoes and a tasteless gravy. Dessert was a steamed vanilla pudding with raisins, and sliced apple with a custard sauce. There was the faint hint of cinnamon with the apples, but that was almost the strongest flavor of the whole rich meal.

 

The countess served wines that had been imported from far-off France in the past ten years. The white was too sharp on the palate, and the red was as bland as the salad dressing.

 

They dined with the countess seated at the head of the long oak refectory table, Straub perched like a pet ape at the far end, keeping up a flow of fulsome praise for every course of the meal until he was silenced.

 

"Enough, Straub," Katya ordered, her voice cracking like a buggy whip, actually making Straub wince. He sat with head bowed, toying with his food, one hand playing with his retrieved silver disk around his throat.

 

"I must tell you a little about myself and about this ville," she said, turning to stare at Ryan, fixing him with her deep green eyes, largely ignoring the rest of the company.

 

"I inherited it from my father, Count Ricard Beausoleil. He had, in his turn, taken it over from his father, Count Emilion, and he from the first baron here, Count Fortdur Beausoleil. He built it in the bloody days after the long winters and made it largely what it is now."

 

She paused and Ryan felt that some comment was called for. "You aren't married?"

 

"I'll come to that, Ryan. My father had three sons and me, his weak ninny of a daughter." She gave a thin, contemptuous smile. "They're dead and I live and rule."

 

"Sickness, ma'am, or in battle?" Doc asked, helping himself from a silver tureen to more of the pudding and custard sauce.

 

"What? My brothers? An original Remington painting fell on the skull of Paul. Antoine drowned while cleaning out the carp pool. Georges was found dead in his bed, having choked while devouring a large bowl of lime gelatin."

 

"Ill luck," Doc said, shaking his head. "And there has not been a count to join you here?"

 

She laughed. "Oh, yes. I have had three husbands, my dear Dr. Tanner." She turned her smile onto Ryan, seated at her right. "And even more bad luck. I had hoped that one of them would supply me with the male heir that I need so much, but all of them failed. And having failed to get me with child, the fates snatched them away from me."

 

Straub giggled loudly. "The fates always operate at your command, my lady."

 

She didn't smile. "Just as with my brothers, all my husbands suffered extraordinary accidents. First was Nicholas. A sweet man. He was found dead in an old freezer chest in one of the outbuildings. He had been missing for several days. He was dressed in my underwear. Then came Robert. Built like a bull, but absent in the region of fatherhood. He had the unfortunate habit of smoking in bed. Little black cigars from the Caribbean. When someone finally heard his screams, the bed was totally ablaze and nothing could be done to save him."

 

"Chains don't melt," Straub said runically, getting an angry glare from the countess.

 

"The bald, cockless fool means the chains of love," she said smoothly.

 

"And your third husband?" Mildred prompted, pouring herself a crystal goblet of water.

 

"That was John. A tender lover. But when it came to the moment of most intense passion, I'm sorry to say that there wasn't much there. John flattered to deceive me."

 

"So he died?" Ryan asked.

 

"He died. I didn't know it, or he could have been saved, but the poor man took to walking in his sleep. Climbed to the attic turrets and slipped over the edge. We found him next morning, his thigh bones driven up through his shoulders."

 

"My God," Mildred breathed.

 

"Beware of blasphemy." Katya warned. "For He sees all and hears all."

 

"I'm sorry. But I have never heard a a story to compare with that, Countess."

 

"That was a month ago. Since then, I have been distraught with grief. My clock is running out and I must, must, must have a son. So, we shall see what those fates provide."

 

Another snigger came from Straub, who was rolling his silver disk back and forth, so that it caught the light from the pendant-drop chandeliers.

 

Ryan glanced at it and found that it suddenly held his attention, seeming to lock in his mind. With a firm shake of his head he was able to free himself, but it set him wondering again about Straub.

 

The man seemed a crazed shell of what he'd been, yet there was something creepy, something that indicated that there might still be a river of power running quietly, far beneath the triple-mad exterior.

 

"Is there anything that any of you wish to visit while you stay here with us? Any attraction of old Memphis that we can escort you to and ensure your safety against local rowdies? Parts of the city are still there from pre-dark times."

 

Mildred half raised her hand, as though she were attracting the attention of a schoolteacher. "I've always had an interest in going to Graceland," she said hesitantly.

 

The countess nodded and smiled. "Others of our visitors have mentioned that place. The King's home. I have been there, and it is tawdry beyond belief. But if you like the songs of Elvis, then I suggest there is some fascination in visiting his home."

 

Though the request had come from Mildred, the ruler of the ville had ostentatiously addressed her reply to Ryan, leaning toward him so that the front of her dress cupped open and revealed the shadowed valley between her breasts.

 

Krysty caught his eye and shook her head in mock irritation, though Katya's interest in Ryan was so blatant it didn't seem to be offensive.

 

"We shall all go together," she declared. "Straub, make the arrangements and fix enough sec men."

 

"Of course, Countess. It will be a pleasure to do your bidding."

 

"Has everyone finished eating and drinking?" She waited only a nanosecond before standing and sweeping away toward the door. She stopped and turned to face her guests. "I am busy today and this evening. A ville of this size always requires my attention. Sadly I shall not meet you until tomorrow. But I look forward to that. Straub will help you in anything you need." The sec men at the door saluted as she strode past them, vanishing into the hall.

 

As the door closed, Straub was standing, leaning on the table with both hands. His face was split with a great beam showing the gap in his teeth.

 

"She is the most wonderful and powerful person that I have ever met," he said softly. "There is nothing in all Deathlands that the countess cannot have, if she wants it. She cannot be denied. And yet she is the essence of charm. What are your impressions of her, Ryan Cawdor? I felt that she liked you." He giggled again, covering his mouth with his hand.

 

Krysty was also standing. "She liked him the way the cat likes the cream," she said. "Long as she doesn't expect Ryan to be the one who provides her with her son and heir."

 

Straub stopped sniggering, his face hardening, lips tight. "You heard about all the bizarre accidents that have happened to her kinfolk? The countess has also had a string of lovers, and they've all failed her. Not many of them still walk around above ground. Best you don't make jokes about sons and heirs, Krysty."

 

"Doesn't it occur to her that the problem must lie with her and not with her banks of sperm donors?" Mildred said. "She ever had a proper gyno checkup?"

 

Straub looked around as though he'd suddenly heard the worm gnawing behind the arras, his black eyes twitching nervously, his voice an intense whisper. "That's an even better topic to get yourself on the last boat downriver, Dr. Wyeth. I'm your friend, and I have the ear of the mistress. But even I could do nothing to help you if she was to catch a mere breath of such a stupe and blasphemous suggestion."

 

Ryan was ready to go. "On the subject of your helping us, Straub?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Is Trader alive or dead?"

 

It was like watching a vanadium-steel sec shutter drop over tinted armaglass. The life seemed to disappear from the dark eyes. "Trader? You asked me before, and I can't remember. What's happened since then has wrapped an impenetrable shroud over my earlier memories. I can only recall clearly what's happened since I met the countess." His whole body shivered. "I can remember all of that, so well."

 

Ryan sighed, still unable to make his mind up about what was going on beneath that shaved skull. "Reckon time's our own now," he said. "Until tomorrow's trip to Graceland."