Page 67 of Mongrel
My heart sinks. It’s one thing to find Cecily and get her to safety; surely we can do that. But to scour the castle beneath Báthory’s nose, identify and rescue each victim, that’s a monumental task if they’re truly scattered everywhere. And how will we get them to safety? Ivaz has promised wagons, but when?
Janos scowls his displeasure. “How many men make up her guard?”
“I can only guess,” says Petru. “Perhaps half a dozen men assigned to her alone, and another fifty guarding the grounds. Those men are loyal to the money in her coffers more than the lady herself. She pays them well. Though they may not like her, they’ll follow her orders.”
“What do you know of the official investigation into her crimes?” asks Bowie.
Petru shrugs. “Only that it exists. A man came through asking questions last week. The countess was furious. And Gyorgy Thurzo—her caretaker appointed to help her run Csejthe—is said to be planning a visit. Báthory has ears everywhere. She knows of the king’s orders and believes herself above the law. Deseo says she’s convinced Thurzo will be on her side, but he thinks not.”
“Why does Thurzo’s opinion matter?”
“He is King Matyas’s second-in-command. His majesty values Thurzo’s advice, but it will take a vote of the parliament to lay formal charges at the feet of a noblewoman. If anyone is in a position to sway them, it’s Thurzo.”
I can’t help but think none of this matters. The courts, the nobles, the king, his advisers, none of them is more important than the girls who are in jeopardy at this very moment. My goal remains the same: get in, find the girls, get us all out. Let the law sort out what remains once the young women are safe. I’m sure Bowie feels the same.
Horses stamp nervously in their stalls. My presence has been tolerated long enough. “What else do we need to know?” I ask, hoping to leave so we can come up with a plan.
“Deseo will know more. You must speak with him. I’ve told you everything,” says Petru. “If she ever finds out, she’ll have me killed.”
“We won’t let that happen,” says Janos. “Stay here in Trencin. Keep your ears to the wind for Ivaz. Take this.” He hands over a black velvet coin purse. “Be ready with the wagons when we need you.”
Petru stuffs the purse inside his vest and bows his head. “Be careful. She’s cagey.”
“Don’t worry,” says Bowie. “Her days are numbered.” There’s steel in his voice I haven’t heard before. I want to speak with him alone, but Janos is unlikely to leave us be. Plus, the two of them have precious little time before sunrise.
Bowie turns to Janos. “You know a place?”
“Of course. This way.”
* * *
We leavethe poor horses in peace and head toward the hilly forest. I have little hope for a place above ground, but beyonddryanddoesn’t smell of onions, I’m not feeling picky. We’re so close to our goal it’s hard to wait another day.
Janos picks up the pace as the sky begins to lighten. Birdsong flutters from treetops as we rush uphill. I glance ahead but see nothing that looks like shelter through the dense layers of surrounding branches. If I’m nervous about the oncoming sunrise, how must the vampires be feeling?
“Janos, are we close?” asks Bowie. He doesn’t sound nervous, just resigned. I have yet to see him sleep in the ground, but perhaps today is the day.
“Nearly there,” says Janos. “We’ll make it.”
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Dried leaves and brush snap beneath our tromping feet. Heading uphill seems like heading closer to the sun, but I keep quiet. They know what they’re doing. Probably.
“Hellfire, Janos,” says Bowie. “It’s now or the earth, man. Are we there or not?”
The alarmed pitch to Bowie’s voice sends a spike of fear through me. I’ll dig a hole and bury Bowie myself if I must in order to keep him safe.
“Yes, yes, here we are.” Janos guides us to a hidden cave, the entrance overgrown with ferns and bushes. “Come along,” he says calmly as if the two of them weren’t minutes away from burnt flesh and crispy skin.
I couldn’t handle the stress of being a vampire, not without a safe, cozy home to call my own and the knowledge I’d be protected within its walls.
We duck to shuffle through the cramped entrance, single file, with Janos bringing up the rear. Luckily, the inside is larger than it appeared from the outside. The stone walls open to a roomy cavern, tucked deep within the mountain, far enough I can’t see the end from where I stand. The scents of dust, ash, and—is that bear?—meet my nostrils. I sniff more carefully. Definitely bear, though faint, so with any luck, the animal won’t be returning anytime soon.
“There. That wasn’t so bad,” says Janos.
“You cut it close,” Bowie gripes, wiping dirt from his shoulder. “However did you find this?”
“Asked the locals. They said there were caves and pointed me in the right direction.”
