1• prologue •

By Kraig Blackwelder, Myranda Kalis, Jonathan L. Shepherd, Adam Tinworth and Janet Trautvetter

Vampire created by Mark Rein•Hagen

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CreditsAuthors: Kraig Blackwelder (The Ways of the

Faithful (The Lamp of Faith, Endowments, Curses, Merits and Flaws)), Myranda Kalis (Playing the In-quisition (Life in the Church, The Inquisition in the Church), Soldiers of God, Servants of Hell), Jonathan L. Shepherd (Playing the Inquisition (Sample of Play), The Ways of the Faithful (Orisons and Holy Art)), Adam Tinworth (My Order, My Brothers) and Janet Trautvetter (Prelude, Playing the Inquisition (Serving the Inquisition)).

Storyteller game system designed by Mark Rein•Hagen

Development and Additional Material: Mat-thew McFarland

Editor: Michelle LyonsArt Direction, Layout & Typesetting: Becky

JollenstenInterior Art: Mike Chaney, James Stowe,

Tim Truman, and John WigleyFront Cover Art: Adrian SmithFront & Back Cover Design: Becky Jollensten

© 2004White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction without the written permission of the publisher is expressly forbidden, except for the purposes of reviews, and for blank character sheets, which may be reproduced for personal use only. White Wolf, Vampire, Vampire the Masquerade, Vampire the Dark Ages, Mage the Ascension, Hunter the Reckoning, World of Darkness and Aberrant are registered trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Werewolf the Apocalypse, Wraith the Oblivion, Changeling the Dreaming, Werewolf the Wild West, Mage the Sorcerers Crusade, Wraith the Great War, Trinity, Dark Ages Storytellers Companion, Dark Ages

Vampire, Dark Ages Mage, Dark Ages British Isles, Dark Ages Europe, Right of Princes, Spoils of War, Bitter Crusade, London by Night, Under the Black Cross, Cainite Heresy, Constantinople by Night, Jerusalem by Night, Libellus Sanguinis I Masters of the State, Libellus Sanguinis II Keepers of the Word, Libellus Sanguinis III Wolves at the Door, Libellus Sanguinis IV Thieves in the Night, The Ashen Knight, The Ashen Thief, Road of the Beast, Road of Kings, Road of Heaven, Road of Sin, Iberia by Night, Transylvania by Night, House of Tremere, Wolves of the Sea, Fountains of Bright Crimson, Wind from the East, Veil of Night, Dark Ages Inquisitor, and Dark Ages Inquisitor Companion are trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. All characters, names, places and text herein are copyrighted by White Wolf Publishing, Inc.

The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages is not a challenge to the trade-mark or copyright concerned.

This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

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3• contents •

Contents

prelude: Woman’s intuition 5

introduction 15

chapter one: my order, my Brothers 19

chapter two: playing the inquisitor 51

chapter three: the Ways of the Faithful 91

chapter Four: servants of god, soldiers of Hell 129

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Prelude: Woman’s Intuition

The questioning had been long, punctuated by the creak of the rack and the cries of agony from the woman strapped to it. The rack’s bone-wrenching strength and the tireless interrogation of Sir Augustin were relentless forces, allowing the woman neither rest nor pity as they struggled with Satan for her immortal soul. In the end, the effort had been fruitful; Sister Mathilde’s fingers all but cramped trying to get down the woman’s faltering confession.

Mathilde did not pay much attention to the meaning of what she was writing. It took all her concentration just to keep up, letting the words flow from her ears to her fingers without filtering them with her mind. Thankfully, Sir Augustin was an old hand at such interrogations; he waited until the scratching of her pen stopped before asking the next question, skillfully monitoring both the pace and clarity of the confession so it could be properly recorded.

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At last, Sir Augustin was satisfied. Even Sir Baudioun, whose limited German prevented him from handling task of interrogation himself, could find nothing more to ask. One-Eyed Huart turned the wheel back, relaxing the rack’s tension, and the two Red Sisters released the weeping Agnise from its bonds. Huart made sure the prisoner’s manacles were secured before allowing Sister Mathilde and Sister Katherin to escort the wretched woman to her cell, a makeshift affair on the women’s side of the chapter-house.

“She’s in your care, Sisters,” Sir Baudioun said, with Sir Augustin translating. “Take special note of anything else she says, and harden your hearts to her pleas. Her confession today only proves what Brother Leopold first suspected. There is a foul nest of Satan in this city, and she is but the first we shall uncover; Master Nicolaus shall be the next.”

“With all due respect, Sir Baudioun, Sir Au-gustin….” Katherin shot Mathilde a warning glance, but Mathilde ignored it. “Her confession is hardly sufficient evidence to convict anyone but herself. Her accusation alone won’t be enough to try Master Nicolaus before the Council of Faith, much less bring charges against him before the Salt Merchant’s Guild.”

“We will be investigating her accusations thor-oughly, Sister, so you may put your mind at ease.” Sir Augustin’s voice brooked no argument, and a disap-proving crease appeared between his bushy white brows to signal his displeasure. “Your task is to see to this poor creature until the Council determines her proper fate.”

Sir Augustin turned away, but Sir Baudioun stopped him. Mathilde’s command of French was sufficient to dispense with Sir Augustin’s translation, so Baudioun spoke openly. “Wait, Augustin. In Brother Leopold’s absence, Sister Mathilde may be able to assist us — she is his kinswoman, after all.”

“Sister Mathilde, my brother knight makes a good point. You are related to Brother Leopold, and a member of the house of Murnau….” Augustin paused, awkwardly.

“He is my uncle, yes,” replied Mathilde in her best French, “though I should confess, Brothers, that to me this poor woman smells of sweat and fear and unwashed clothing. Nothing more.”

“After that confession, are you doubting Brother Leopold’s gift?” Sir Baudioun asked, astonished.

“No, Brother. I’m telling you I don’t share it.” For which I thank God. She could see the disap-pointment in their faces; so be it. Her own gift was less practical in application and rather harder to explain. “I’m told I have a good instinct about people, however. Since none of the Oculi Dei yet dwell in this city, perhaps it might be useful if Sister Katherin and I spent some time listening to the talk in the market —”

“They would hardly gossip in the presence of two holy sisters,” Sir Baudioun returned, frowning slightly.

“Then clearly we must put aside our habits for something less conspicuous, so they will talk more freely in our presence. As the Rule permits — and with your permission, of course, Brother,” Mathilde added, seeing the frown lines reappear on Sir Au-gustin’s forehead.

Sir Baudioun thought about it a moment, then nodded. “As you see fit, Sister,” he agreed, “but with discretion. We do not yet know the extent of the Devil’s conspiracy here. In addition, if you would have the transcription of her confession prepared as soon as possible, I would greatly appreciate that as well.”

††† It had been years since Mathilde had visited

a market. She’d forgotten the press of crowds; the clamor of venders shouting, arguing, haggling; the lowing of cattle and squawking of chickens; the squeals of children running about underfoot. All was noise, chaos and disorder. It was a far cry from the order and quiet of the convent: the stillness of the cloister, the rustle of crisp parchment pages, the rise and fall of plainsong chant at services. It felt odd to wear a blue and brown matron’s plain kirtle instead of her red habit and surplice, a simple kerchief covering her cropped hair, her throat bare of any wimple. Strange, indeed, to blend in with dozens of other women in the square, instead of being set apart by birth, profession, and the curse in her blood.

“Master Nicolaus, he’s a good man, as fair in his dealings as they come.” Ilse tucked away the candles she had just purchased neatly in her basket. Mathilde’s years in the convent had not prepared her for this task. Inside its walls, she was one of the sisters. Her origin or birth was considered

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unimportant, even irrelevant. Out here, however, the sense of displacement was made more acute by realizing that she was considered undoubtedly foreign by those around her, truly a pilgrim in a strange land.

Surprisingly, Mathilde’s strong Bavarian accent had made Ilse less suspicious of her questions; perhaps she assumed none of her employer’s business rivals would hire a foreigner as a spy. Even so, Mathilde had to listen carefully, for Ilse’s broad local dialect was sometimes hard for her to follow. “Ten years I’ve been with him, and he and Mistress Anna’s been good to me. I’ll not spread gossip; it’s careless words as raises an ill wind.”

“Oh, of course,” Mathilde assured her. “My mother, God rest her soul, used to say the same thing. You’re fortunate to work for a good Christian man. My cousin once worked for a merchant in Hamburg that was like the very devil in his moods. Never satisfied, he was: the soup was either too hot or not hot enough, and if you served him fish, it was chicken he wanted.”

“Oh, he’s particular enough on some things,” Ilse said, “but past those, whatever’s on the table is good enough so long as I didn’t spend too much for it. He’s not one to tolerate the waste of either a minute or a penny, is Master Nicolaus. There, now all I need is some onions and the cheese.”

Mathilde followed the cook as she wove her way in-between the close-packed stalls and clumps of other market-goers. Ilse stopped in front of a stall displaying a variety of vegetables and herbs as she chattered. Mathilde pretended to examine the hanging herbs while she listened, her thoughts wandering as she nodded occasion-ally to keep Ilse talking. Ilse clearly had a high opinion of her master; it was hard to think of a diplomatic way of asking about anything Agnise had claimed. Would she even admit to knowing Agnise at all? How did one ask for gossip from a woman she’d just met? St. Scholastica, Holy Mary, please guide my tongue and hers. Let her tell me what I need to know.

“There, that’s all but the cheese,” Ilse said, pack-ing the onions away in her basket as well. “What have we here?” She gestured toward the bunch of herbs Mathilde was idly examining.

Mathilde touched the hanging bunch of green. “Rosemary. I’ve always liked the smell of it.”

“Ah, yes. Rosemary is sweet. But I’ve little need of it, more’s the pity.” Ilse began to walk again, and Mathilde had to step quickly to keep up.

“Why not?” Mathilde asked. Ilse shrugged. “Well, it is for lamb. The master

cannot abide even the smell of it cooking — that’s one of the few things he’s particular about. Ah, here’s the brothers and their cheese….”

They stopped at a stall run by black-robed Benedictine monks and hung with cheeses of several sorts. As Ilse haggled with one garrulous red-cheeked brother over the price of a brick of hard cheese, Mathilde noticed a man lurking just one stall over. He seemed familiar somehow.

At first Mathilde could not place him, then she realized she’d seen him several times before that morning, always just a stall or two away. Was he following them? There were no Oculi Dei in Lübeck. Who did that leave that might be interested in her doings, or Ilse’s?

As Ilse paid for her cheese and added it to her basket, their observer seemed to come to some kind of internal resolve and approached them. “I beg your pardon, Mistress,” he began. “You are in the household of Master Nicolaus von Mainz?”

Ilse gave him a suspicious look and gripped her basket tighter. “Yes.”

He offered a smile, though to Mathilde’s eyes it looked a bit false. “Then you would know my sister, Agnise.”

Agnise. Mathilde stiffened reflexively. Fortu-nately, neither of them were looking at her.

“I would, yes,” Ilse said. “I don’t recall her mentioning a brother, though.”

He smiled again, a bit too smoothly. “Half-brother, I should say. Perhaps that is why she didn’t think to mention me. I am her only kin, nonethe-less, and as such feel some fraternal concern for her well-being. I stopped by the house where I might expect to find her, but she was unaccount-ably not available. No one seemed to know where she might be.”

Ilse frowned. “Nor do I. I’ve not seen her since Sunday a week ago.”

“Neither has anyone else. Surely you can under-stand how this concerns me. After all, what reason could she have for leaving Master Nicolaus’s service so abruptly?”

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So, Agnise had been missed. Mathilde wondered if this man was truly Agnise’s brother, or another minion of the girl’s master who was sent out to find out her fate. She made as good a note of his face and clothing as she could without appearing too obvious about it.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. If I see her, though, I’ll be sure to tell her you’re looking for her.” Ilse gave him a stiff nod of the head, and started to walk by him. “Good afternoon.”

“As you are a Christian, Mistress, have pity on a brother’s concerns! Can you give me nothing of my sister’s whereabouts?” He moved to follow them. “I would hate to think she had reason to run away, whether for shame or fear for her virtue — that would not bode well for Master Nicolaus’s reputa-tion in the Guild.”

Ilse turned on him so quickly that he was forced to take a step back to avoid running into her. “As you are a Christian, sir, you’d best be thinking of your own sister’s reputation before you dare cast any stones! Now be off with you, and leave good folk alone.”

This time when Ilse strode off, he did not follow. Mathilde was torn for the space of a breath — this brother might be a lead to Agnise’s demonic master, if she could but follow him back from whence he came. Yet she would lose her fragile rapport with Ilse if she deserted her now. In the end, she followed Ilse, and prayed she might make good use of what she had heard at a more convenient time.

††† Mathilde returned to the chapter-house in time

to don her proper red habit again and join the oth-ers for mid-day Mass. The Poor Knights departed immediately after Father Hermann’s benediction. Sir Baudioun promised to read her report when he returned, and once again asked her about the transcript of Agnise’s confession.

That afternoon and most of the following morning therefore found Mathilde sitting at her copydesk, working from her inscribed notes and rendering one full transcription in vernacular German for poor Agnise to sign later (in keeping with canon law), and another in Latin for the Inquisition archives. She did the German first, then rendered the Latin from it, line by line.

She was in the middle of a line when she stopped, struck by inspiration. She stopped, re-read what she had just transcribed, then checked her own notes to ensure what she saw was correct. Now, that’s interesting…. She bent to her task again.

††† When the Poor Knights returned, Mathilde was

there to meet them. “Sir Baudioun. A moment, if you please….” Mathilde hurried, taking three steps to the knight’s two until he realized she was trying to get his attention.

“Yes, Sister? Have you got the transcripts completed?” he added, noticing the leather folder in her arms.

“Yes, Brother. I wanted to draw your attention to something. Look here,” she said, and laid the folder down on a sideboard, opening it up to display the parchment sheets contained within. “Here, on page three, when she begins her true confession... she says that Master Nicolaus urged her to eat meat on a fast day, and so they had roasted lamb during Lent.”

“Lamb is flesh, sister. Especially during Lent.” “Yes, of course, but that’s not the point. I was

talking to Master Nicolaus’ cook yesterday, and she said that lamb was the one flesh he could not abide. Couldn’t even stand the smell of it cooking, she said. And look here.” She flipped a few more pages. “Here she confesses that Master Nicolaus gave her to this demonic creature Ambrosius, whom he did summon in the garden, and she lay with both of them. But look at the date she claims — the ides of November! According to the testimony that Brother Jander was able to get from the Salt Merchants Guild, Master Nicolaus was in Lüneburg during that time.”

“Perhaps they thought he was, and he was in-stead serving the Devil instead of the Guild. Surely you do not doubt the sincerity of this confession? She could not have invented so much while under such severe question!”

“No, that’s not it either. Look here, Brother...” Mathilde flipped back to the very beginning of the confession. “Here, where she first begins her confession. The question is ‘Did Master Nicolaus entice you to sin,’ not ‘Who enticed you to sin?’ She only answered what she was asked, Brother. I think what she confessed was real, except for the

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name — she accused Master Nicolaus because she thought that was what we wanted to hear, and he may not in fact be the guilty one at all!”

The Knight frowned at the transcript. “I com-mend you on your thoroughness, Sister Mathilde, but you are new to this city. We have known Mas-ter Nicolaus for a long time. A year ago, he sat as magistrate for the city and let a known witch go free — despite the testimony put before him from our Order. I think it far more likely that Agnise mistook the date, or that Master Nicolaus only pretends to dislike the taste of lamb — for there is no doubt he is in the Devil’s service, and I will find the means to bring him down for it.”

“Still,” Mathilde persisted. “Perhaps she should be questioned again—”

“God’s —” Baudioun cut himself off before the expletive was finished, and took a breath to remember propriety. “Your pardon, Sister — but do not concern yourself with chasing theories with-out substance. This…” he tapped the pages of the transcript, “…is not enough to convict him, but we have only begun our investigation. The evidence is there, and it will be found, I assure you.”

“Of course, Brother,” Mathilde bowed her head. And I intend to find it.

††† Timing was important. Mathilde wore the

matron’s blue gown again and kept a sharp eye out — she did not want Ilse to notice her. For-tunately, she spotted her quarry on the western edge of the market, scanning the crowd. Ilse was nowhere in sight, but there was little doubt he was looking for her. Hopefully he would remember Mathilde as well.

The man eyed her warily as she approached, but seemed intrigued by her whispered news and invitation. “So that’s what he’s done with her, eh?” The fellow shook his head. “Afraid his fellows in the Guild would hear of it, no doubt. Where is she now?”

“I can show you,” Mathilde said. “But we must be quick. He keeps a close watch on her.”

“Lead the way. Don’t worry, Fraulein, I’ll make it worth your while….”

††† The window overlooked an alleyway. It was

small and high enough that he could not see into it — and see Agnise’s face only when she leaned out. Sister Katherin had cleaned the prisoner’s face and

combed her hair, put a proper kerchief on her, and now sat next to her just out of sight — a reminder to Agnise of what fate awaited her should she say the wrong things to her worried visitor. Mathilde pointed Agnise’s ‘brother’ to the right window and made her escape, pleading fear that she might be seen — in truth, it was as much to get away from his familiar leer as to preserve her disguise. By the time they reached the house, she was feeling quite inclined to slap him. She did nothing to give herself away, though, taking the coin he gave her “for her trouble” and leaving him, slipping in the back of the house.

Agnise looked very ill at ease as she leaned towards the open window. Not only was Sister Katherine sitting close by her, but One-Eyed Huart also sat on a stool across the room, grinning and playing with a length of rope he’d tied into a noose. Mathilde picked up a wax tablet and started making notes on the conversation.

“Well, if you’re not pregnant,” came the sharp hiss from the street, “then why in God’s name does he have you locked up?”

Agnise cast a desperate look at them, no doubt wishing she’d admitted to pregnancy to still his further questions. “I… I don’t know, Martin. Go away now, you might have been seen!”

“You know His Lordship is going to ask. What should I tell him? Does Nicolaus know or not? He must be suspicious at least — why else would he lock you up? If you’ve told him anything….” He let the words trail off threateningly.

“No, no!” Agnise shook her head frantically. “No, I haven’t told him anything. Please tell him that. I swear it, on my soul!”

“He’ll be asking about you tonight. You know he will,” Martin began slyly, and then his voice sharpened, its volume suddenly rising in fury even as it turned away from the window. “You traitor-ous bitch!”

There were sounds of a scuffle in the alley and a grunt of pain from Brother Jander, who had ap-parently not been as stealthy in his approach as he had hoped. Huart leapt to his feet, pushed his way to the window and sprang out, still holding his rope.

Mathilde ran to the window as well, partly to put a firm hand on Agnise, lest she entertain similar ideas, and partly to see what was happen-

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ing below. Huart’s arrival had tipped the balance — he’d knocked most of the fight out of Martin by landing directly on him. He was now sitting on the man’s legs, wrapping the rope around his prisoner’s wrists.

Brother Jander looked up at Mathilde. “I’m sorry, Sister, he heard me coming.” He had the sense to look a bit abashed. “Now we don’t know where this fellow’s master will be tonight, or who he is!”

Mathilde looked down at Agnise. “We don’t know yet,” she said sternly, drawing on memories of Aunt Franziska. That woman’s glare could cause errant squires to bend a knee and confess all. Even Count Frederick’s most frothing pique was no match for Aunt Franziska’s artfully raised eyebrow. She hoped she looked half as imposing. “But I’m sure we will very soon.”

Agnise whimpered softly. †††

Supper came and went. The brief service for Compline was held, and still the knights had not returned. Mathilde found herself pacing in the hall and fretting, while outside darkness descended on Lübeck’s streets.

“Brother, how long must we wait?” she demanded of Brother Jander, as he came out of the little room that served as their library and scriptorium. “Tonight is the night, you heard Martin say it. Master Baldewin will be entertaining his dark patron tonight, and it will be our best chance to prove his guilt — and catch his demon master as well.”

The monk frowned and tucked his hands in his sleeves. “We can’t go without Sir Baudioun and the others. If this Ambrosius is a Cainite or some other sort of devil, we will need their steel.”

“But we don’t know what time their meeting is. If we wait and Sir Baudioun decides to watch Master Nicolaus’ house all night, we shall lose our chance. God has given us this opportunity, Brother — we cannot waste it.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “You said you invoked the Holy Art when Agnise was crying, and God showed you a warehouse near the river. You’d know it again if you saw it, wouldn’t you?”

“I think so….”“Good. Let us at least search for that warehouse,

then, and see if Master Baldewin or anyone else visits there tonight. We can leave word with Father

Hermann and he can tell the Knights where we’ve gone. We don’t have to do anything, Brother, if you don’t think that’s wise, but let us at least watch as the Oculi Dei do.”

He hesitated. Just as Mathilde was about to start yet another round of persuasion, however, he nodded reluctantly. “Very well. But we’re just going to watch, Sister,” he added firmly.

Mathilde bowed her head respectfully. “Of course, Brother.”

††† The city was quiet and dark; only a few faint,

flickering lights shone from upper windows as its residents prepared for bed. Huart carried their lan-tern half-shuttered, so as to provide only enough light to avoid the worst of the street’s muck. Father Hermann insisted they bring Huart — not only to satisfy the Rule that did not permit a monk and nun to be together unescorted, but also to provide the added protection offered by the stout club that hung from his belt.

They walked west to the bridge over the Trave, but did not cross it. Instead they turned north, keep-ing the river to their left as Brother Jander had seen it in his vision. They kept the lantern low to avoid attention, having no desire to be delayed in their purpose by the questions of suspicious guardsmen. To the right, the street was lined with tall, narrow brick houses, the lower floors of which often served as shop and warehouse for the merchant or craftsman who dwelt there. The left side of the street ended in a stone quay, where the occasional barge or other small river boat was tied.

Huart had quick ears — he pulled them into one of the intersecting streets at one point and quickly shuttered the lantern. They ducked inside a door alcove and drew their cloaks around them. The clip-clopping of hooves and the tread of boots on cobblestones became clearer. A rider on a fine horse went by escorted by four guardsmen on foot, one of whom carried a lantern on a pole.

They waited for the procession to go by and let the length of several Pater Nosters pass. “A man of some rank,” Brother Jander whispered to them. “A master of the guild, at least, and he seems to be go-ing where we are going. Most interesting.”

They followed cautiously, leaving their lantern shuttered. Mathilde blinked several times until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Finally, she could make

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out the looming heights of the buildings and the shadowy forms of the boats on the moonlit river.

The man they were following stopped after a short distance. Light flared onto the street from an opening door, and he was welcomed within the house. His men and horse went down a side street, presumably to the garden back behind.

They waited to make sure that no one was watching, then drew closer. Brother Jander stepped out into the street. When he came back, he was excited. “This is it!” he said, a bit louder than he intended. Upon seeing the looks of panic on Mathilde’s and Huart’s faces, his face flushed with embarrassment. “This is the house that Agnise saw,” he added, speaking in a much softer tone. “This must be where they’re meeting; praise be to God..”

“Thank God for revealing it to us,” Mathilde agreed. “A pity that Sir Baudioun is not here — he’s watching the wrong house tonight.”

“I could go fetch him,” Huart offered. “I know where they are.”

“But the Rule —” Brother Jander sputtered, beginning his protest.

“— can be set aside if need requires,” Mathilde reminded him. “And if you and I watch from differ-ent locations, that should be sufficient, shouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” he said, although he didn’t look happy. “Very well, Huart will go and fetch the Knights, and you and I will hide and watch the house. I suppose one of us should watch the front and one the back — if there is a place to watch in the front.”

“I’ll take the front,” Mathilde said. “I think I know a safe place.”

††† The barge seemed deserted when Mathilde

lowered herself from the quay to its deck, hold-ing on to one of its mooring-ropes for balance. She had already noticed that neither Brother Jander nor Huart had cast nearly as many wary looks at the boats they had passed as they had at the darkened windows of the houses themselves — she could only hope that held true of other passers-by as well.

This was a larger and cleaner boat than most. It had an enclosed cabin to the rear and several large casks lashed in place near the front. Looking

around, she found a place to hide behind one of the casks where she could see the street but was mostly hidden from it. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over the white of her veil, the better to hide from an errant glance.

She’d only been there a few minutes when the first wave of nausea struck. She could smell noth-ing unusual — she never did smell anything — but something was happening, some unnatural power at work close by. Such dark magics always made her ill by their very proximity.

Close, she realized, too close. She started to rise and seek a different hiding spot, but the door to the barge’s cabin opened and someone came out. Mathilde sank back into her hiding place and pulled the cloak around her, gritting her teeth against the growing queasy feeling in the back of her throat. Perhaps he wouldn’t see her....

A cold, clammy hand with a grip of iron closed over her mouth, and a damp, hard-muscled arm locked itself around her throat.

Mathilde’s hands flew upwards, digging into her captor’s chilled flesh. She struggled to free herself, but it was too strong. “Stay still,” it hissed in her ear, as it tightened its grip on her throat. She stopped struggling only when black spots began to appear in her vision.

“Have you caught something, Grim?” The voice was soft, commanding, coming from the boat’s ap-parent master. “Bring it here. At once.”

Mathilde felt herself being hauled to her feet and pushed forward. “I found her,” her captor whined. “She’s mine.”

“Come now, Grim. Don’t be greedy.” He came forward to meet her, a young man with dark curls and a handsome face, pale and bloodless as a corpse. His eyes were ice-blue and glittered in the moonlight; his expression sent a chill down Mathilde’s spine. “And what have we here? Are you lost, mistress? Seeking passage, perhaps? Release her, Grim. I’m sure she knows better than to scream — don’t you, my dear?”

The clammy hands released her with a rasping chuckle. “Seeking passage, indeed!”

Fear gripped her belly and triggered another wave of nausea, making it hard to speak. Un-holy powers. Somehow she managed to turn her gaze away, which gave her a moment’s respite.

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“Pray excuse me,” she said. The weakness in her voice irritated and frightened her, which in turn gave her strength. No Murnau runs from the Devil. “I was expecting to meet my brother, but clearly I am on the wrong boat. Your man is extremely rude.”

By the time she’d gotten to the end of her sentence, the nausea had faded and her temper had roused itself, overpowering her fear. She turned around to give her attacker a blistering reprimand, but the words died in her throat.

It was shorter than she, hunched and wiry, dressed in dripping rags. Its face was a hairless, ravaged skull, with barely a pit for the nose, and a lipless jaw sporting a handful of crooked, jag-ged teeth. It grinned — or at least that might have been the effect had it sufficient flesh on its cheeks. The actual result was far too gruesome to be genial.

“Demon,” she gasped, startled. She took an in-voluntary step backward, clutching at her stomach.

“Yes, I’m afraid he is quite the little monster, isn’t he?” the soft voice continued in her ear. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, turning her away from the thing and toward the broad expanse of the river. “But don’t worry, my dear. I won’t let him hurt you. I do think you owe me an explanation, however, as to why you’re on my boat.”

“I told you,” she said, raising her chin proudly and turning away from him. Keep him distracted. Keep him looking at you, not towards the shore. “I was looking for my brother. Martin.” She improvised, hoping her luck would hold. “Do you know him?”

“Ah....” His voice changed from suspicious to satisfied. “Yes, I do. I’m surprised he’s not here to introduce us properly, but I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it.” His hands slid down her arms caressingly, and he bent closer as if to kiss her cheek.

Mathilde stepped away quickly, suppressing the involuntary shudder that came over her at the mere thought of those cold, dead lips on her skin. “We’ve still not been introduced,” she said primly, stepping away from him and toward the barge’s cabin.

There was a rasping chuckle from the demon at her words. The man turned on his lackey with

a hiss of barely suppressed fury. “Another word from you, Grim, and you will go hungry tonight.” He then turned back to her, crossed the distance between them in two long strides. With a vicious snarl, he spun her around and pushed her against the cabin wall. “Enough playing harlot games, woman!” he said. Before she could resist, he ripped the veil from her head, and then the wimple from her throat as well.

He stopped then, staring dumbfounded at her cropped hair and finally recognizing her red habit for what it was. “What the — you’re a nun? What was Martin thinking? What good is a nun to me?” His voice rose dangerously with every word; his fury beat at her, his fingers digging into her shoulders like an animal’s claws. Bile burned in the back of her throat and her stomach churned dangerously, but she could not risk becoming ill now. Weakness would mean her death.

A wave of relief swept over her (accompanied by overwhelming nausea) when she glanced over the Cainite’s shoulder, desperate for a sign from God. Miraculously, she spotted a white tunic with a broken red cross appearing out of the darkness above them on the quay. Oh, thank God. She let it come then, vomiting forth a bitter flood of bile and ill humors churned up by ungodly arts and the curse in her blood. Her captor cried out in disgust and let her go, quickly stepping back to avoid soiling his clothes. He found himself facing a far greater danger, however, as Sir Baudioun jumped down on him from the quay.

Mathilde dropped to her knees, still retching, spitting out the last foul dregs from her mouth as she tried to stay low and out of the way. By the time she was able to look up again, the battle was over. The Cainite was prone on the deck with a stake protruding up from its chest, the once-handsome face frozen in a terrible grimace. Its severed arm lay nearby, a long knife falling from its withering fingers. Augustin stood over the charred, broken remains of the hideous Grim, stamping them into ash.

“Sister — are you alright?” Baudioun stepped closer and extended a hand down to her. Grate-fully, she allowed him to help her to her feet. “Are you ill?” he asked, bending a bit to peer into her face. “You’ll pardon me, but you look terrible.”

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1 3• prelude •• Woman’s intuition •

Mathilde managed a brave smile, and accepted the cloth Brother Jander offered her to wipe her mouth. “By God’s grace, I am quite recovered. Thank you, Brother.” For such a graceful recovery of her dignity, Aunt Franziska would have been proud. She could not help but add, however, “I think you’ll find the rest of this creature’s accom-plices in the house there, if they have not already fled. This includes Master Baldewin of the Salt Merchant’s Guild, with whom it appears Agnise is most intimately acquainted.”

“God’s blood, woman!” Baudioun grinned and shook his head. “Don’t worry, we’ve got men at all the doors. We’ll have to go have a little talk with Master Baldewin very shortly. You Murnau, you never give up, do you?”

“No,” Mathilde said, a wry smile on her lips. “We don’t.”

“Good,” Baudioun replied. “Because if you’re right — which I am almost willing to concede — you’re going to have a lot of transcripts to do.”

“Of course, Brother,” Mathilde said, and smiled. †††

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