by Pavel Kornev
What was more, the unknown creature hadn't actually caused any problems. At least, that's the opinion our community treasurers were inclined toward after familiarizing themselves with a few estimates from professional exterminators.
Past the bridge, the road began twisting up to the top of the hill, and a few turns later, you could already see a stone fence with denuded blackening tree branches behind it.
That was my destination.
The oil lamp near the gate, as usual, wasn't lit, but you could still clearly make out a black square containing a diagonal crimson cross on the doors – the quarantine symbol of the Diabolic Plague, discolored and flaking.
Without pulling the bell cord, I moved the iron hasp from in front of the key hole, and opened the lock with my key. The gate swung open. To the screech of its rusty hinges, I clapped it shut behind me and headed for the night-darkened giant of my three-story manor straight through my dead garden.
The dried-out trees surged up to the sky, their twisted branches and black leaves stretching out in all directions. Dried grass stuck up from the earth in brittle gray spears.
The manor itself looked just as dead as the garden. There were no lights on, and no smoke coming from the pipes. Not a single sound could be heard. When I was five years old, one horrible night, death had visited our estate. Everything had died. Only my father and I had survived. Though, as for my father, his survival had only been partial; something cracked inside him and burned out forever. He could no longer stay for long in one place, and didn't allow himself to accrue possessions or personal attachments. And, like a shark, he stayed in constant motion. In his head, not moving was equivalent to death.
And, when the inspector asked what the devil had made me seek employment with the police, I hadn't been totally frank with him. I mean, I really did have to pay bills, but the true reason was my aspiration to discover those who had cursed this place and all its inhabitants. And it had been done so artfully that the curse could still kill sixteen years later.
Curses...
I sighed and threw my head back to the sky. There were dull stars shining back like pieces of worn glass. The curse usually pricked the back of my head with an uncomfortable cold, weighed down on my heart, and ran up my spine, but did no actual harm to me.
Why? I do not know. Despite how much I had racked my brains over the topic, I still hadn't figured it out. And figuring out what had attracted this sorrow to my home in the first place had also come to naught; even having access to the police archive, which I had received with the rank detective constable, hadn't helped at all. There simply wasn't even a shred of information in the investigation reports; and there hadn't been any real evidence as such, either.
Diabolic Plague, they said, and that was that.
And I retreated; I had no time to waste on stirring up the past. I simply waited until I came of age, comforting myself with the fact that my family's money would allow me to not work and dedicate myself to seeking the truth.
But now I do not know, oh I do not know...
I shrugged my shoulders, walked onto the porch and swung open the unlocked door. I threw my derby hat on a rack in the entryway. The small flame of a kerosene lamp flickered in the dark corridor.
"Is everything alright, Viscount?" wondered a lank middle-aged man in an old-fashioned frock coat.
"Completely, Theodor," I laughed. "Couldn't be better."
Theodor Barnes was my butler. He had served the Kósice family for his entire life, as his father and grandfather had served my ancestors before him. He was even present for some of the first memories I had.
"Is there anything you require?"
"No, thank you," I shook my head, but immediately snapped my fingers and corrected myself: "No, wait! Prepare the room on the third floor. We're expecting guests. A guest..."
Theodor was a butler by family trade; he could bite the bullet like no other, and usually didn't allow himself any expressions of strong emotion, but this time had gotten to him.
"What, excuse me?" Barnes clarified, not able to hide his amazement. "But, how do you mean...?"
I gave my servant a reassuring clap on the shoulder, throwing out frivolously:
"Just trust me," and headed for my bedroom.
I immediately turned the gas fixture there on, took off my jacket, pants and shirt, put them in the wardrobe, and unloaded my Roth-Steyr. But the Cerberus I did not unload, placing it near my wrist chronometer on the bedside table.
Then, I lit the night light, checked to see if the blinds were shut and, only after that, put out the gas light.
Funny?
I do not know, I do not know.
Life had taught me not to ignore my fears, no matter how contrived they may have seemed.
The night light must be on, the blinds must be closed, and a loaded pistol must be lying on my bedside table.
Period.
A RESTLESS BEAM OF SUN, having discovered a crack in my aging blinds, stole into my bedroom and went straight into my eyes, heralding the morning.
I turned over on my other side, but immediately got myself together and, unlike before, didn't keep snoozing. I splashed along the cold floor with my bare feet, swung open the windows one after the other and, just in case, took a persnickety look at the thickened boards of the blinds for fresh scratches.
But no – new ones hadn't appeared.
Morning freshness frolicked into the room, filling it completely; I went back to throw on a robe, then turned to a window facing East. From the hillock, an indescribable view of the old neighborhoods of the city was revealed, showing a plethora of steeple-roofs, gilded towers, palaces and gardens. Much farther away loomed the grayness of the factory outskirts; there were a great many smokestacks stretching out toward the sky there and freight dirigibles drifted lazily in the black clouds of smoke they expelled.
They say, once, in clear weather, you could see the ocean from the top of Calvary. But now, clear days in New Babylon were harder to come by than pearls in a cesspool. Smoke, char and smog rolled over the city from all sides.
No matter! I shrugged my shoulders and walked away to the bedside table. I snapped the chronometer bracelet to my wrist and set about getting dressed. In my head, though, like a broken gramophone record, one word kept turning over, again and again: "Sunday. Sunday. Sunday!"
Ball!
At four o'clock P.M., the ball would start, and if something went wrong there...
I didn't even want to think what could happen.
Straining my will, I forced myself to forget the ominous presentiments and headed for the bathroom.
"Is the room ready?" I asked Theodor who happened to be going the opposite direction.
"Yes sir, Viscount," the butler confirmed, slickening down his pitch black mutton chops. "What is the news from the New World?"
"Same as before," I said. "Houston is embattled. There is currently trench warfare raging on all fronts."
"The Aztecs just won't settle down, eh?" Theodor shook his head and hazarded: "Would you like to take a look at the guest room?"
"That won’t be necessary," I refused and went down to the first floor.
My gut was crying out in hunger, but I wasn't in the habit of eating breakfast at home. On weekends, I usually dropped into the Italian taverna close by, where I had a line of credit. And, in that my normal order of the day had already gone down the drain, all that was left was to swallow my spit in expectation of this evening's reception.
I took a vexed look at my timepiece and, there in the entryway, the bell clanged.
"Oh!" My butler said pointedly, not taking even one step back.
The news of the guest arriving simply knocked the man sideways. However, it also set my nerves indescribably more on edge. In much knowledge, there was much sorrow, that was true.
Nevertheless, I did nothing to display my agitation.
"Leave that to me, Theodor," I said, calling off my servant. I then left the house and hurried to the gates. As I wal
ked, I clipped my glasses to my nose. The dark round eyepieces returned my confidence in my own abilities to me all at once.
The doubts left me; I swung the door open decisively and smiled to a young girl with fire-red hair, proper features on her pretty round face and the colorless-glowing eyes of the illustrious. The guest's figure was covered up by a long cloak, but I still knew that the body beneath it could teach a lesson to Aphrodite herself. She had taught thighs, an hourglass figure and a high chest...
"Elizabeth-Maria!" I smiled with all the cordiality I could muster, driving away the vision rising up before my eyes. "Words cannot express how glad I am that you found it possible to accept my invitation..."
"Leopold, you were extremely convincing," the girl burst out laughing, handing me her voluminous traveling bag. "You simply gave me no choice!"
"I hope I haven't spoiled your plans..."
"Not at all, I assure you!"
Her snow-white teeth flashed a smile and, with a certain share of deprivation, I decided that only her thin pale lips were keeping Elizabeth-Maria from being counted among the city's great beauties. But I didn't stress my attention on that and hurriedly stepped back to the side, letting my guest enter:
"Come in, I beg you!"
The girl stepped past the fence, cast her gaze on the dead garden and couldn't resist a bemused observation:
"How sweet..."
In the morning sun, the black trees didn't look nearly as ominous as they did in the dead of night, but I still thought it necessary to correct my guest:
"Original. Unusual. Provocative. But in no way sweet."
Elizabeth-Maria cast her attentive gaze on me and nodded slowly:
"As you say, Leopold."
We walked up onto the porch and entered the house. There, I handed her traveling bag to my butler and introduced my guest to my servant.
"This is Theodor, if you have any questions, you need only ask him. Unfortunately, I must take my leave. It’s time for work."
"I am at your service, madam," my butler announced ceremoniously, accepting the girl's cloak.
Elizabeth-Maria smiled favorably in reply, removed her hat, and shook out a thick shock of hair.
"Leopold, you can't tell me you plan on leaving me alone so soon, right?" she cooed. "We could..."
I swallowed nervously and hurried to take the situation under control, or more accurately, took the girl under the arm and led her to the guest room.
"The ball is at four," I reminded my guest. "I need to go pick up my suit from the tailor's. And your evening dress..."
"Don't worry about that, dear," the girl answered and stopped opposite the fireplace, her attention caught by a saber hanging on the wall.
"To Captain Orso for personal valor. Zuid-India, October thirtieth, eighteen thirty-seven from K. N." Elizabeth-Maria looked closely at the engraving on the blade. "Is this your father's weapon?" she turned to me.
"My grandfather's," I shook my head. "He distinguished himself in the assault of Batavia. He was given the rank of captain there and made a hereditary noble."
"Yes, that's right!" the girl realized. "Year thirteen after the founding of the Second Empire! Forty years ago. That's a long time."
"My grandfather retired at the rank of colonel. He’s the one who built this house..."
But Elizabeth-Maria wasn't interested in the history of my estate. With acute fascination, she continued to look at the saber and, as she did it, something uncharacteristically inappropriate was throbbing in her shimmering maidenly eyes.
"Blood," she whispered. "This saber has taken a rich harvest..."
"My grandfather was the best saber-man in his regiment," I told her. Then I was shaken by an inexplicably returning lack of confidence, and said: "Theodor will show you to your room. I will see you at lunch."
"As you say, Leopold," the girl nodded and unexpectedly asked: "Is the saber sharpened?"
"It would assume so," I sighed and turned away to my butler who was standing in the door watching us with unhidden amazement. "Theodor!" I raised my voice, attracting the attention of my servant who had grown unaccustomed to having guests in recent years.
He shuddered, lifted the traveling bag and turned to the girl, saying:
"Follow me, madam."
Elizabeth-Maria walked into the guest room; on the stairs, she slightly lifted the skirts of her dress, looking uncharacteristically elegant.
My heart clenched up. A chill rolled over me; a strange mixture of desire, relief, fear and contempt filled my soul. But I did not indulge the self-flagellation, instead grabbing my derby hat from the rack and jumping headlong away from my house.
While I was walking to the gates, I saw the rusted top of the tower looming on the summit of the hill. Now, you couldn’t see the blinking navigation signal on top of the rusty finger cascading up into the sky, causing mixed feelings. Its sheer decrepitude was impressive, but it simultaneously weighed on you with its power. Like something forgotten, something from an entirely different era. And I couldn't even say if it was from the past or the future...
It would seem that I should have grown accustomed to this view long ago, but no – I still felt ants on my skin for what must have been the thousandth time.
When the gate swung open, an envelope that had been stuffed into the crack fell under my feet. There were no stamps on it, and it had nothing written on the outside. I looked quizzically at the desolate street, picked it up and folded the titanium blade out of my jackknife. I cut open the seal, familiarized myself with the laconic missive and cursed fatefully.
Inspector White had set our meeting for midday, and I wasn't at all sure that I would be available by that time. And what was more, I wasn't sure that I wanted to see the inspector today anyway.
I cursed out again, this time louder and started walking down the hillock. Crossing the bridge, I couldn't resist looking down, but there was nothing there, just water babbling and jumping between the rocks.
I LEFT THE TAILOR’S WITH A RENTED three-piece suit, unbearably fashionable and just as unbearably gaudy. Unfortunately, I also left with an empty wallet. I didn't have any money left, even for lunch, but that fact was no longer capable of spoiling my mood.
If something went wrong this evening, hopelessness would be the least of my problems. To be more accurate, it wouldn't even have been a problem.
And in fact, what does a corpse need money for, anyway?
Also, there was still the inspector. What the devil did he need from me on the weekend?!
Having shifted the bag containing my old suit into my left hand, I clinked two coins together, slipped the shimmering change back into my pocket and walked over to the Yarden Embankment. This Sunday morning, it turned out to be impossible to even elbow your way through the loitering city-dwellers, and I soon grew sick of intercepting the gazes of people whose eyes I'd caught: chic ladies, their no-less-gauche gentlemen and the street traders. Then I turned down Des Cartes street, and miscalculated once again: the normally empty little street was plugged up by a motley public, sorrowful and quiet. And only the whooping of the boy handing out leaflets carried over the crowd, flying out like the screeching of a seagull over a desolate sea coast.
"Six-blade shoe polisher here! Patented design!" chirruped the grimy little boy, sticking his advertising in the faces of passers-by. "Just one turn of the handle! Shine guaranteed! Easier than ever before!"
I took the rumpled paper and held it up to the boy.
"What is the meaning of this public demonstration?" I asked him.
"Some famous conductor is being buried," he answered airily. "He lost his favorite baton and the freak popped his neck in a noose."
People began staring at us, but that didn't embarrass the boy whatsoever.
"Choked with a rope, the dummy," he continued, sharply throwing his thumb upward. "His head popped off."
"I see," I nodded and stepped out of the way.
From behind, I was overtaken by a scream:
"S
team iron! Lighten your wife's load! Gets rid of wrinkles fast!"
And the quiet hum of the honorable public, which slowly moved to the Imperial Theater, covered up the rage-filled squabbling of the two boys competing for territory.
And that scene encompassed New Babylon: another's death here wasn't even worth a minute of silence.
Nothing was, for that matter.
And it never had been.
I threw the advertisement into the first trash-can I came across, turned down the neighboring street, looked at my watch and increased my pace.
The Imperial Theater was hidden from view, and the street curved in an arc, taking me to a stone-block paved square. In the middle of it, there was a pigeon-shit covered monument of the great trinity – Ampère, Ohm, and Volt.
But then, the lyceum of the Sublime Electricity, rushing up to the heavens in two steel masts, was a place those flying vandals kept a wide berth from. And it was no wonder. Around the huge copper balls, which crowned the elegant constructions, there were wavering halos of electric current. From time to time, they lit up in blinding sparks, which caused a distinctive clicking to ring out over the square, but only those who were visiting from the provinces tucked their heads between their shoulders in fear. City-dwellers sitting on the open verandas of the many cafes didn't even look away from their newspapers.
The huge Nicola Tesla coil must have used a simply monstrous amount of energy, which was always a riddle to me: why would these learned men waste electricity so wantonly day after day, and month after month? Simply to demonstrate their greatness? And only now, when the manmade lightning was circling directly over my head, did I truly feel the power of science in full measure.
Immeasurable power was the true thing that Nicola Tesla's creation embodied.
