Читать книгу The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One - G.D. Falksen - Страница 11

Chapter Seven

Autumn, 1861

The arrival of autumn came as a relief to Babette. It meant the end of the social season, and with it the end of their regular trips back and forth between home and Paris, which she could not help but regard as an unnecessary interruption of her time with Korbinian. Each trip to the metropolis had done little but bore her and force her and Korbinian to restrain their natural impulses beneath the chains of decorum.

Which was not to say that it had not been enjoyable smiling at one another across the ballrooms and parlors, sharing a private joke at a distance amid the ignorant masses of the elite. But there were only so many times she could watch Korbinian snicker at the follies of their peers without giving in to the desire to kiss him. In Paris, the temptation had been unbearable.

But safely returned to Grandfather’s estate, Babette lost no time in taking advantage of every moment to be spent with Korbinian. Her studies had been repeatedly interrupted by the trips to the city, and now she threw herself back into them with abandon. The changing of the season renewed the discussion on the nature and qualities of plants, while the arrival of the harvest invoked great excitement in Korbinian, who took it as an excuse to discuss different harvest celebrations across Europe. From there, the lessons quickly began to embrace the study of folklore. Babette was certain that Father would not approve.

With the air still pleasant but free of the oppressive summer heat, they spent more and more time walking the grounds, especially the forest that dominated one side of the property beyond the gardens and orchards. Korbinian loved this part of the estate the most, he often told her. The romance of those deep woods reminded him of his home, and he often spoke at length of it and of the many delights that Babette would find there when they were married.

Marriage was a point on which neither of them had any doubts.

* * * *

“I feel,” Korbinian said, as they strolled through the forest arm in arm, “that we must make an expedition to Mont Blanc. I am given to understand that the primeval horror of the view is most inspiring.”

Babette sighed at him and rested her head against his shoulder. She could not have done so in company, but there among the ancient trees, they were free to profess love and affection, whether in triumphant oaths or quiet gestures.

“You have been reading Shelley again,” Babette said.

“And what if I have?” Korbinian asked. He raised Babette’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Herr Shelley is a fine poet. He stirs the soul with his words, even if they are English.”

“Oh, what nonsense!” Babette scoffed at the very idea.

Korbinian caught her by the chin and turned her face toward him.

“You do not agree, liebchen?” he asked in his usual charming way.

Babette looked into his eyes and smiled.

“You may call it a ‘philosophical dispute’ if you like,” she said, “but I assure you that I do not agree with you. Nor can you convince me otherwise.”

“Is that so?” Korbinian asked as he leaned in to kiss her.

“It is,” Babette whispered as she closed her eyes and inhaled with anticipation.

As her lips brushed his, Babette heard a noise in the trees. She pulled away and turned sharply. Her eyes darted about as she searched for the source of the sound. Korbinian, surprised at the abrupt change, placed a hand upon the back of her neck and gently stroked her hair.

“What is it, my love?” he asked softly.

What a question! Could it be possible he had not heard the sound? But no, surely not. It had been so loud and clear to Babette’s ears.

There it is again, she thought. Closer this time.

“Something’s approaching,” she said.

Korbinian listened carefully and said, “I hear nothing.”

“Nevertheless, it is there,” Babette said.

She finally fixed on the sound’s direction and pointed.

Korbinian drew his pistol and held her close at his side.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Babette said, clutching his arm.

She heard the sound again, closer and louder, accompanied by snorting and growling. This time Korbinian heard it too. He swung his revolver around and aimed it into the brush.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “I will kill it.”

“With a pistol?” Babette asked.

Such beautiful arrogance. What a typical hussar.

The brush and branches a dozen feet away split apart in a torrent of leaves and splinters. A dark figure lurched through the opening, knocking aside a sapling and uprooting it in the process. At first Babette thought the creature to be a bear, for its massive, hunched body was covered in coarse brown fur. But its head was of an improper shape—too broad of jaw, flat of snout, and sharp of brow—quite unlike any of the skulls Babette had seen in Grandfather’s study.

The creature lumbered forward, walking on its knuckles like an ape. It studied Babette with pale eyes for a moment and sniffed the air. Satisfied by something, it turned its gaze toward Korbinian, and its mouth split open to reveal pointed teeth, ivory amid hungry red.

“Gott in Himmel!” Korbinian cried.

He fired his revolver at the beast, but the beast showed no reaction, not even a hint of pain. It continued its advance with slow, measured steps. Korbinian fired again and again until his weapon was empty, but the beast merely grunted.

To Babette, it almost sounded like guttural laughter. With each shot the beast seemed to smile.

The beast lunged forward into the last two shots, taking them as easily as pebbles thrown by a child. First it struck Babette, backhanding her in the chest and flinging her away. The force of the blow made everything go black. Time vanished and, for what seemed like ages, Babette forgot who and where she was.

The first sensation she recognized was the hard discomfort of the ground digging into her back. Babette forced her eyes open and raised her head. Scarcely moments had passed since she had been struck, though it felt like it had been ages.

“Liebchen, flee!” Korbinian shouted.

Babette looked and saw him draw a knife and lash out at the beast. The beast grunted and knocked the weapon away.

Babette forced herself up on her elbows, every movement making her body shudder. Perhaps if she ran, she could get far enough away before the beast had finished killing and consuming Korbinian. Certainly that was what he hoped. But Babette would be damned if she left the man she loved to be eaten while she fled like a coward.

Claire de Mirabeau might do such a thing, but not a Varanus.

The beast drew back its paw and slashed Korbinian across the chest. Its claws, like knives, tore through the layers of Korbinian’s coat, waistcoat, and shirt with ease. Korbinian cried out in pain and stumbled. A moment later he fell in a heap on the ground.

“No!” Babette shouted. She reached out toward her beloved as he collapsed.

The beast turned toward her and looked at her curiously. The expression in its eyes was both intense and thoughtful, and it made her shiver. A beast in want of reason should not have known such understanding.

The beast raised its claws, still dripping with Korbinian’s blood, and licked them clean with its thick tongue. The sight made Babette cry out again, and she struggled to rise. She could not find the breath to move, and her body rebelled. She fell backward into the dirt once more. The beast chuffed at her. It sounded like a laugh.

Babette watched as Korbinian began to crawl toward his knife. It was a futile effort, but the refusal to succumb made Babette giddy for a moment.

She forced herself to her feet, aching with every movement. The beast had turned away from her and now loomed over Korbinian, watching him as if amused by his futile attempt to escape.

Babette looked about for a weapon. The pistol was empty—not that it had done any good—and the beast was between her and the knife. Her eyes fell upon the uprooted sapling that the beast had torn from the ground.

It was an unlikely chance, but it was the only one that Babette could see.

She stumbled over to the sapling and picked it up. The young tree was heavy and unwieldy, but under the heat of the moment, she found that she lifted it with ease. Babette spun around and saw the beast hunched over Korbinian, pinning his arms down with its massive forepaws.

She hefted the sapling and ran for the beast. If the pistol’s bullets and the knife had been unable to stop it, a blow to the body with a glorified cudgel would be no better.

Find someplace vulnerable… Babette thought.

The eyes.

Babette raised the sapling into the air as best she could and brought it down on the beast’s head with all her might. She had been aiming for the bridge of the beast’s snout, but instead she connected with the top of its brow. Her makeshift club struck and bounced off, making her stumble back a pace.

But it had had an effect. The force of the blow made the beast lurch, though it showed no sign of pain. Instead, it looked up, having suddenly forgotten Korbinian, and patted the top of its head with one massive forepaw. Slowly it turned toward Babette and snarled at her.

Babette swung the sapling again and struck the beast full in the face with its roots. The beast let out a snarl of pain and jerked away, lashing out at the sapling with its claws. Babette was thrown off balance and fell to her knees, but the beast withdrew a few paces as it rubbed its eyes with the heel of its forepaw.

Hand, Babette realized. The beast’s forepaw was like a hand, fingers and all. Good God, what sort of creature was this?

She picked herself up again and raised the sapling. With a roar that rose from her toes and into her belly, she charged at the beast and swung again, throwing all her weight into the blow.

The beast reached out with one hand and snatched the sapling in midair. With a single, easy movement, it tore the weapon from Babette’s grasp and flung it away. Babette fell onto her side and threw up an arm to shield herself, expecting the beast’s next blow to be on her.

When nothing came, she opened her eyes and saw the beast looming over her, watching her. It sniffed at her and grunted. For a moment it seemed to shake its head.

What can be the meaning of this? Babette thought. Why had it not killed her?

The beast chuffed. One massive hand took her by the shoulder and shoved her aside. Babette rose again as quickly as she fell. Grabbing the beast by the arm, she pulled herself ahead of it and flung herself upon Korbinian. The beast drew up short and snorted angrily at her. It reached for her again, but she pulled away from it, all the while keeping herself between it and Korbinian.

The barking of dogs rose in the distance. The beast raised its nose and sniffed the air. Grunting, it looked into Babette’s eyes. Babette stared back and saw something there she never thought an animal could know: frustration.

The beast turned and thundered back into the brush.

Babette lay there, gasping for breath for a few moments. She could scarcely comprehend what had just happened, what she had just seen.

What the deuce…?

Another thought came to her:

Korbinian!

Babette turned and looked down at Korbinian. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. Babette touched his cheek, and his eyelids fluttered open.

“Babette…” he murmured.

“Hush,” Babette said.

She pulled the tattered edges of Korbinian’s clothing away from his bloody chest. She gasped at the sight of the wounds left by the beast’s claws. Korbinian’s pale skin was awash with blood, the old mass drying and dark amid the flowing crimson.

“Liebchen…” Korbinian said, reaching out for her.

Babette pushed his hand away impatiently.

“Be still, my love!” she said. “For God’s sake, be still.”

What could she do? The claws had not cut deep—Korbinian’s ribs were still intact—but the blood was endless. She would have to staunch the flow of it. Only then could she even begin to think about moving him. That would be a dreadful risk, but she could not leave him there, not in his state.

But what to use for bandages? All their clothes were covered in dirt, and dirt seemed the last thing that should be going inside one’s body.

But of course, she realized, not all of their clothing had been soiled during the fight.

Babette grabbed Korbinian’s knife from where it had fallen and wiped it off on the cleanest part of her sleeve. She hiked up her skirt and began cutting her petticoats into pieces as quickly as she could manage. For the first time in her life, she had found a practical use for the damnable things.

She packed a bunch of fabric pieces together into a mass and placed it against Korbinian’s chest. She pushed on it as hard as she could, just as it had been described to her during their many lessons on medicine. To think that now she the student had to perform on her teacher.

Or that his life depended on how well she had learned.

Babette bit her lip, but the grim realization only hardened her resolve. Korbinian would not die because of her.

The sound of dogs was louder now. Babette turned toward it and saw a pair of hounds, straining at their leashes, leading a figure in rough clothing through the trees.

“Gustave!” Babette shouted, recognizing the figure as her grandfather’s game warden.

“Mademoiselle?” Gustave said. He hurried to her and knelt, looking at Korbinian in shock. “What has happened? I heard a shot and thought it was poachers.”

“There is no time!” Babette said. “Lift his chest for me.”

Gustave set his shotgun down and looped the dogs’ leads around a branch. The animals were incensed, and they snarled and barked in the direction that the beast had fled.

Without a word, Gustave took Korbinian by the shoulders and raised his upper body. Babette cut longer strips of cloth from what remained of her petticoats and wrapped them around Korbinian’s chest, binding the wound tightly. They would not be good for long, but at least the makeshift bandages would last until he could be returned to the house.

“Gustave,” Babette said, “you must return to the house. Tell them that there has been an animal attack. Fetch men, fetch a cart, and have them send for a doctor at once!”

“But Mademoiselle, I cannot leave you—” Gustave began.

“And I cannot leave him!” Babette snapped. “The dogs will protect me. Give me your shotgun if you think they are not enough.”

Gustave picked up the shotgun and hesitated. Babette snatched it from him and set it on her lap.

“Now go!” she shouted.

Gustave bowed his head, stood, and raced off in the direction of the house.

Babette’s head swam from the excitement. In the sudden calm, she felt herself falling into a swoon, and she knelt with her head down for a moment to steady herself.

“Babette, my love?” she heard Korbinian ask weakly.

She turned to him and looked into his eyes, smiling bravely. She could not lose him. It would be the death of her, she knew that now.

Touching his cheek, she said, “Be strong, my dearest. You must be strong. Help is coming. But you must keep your eyes open.”

Korbinian took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“I could never look away from you, liebchen,” he said softly. “So long as you are here, I will never close my eyes.”

There was such pain and such determination in his voice that Babette felt tears wet her eyes.

“Liebchen,” Korbinian said, gasping for breath, “my love for you is such that I cannot describe it. I could die now content in knowing that you are safe.”

“You will not die!” Babette cried. “I forbid it!”

Korbinian smiled at her and took her hand. He kissed it gently and said, “Mademoiselle Babette Varanus, I have but one thing to ask of you.”

“What?” Babette asked.

Why had Korbinian suddenly used her proper name for the first time in months?

“If I live,” Korbinian said, struggling with his words, “I wish that you would give to me the greatest happiness that a man can ever know.”

He looked into her eyes and clutched her hand tightly.

“Babette, my darling, will you consent to be my wife?”

Babette’s breath caught in her throat. Such a thing had always been understood between them, but it was an unspoken understanding. Now, to hear the question asked in full.…

She wept freely with joy and kissed him. She could hardly speak, but there was only one word she needed to say—indeed, only one word she could say.

“Yes!”