by Max Kramer
They continued walking through the city, coats pulled tight against the chill, boots leaving prints in the ash behind them. After what seemed like hours of trudging through the industrial sector, they stopped at an unmarked alleyway barred by a high gate. As they stood, three ragged looking men detached themselves from the wall they had been lounging against and encircled her brother. Brita could see the glint of automatic weapons held underneath their coats. Guns were rarer now, and the Church did its best to regulate their distribution, but as always, violent men found ways around the restrictions.
“Move along witch-hunter,” the largest one spat through a nearly toothless mouth. “You know bad things happen to your kind when they get lost in there.”
“Not going to happen,” Konstantin replied calmly.
Brita did not like how the three were fidgeting with their guns, nor did she like the way one-tooth was looking at her.
“Frederick…” She whispered a warning, but before she could finish, he began speaking quietly in German. She had no idea what he was saying since she only spoke the common tongue of the empire herself, but the three men became noticeably paler, and the big one pointedly shifted his gaze away from her body. She did recognize when her brother said his own name.
Under Konstantin’s stare the thugs seemed to wilt, and when he casually pointed his finger at the anemic looking man on the left, the man leapt to open the gate. Taking her hand, Konstantin entered the unbarred passageway, pausing at the threshold to glare once more at the guards.
“Frederick, what did you say to those men?”
“Oh, I simply introduced myself. They’ve heard of me here. They think I’m mad.”
Looking at her brother’s unsettling eyes, Brita was not sure of his sanity herself. As they entered the alleyway, she heard the rhythmic thumping of electronic music, which became louder as they proceeded further. By the time the music grew loud enough to vibrate the air in her chest, the passage ended at the edge of a huge rave. A diverse mass of humanity gyrated wildly in the street to the throbbing beat blaring from enormous speakers. The pollutant fog which hovered over the city kept the area dark even at midday, and the effect was furthered by thick clouds of narcotic smoke oozing out of the various cafes and clubs lining the labyrinth. Laser lights and neon signs penetrated the haze, pulsing in time with the cacophonous music.
Brita felt her jaw drop open. Never in her young life had she ever seen something to compare. She had no idea places like this even existed. There were literally thousands of people. Leaning close, he brother shouted in her ear.
“Welcome to the Kultfabrik, Munich’s twenty-four hour party. You can find anything you imagine in here, for a price. This is where the workers of the city come to waste their pay and forget their troubles.”
Brita asked, “Frederick, what in the world could we possibly need in a place like this?”
He smiled a humorless smile.
“Not even the Church comes back here without serious muscle. We currently find ourselves at odds with our own government. A place that intimidates them sounds like a good place to start to me.”
Keeping a good grip on her hand, he began negotiating the sea of people. Any slack jawed, wild-eyed reveler that stumbled into his path received a swift fist or elbow for their trouble. At the cost of some new bruises, and having a man in a jester’s cap spill something sticky and foul smelling across his boots, they reached their destination. This particular building’s interior was even darker than outside, with heavy metal music leaking out into the street. Above the door, a triangular banner hung depicting a raven in flight. Its rounded outside edge had a series of tassels upon which the words thought and memory were stenciled.
The doorman was obviously of Scandinavian descent, he had the tall stature and light hair of a Northman. At the moment he was distracted by a woman in a scandalously short skirt who appeared to be in very real danger of toppling over in her stiletto heels. Even as the bouncer watched her teeter down the stairs into the building, he laid a thick arm across Konstantin’s chest.
“Welcome to the Black Raven, it’s ten to enter.” He stopped abruptly. He had finally looked up at who he was restraining. His eyes bulged grotesquely and a strange croak escaped his mouth.
“Konstantin,” the bouncer hissed.
Frederick Konstantin smiled a humorless smile. “Good afternoon.” Grabbing the man’s long hair, he slammed his head against the brick wall, knocking the Northman out and dropping him where he stood. Then, tugging on the arm of his appalled sister, he stepped down into the darkness.
***
Giuseppe Moretti was crying. He had been asleep, dreaming sweet Giuseppe dreams about the beautiful blonde woman who had smiled at him. Then, before he knew it was happening, masked men had broken down the door to his modest flat, pulled him from his room and bundled him into a waiting van. Blindfolded and bound, he had been brought to a concrete room, stripped, and left with his wrists chained to an iron ring in the ceiling. For a man of his size, standing in that position was torture. His feet had long gone numb, but his shoulders, hips and knees still felt like they were on fire. He was a simple man, but he had enough imagination to know that he was in trouble. Giuseppe stood in the dark and soaked his blindfold with tears.
In his misery, Giuseppe did not hear anyone enter the room, and was surprised when rough hands tugged the blindfold down around his neck. Squinting through his tears, he beheld the most terrifying person he had ever seen. The man was huge, bare-chested, and covered in horrifying tattoos. He had the lumpy physique of a body builder but there was a terrible intelligence in his eyes. He was now studying Giuseppe like a side of beef at auction.
“Hello friend. My name is Solomon Rex. You are Giuseppe Moretti the ticket seller, yes?”
Giuseppe sniffed through his tears. The man sounded pleasant enough, maybe he was here to explain that there had been some sort of mistake.
“Yes sir, my name is Giuseppe. I work at the train station.”
The huge man smiled. Giuseppe tried to smile back.
“I’m so very glad to meet you Mr. Moretti. I can tell that getting to know you is going to be a real pleasure.” His smile widened. “Do you know where you are Mr. Moretti?”
Giuseppe’s smile quivered. “No sir, I’m not certain.”
The man was grinning from ear to ear now. “Why Mr. Moretti, you’re in the Inquisition’s dungeon.”
Giuseppe fainted. When he awoke it took him a moment to realize why he was now standing in a warm pool of liquid. Giuseppe Moretti had peed himself.
The man with the tattoos was facing away from him, fidgeting with something on a wooden table against the wall. Over his shoulder he spoke to the captive ticket man.
“Do you know why you are here dear Mr. Moretti?” He answered his own question. “It is because of the Inquisitor and the girl that bought tickets from you yesterday. It seems that they were not on the train you said they would be on.”
Giuseppe began whimpering. “Please sir, how was I to know he would not get on the train? I’m just a ticket seller; I have no way of knowing where he went.”
The Inquisitor chuckled. “No, of course you don’t. You are quite innocent.”
Giuseppe sagged in relief.
“Unfortunately for you, I really want to find those two. This little mix-up with the train has wasted my time. I am afraid wasting my time brings me great displeasure. The way I see it Mr. Moretti, you owe me. I happen to know just how I am going to collect.”
He turned toward Giuseppe, showing him what he had been playing with on the table. Giuseppe’s body turned to ice. It was an enormous hammer. As the Inquisitor flexed his massive muscles, bringing the weapon above his head, Giuseppe began screaming. With a harsh grunt the big Inquisitor swung and Giuseppe’s world exploded.
Long after the bloody ruin that had once been Giuseppe Moretti stopped screaming Solomon Rex ended his vicious assault. Standing over the pile of gore, covered from head to toe in blood, he sh
ivered with pleasure, his erection pressing painfully against the inside of his pants. Rex breathed a long sigh of content. He had been right. Getting to know the ticket man had been a pleasure.
5
The stairs into The Black Raven were steep and narrow, with deep grooves in the center of each step worn by the passage of countless feet over the course of countless years. Red and black candles placed every few feet against the walls provided feeble illumination. Melting wax from the flickering candles had run and congealed, creating miniature stalactites along the edge of each step. Strange scents tingled in Konstantin’s nostrils; their narcotic properties building cobwebs at the edges of his mind. In the pervasive gloom, the stairwell resembled an underground lava tube, or the entrance to Hell. Hot air blew up from below. Konstantin was unimpressed. He knew only mortal men and women waited below. Even so, he was cautious. While the stair might not culminate in a boiling lake of liquid magma; their destination could prove to be just as dangerous.
Brita stumbled momentarily on the step behind him, grabbing his shoulder before she could regain her balance.
“Frederick, why did that man know you?” She had to speak into his ear to be heard over the music.
Konstantin shrugged. “I’ve been here before.” He resumed his descent into the club. Behind her brother, Brita was not reassured.
Turning a corner at the bottom of the stairwell the pair stepped onto a landing overlooking the nightclub’s interior. The Black Raven was packed. The club’s owner had made little effort to hide the building’s industrial origin; it was full of exposed metal and cracked concrete. The pitted and scarred walls boasted graffiti in a half a dozen languages, including arcane runic texts that glowed eerily. Intermittent strobes revealed nearly a thousand long-haired youths crowding the stage, head-banging enthusiastically. Flaring gas torches along the edge of the stage provided light while keeping the unruly crowd separate from the musicians. Suspended in cages above the crowd, tired looking women scraped growling power tools onto metal bits in their revealing costumes, showering sparks onto the revelers below. The band’s music was fast and aggressive; the singer’s voice a guttural growl that not even Konstantin’s fluent German could decipher. Across the skins of both bass drums the name RagnaRock was stylishly tagged.
On Konstantin’s left, a metal stairway led up to a balcony encircling the pit below. Here people sat in recessed booths, or stood leaning against the railing to watch the spectacle below. A busy bar filled the back wall; with swinging doors on either end leading into what he assumed were the kitchens. He took this route, signaling for a waitress’ attention before seating himself in an unoccupied booth. As Brita slid in next to him, a striking young woman in tight fitting latex approached. Brita stiffened visibly, eyeing the woman with open suspicion.
“Relax sister.” Konstantin leaned back in the booth, placing both hands behind his head. “She is just here to take our orders.” Brita blushed, murmuring apologies to the waitress, who stopped glaring back only after Konstantin sent her to the kitchens with an extensive order.
Settling into the seat cushion Konstantin closed his eyes with a yawning stretch. Peeking out beneath heavy lids, he raised an eyebrow at his dejected looking companion.
“What troubles you now Brita?”
Continuing to pick at the edge of the table with her fingernails Brita shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s nothing Frederick. You would think it silly.”
“I’m sure you are right. Now tell me anyway.”
“I don’t think you like me.”
Konstantin stared at his sister. “So?”
“So? We used to be so close. Inseparable. Now, I barely even recognize you. You’re cold. And hard. And I can see the way you look at me, like I’m the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen. That hurts Fred.”
“Brita, we might not be friends anymore, and truthfully, yes, you do make me uncomfortable, but I’m still your brother. So what if we can’t be friends like when we were kids? We’re family. We don’t have to like each other for me to help you.”
Brita looked up. “How can you stand it Frederick? How does that not bother you?”
Konstantin rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been an emotional void for so long. The last few days had stirred up repressed feelings he had not missed losing.
“Let’s just get you fixed Brita. We can figure out where we stand after that.”
The serving girl returned before their bickering could escalate, bearing a heavily laden tray of food. Konstantin nodded thankfully before bowing his head for grace. Her duties complete, the server stalked off without a smile.
“Nice girl,” Konstantin muttered through a mouthful of steak and potatoes. Reaching across the table he uncorked the wine bottle.
Watching him demolish his meal with customary zeal, Brita found her stomach feeling mildly unsettled.
“Frederick, do you know where the bathroom is? I… want to wash up a little.”
Konstantin grunted, waving his fork vaguely past the bar, his attentions focused on the bread roll he was dunking in a bowl of gravy. Excusing herself, Brita slid from the booth, leaving her preoccupied brother to his meal.
Konstantin had perhaps a minute of solitude before his feast was once again interrupted, this time by two huge fists slamming down on the table. They struck with such force that the just-opened wine bottle toppled over, spilling its contents dangerously close to Konstantin’s lap. He leaned back with an exasperated grunt, placing his folded hands on his legs. With a deliberate lack of speed, his eyes tracked past his ruined meal to the fists denting the table’s metal surface. The fists were attached to thick arms, kept bare and showing off a dense pattern of wicked looking scars. The rest of the man was no less wild looking. He dwarfed the wiry Konstantin, blocking any egress from the booth. An impressive beard flowed down the front of his open leather vest while a wild mane of blonde hair reached well past his shoulders. Eyes that looked like they spent a lot of time laughing were currently glaring fiercely.
“Inquisitor Konstantin, what an unpleasant surprise.”
Konstantin smirked. “Hello Felix. Fancy seeing you here.”
“I must admit when my doorman said you were lurking, I questioned his sanity. The bump on his head however convinced me otherwise.”
“I trust no permanent damage was sustained?”
“What to Snorri? Only to his pride. And I trust you will forgive my invasive curiosity, but what the hell are you doing in my club?”
Konstantin’s smirk widened, “maybe I’m here to see RagnaRock play. I’m a huge fan, I have all their albums.”
Felix gestured to his men, “Kill him.”
“Wait.” Konstantin’s smirk disappeared as he stared at the young man looming over him. “Let me talk. When I’m done, you will get me an audience with your pet witch.”
Now it was Felix’s turn to smile evilly. “Inquisitor, contacting magic users is forbidden. I could never condone contributing to the moral degeneracy of a Church official. So what makes you think I want to speak with you? I think I’d rather have my guys kill you where you sit.”
Another gesture of his large hand brought the heavily armed men closer, blocking any possible escape the Inquisitor might try to make. Konstantin leaned forward. Even with the music roaring in the background Felix heard the clear snick of Konstantin disengaging the safeties on the pistols he had hidden under the table. Speaking slowly and clearly, he addressed the standing man. “Maybe your people could get to me in time. Maybe. I strongly suggest however that you not do anything rash. Like I said, I’m just here to talk.”
Felix swallowed. Gesturing again, he sent his men backing away warily, although they stayed close enough to react should Konstantin attempt to leave the booth. “Very well witch-hunter. What is so important that you would risk coming back here?”
At that moment, Brita returned, weaving her way in between the armed men without really noticing them.
“I found the bathroom Freddy, but there was
no door on the stall and I couldn’t find any soap at the sink…oh.” She had just noticed Felix, who had turned toward her as she approached.
From Konstantin’s position at the table, a conveniently placed light behind Brita gave her a soft halo. If he didn’t know better he might have thought his sister was an angelic messenger. Judging by the look on Felix’s face, the effect was not lost on him either. Brita smiled shyly, brushing some hair away from her eyes with a finger.
“Hi…I’m Brita Konstantin.” She extended a delicate hand, which the Scandinavian giant engulfed in both of his callused paws.
“Felix Magnusson. You did say Konstantin?”
“Yes, Frederick is my brother.”
Konstantin cleared his throat, gesturing for Brita to sit down.
“You asked what is important enough for me to risk returning,” Konstantin addressed the man. “She is. Now are you going to listen to what I have to say or am I going to have to wreck your club?”
With a placating gesture, Felix sat at the edge of the booth. Once he was settled, Konstantin began.
“Three days ago I received a message from my sister…”
***
The hunter was hungry. Jingling the coins in his pocket he slinked toward the snack cart, his mouth wet in anticipation. He thanked his lucky stars for the kind woman that saved him from the dark eyed man. Resolving to be more cautious in choosing his targets, he tapped loudly on the edge of the cart.
“Geben Sie mir eine Salzbrezel und ein Bier bitte.” The man at the cart peered suspiciously at the boy, making no move to produce the desired product. With a smile the boy brought out his loot, but before he could complete his transaction, a bony hand reached over his shoulder, grabbing the outstretched arm in talon-like fingers. Spinning toward his captor, the boy’s arguments died on his lips. He was being held by a robed priest of the Church.
