The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

  But then, an explosion lit up bright. The burning flame spilled out around its powerful torso and lit its snout on fire, then another two incendiary charges went off. Smoke plumed down, white and stinking. The demon, devoured by the fire, gave a piercing howl. But I didn't stay to watch its convulsions and ran off at full speed.

  It was a good thing I did, too. A moment later, the partially blinded creature darted off after me, despite the flames still enshrouding it.

  I was racing without turning my head, trying to make it to the foundation of the open-work tower, directly under the lightning and praying as I ran, more sincerely than I'd every prayed before. No, I didn't ask the Most High to rid me of the demon, nor appeal for holy power, nor did I even think about begging to be brought to a different part of the planet by supernatural means.

  No! I prayed for just one thing – to run under the tower and not end up fried by a lightning bolt. Just to get to the opposite side unharmed. Nothing more...

  The iron foundation of the colossal construction started smoking overhead. The air was humming with electricity. The atmospheric charge enshrouded me from all sides as the reinforced iron beams shuddered from the electricity flowing down them.

  One spark flew up, then another. Then, small nips of electricity started burning through my whole body like fire, but I didn't stop for even one moment. The lightning flashed right overhead. There was a terrifying boom and groan, and a hateful shriek rang out from behind me accompanied by the crackling of electrical shocks.

  I jumped under the beams of the first platform. The huge demon clutched onto them and gave a sudden shudder. Electric arcs flared up, and a thick smoke emanated from the demon’s hide. The infernal beast was trying to get out of the insidious trap, but couldn't.

  Without hesitation, I started running faster than ever. I jumped out from under the tower onto the road and nearly ended up under the wheels of the self-propelled carriage. The brakes squealed as the armored car deftly skidded off the perimeter path. It soon straightened out, and stopped right next to me. I flung open the door, tossed the hand-held mortar into the cabin, jumped in after it myself and shouted:

  "Drive!"

  I didn't have to ask Moran twice. He slammed down on the pedal and the self-propelled carriage started flying down the hill somewhat quicker than it had gone up.

  "What happened?" the senior inspector demanded an answer.

  "The demon is in a trap, but for some reason, it didn’t die!" I answered. "It should have just been blown to smithereens but, look, it’s escaping!"

  "The titanium bullets didn't affect it either," Bastian Moran reminded me, turning the wheel in agitation. "It appears it was summoned to this world, and the summoners are holding it in this world."

  "So, this is malefics performing a ritual?"

  "Yes!"

  "The demon will destroy half the city before we find them," I said, my mood soured.

  The senior inspector tore his right hand from the wheel and stuck a pack of Egyptian guineas under my nose.

  "What is this?" He asked.

  "A trophy," I shrugged my shoulders.

  "Is it somehow connected with the malefics?"

  "I got it off a vampire. I recently toasted him along with some Moorish underlings," I admitted, caution thrown to the wind.

  "What is this all for, Viscount?" Bastian Moran continued the interrogation. Without waiting for an answer, he flew into a rage: "Just tell me what was in that aluminum box! No more bullshit about family secrets or, I swear, I'll throw you right onto the road!"

  I looked doubtfully at the man, then said:

  "Someone supposed that was where the secret of the vulnerability of the fallen was kept."

  The senior inspector looked with surprise at me and asked suddenly:

  "And the Egyptians might be interested in this secret?"

  "And how!" I admitted, remembering Duke Talm's revelation on the true powerbrokers in Alexandria.

  "Curses!" the senior inspector swore, making a sharp turn onto Dürer-Platz.

  I nearly flew out of the chair and shouted:

  "What the hell? What do you think you're doing?"

  "We confiscated a packet of freshly minted guineas with similar numeration when arresting Maestro Marlini!" Bastian Moran declared, pushing the vehicle to its limit. "The magician confessed, off the record, but he confessed that it was an advance for stealing the patent. And he got the money from the second secretary of the Egyptian embassy!"

  "Oh no!" I moaned out. "Are you suggesting we assault the embassy? That would lead to war!"

  "There's no avoiding war now, and the victors are free from judgment!" the senior inspector snapped back and pursed his lips obstinately. He was not planning to retreat.

  And I had no other choice either; I recognized that with perfect clarity.

  "Before we’re in front of the embassy, I'll have to crawl back into the trunk," I warned him, "to the Gatling gun."

  "Alright," Moran nodded, gloomy and detached.

  We raced through the empty city, throwing up high splashes of water. The armored car's hood was giving off more and more white steam. The soldered radiator couldn't bear the extreme workload, and we risked being left without a mode of transportation at any moment.

  "The guardhouse is right past the gates," the senior inspector warned me on the street neighboring the embassy. "There are no less than ten Mauritanian guards on duty there. If you cannot immediately suppress them with fire – we're done for."

  "I'll try," I promised.

  The upcoming attack on the embassy of our southern neighbor scared me so much my knees were shivering, but I was much more afraid of the thought that the demon was already out of the trap and racing off after us. I had no doubt whatsoever of his abilities to find his victim, even on the other side of the world.

  In the trunk, I loaded another belt into the Gatling gun, took a seat behind it and clutched tightly onto the bench. Even still, hitting the embassy gates nearly smeared me against the partition with the cabin. The radiator burst in the blow, and steam shot out, ensconcing us in a white cloud. But Bastian Moran managed to complete the maneuver and turn the armored car's back end toward the ivy-covered barracks. That left the sentries in the entrance watchtower for him. I, meanwhile, pressed down on the trigger and traced an "X" on the wall of the wooden barracks from corner to corner; splinters sprayed in all directions and the windows shattered. Occasional shots popped out from the gates. Our steel armor sheet took the brunt, sounding out with a clinking sound, and the senior inspector immediately opened return fire through the viewing slit.

  I didn't get distracted, either.

  The door flew open, and the second the black-skinned guard had his weapon pointed at me, he immediately fell to the earth, honeycombed with high-caliber bullets. A figure flew out of the bushes. I quickly released a long burst in that direction, then covered Moran as he jumped out of the cabin, bearing down on the Moor. The senior inspector, ducking down, ran up to the barracks, which had been shot full of holes, and threw a few grenades in.

  Muted explosions blasted out. The firing finally died down.

  Then, I loosed the rest of the belt into the embassy building, grabbed the hand-held mortar, ammo bag and grenades, and joined Bastian Moran.

  He then helped himself to a short-bayoneted Enfield rifle off a dead guard, and called me after him:

  "Run for it!"

  Some of the embassy workers jumped out onto the mansion's veranda. A revolver clapped out, but the senior inspector, only slowing his run for a moment, took the Egyptian down with one accurate shot and hurried on, pulling back and releasing the bolt as he went.

  We had already run up to the blood-soaked veranda when the sphinxes on the roof of the building suddenly came to life, a transparent light shining forth from their eyes. I jerked the mortar in their direction and shot an incendiary round. It blasted out with unexpected ferocity. One of the stone beasts was torn to shreds, and burning white phosphorus was ca
st in all directions. But the rain stopped it from spreading to the building.

  The second sphinx tore out a part of the stone gutter with its powerful paw and lobbed it at us, then nosedived down in our direction. The heavy landing shattered the marble steps of the veranda. A flap of its ponderous wings nearly lopped off Moran's head; he only managed to duck at the very last moment, then somersaulted aside. I ran in the opposite direction, pulling the handle as I ran, cranking the massive drum.

  The sphinx hesitated for a moment, then went after the senior inspector, but I had already run away to a safe distance and shot the beast in the back. The explosion blew the hulking creature to pieces; we went around the phosphorus burning on the earth and ran into the manor.

  "Where to now?" I asked, catching my expended breath.

  "Malefics love basements," Bastian Moran decided. "We need to find a way down!"

  Now, we were left with no doubt that we were on the right track; stone statues don't typically come to life all on their own, after all. Damn that Egyptian magic!

  But we just had to go a bit down the hallway before shots started ringing out in front of us, and we were forced to take shelter in the niches for ceramic vases. One of the embassy guards had blocked the passage with an overturned desk and was shooting recklessly from behind his improvised barricade.

  I tried to lean behind it with the mortar, but Bastian Moran stopped me.

  "You trying to get us burned?" he shouted, boiling over as he took yet another grenade from his ammo bag.

  With a sharp toss, the senior inspector sent it past the overturned desk, waited for the explosion and ran on the attack. While I was jumping over the shrapnel-riddled desk, Bastian reached the blood-soaked guard and stabbed him with his bayonet, clearly trying to save bullets.

  "Faster!" Moran shouted, running onward.

  In the next room, we discovered a stairway to the basement but, almost immediately, a few shots came up at us from down below. Then, when we tried to run down it, they opened fire with a hail of bullets, ricocheting off the marble panels and whistling past.

  "Let's clear the first stairway, then we can go on," Bastian Moran announced calmly. From his demeanor, one might think Moran had spent his whole life storming well-armed embassies.

  That said, what did we have to worry about now?

  He and I had already earned the death penalty regardless of the outcome...

  I chucked a hand grenade down. It jumped back from the wall and bounced around the corner. Moran sent another grenade after it. The two explosions amplified one another; we ran down without delay, and the senior inspector, already accustomed to the bayonet, plunged it into the contused gunner.

  The other guards managed to escape to the stairwell below. Another few grenades were sent after them, but when we were down the stairs, we ran into a heavy armored door; locked, naturally.

  "Shit!" Bastian Moran exclaimed, unable to bite back the curse. He then started digging through his grenade bag, saying, "Get out all your explosives, now!"

  Not wanting to nit-pick, I added my whole ammo bag to it, grenades and incendiary rounds alike; the door looked sturdy.

  "Let's get out of here!" the senior inspector hurried me along.

  We went up to the overturned desk. There, Bastian Moran pulled the pin and tossed a grenade down. A few seconds later, the building walls were shaking from the strong explosion. Acrid smoke billowed up to us.

  "Careful!" I warned the senior inspector. "The smoke is toxic!"

  "Curses!" Bastian Moran swore out again and extended me a couple revolvers he'd taken off the dead guards. "Take these!"

  I threw the hand-held mortar onto my back, loosened the belt cutting into my shoulder and armed myself with the five-shot Colts.

  The roar of the flames gradually died down and the smoke started coming out the broken windows onto the street. But before going down, we wrapped kerchiefs around our faces.

  "Will this help?" the senior inspector asked.

  "I have no idea," I confessed honestly.

  "We can't wait any longer!" Bastian Moran announced, and here the manor gave another shudder, as if its facade had just been struck by a steam-tram going full speed off the rails.

  The demon had caught up to us, so we had no time to delay. We ran down the stairs, jumped over the door, which had been twisted and melted in the explosion, and made a blistering dash through the smoky corridor.

  A guardsman emerged from the dust lingering in the air; I shot him in the head, ran into a small recess for cover and opened fire, now with both hands. Bastian Moran supported me a moment later; the contused guards were not able to offer any kind of resistance.

  One of the Moors jumped into the far door. The senior inspector caught up to him, poked him in the back with the rifle bayonet and threw him over the iron barricade of the upper level of the vault. After tossing the unloaded the revolvers, I pulled the hand-held mortar off my back and poked my head into the spacious room with my weapon at the ready. The room, immersed in semi-dark, impressed with its dimensions. But my attention was immediately drawn by a hulking construction in the very middle of it. It was a frame, welded of metal bars, covered with a fine copper mesh that led into wire bundles snaking into holes in the floor.

  A Faraday cage! A chamber, completely protected from external electromagnetic disturbances! The malefics inside wouldn't have to worry about signals transmitted through the air, storm or no.

  Inside that cage, standing on the corners of a huge five-pointed star, there were five dark figures frozen in a trance. In its very center, there was a sparkling ball of immaterial fire.

  Another jolt shook the manor from basement to attic; the demon was still after us, tearing down walls and plowing through the narrow doorframes in rage. I was sent reeling, and would have surely flown down after the unfortunate Moor, but I grabbed onto a hand-hold just in the nick of time.

  Bastian Moran was also affected. He could barely stay on his feet. His pistol flew from his hands and bounced away to the wall.

  "Devil!" the senior inspector cursed out, trying to find his dropped weapon in the pitch dark.

  The din grew. The clawed paw of the demon suddenly stuck through the door, latched into the barricade and tore a good-sized chunk from it, easily breaking the iron frame. I threw up the hand-held mortar and shot. My first round landed on the copper mesh. It exploded there and sent burning phosphorus flying in all directions. The glowing ball in the center of the pentagram went out for a moment, but the malefics were still immersed in a trance didn't seem to notice the rain of fire coming down on them; they stayed in their places like monuments embraced in flame.

  I turned the drum and shot a second time. The explosion sent the conjurers flying, and a heart-rending wail rolled through the room. The demon was being dragged forcefully back down to the underworld. The malefics’ conjuration spell was no longer holding it in our world. It reeled in a circle, then desiccated instantly. With a shudder, it turned to ash and instantly scattered.

  "Let's get out of here!" Bastian Moran commanded, picking up his fallen pistol. "You can say that again!"

  So, we rushed to the exit. The demon evaporated. The embassy guards had all been taken out in the assault, and no one was left to stop us from coming up to ground level and jumping outside.

  The armored car's rumpled hood was grinning out at us. There was no hope we'd get it to run again, so I ran out beyond the gates, turned around and sent my last incendiary mortar round into it. A flame sparked up in the back and Gatling gun rounds started shooting off at random. I then, with a calm mind, raced after Moran as he beat a hasty retreat. As I ran, I threw the mortar away into a gutter. Just after I jumped to the corner of the building opposite, I heard a deafening roar from behind me. The armored car exploded and sent twisted metal flying around the whole embassy grounds.

  My lungs were on fire. My legs refused to bend but, all the same, I pushed myself harder and caught up with the senior inspector. We ran into some kind of
gateway and started greedily gulping down fresh air with our mouths wide open.

  "Some night, eh!" I rasped, looking out at the street.

  And just then, a pistol barrel poked into my back.

  "Hands!" Bastian Moran demanded, shackling my wrists in steel cuffs with a quiet chuckle: "How long I've awaited this moment, Viscount! You're under arrest!"

  Part Four. Heart

  Surgical Scalpel and Kitchen Knife

  1

  GETTING STABBED in the back is always an unpleasant and devilishly painful experience. You trusted this person, and they betrayed you, betrayed your trust, and trampled on your friendship. Such things always leave indelible scars on the soul.

  But that's if you trusted the person in the first place, and weren't expecting any tricks. Otherwise, all you can do is throw up your hands and admit that you've been outplayed.

  I never harbored any illusions in relation to Bastian Moran, so, locked in a lonely cell, I didn't indulge in self-flagellation.

  Nothing of the sort! The last days had brought so many unpleasant surprises that, in comparison, being arrested didn't actually seem such a crushing blow. As soon as the iron door slammed behind me, I laid down on the uncomfortable bench, closed my eyes and immediately fell asleep.

  It was a dreamless sleep but, when I opened my eyes, my first thought was that I must have gone mad, or was in a waking dream.

  In the middle of the cell, sitting on a folding chair, was Friedrich von Nalz in the flesh. He was smiling sheepishly and immediately apologized to me:

  "Forgive me, Viscount. I didn't mean to wake you."

  "That's new," I muttered out, having ascribed the inspector general's presence to a trick of my talent. There was no other way to explain it.

  The bare stone walls didn’t have a single window, and the lamp grate was all rusted. The door before me looked sturdy, and the bench I was lying on – dingy... On the backdrop of all this mess, the ceremonial uniform of the head of the metropolitan police, shining back at me with all manner of medals, looked quite out of place.