He left the rest unsaid. Assuming, of course, that I lived. The Arena was far different from the crowded alley behind the tavern where drunken soldiers had tripped over each other and botched their attacks. I’d be matched against the toughest killers in the Empire. Then again, what was the alternative? A rope, a trapdoor and a quick end, if I was lucky. If I wasn’t lucky, I might dangle there for hours, dying a very unpleasant death. My bowels turned liquid at the very thought.
“I’m your man, if you can get me out of this,” I said, not bothering to mention that I’d be running for the hills at the first opportunity.
“Very sensible. I like that.” He rapped on the door. The sergeant opened it at once and examined me closely, as if making sure I hadn’t escaped. I rattled my chains to set his mind at rest.
“Sergeant, release this man,” my visitor said. “I’m going to send someone up to collect him. Make sure he’s ready by the time they arrive.”
The sergeant protested. “With respect, sir, he’s the Duke’s prisoner. He killed the Duke’s Wardens.”
The nobleman shook his head. “You’re wrong, Sergeant, he is my prisoner. He was arrested and brought here by my Constables, not the Duke’s Wardens, who displayed remarkable incompetence by failing to kill him, wouldn’t you agree?”
Realization struck me like a lightning bolt. The Noseys were his men. I’d been talking to none other than Otto Thenck, head of the Ministry of State Security and the most feared man in the Empire.
The tired old joke about the Secret Police sprang to mind unbidden. A man limps into his local tavern and collapses over the bar. His face is swollen and his teeth have been kicked out, but he buys drinks for everyone and tells them he’s celebrating. Why? they ask. “The Secret Police paid me a visit tonight,” he explains, “but they got the wrong address. They wanted the fellow who lives next door.” And everyone gets drunk, because they all know it’s better to have your teeth kicked out by mistake than taken down into the dark cellars beneath Ministry headquarters, never to be seen again.
Only it wasn’t really a joke, it was a true story, and the man responsible for such casual, fear-inspiring brutality stood before me.
“But what will I tell the Duke, sir?” the sergeant said, a pleading note in his voice. “He’s bound to ask.”
“You have prisoners in the other cells, haven’t you?”
The sergeant scratched his head, plainly puzzled. “Yes, sir. Petty thieves for the most part. A pair of smugglers, a husband who cut off his unfaithful wife’s ears, a forger—”
“A forger!” Thenck’s scowl made the sergeant flinch. “When was he arrested?”
“Yesterday, sir. Caught passing wooden coins painted silver. Not too clever, sir. It’s fifty lashes for him, then a lengthy spell in prison, breaking rocks.”
“I disagree. Inept as he is, his is the worst crime of all, for he was attempting to undermine the economy of the Empire. I’ll respect assassins and even spies, but never forgers. Let me tell you what you will do, Sergeant. You will go to the forger’s cell. There, you will bind his arms and legs securely, then gag him and put a hood over his head. When the Duke’s men come looking for this prisoner”—he pointed at me—”you will give them the forger instead. Do you understand?”
His tone carried a distinct element of threat, hinting that failure to comply would bring swift and unwelcome retribution. The sergeant swallowed hard. So did I. “Yes, sir,” he said weakly.
Thenck nodded, satisfied, and without another word he left the cell and went back down the corridor.
The sergeant sighed with relief. “It seems you have friends in high places, lad,” he said quietly. “You know who that was? Otto Thenck! The Magician! You know why they call him that? Because he makes people disappear.” He laughed. “Maybe you’ve escaped the noose, but there are worse deaths than hanging, mark my words. That’s something else for you to think about, eh?” He found the key on his ring that unlocked the iron manacles around my wrists and ankles, thus releasing me.
“Thanks,” I said, driving my fist into his face as I rose, sending him sprawling. He cried out and rolled onto his back, trying to get up, but my boot quickly put paid to that idea. He howled and rolled in the night soil, clutching his crotch with both hands.
Having extracted some measure of revenge for my ill-treatment, I turned to the doorway. All thoughts of fleeing the prison and losing myself in the alleyways and backstreets of High Sazburg dissipated abruptly as I discovered two men standing there, watching me. They wore long black cloaks, tricorn hats and scarves that covered their faces so that only their eyes were visible. Both carried flintlock pistols, cocked and pointed at my belly. They looked more like highwaymen than anything else, but I didn’t need a soothsayer to tell me they were Otto Thenck’s Noseys in civilian garb, come to fetch me for their master’s pleasure.
I felt no great need to say fond farewell to the sergeant. Without a word spoken, the two men escorted me upstairs, along a narrow corridor and outside into a high-walled courtyard. We’d passed no one else en route. A coach drawn by matching black stallions waited in the courtyard. The highwaymen gestured with their pistols, and I reluctantly climbed inside. The door slammed shut behind me and the coach immediately set off. There were no handles on the inside of the door, and no windows, either—the coach was a miniature prison on wheels.
The coach slowly made its way through the winding city streets, shaking and rattling over cobblestones and brickwork. Several times during the journey, the driver opened his peep hole and looked down at me, as if satisfying himself that I wasn’t up to any mischief. Like the highwaymen, he wore a scarf over his face so I could only see his eyes. I wondered at this need for disguise, but I had other things to worry about, not the least of which was Otto Thenck, the Magician, so I thought no more of the driver, trying instead to imagine what must lie ahead.
A short time later, the coach stopped. The door clicked open and I surmised that the driver possessed a mechanism which allowed him to control the door locks from above. Very clever. I climbed out and looked up at him, expecting to receive further instructions, but he said nothing. Instead he jiggled his reins and the coach moved off again, leaving me behind.
I found myself standing alone before a dark, gloomy building made of plain brick. Steps led up to the front door and the tall windows on either side were closed and shuttered. It occurred to me that my path to freedom now lay open—all I had to do was run. And I might have, but at that moment a group of Wardens turned the corner at the end of the street and began walking in my direction. Their appearance made my mind up for me. I climbed the steps, rapped on the wood and waited for an answer. Distant footsteps came closer, then a spy-hole opened and a suspicious eyeball peered out at me.
“What do you want?” a muffled voice demanded.
“Otto Thenck sent me,” I said, watching the Wardens, who were bound to question my appearance if not my smell. Or would they? After all, I was outside the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security and might have authorized business there, for all they knew. But I didn’t dare take that chance. If any of them recognized me….
Heavy bolts were drawn back at last and the door swung open. A dwarf who’d had to stand on a wooden stool to reach the spy-hole scowled up at me. He wore a black uniform with silver buttons and epaulettes, high riding boots and a curved cavalry sword that trailed on the stained wood floor because of his lack of altitude. His squashed face was wrinkled and lined, and his dark curly hair had turned white around the edges.
“And who might you be?” he asked.
“I said, Thenck sent me. Let me inside, quickly.”
“He didn’t tell me to expect any visitors. Go away.”
He tried to shut the door but I stopped it with my foot and grabbed him by the front of his jacket, pulling him up so his boots kicked air. The Wardens were less than a hundred paces away. I wanted to be safely inside before they reached the doorway.
“Listen, Stumpy, I tol
d you, Thenck sent me. This is where he lives, isn’t it? So you’ll let me inside, unless you want me to bash your face in.”
The dwarf rolled his eyes, inviting me to look behind him. I did, and saw two soldiers armed with muskets at the other end of the entrance hall. They had me in their sights. The Tirpitz musket is the deadliest piece of weaponry ever developed by the Kaiserine’s clever scientists, and rarely misses at ranges under five hundred paces. I put the dwarf down gently and brushed the front of his jacket to iron out the creases.
“Thank you,” he said, grinning.
“Don’t mention it,” I said through clenched teeth.
He snapped his fingers in sudden realization. “You wouldn’t be from the prison, would you?” He looked me up and down, his nose wrinkling in distaste at my sweet bouquet.
“How astute of you,” I said. “Indeed I am.”
He turned his head and said to the soldiers, “Easy, lads. This one’s expected, after all.” To my relief they lowered their muskets, carefully thumbing the hammers forward.
The dwarf said, “Come inside. I’m Ludwig. What should I call you?”
“The name’s Manfred.” Thenck hadn’t asked. Perhaps he’d already known. He seemed to know everything else.
A distant cheer suddenly reached us from the direction of the city square, as a thousand throats cried their appreciation of a fine morning’s entertainment. My hand rose involuntarily to my throat. I didn’t have to be told the forger’s neck had just been stretched. I hoped he’d died quickly and without pain, for he’d suffered the fate that should have been mine.
Ludwig slapped the small of my back, being unable to reach my shoulders. “Cheer up! You look as if someone’s just walked over your grave. Come with me, I’ll take you upstairs to the laboratory. You’re very fortunate, you know. Not everybody gets to meet the great Doctor Schmidt.”
The dwarf slammed the door shut behind me just as the Duke’s Wardens came into view. It had been too close for comfort. Relief swept my guilt away and left me feeling light-headed and weak-kneed.
Ludwig waddled down the corridor, trailing his sword behind him. I followed meekly, until I drew level with the two sentries. The sight of their faces shocked me so much that I nearly recoiled in horror. They were so scarred and mutilated that it was difficult to imagine they might be human at all. Their flesh had been sewn together with rough stitches, and some of the pieces of skin didn’t seem to match. As a result, their bloodshot eyes were hooded, their mouths were lop-sided and their noses were shapeless lumps of flesh with oddly-matched holes. I’d never seen anything quite so hideous, yet they seemed unaware of my attention—either that, or they simply didn’t care what I thought of their skewed features. I recalled the scarves the highwaymen and the coach driver had worn, and guessed they must all be veterans of The War. Evidently they’d received horrendous injuries, and equally horrendous repair surgery.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” Ludwig said, sounding more amused than irritated. We continued along the hallway until we reached a flight of stairs. Ludwig began climbing with all the grace of a waddling duck. For some reason I couldn’t fathom, I experienced a wave of sympathy for Thenck’s servant, trapped in his tiny body.
We stepped into a laboratory. Several tables contained complex scientific apparatus—glass bottles connected by winding rubber tubes, unfamiliar machinery of unknown function that whirred and clicked and popped. A queer metallic smell filled the air but I couldn’t quite place its origin. Amber light streamed into the room through several high, narrow windows, illuminating the far wall, which oddly enough was fitted with sets of chains and manacles like those I’d left behind in the city gaol. The plaster was broken and stained, suggesting that whoever had been kept here had clawed at the wall in agony. Was this a laboratory, a prison or a torture chamber? Perhaps all three. None of what I saw placed me at ease.
A rotund, cheerfully smiling gentleman came into the room through another door. He wore a black uniform with an officer’s scarlet sash about his portly waist. The twin sawblades of the Imperial Medical Corps adorned his collar. His pale blue eyes peered at me through the thick lenses of his spectacles. He said, “Pray tell, who is this fine specimen, Ludwig?”
“Herr Thenck sent him, Doctor Schmidt,” Ludwig said. “He’s from the prison.” He waved his little hand in front of his nose. “Which explains the smell.”
Schmidt came to stand before me, apparently unaffected by how I looked or smelled. He studied me closely for a while and then, without asking permission, he prised my left eye wide open with his thumb and forefinger. I stood silently through this odd procedure, too surprised to object.
“Please unbutton your shirt,” Schmidt said. I did so. He lifted a shuttered storm lantern from one of the tables and opened it. Its heat burned my neck. “Good, very good,” he muttered under his breath. He closed the lantern and returned it to the table. I was about to button my shirt again when he said, “You were wounded in The War?”
He’d noticed the scar on my chest. “Yes. A Moskovian musket ball.”
“It penetrated the lung?”
“Yes.”
“You are very fortunate to be alive. A fraction to the left and the ball would have struck your heart. Do you have any difficulty in breathing?”
“Not now. Sometimes I have to sit down and rest after any strenuous exercise, however.”
He nodded, but asked no other questions.
“Well, Herr Doctor? Was I right?” Otto Thenck said. He’d been watching from another doorway. He entered the laboratory and moved to join Schmidt.
“Indeed you were,” Schmidt said. “The wounds show up clearly under the lamplight. But how did you know, Herr Thenck?”
Thenck didn’t answer. Instead he asked me, “Do you remember how and when it happened?”
“I was wounded in Moskovia,” I said, not at all sure what he was referring to.
Thenck looked at Schmidt, who said, “Once again we find that the victim remembers nothing of the incident. The filth are indeed skilful in masking their activities.” He pursed his lips. “The elixir will restore his lost memories. I see no reason why we should not proceed at once.”
“Neither do I,” Thenck said. “Go ahead, Herr Doctor.”
Lost memories? What in Hades’ name were they talking about? Schmidt picked up a stoppered glass bottle. He held it up to the light and shook it experimentally. Then he uncorked the bottle and turned to face me again.
“Stick out your tongue,” he ordered.
I hesitated, suspicious. Schmidt shook his head in obvious irritation. “There is nothing to fear. This will allow you to recall the memories that were deliberately hidden by the vampyre filth that drank your blood.”
“Drank my—? Are you insane?” The absurdity of his statement confused and angered me. Vampyres were mere creatures of legend. Mothers threatened unruly children that they’d be snatched from their beds by vampyres if they were naughty. Did Schmidt really expect me to believe such nonsense?
And yet—
And yet there had been stories. I’d heard soldiers who’d served with General Beethoven’s 5th Army in Transylvania speak of what they’d encountered in that dark, remote place. Of undead rising out of the ground. Of flying things in the night.
I shook my head. How could any intelligent man be expected to accept such fiction?
“Do as Doctor Schmidt says, Herr Manfred,” Thenck ordered in his soft, infinitely dangerous voice. He reminded me that this had nothing to do with fairy tales. The thought of a noose tightening about my neck made me open my mouth and stick my tongue out.
Slowly, carefully, Schmidt tilted the bottle until a single drop of green liquid left the neck and fell onto my tongue—
An avalanche of memories.
We’d met aboard the overnight coach traveling from Guttzeig to High Sazburg. After the first few stops at various mountain villages, we had the coach all to ourselves. It was a long trip and,
as people do, we started talking. She told me her name was Frauline Ulrike Dornier, and that she was soon to be married to a sea captain who commanded one of the new ironclads of the Kaiserine’s Imperial High Seas Fleet. They planned to live in the port of Bremhagen and raise six children. In return, I told her I’d been recently invalided out of the Army because of the chest wound I’d sustained in Moskovia, and was journeying to High Sazburg to seek employment. A cousin who lived in the city had written to tell me that merchants were always looking for trustworthy bodyguards, and Army veterans received preferential consideration. I’d been exercising steadily since my release from military hospital, fencing twice a day to build up my strength and stamina. My shortness of breath only became a problem if I had to exert myself for prolonged periods.
We were getting along famously until I lifted the curtain to see where we were on the mountain road. A shaft of light from the rising moon struck Frauline Dornier and she recoiled from the window in shocked surprise. In the space of a single heartbeat she changed from a beautiful young woman to a snarling harpy with cat eyes and fangs as long as my fingers. She lunged at me, pinning me against my seat with fantastic strength. I tried to break free, but couldn’t. Her mouth opened wider than it should have been able to; her fangs grazed my neck—
I opened my eyes. Thenck and Schmidt were staring at me dispassionately, as if I were a specimen insect under the lens of a microscope, my wings spread and pinned, my belly ripe for the scalpel. I could only marvel at what Schmidt had done. My attacker had somehow concealed my recollection of her assault, but whatever Schmidt had given me had torn away her deception, revealing the entire disgusting business.
“Now do you remember what happened?” Thenck asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I remember only too well. There was—a woman. Or at least, I thought she was a woman….”
“She was vampyre,” Schmidt said, matter-of-factly. “She did not drink enough of your blood to kill you, therefore you are still alive, and still human. Had she drained you sufficiently for death to occur, you would now be vampyre yourself.” He took off his spectacles and began cleaning the thick lenses with the end of his officer’s sash. “Or, if she did not wish you to become vampyre at the moment of your death, you would have become a mindless undead zombie instead, rotting slowly until your body eventually fell apart. A far worse fate, as I’m sure you’ll agree?”
White Tiger Page 40
