by Pavel Kornev
"That way!" Alexander Dyak announced confidently and pulled me to the back gate, which guarded by two constables armed with revolvers and clubs. Another six police with semiautomatic carbines were spread out over the property.
I had no desire to talk with former colleagues and stayed back from the inventor, having decided to await his return on the street. I didn't have to fear attracting the attention of the constables with aimless wandering, though. It wasn't so crowded on this side but, there were still plenty of gapers here too. One rapscallion newspaperman even used spurs to climb a telephone pole.
I took out my handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from my face, then suddenly saw Alexander Dyak turn away from the gate and walk straight toward me.
"No, no!" I had my own interpretation of the situation. "Go alone! I'll wait for you out here, it will be ghastly sultry inside."
"Leopold Borisovich! They didn't allow me in, can you imagine?!" the inventor objected. "They said entry was restricted to those on a special list and only through the front door! We have to go back!"
"Go, Alexander," I sighed. "Go. I need to wet my whistle, though."
The inventor headed off back with a fated sigh, and I stood in a line to the street tent, but at the very last moment changed my mind and didn't buy carbonated water with syrup. Instead, I walked into a street cafe and asked for home-made lemonade. After the bitter coffee, the drink seemed like a divine ambrosia; I couldn't hold back and drank a second glass, then paid up and went back to the square.
There, I walked along the outer wall of the lyceum and unexpectedly realized I was hungry as a wolf. That surprised me a bit. I hadn't been able to boast of a good appetite for some time. I felt I hadn't even drunk lemonade in a hundred years. But now, starvation was rolling over me.
"I should have just ordered a whole pitcher," I chuckled and tried to delve into the emotions of people around me but could only sense a vague nervousness; my talent hadn't yet awoken, and others' fears slipped past me like water through my fingers.
That annoyed me.
A motorcade of three self-propelled carriages drove out onto the square, and the newspapermen sitting at the tables of street cafes jumped up in an instant, their camera's sparkling with flashes.
"Tesla! Tesla has arrived!" sounded out from all sides.
The lyceum workers quickly threw open the back gates, and the constables that came to help them squeezed out the gapers blocking off the passage. The reporters ran off after the self-propelled carriages, nearly falling under their wheels, shouting out questions, and banging on the side windows and doors. But the motorcade drove through the gates without slowing down.
Contrary to his habit, Tesla didn't want to talk with any newsmen.
Maybe his guards had something to do with that?
The disappointed newspapermen began to disperse, getting into arguments and cursing each other out. The reporter that had climbed up the pole kept watching the lyceum grounds, not even thinking of coming down.
My interest was drawn by the unusual camera in his hands, and I headed for the post. But I couldn't make out the journalist. The dim autumn sun was shining through the clouds right into my eyes. I placed my hand to my forehead, noticed the edge of a reddish beard and suddenly realized I had met this reporter before.
But who was he? I had never before rubbed shoulders with journalists.
And suddenly I recognized him and gaped in surprise.
The man who'd climbed the pole was Ivan Sokolov, the Russian society observer!
Ramon Miro had mentioned a Russian looking to buy explosives in Foundry-Town, and another random acquaintance had once introduced me to Sokolov as a person with anarchist convictions. And although Krasin, the smiling fat man who had let that slip, turned out to be a bastard and a hired killer, I had no reason not to believe his judgement about Sokolov.
Taking a step back from the pole, I glanced at the constables at the gates and hesitated, not knowing if I should draw their attention. Then, something hard poked into my side.
"No stupid stuff!" The man behind me warned.
"Speak of the devil..." I gasped, because I knew this voice perfectly well.
The man holding the pistol was none other than Yemelyan Krasin!
"Leopold Borisovich! Aren't you happy to see me?" The fat man aped well-intentioned surprise.
"I pictured our reunion going... somewhat differently," I smiled in strain.
"Oh, I can imagine!" Krasin chuckled good-heartedly.
After Yemelyan Nikiforovich had gassed me, I intuited that he had been hired by the mad architect Tacini. But now everything was cast in a somewhat different light.
"What have you cooked up now?" I asked, looking askance at the fat man at the very edge of my vision, but I could only see the blurred silhouette of a stout man in a dark cloak and bowler.
"Why the devil ask questions you already know the answer to?"
"You're going to blow up the lyceum? But why?! The haut monde of scientific thought is gathered there!"
Krasin just furrowed his brow.
"The haut monde of scientific thought?! They’re nothing but a collection of retrogrades and pencil-pushers, infinitely far from the interests of the common man! Bourgeois servants of big capital, that's who they are! These men can only benefit the working class by dying! Our action will be the spark to ignite the flame, then the fire of world-wide revolution will spread!"
"Now is not the time!" I tried to bring him to reason. "Otherworldly powers have infiltrated the city. We need to do everything in our power to burn out the infection!"
"Do we?" Yemelyan Nikiforovich doubted. "If New Babylon falls under the earth, if all Atlantis sinks beneath the waves, the rest of humanity only stands to gain. The Second Empire is the prison of peoples! The quicker it falls, the better! New Babylon must be destroyed!"
And yet I couldn't shake the feeling that the Russian Anarchists had come here not out of a desire to commit an act of terror, which would certainly make the front page of even the smallest notable publications. Or, at the very least, not only for that...
"Who do you work for?" I asked. "Who ordered you to blow up the lyceum right now?"
"We're fighting for the rights of the common people..."
"Empty words!" I cut him off. "As you were attached to Malone and Tacini, this mission must have also been sent from above. You are no ideological strugglers, but mere paid provocateurs!"
"You have too loose a tongue, Lev Borisovich!" Krasin said with unhidden threat. "For a person in your position, that is fraught with serious problems!"
"What are you saying?" I smirked and asked: "Are you working for Duke Logrin? Or still for the New World? Or maybe for big capital itself?"
I wasn't even remotely interested in the answer to my provocative question. I was just trying to knock Krasin off track and, based on the trembling of the revolver barrel against my ribs, my last guesses had hit their mark.
Not missing my chance, I twisted my body, simultaneously moving away from the gun. Just then, a shot rang out, and a man standing in front of us in an elegant slicker threw up his hands and fell onto the causeway. My side just burned.
Grabbing Krasin’s gun hand, I twisted it and stuck it under his other armpit, then sharply stood up, lifting his body onto my back. My lower back cracked, but the sharp pain in my ligaments didn't stop me from the wrestling move, and I threw the corpulent anarchist over me.
The fat man collapsed onto the paving stone with such a force that the earth shook under our feet. Or so it seemed for the first moment. Then the shockwave from an explosion of horrifying power struck me in the chest, threw me onto my back and sent me in a somersault. My ears were blasted by a horrifying thunder, and the lyceum building of the Sublime Electricity collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. The masts with copper balls lurched and fell to the square, and a true cloud of dust shot up to the sky.
When I managed to get myself off the causeway and look around, people thrown about by th
e shockwave were lying everywhere. But only the guards standing beyond the fence were seriously hurt. I myself got a contusion, and my ears were ringing. The skin on my side meanwhile, burned by the gunpowder fumes, felt like it was on fire. In the same place, I discovered a long narrow hole in my jacket.
I tried to stand from the paving stone, but immediately had an attack of vertigo. My vision turned gray, and I had to stay on the cold stones. The sounds hadn't yet returned. All colors were faded also, and everything happening looked like just a stupid black and white movie. Some city-dwellers were getting off the ground with the drunken stumbling of knocked-out boxers, others were running off the square in a panic, wanting to run from the danger as quickly as possible. A few stayed behind to help those wounded in the explosion, and a horrible squeeze was formed instantly on the alleyways leading away from the lyceum.
Shock. It was just a shock.
"Krasin!" that thought struck like lightning in my head. I returned and watched the fat man getting up heavily on all fours. Blood was coming from his ears, but that was the only wound he’d taken in the explosion.
I pointed the Cerberus from my pocket at him but I was seeing double, and my arm was shaking, so I couldn't aim. The anarchist noticed me and bared his teeth strangely; with one hand, he leaned on the paving stone, and with the other he reached for his fallen pistol.
The Cerberus gave three spits of fire, totally silent, and I felt the handle kick back in my hands. Krasin shuddered and slammed his face into the causeway. The first two bullets hit him in the side and shoulder, while the last had gone through his temple, and a spot of blood started spreading on the rocks around his head.
Totally mechanically, I changed the pistol magazine for a new one and stood to my feet. But by then, the trail of the second anarchist had already gone cold. Sokolov had escaped.
"Scoundrel!" I cursed, hiding my pistol hand in my jacket's side pocket. Then, stumbling like a drunk, I walked around the lyceum's outer wall, which was leaning and, in places, totally collapsed.
Not many people had been seriously hurt on the square in front of the collapsed building: most of the concussed city-dwellers there dispersed throughout the area on their own. There were an unlucky few that needed urgent care though, those who had been hit by bits of glass flying from the windows. But nearer the main entrance, where the shockwave had torn out of the building, the paving stone was soaked in blood. There were broken bodies and torn-off appendages lying everywhere. Due to the collapsed basement, the right wing of the lyceum was totally underground, and it was hard to even imagine how many people had fallen into the hole in the causeway.
Pushing aside the fortunate, who had not yet managed to get into the lyceum, I started making my way for the central gates and suddenly noticed Alexander Dyak, who was walking up to meet me, squeezing his bloodied forehead with his hand.
"Alexander!" I shouted, but the inventor didn't hear me.
I walked over to the old man and braced him, helping him stay on his feet. There were already volunteers rushing from the neighboring buildings to help, but I led Dyak not to one of the surrounding cafes, which had become improvised first aid points, but right to an ambulance carriage that had driven onto the square. Orderlies ran after the heavily wounded with gurneys, and a doctor remained at the carriage to admit the injured. They didn't think Alexander Dyak was seriously hurt, but I took a couple hundred-franc notes from my wallet and slipped the rumpled bills into the doctor's chest pocket.
"Don't make me convince you by other means," I said after that, not able to hear my own voice.
The doctor shivered and decided to place Dyak in one of the free spots.
The carriage rolled off to the hospital five minutes later, and another few came to replace it. I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked away, hurrying off the square before the police closed the neighboring streets and began a total document check.
I had no doubt that a roundup would follow, so when someone grabbed me by the hand from behind, I spun in place excessively abruptly and only at the last moment managed to hold back from striking with my already raised elbow. But it wasn't some mettlesome constable behind me, it was Elizabeth-Maria, the succubus.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, thunderstruck.
Elizabeth-Maria started saying something quickly but to me, she may as well have just been opening and closing her mouth. My hearing still hadn't come back, and all I could detect was ringing.
"I can't hear!" I said to her and quickly got a heavy slap.
"Is that better?" the succubus asked.
Then I could hear her perfectly. After the trenchant slap, something clicked in my head and I was surrounded instantly by a horrible cacophony. Some were screaming, some were crying their eyes out, howling and whining. Not far away, the bell of a fire brigade rang out, and I heard a piercing police whistle. A street loudspeaker began indiscriminately squealing, and reality immediately stopped seeming like a ghastly film.
All this was happening here and now. It was happening to me!
I quickly grabbed Elizabeth-Maria by the hand and dragged her off the square.
"Just you wait!" The succubus boiled over. Her nostrils were flaring with zest, and the tip of her tongue was running along her thin pale lips from time to time. Human suffering had drawn her demonic spirit here and that made for an unpleasant spectacle.
So, I didn't listen and just dragged the succubus after me. She had once again dressed in a way that was none too appropriate for a lady of good taste. I mean, the blouse and bicycle pants didn't deserve reprimand, but the red kerchief and orange leather jacket were extremely provocative.
"Where are you dragging me?!" Elizabeth-Maria objected when we’d reached the intersection. "I left the carriage on the other side of the square!"
"Don't scream!" I demanded. "I already lost my hearing once today!"
"I can see that!"
"How did you find me?"
"It wasn't hard. After all, we're connected. Did you forget?"
I took a few heavy sighs, walked off the sidewalk along which frightened city dwellers passed from time to time, to the wall of a building and asked.
"What do you need?"
"Liliana was taken away by the police!" Elizabeth-Maria announced, and my heart stopped in horror.
Just up and stopped. My soul was pierced with fear, and all sounds went quiet again while the world turned gray. For a moment it seemed I had died, and perhaps I really had. But my heart started beating again after an instant that lasted a whole eternity, now more distinctly, sharply and angrily.
My pulse started pounding in my temples with angry beats, and an unbearable splitting seared behind my eyes. I raised my gaze to Elizabeth-Maria, and she took an involuntary step back.
"When?" I rasped out. "When did that happen?"
"Around an hour ago," Elizabeth-Maria said. "She had just gotten back from her parents'."
Devil!
I smacked my fist into my palm with all my might.
Devil! Devil! Devil!
What would it have cost me to call and warn her? Why didn't I even think of doing it?
"Leo!" the succubus pulled me by the sleeves. "Leo, calm down!"
But I couldn't calm down. Now, I could only think about Liliana. I wouldn't get her out of the Newton-Markt, but the detention had certainly been arranged by Bastian Moran, he could bring her wherever he wanted. Maybe I still had a chance...
"Leo!" snapped the raging Elizabeth-Maria. "A note came for you!"
"What?"
"The police left you a note! Here, look!"
With my shaking hands, I unfolded the rumpled sheet. It had a telephone number written on it. A telephone number and nothing more.
I looked around and saw a teeming pharmacy. I didn't even try there, but instead ran into a small hotel where I told the porter I needed their phone for a police emergency.
I didn’t have to tell the police emergency lie more than once. All the lines were overloaded with urg
ent calls and the porter didn't know when it might be my turn, until he saw the Newton-Markt number on the paper.
Bastian Moran picked up the phone.
"Speak!" he barked, not bothering himself with the rules of decent conduct.
Anyhow, it was surprising that he even found the time to answer phone calls right now.
"This is Leopold..."
"No names!" the senior inspector threw out abruptly.
"If anything happens to her..."
"Shut up and listen!" Moran interrupted me again. "We will meet at the place you found the muse. At exactly three. Don't be late and come alone. And don’t try anything stupid!"
I tried to get in at least a word, but the senior inspector hung up immediately. I couldn't reach him again.
"What did you step in this time?" Elizabeth-Maria asked me when we'd gone outside and were walking around the square to her self-propelled carriage.
"Same as before," I sighed, looking at the succubus and warning: "I'm going to need your help."
"A service for a service."
"It's not me who needs help, but Liliana. Aren't you and her friends?"
"A service for a service," Elizabeth-Maria repeated.
"Just think about her..."
"Leo, you don't understand!" the succubus glanced unkindly at me. "Altruism is foreign to my nature. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Or find someone else."
I had such a disdain for the idea of making another deal with the infernal creature that I was gritting my teeth, and I started mentally flipping through other possible candidates. But no one I knewcould help me avoid the bloody slaughter; quite the opposite–if any of them helped me, a bloodbath would be inevitable.
"Alright!" I gave in with a fated sigh. "What do you want?"
"Powers, naturally!" Elizabeth-Maria laughed. "When you gifted me with the power of a fallen onefor just a few minutes, you only annoyed me! True might, now that's what I want. And you be sure–I will not miss my second chance."
"I cannot give that to you. And you know I cannot!"
"You cannot now, but don't worry, I'll wait. As soon as you get the ability, you'll imbue me with power. Swear it."
