by David Bishop
"What's so funny?" the patient demanded.
"You are," Fabergè replied, failing to wipe the smile from his face. "In my mind I had built you up into this powerful figure, the only man ever to get the better of me - my nemesis, my hubris, if you will. When I saw you across the room at that tiresome party I struggled to accept that you were the same person. You're just a thief and an old thief at that."
"You don't scare me, Fabergè."
"Your words say one thing but the fear in your eyes says another. Quite right, too. You would do well to be afraid of me. I've spent twelve years planning my revenge. Now the glorious day is finally here, it seems something of an anti-climax. When you stole my Imperial Easter Egg, you stole more than just a priceless piece of jewellery - you stole part of my reputation, my honour. Revenging myself upon you was a matter of principle at first, then a matter of need. Eventually it became an obsession, driving me onward in my work, pushing me to prove I was more than just the victim of this century's most famous theft." The doctor clicked his fingers and Wartski entered the room carrying a silver box. She rested it on the table at the end of Di Grizov's bed.
Fabergè removed the lid with a flourish to reveal the Steel Military Egg, its lustre undimmed. "I must thank you for keeping my egg safe and in such pristine condition for the last twelve years. I feared you might try to break it into pieces for sale or destroy it altogether."
"I'll be happy to see the back of that damned thing," Di Grizov snapped. "It's been the bane of my life since I first set eyes on it."
"Perhaps your assistant was right after all," Fabergè said. "Perhaps the legend of a curse against all who touch the egg is true?"
"We both know you turned that thing into poison," the grifter snarled. "By the time I reached the black market in St Petersburg, word had already been spread that anyone who bought or traded the egg would be hunted down and exterminated, by order of the Tsar himself. How'd you ever swing that, Fabergè?"
"Let's just say our glorious leader and I have a long-standing alliance."
"I couldn't give the egg away, let alone sell it! Nobody would melt it down for me either. I should have just thrown it into the Volga and had done with it."
"Twelve years on the run, a marked man, always looking over your shoulder, never able to relax. That can't have been easy," Wartski interjected.
"Indeed," Fabergè agreed. "But your running days are over now."
Doubts joined fear on Di Grizov's features. "What do you mean?"
"Centuries ago slave labour was used to extract diamonds from mines on the continent of Africa. But the owners had problems with workers trying to escape, taking the precious gems with them to buy a new life. All those who were caught had to be punished and the penalty needed to be so severe it would serve as a warning to others, to dissuade them from fleeing. The process was called hobbling and proved most effective."
"Oh no..."
Fabergè reached down towards the bed covers. "Yes, your running days are definitely over. In fact, to make sure of that," the doctor pulled aside the bedclothes to reveal two bloody and bandaged stumps where Di Grizov's legs had been, "I've amputated both your legs."
Jena heard a scream, stark and terrifying, as she stepped out of the flyer. It felt unnatural to the ears, almost unworldly. During the war Jena had heard many, many men crying out in agony, begging for their lives, but such screams still cut her to the core. What horrors was Doctor Fabergè perpetrating here in her father's name? She turned back to the pilot. "Remember what I said. We don't want to spend a minute longer here than necessary."
"Planning your departure already?"
"But you've only just arrived!"
Jena spun round to find herself facing the chests of two women. She looked up to their faces, more than a head's height above her own. The pair were identical in appearance, but for the colour of their hair - one red, one black. Otherwise they were exactly the same, with high cheekbones, powerful jawlines and wide, intensely blue eyes. "How's the air up there?" Jena joked.
"My name is Tempest," the red-haired woman replied humourlessly. "This is my sister, Storm. We're the Strangelove twins."
"Of course," Jena said. "Sorry, I've never seen you up close before."
The twins exchanged a look before marching away from the landing pad. "Doctor Fabergè is expecting you," Storm announced.
"Follow us, please," Tempest added, not bothering to look back.
Jena jogged after them, struggling to keep pace with the twins' mighty strides. Both women were said to measure exactly two metres in height, but seemed taller in person. The pair became famous at the last Imperial Games, winning all but one of the seven disciplines they entered. Only the marathon title had eluded them, after the Tsar publicly expressed his opinion that it would be nice to see someone else collect the gold medal. Tempest had finished second, with Storm in third. Despite standing on the rostrum's lower steps, both women had towered over the marathon winner.
After the games had finished, controversy had filled the news media. Where had this pair of goddesses appeared from? What was their background? It was then that Doctor Fabergè stepped back into public life. For ten years, after suffering one of the most famous thefts in recent history, the scientist had remained in seclusion on his private island off the Black Sea coastline. Fabergè said the twins were his students but refused to divulge any more about their personal history. The Strangelove women declined a small fortune in offers to become professional sports stars or advertising icons, instead returning to their mentor's home. Their sudden emergence and subsequent disappearance enhanced the enigma surrounding them, with the media nicknaming them the Furies. All the attention further enhanced the myth of Doctor Fabergè, even if it was one of his own making.
Tempest stopped at a high wooden doorway and gestured for Jena to step inside. Above them towered an old castle, reconstructed on this island stone by stone after being transported from its original location in Britannia. Fabergè had purchased the castle with a fraction of his enormous insurance payout for the stolen Steel Military Egg, along with the island. Gargoyles leaned out from the castle's battlements, their faces curled into grotesque shapes and expressions. Everything about the building hinted at menace. "Lovely place you have here," Jena said with a cheerful smile.
"Inside," Tempest growled, the muscles around her jaw rippling.
"Whatever you say."
"Why? Why did you take my legs?" Di Grizov whimpered, his hands pawing uselessly at the stumps.
"Revenge, that was certainly a motivating factor," Fabergè conceded. "I wanted you to suffer as I have suffered - humiliation, despair, anger. I wanted you to be left scarred, to be hurt, to be transformed by our encounter, just as I was transformed by what you did to me."
"I never touched you!"
"But you crippled my reputation! You turned me into a laughing stock, a cocktail party joke across the Empire! I was forced to hide myself away. But I used that exile as a challenge, an opportunity to further my studies, my research. I emerged stronger, better for the experience - perhaps you will too."
Di Grizov stared at the scientist incredulously. "You're insane!"
Fabergè shook his head. "Passionate, yes. Driven, yes. Even a tad obsessed - that might well be true, too. But insane? No, I think that's little strong in the circumstances." He nodded to Wartski, who strode to the bedside and punched the grifter in the face. Di Grizov's head snapped to one side, the sound of a cheekbone breaking like a rifle shot in the small room. "You would do well to remember I am in charge here, not you."
Di Grizov spat a mouthful of blood and phlegm at Fabergè. The scientist sighed and nodded again to Wartski. She punched the patient again, this time cracking his nose with her meaty fist. The hefty woman drew back her arm, ready to strike again, but Fabergè stilled her with a gesture.
"False bravado will only bring you more suffering," the scientist said to his captive. "Wartski here would happily administer such pain. She's a true sadist,
gaining a sexual thrill from each bout of agony she inflicts. Unless you're a true masochist, I suggest you keep your opinions and spittle to yourself. Do we have an agreement?"
Di Grizov nodded weakly, crimson coursing from his broken nose and down his chin, pooling in the hollow in the middle of his collarbone.
"That's better," Fabergè smiled. "You should be honoured. I have chosen you as the guinea pig for an exciting series of experiments to be conducted over the coming days. I have developed a hormone that enhances the body's natural healing abilities. I want to use you as the control subject. Every day at this hour you will be given an injection of the hormone and then be made to suffer the most excruciating agony. Wartski will take notes on how you respond to such treatment and determine how much benefit you are gaining from it. And please, be honest in your replies to her enquiries - this is for the advancement of science." The doctor gestured to the matron. She removed a pill from a case in her pocket and pushed it roughly between Di Grizov's teeth.
"Swallow," she hissed. "Swallow!" When the grifter did not obey, Wartski reached down beneath his hospital gown and clenched Di Grizov's testicles in her right hand. One squeeze was enough to open his mouth; another squeeze persuaded him to swallow the pill. "That's better," she said approvingly.
Fabergè nodded his agreement. "Now, what should be the nature of today's agony? Considering what you've already suffered, we don't want to go too much further, lest the results be compromised."
A firm knock from outside the room interrupted the discussion.
"Who is it?" Wartski demanded impatiently.
"Tempest and Storm, ma'am. We've brought Doctor Fabergè's guest."
The scientist's face lit up with pleasure. "Ahh, the beautiful Tsarina! Show her in, please, show her in."
Jena was ushered into a small room where Fabergè was waiting for her. He strode forward and bowed deeply, kissing her hand while mouthing some platitudes. Jena was taken aback to realise the doctor's assistant was a woman, and not an obese and obscenely ugly transvestite in a nurse's uniform. They shared an uncomfortable handshake, Jena all too aware of the clump of warts grasping her own slender fingers. Finally Fabergè waved grandly at an unfortunate soul lying on a hospital bed.
"And this is one of my experimental subjects, a thief known as James Di Grizov. He did me a rather infamous disservice some twelve years ago, but is now making recompense by taking part in one of my studies."
Jena frowned. Di Grizov? Where have I heard that name before? Leaving her subconscious to ponder, she took in the horror lying on the bed. His face was a bloody mess: one cheek swelling up and blood still dribbling from a recently broken nose. Jena noticed the bloody stumps where the patient's legs must have been. Some kind of accident? Jena decided not. The glee in her host's voice told her this double amputation had been utterly unnecessary.
I've seen what shelling and bullets and bio-wire can do to the human body, Jena thought, but that was amidst the atrocities of war. To see such injuries in peacetime made her shudder. What other horrors would she have to bear witness to on her father's behalf during this visit?
"Well, that's enough about this patient," Fabergè continued. "Shall we move to the main laboratory? I've got something that the Tsar has expressed great interest in. With his support, my work here could provide the Empire with a weapon far beyond anything wielded in the last war."
Jena nodded. "Yes, that's why I'm here, to assess your progress. But perhaps I could freshen up first? It's been a long journey..."
Her host smiled placidly. "Of course, of course. Wartski will show you to the nearest facilities, then we may began the full inspection."
Di Grizov waited until he was alone before letting himself cry, the tears mingling with the blood and perspiration on his face. If he had the strength and the opportunity, he'd kill himself soon - maybe one day, maybe two. A lifetime among the Vorovskoi Mir had taught the grifter much about the ways of people, their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Di Grizov knew he would not be able to endure this torture for long. Better to end it now, put himself out of their clutches. If truth were told, he had contemplated suicide more than once in the last dozen years. The curse of the Steel Military Egg had haunted him beyond reckoning, grinding away at his heart and mind. And now this fate...
To the grifter's surprise, the door slid open and the Tsar's daughter stepped back into the room. "What are you doing here?" Di Grizov asked.
"I have to ask you something," she replied, standing beside the entrance. "Have we met before? I know I've heard your name."
"No. I'd remember encountering a woman as beautiful as you."
Jena frowned. "Perhaps someone else mentioned you?"
Di Grizov shook his head. "Unlikely. My name's been mud in the Thieves' World ever since I stole the egg and left my last apprentice to carry the can."
"The egg?"
"The Steel Military Egg - the auction at Casino Royale in Monaco?"
Jena's eyes widened. "That was you?"
"Yes, with a little help. I got away untouched with the egg, leaving my assistant to find his own escape route. I should have been set for life; instead I've ended up like this... And him! Who ever knew he'd become so famous?"
"Lady Jena? Where are you?" Wartski's approaching voice and heavy footfalls signalled imminent danger. "Lady Jena?"
"Your apprentice - what was his name?"
Di Grizov grimaced. "He was cocky and arrogant even then, seemed to think he was too cool to kill. How he's ever survived this long I'll never know. His name was Dante-"
"Nikolai Dante," Jena said, shaking her head. "I should have known."
"You've met him?"
Jena rolled her eyes. The grifter almost smiled. "That's a yes. Well, if you ever see him again, tell Nikolai that I-"
"Lady Jena!" Wartski was standing in the doorway, scowling at the Imperial visitor. "What are you doing in here?"
"My apologies, Madame Wartski. I heard your patient coughing and thought he might need assistance."
The slab-faced matron narrowed her eyes. "I'll be the judge of that."
"Of course," Jena replied swiftly, letting herself be ushered out of the room. She gave Di Grizov one last compassionate smile before the door shut between them.
The grifter lay back on his pillow. So Dante knew the Tsarina? And from that twinkle in her eye, the rogue knew her in quite an intimate manner. What I wouldn't give to swap places with him now, Di Grizov thought bleakly.
It was close to dusk before Jena was back on the landing pad, having finished her inspection of the island's facilities. Doctor Fabergè bowed and kissed her hand in an elaborate show of deference, while flanked by the statuesque menace of the Strangelove twins. "I hope you have been impressed by what you've seen here today, Tsarina."
"An exceptional display," Jena replied. "I've never witnessed anything to rival such scientific... daring."
"Then I can hope for a positive response to my request for your father's personal assistance in the next stage of this project?"
"I will deliver a full and frank assessment of everything I have seen here today. I would not dream of second-guessing his reaction, but I am certain you will have it within twenty-four hours of my return to the Imperial Palace."
Fabergè smiled broadly. "Excellent. Then I shall not delay your return to his side a moment longer, ma'am."
Jena began climbing the steps into her flyer before pausing to ask a final question. "Doctor, what will happen to Di Grizov? After you have finished the experiments involving him, what shall be his fate?"
"You need not worry, Lady Jena, he will not trouble polite society again with his criminal ways. All those who survive this phase of the trials are being sent to join work details in an Imperial gulag, probably one in Murmansk. Di Grizov is due to be transferred there tomorrow. Should he make it, I doubt he will last long. I understand from Madame Wartski that such places can be quite bleak, apparently. She was born and raised on a gulag, albeit a Siberian one, so she
knows them well."
"I don't doubt it," Jena said with a thin smile. "Well, thank you again for the hospitality. A most illuminating visit. Farewell!" The flyer's passenger door closed behind her and the vehicle rose majestically into the sunset.
Fabergè waved goodbye, still smiling as he spoke to the twins. "Well? What did you make of her?"
"Too curious for her own good," Tempest sneered.
"Too good for her own curiosity," Storm countered.
"But still loyal to her father," the doctor replied. "No matter how much her stomach was turned by what she saw here, the Tsarina can still be trusted to give an accurate report on our progress. Indeed, her disgust may be to our advantage." Once the flyer was clear of the island, Fabergè stopped waving and snapped his fingers at the two women. "Come. We have much to do."
Jena wished she could strip off her clothes and burn them, so nauseating was the effect of being around Doctor Fabergè and his experiments. But purging her loathing would have to wait until after seeing her father. Jena knew she had been sent by the Tsar as a test, both of her nerves and her loyalty. Well, two could play at that game. She would give him a full and frank description of every horror, every atrocity she had witnessed inside that castle. Then she would watch his reaction. Any sane man, any man with a scintilla of morality, ought to reject the Fabergè experiments as an abomination against nature. Knowing the Tsar, he would probably embrace them with both arms.
Jena pushed such thoughts aside; they would do her no good for the moment. Better to focus on something else, anything but what she had seen today. As the flyer began the long journey back to St Petersburg, Jena recalled her conversation with Di Grizov. She remembered now where she had first heard the grifter's name mentioned. After the Romanovs had fallen at the end of the war, a quirk of fate had thrown her and Dante together one last time. But instead of lovers they were bitter enemies, Dante her prisoner.
