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  "Will you do that?" Beauvrai asked hungrily.

  "Not yet, I think. But certainly we must do so before we are done. Think of possessing her when her body cannot endure to be touched. That must be for later." He was about to continue, when there was a sudden breaking of glass and splintering of wood as one of the french doors at the end of the study burst open and Robert de Montalia stumbled into the room, followed by Gervaise d'Argenlac. The shattered remnants of the french doors spread around their feet.

  "Stop!" Robert de Montalia shouted as he brought his musket to his shoulder, aiming it unwaveringly at Saint Sebastien.

  Most of the men around the table had the grace to be shocked, and Châteaurose looked embarrassed. Only Saint Sebastien was unperturbed, and even, judging by the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth, amused. "Good evening," he said when he was certain that Robert would not pull the trigger at once. "I see you have decided to join us."

  "Stand away from her."

  "No." He nodded mockingly. "Your daughter is in my hands, Robert. As you gave me your word she would be."

  "You can't do that!" Robert's desperation bordered on insanity now, and his voice rose to a scream.

  "Why? Because you wish to reserve that honor for yourself?" He gestured to his companions. "I am sure these gentlemen will wait, if that is your pleasure. You have a right to her, after mine." He tweaked Madelaine's swollen buttocks, and the cry that escaped her brought new torment to her father's ravaged face.

  "Let her go, Clotaire," Robert said hoarsely. "Let her go and I will stay. No matter what you do, or how long it takes you to do it. I will stay."

  "Of course you will," Saint Sebastien agreed affably. Then, with feigned amazement: "Surely you did not think I would allow you to leave, did you? You read my note, I assume. You, of all people, should know that I meant what I said."

  Gervaise, who had drunk most of a bottle of wine in the carriage ride to hôtel Saint Sebastien, gathered his fuddled wits and moved uncertainly toward the table. "Lord God of the Fishes," he slurred. "What are you doing to Madelaine?"

  "We are making a sacrifice." Saint Sebastien motioned Gervaise away with a disdainful flick of his hand.

  But Gervaise was not to be put off. He had a drunkard's tenacity, and had reached a pugnacious stage in his inebriation. "You can't make a sacrifice of a noble. It isn't done. What are you sacrificing her for, anyway? Tell me that.”

  "For power," Saint Sebastien snapped, as he brought up his hand again. "Robert, you choose your allies most unwisely."

  "Damn you for a pernicious whoreson," Gervaise roared as he reeled toward the table. "You don't strip a lady of quality and beat her for the amusement of your friends, Saint Sebastien." He peered at the others. "There's something damn wrong about this," he said slowly.

  Ignoring Gervaise, Saint Sebastien said, "I am not a patient man, Robert. The more you prolong this little melodrama, the less charitable I will be with you."

  "Stand away from my daughter," Robert said icily.

  "I think not." Saint Sebastien did not turn as he issued his orders. "Tite, if I am shot by this foolish man, I give you leave to kill him in any way you like, with the help of our friends here." He motioned his servant to move aside, out of Robert's line of fire.

  "Killing," Gervaise announced, though no one appeared to listen, "is a matter for the courts. We need a magistrate." He pushed away from the table and set out across the broken glass for the gaping hole where the french doors had been forced. "You hold 'em, Robert. I'll see if I can rouse an officer at this hour.... Should be one somewh—"

  Saint Sebastien had already unwound his sjambok when he said, "Stand aside, gentlemen." The lash coiled out like something live and predatory, its thin, hard leather cutting deeply into Gervaise's neck above his loosened jabot. Gervaise made a sound like a hiccough as blood welled around the whip, spattering his waistcoat and cloak as he staggered backward. Saint Sebastien slackened the sjambok as if playing a fish on a line, then jerked the whip tight once more. In the silent room there was a sound like a tree branch snapping. Crazily, like a marionette whose strings have suddenly been cut, Gervaise crumpled to the floor and was still.

  For a moment the study was still. Then: "You monster!" Even as his yell burst from his lips, Robert aimed his musket, at the same moment that Saint Sebastien flicked the sjambok free of Gervaise's flesh. There was an ear-shattering noise when the musket's charge exploded as the sjambok snatched it from Robert, sending it smashing against a case of antique musical instruments.

  "Seize him, Tite," Saint Sebastien said as he gathered in his lethal African whip.

  "I will," Tite said, stalking across the study to Robert. On the table, Madelaine saw this and moaned.

  Le Marquis de Montalia stepped back from Tite, pulling at his sword which hung in its scabbard at his side under his cloak. There was a scrape, and the weapon was out, and Robert, with a cry, lunged forward, burying the sword halfway to its hilt in Tite's chest.

  Tite howled and clawed first at the sword and then grabbed for Robert, his big bloodstained hands crashing into le Marquis' face as he fell forward onto Gervaise's body.

  Robert swayed dangerously but did not fall. Tite's blows had been weakened, or Robert would have been stunned. He slipped once on the glass and blood, dropping to one knee before he recovered.

  "Vastly entertaining," Saint Sebastien said slowly. "What did you think to prove, Robert?" He came toward le Marquis, negligently toying with the lash of the sjambok. "Surely you did not believe that I would allow you to stop me?"

  "I don't know." It had seemed easy when he had rushed out of his sister's house. He had the full force of virtue and love in the face of vice and degeneracy. When he and Gervaise had arrived at hôtel Saint Sebastien, it had been only a matter of holding Saint Sebastien and his Circle at bay while Madelaine was carried to safety. How stupidly simplistic that was, Robert realized now.

  "Poor Robert, so righteous." Saint Sebastien motioned to the other men in the room. "But you see, I have her, and now I have you, mon cher Robert." He paused. "I suppose you have told Gervaise's widow where you are? I see I need not have asked. That is inconvenient." He turned to his Circle. "One of you take him to the room in the stable, where Le Grâce is. You, Achille, I am sure you will find a way to amuse our guest until I have made up my mind what to do with him."

  Achille's eyes grew bright. "He's a very attractive man, Clotaire. But be sure to allow me sufficient time." He saw Robert shrink as he understood. "He's reluctant." Achille was delighted. "He will not be reluctant when I have done with him."

  "Certainly," Saint Sebastien agreed as he pushed Robert toward Achille. "But be sure he is firmly tied. He may have a few surprises left for us."

  Achille giggled as he came nearer. "Are you sure you don't want me to minister to him here, where she can watch?"

  "Perhaps later. But not now." He went to his chest and removed two lengths of braided leather. "Here. Secure him with these. Do not resist, mon cher Robert, or your daughter will suffer for it." He waited as Achille bound Robert's hands behind him, then said, "I had not planned to leave here until tomorrow, but it may be wise to go to the chapel tonight."

  Achille pouted. "How long will I have?"

  "Perhaps an hour. No more. There are a few things to finish up here." He slid a sideways glance at Madelaine. "We have not done all we might."

  "Very well." Achille shoved Robert ahead of him to the library door. "I have a knife, Marquis. There are many painful places I might use it." With a last giggle he thrust Robert from the room, going out behind him.

  "Where are we going, Clotaire? I don't mind telling you I don't like interruptions of this sort."

  "Neither do I, Beauvrai," Saint Sebastien said slowly. "That is why we are going to the chapel. It is one of the hidden ones La Voison used for la Marquise de Montespan when she practiced the Arts. The police found one, but there are several others, and this is by far the most convenient." He came back to the ta
ble and looked down at Madelaine. "You and I will take her in my carriage, I think. The rest of you may follow on horseback."

  "But, Saint Sebastien," de la Sept-Nuit objected, "you told me I might have some time with her..."

  Saint Sebastien nodded. "So I did. Very well. I have a few notes to write to the others, telling them where we are to meet. You may have a quarter of an hour with her, and then Beauvrai, and then Châteaurose. You may use your hands on her, but you must not beat her yet. You are sufficiently imaginative to invent other torments. But I warn you, her virginity is mine. I will not relinquish that to anyone." He held the door open for the others, smiling at de la Sept-Nuit. "Enjoy yourself."

  Madelaine heard the door close, and she held her breath. Out of the comer of her eye she could see the bodies of her aunt's husband and Tite piled together like broken furniture. She could also see de la Sept-Nuit's feet as he moved toward her. She clenched her hands in their bonds. "De la Sept-Nuit," she said as calmly as she could, "why do you do this? It is evil, Chevalier. Think of the penalties."

  De la Sept-Nuit ran abusive hands over her. "Think of the power, Madelaine. Clotaire has promised me leadership of the Circle when he is done, if I show myself worthy. You are part of the test.”

  She felt helplessness possess her for the first time. She tried in vain to shut out the painful indignities le Chevalier de la Sept-Nuit worked upon her, to think of other things. But the bodies lying in the spreading pool of blood could not be ignored, nor the pitiful figure of her maid Cassandre, nor the vicious hands that defiled her. More than anything in her life she wanted Saint-Germain to save her, to take her away from hurt and fear and humiliation. But two men had tried to save her already, and one was dead, lying less than ten feet away from her, and the other was a captive in as dangerous a position as she was. So she prayed silently, fervently, wretchedly; she prayed she would go mad.

  Excerpt from one of a series of letters written by le Baron Clotaire de Saint Sebastien to the absent members of his Circle: undated:

  ...The chapel may be reached by a secret tunnel that leads from the Seine to the abandoned vaults of the monastery that stood near the river over five hundred years ago. You will find the entrance to the tunnel on the river side of Quai Malaquais between la rue des Saints Pérès and la rue de Seine. The tunnel is reinforced with heavy stones, and you should bring a club with you, for there are many rats.

  ...On the other side of the burial vaults is the chapel. It is rumored that practices of our sort were in effect there as long ago as the reign of the Spider King, which is auspicious. Certainly it has seen more recent use, for La Voison mentioned it, and several others like it in and around Paris, to many of that Circle, to which my grandfather belonged.

  The chapel itself is almost directly under Hôtel Transylvania. I find myself amused by this contrast. Above us, our splendid equals will be playing at dice, and risking several generations' fortune on the turn of a card, thinking that they have found the answer to power and fame, while we, far under their feet, will perform the rituals that will bring us power as they do not know exists, and the control of France more potent than the throne.

  Let me warn you: apparently there is some means of access to the chapel from Hôtel Transylvania, although I have not discovered it, and it is doubtful that the owners of the Hôtel or the staff are aware of it. But you will admit that it would be most unfortunate if any of our number should use it, and even more important if any unlucky member of the Hotel's staff should happen to discover our presence. For that, and other reasons, I will insist that each of you take turns standing guard. You will not be deprived of the delights of our sacrifice, or the use of our offering, who I find will be excellent. Even the slight taste I have had of her tells me that it will be a splendid thing to destroy her. But we must be secret. Reflection on the scandal that accompanied the last discovery of a Circle should make the need for these precautions obvious to you. One Affair of the Poisons is enough for France. I will not tolerate any of you being so clumsy as was Montespan.

  As I write this last message the hour of one has struck. I charge you to be at the chapel by the third hour of the morning, as we have planned. It may be a good thing that we have moved to the chapel ahead of the planned time for it reduces our chance of discovery and allows more leisure to make the offerings acceptable.

  If you fail me in this, I will know you for my enemy, and will deal with you accordingly at my first opportunity. If you will not bow before Satan, you may still be of use to him, and to me. Think of the dismal fate of others who have stood against me, and let your decision reflect the benefit of your contemplations.

  Until the third hour of the morning, then, and the first ritual, when we will offer on the altar the body of one who has betrayed me, be certain that you are in my thoughts—for advantage and luxury beyond your fondest hopes, or destruction, as you choose. It is my honor to be

  Your most devoted

  Baron Clotaire de Saint Sebastien

  Chapter 9

  As the curve of the road brought hôtel Saint Sebastien into view at last, Saint-Germain heard a distant clock strike the hour of one. He pulled in the Barb, holding the gray stallion firmly while he studied the rising bulk of the hôtel. The gates would be locked—of that he was certain; and it was reasonable to assume that there would be guards on the grounds. Most of the hôtel was dark, but toward the rear, a few windows gave off a muted golden light He was not certain which room that was, but even at this distance he could see by the movements of the curtains that one of the french doors was open.

  He had made up his mind to try to enter hôtel Saint Sebastien through the open door when the heavy iron gates in the wall that surrounded the hotel's holdings swung open and two men on horseback appeared. Both spurred their mounts down die road to Paris. Saint-Germain, glad now that he had stopped where he had, pulled his Barb to the side of the road into the cover of the flowering shrubs that bordered the small orchard attached to hôtel Saint Sebastien.

  The riders plunged by him, and Saint-Germain recognized Châteaurose as one of them. His apprehension, which had deepened steadily since he left Claudia d'Argenlac, now held him with new intensity. He knew enough of these men to realize that they had not abandoned their schemes, and the only other thing that would account for this strange flight was a sudden change of plans.

  Even as he watched, he saw another rider emerge from the gate and set off in another direction.

  Saint-Germain did not want to risk discovery, and was uncertain how many more horsemen might rush past him in the night. He turned the Barb's head into the shrub hedge, forcing the dark-gray stallion through the barrier and into the orchard. When he felt he was far enough from the road, he dismounted and secured his mount's bridle to one of the almond trees.

  The lights in the house had gone out, and he could just see the shine of a lantern as two or possibly three shadowy figures moved toward the stables.

  He crouched low, running with a swiftness that was not entirely human. He kept his dark eyes set on the figures, and when they disappeared into the stable, he put on a burst of speed that took him up the wide carriage drive and close to the terrace of the hôtel. There he paused, uncertain whether to follow the men in the stable or enter the house through the french doors, which he now saw were broken.

  There was an eruption of sound from the stable, and a large traveling coach drawn by four restive light-colored horses bowled into view. Saint-Germain did not need to see the cinq-foil on the door panels to recognize it as one of Saint Sebastien's, for le Baron always drove light-colored horses.

  Saint-Germain moved swiftly through the splintered french doors into the darkened room. He slipped, and his hand came away from the floor sticky. He did not need a light to tell him that the substance was blood, for his senses were fired with it. His vision expanded, and he could see the two crumpled figures. Tite, facing him, and Gervaise with vacant eyes on the far comer of the room.

  For a moment Saint-Ge
rmain stood still, then murmured to the pathetic figures there, "Poor fools. Gervaise, why would you not believe?" He felt it was futile, but he paused to make the sign of the cross on Gervaise's forehead before moving back toward the door.

  A moan from the corner stopped him. He turned quickly, prepared to attack who or whatever had made the sound. Then he saw Cassandre huddled against the wall. Moving carefully, he crossed the room once more, and dropped to his knee beside Madelaine's servant.

  Cassandre's gaze wandered, and though she undoubtedly tried to move, her body made only a feeble, flopping response to the orders of her will. Finally, with great effort, she said, "They left, Madelaine is... with them... I heard them..."

  Making his voice gentle, insistent, Saint-Germain calmed her, knowing that if Cassandre grew frightened, he would not learn anything from her. "Yes. You are doing well. You need not be frightened. They are gone and I will help you. I want to help you. I want to help Madelaine. If you tell me what you have heard, then I promise you I will find her before she is harmed."

  Tears welled in the maidservant's eyes, and she made a vain effort to check them. "Madelaine... Madelaine... Oh, my dear child..." Keening sobs destroyed her words.

  "No, no, Madame," Saint-Germain said, his voice soothing her again. "If you weep, you will not be able to tell me where Madelaine has gone." He waited then, for what seemed interminable minutes, while Cassandre put aside her tears and found sufficient strength to speak rationally.

  "I am better now," she said in a low voice. "But I am badly frightened. Oh, very badly. Le Baron has taken Madelaine away..." Here she trembled, but held herself in check. "No, I cannot. He, le Baron, has taken Madelaine and her worthy father with him. He has said he has a place, a chapel, he called it, but it must be consecrated to evil if that monster can walk there."

  "Be sure you are in the right," Saint-Germain interpolated grimly.