This rumbling monster was the industrial Babbage analytical engine. Engine No 5. The eyes and ears of the free Vilnius intelligence forces. Yet another joint miracle of the Mechanics and Alchemists of the Alliance.
Whenever Mechanic Aloysius allowed himself to enjoy a strong drink, he was overcome by a sudden urge to boast about not having to go into town for the news. All the significant events were reported to him in his tiny cellar, by the rumbling Engine No 5. Pursuant to the orders of the Council of Vilnius this little room was constantly flooded with a vast amount of personal information: on new arrivals from other cities of the Alliance, on changes of place of residence or workplace, on changes to marital status, on baptisms and religious conversions from one faith to another, on births and deaths, as well as acquisitions of valuable property. Every such event was to be marked on a punched card and sent to the cellar in Sluskai Palace, where Aloysius would feed the card into Engine No 5.
All the Alliance cities, except for Constantinople (the Turks still felt they were unable to trust the mechanical inventions of the Alliance) had one of these improved versions of the engine. The Alliance city leaders treated every Summit as a good opportunity to show off their machines, while the London police were totally baffled by the fact that the Englishman Babbage’s invention had found a much better application in the hands of the free-city hotspurs than in the British Empire itself.
On the other hand, the Alliance was in no rush to patent and sell the machines – however, it did urge the Guild of Mechanics to perfect them as far as possible, eliminating all defects.
It was true, Engines No 5, like the proverbial Cerberus, were overseeing an inconceivable amount of data, but to say that the Mechanics had managed to avoid all problems would be incorrect. The population of the Alliance cities grew rapidly, while the machines’ controllers felt overwhelmed in the face of the enormous stream of information. By the time they finally found their way into the machine, thousands of punched cards were out of date, and cases like the following story were not uncommon: by the time the machine heard about a certain Petras of Paplauja receiving the Sacrament of Matrimony, he had already been resting his soul in the Vingis Cemetery for some time, having suffered death by battery. None other than his own wife had raised an iron frying pan against him during an episode of domestic abuse.
Another difficulty was that the engines could only trace the actions of Alliance passport holders (having a passport was a strict requirement of the cities’ security services), but for a considerable proportion of people ending up in the free cities while fleeing from the Tsar, Kaiser or Sultan, a passport was something that could make their life considerably more complicated. So Engine No 5, just like her sisters in Krakow, Reval and Prague, was an out-dated, overloaded and imprecise machine. Besides, despite Aloysius’ heroic willpower, it was on its last legs.
Nevertheless, the Legate of Vilnius was hopeful of finding his needle in the haystack. And not only that – he also hoped to find the relative of that needle.
Aloysius had taken in the Legate’s instructions when his ears were still free from earplugs, so now he was happily jumping around his beloved machine, the orange light making him look like an oversized sideburned monkey. The mechanic swiftly inserted the card bearing the name of Pranciskus Baltrus into Engine No 5, then climbed the tall wheeled metal ladder that nearly reached the ceiling, before setting about turning the handles, pulling and pushing levers, his eyes darting from one oscillating indicator to another.
The choking and moaning machine began to trawl through her vast and clumsy memory deposits, trying to locate the Legate’s man. The wisps of hot steam snaking from the gaps nearly burned the mechanic’s hands, but it didn’t matter to him at all. He jumped down, pushed the ladder to a different position, fed an empty punched card into the machine, and increased the pressure in the steam boiler, before clambering back to the ceiling. Having cleared her throat, the machine roared one last time before spitting the card out. A brief moment later Aloysius was holding it against the light and examining the holes.
“Good girl! See, what a good girl she is!” he shouted triumphantly, completely oblivious to the fact that the Legate could not hear a word he was saying.
Pulling at the Mechanic’s sleeve, Sidabras signalled towards the door with his head.
Having escaped from the Kingdom of Engine No 5, the Legate breathed a sigh of relief and removed the earplugs. Impatiently, Aloysius shuffled around, as if in the middle of some ritual dance.
“We did it! We did it!” he sang waving the card in the air. “Over here, Legate! Here,” he poked his finger at the holes. “Pranciskus Baltrus. Citizen of Vilnius. Scientist, zoologist. Worked at the University Dominium. Was head of the experimental laboratory. Several years ago started working for the Vitamancers. Nature of work unclear. Permanent place of residence unknown.”
“Novovileysk Hospital,” said Sidabras in his head. It now became absolutely clear to him why the Vitamancers had been hiding him there. With no exceptions, all official Vilnius hospitals were to supply Engine No 5 with information on all of their patients. But this requirement was obviously not applicable to Novovileysk. But how did the need to conceal him at the psychiatric hospital arise? And who got him out of there?”
“But that’s not all,” Aloysius continued, pointing his finger at some other holes. “We have also found information on Baltrus’ next of kin. An aunt on his father’s side – Marina Baltrus. Lives in Vilnius, in Sharp End, not far from Rasos Cemetery.”
Clearly pleased with the news Sidabras turned on his heel and leaped up the stairs.
“Any time!” Aloysius yelled into the space above him, before sticking the earplugs back in his ears and returning to Engine No 5, toolbox in hand.
Sidabras had not yet left the cellars of Sluskai Palace, when his ears were subjected to a loud noise. As it was coming from reception, he decided to check. Surprised, he paused in the doorway.
In the middle of the hall a fat man was down on his knees sobbing his heart out, large tears rolling down his plump cheeks. A duty officer and Lt. Michal Vielholskiy were awkwardly standing beside him.
His eyes alighted on the Legate, and he reached out to him and, shaking his head and releasing a quivering mumble:
“I meant no harm! The Russian said he would take the drawings away and no one would ever set eyes on them again. But now Tomash is gooone... gooone!”
Sidabras rubbed his temples, watching Felix drowning in his inconsolable grief. He then nodded over to Vielholskiy, turned round and strode towards the interrogation cells.
Chapter XXV
Vilnius, Morning
25 04 1905
The church bells of Vilnius were ringing for nine in the morning. First came St Casimier’s bells (slightly earlier than they should have), and then, a short while later, the tolls of Bernardines and the Holy Spirit joined in, with St Johns’ only waking at nine on the dot. But their eventual announcement of the time activated the peal of the Cathedral bells, followed by a bout of ringing from other bell towers in the Old Town, until, with the chorus of the tolls dying away, St Peter and Paul’s burst in with their powerful chimes. There had been a time when the tolling bells were drowned by the hourly howl of the iron wolf of Viscigavas, but following Prelate Masalskis’ threat with God’s punishment, the Council of Vilnius had ordered the Mechanics to shut their statue up, only allowing it to be switched on days of rest.
It looked like the start of a beautiful warm day. Even though the dawn had brought in some rain, an easterly wind soon blew the clouds away and the sun was now shining in the clear blue sky, amidst occasional benevolent shreds of white cloud.
Seen from above, the eastern part of Vilnius resembled an anthill. Traders and their stalls of all shapes and forms had sprung up like mushrooms after rain along the entire length of St George’s Avenue, occupying a significant area of pavements – wooden up until very recently, but now paved in stone. On the occasion of the Summit, the Council of Vi
lnius doubled the stall fee to two grivnas for a two-sagene-wide pavement table, but since the traders were extremely eager to get a spot on the Avenue, Didzioji Street or Pohulianka, they paid without arguing.
It seemed that the crowds of people who had gushed out into the streets this early morning found it difficult to confine themselves to the pavements and would every now and then flood out into the street like a powerful wave, infuriating steam trolley operators, drivers of serpoletts and stage coaches, as well as the omnipresent unicyclists. A bird’s eye view clearly revealed the eventual goal of the city residents making their way along the Avenue. Long queues had already formed outside the gigantic white dome in Lukiskes Square, where the Summit exhibition was to open today.
The bird’s eye view really opened the city up for you.
Legate of Vilnius Antanas Sidabras was sipping steaming hot tea from a large tin cup. It was made according to a special Brazilian jungle recipe, passed on by other Legionnaires. The tea did not only scald his palate, but also immediately cleared his head. Sidabras tossed his head back, flung the soggy tea leaves over the gondola edge, and had another look down.
Vilnius Intelligence Forces owned two tiny surveillance dirigibles: The Vaiselga and The Svarnas. In observance of Legate Sidabras’ orders, at the first sign of dawn they were both suspended above the roofs of Vilnius. When this plan had reached the ears of the Navigators yesterday, with the full support of the Direction Councillor, they had done all they could to talk Sidabras out of it. They insisted that all the air routes above Vilnius would be crammed like a wise farmer’s larder prior to the onset of winter, but Sidabras had remained adamant. Vilnius was chock-a-block with people, and the air reconnaissance officers were to become the eyes and ears of the guards. They were already proving useful: protective barriers were being hurriedly built around the quarter of University Dominium, which was to be turned into a stage for the main events of the Summit; encountering the barriers, the crowds blocked the surrounding streets, and the crew of the surveillance dirigible was already engaged in diverting people away by issuing commands over the wireless.
Sidabras backed away from the railing of the gondola, handing over to his Lieutenants – Michal Vielholskiy and Justas Vagneris. In the wake of a hard night spent interrogating Porcijanka, Sidabras had decided to kill three birds with one stone: to clear his head, to inspect the city from the sky and discuss further actions with his confidantes. The previous night had completely exhausted him. As Porcijanka was constantly overcome by hysteria, Sidabras had had no choice but to keep calling the duty doctor, thus extending the interview into the early hours. Besides, Sidabras was not made out of iron, and his entire body was acutely feeling the stress of recent days, including his outing to Novovileysk. Having squeezed out of Porcijanka all that he could have possibly given him, especially the element about the Russian agent going by the name of Skorik purchasing the secret drawings, he had left the weakling to recover in a cell. At the break of day he sent his patrols to Sharp End in search of Marina Baltrus, before finally collapsing into his bed, having imposed strictest instructions on the duty officer to wake him after two hours.
Yet Sidabras didn’t sleep a wink, as the elements of the mystery reverberated around his head: the Vitamancer scientist and his mysterious disappearance from hospital and then the metalworkers who were not metalworkers at all, but Russian agents, behaving as if they were the bosses of Vilnius. He tossed and turned for a long time, until, hearing the knock on the door, he jumped out of bed and was on his way to the office a moment later.
The Legionnaires were back from Sharp End, but they had returned with bad news.
“We were welcomed by the locals. With sticks and axes,” the sergeant in charge of the raid reported in concise sentences. “We thought we had got into real trouble, but then locals calmed down once they realised who we were. It appeared that Sharp End had some visitors yesterday. They pulled the whole flat apart, broke things, turned furniture upside down, beat and scared to death...” The sergeant paused, lowering his eyes to his notepad. “They beat up resident Marina Baltrus, while they were grilling her as to the whereabouts of Pranciskus Baltrus. They would have killed the woman, had she not managed to free herself and run outside, the entire yard resounding with her screams. By the time the neighbours had gathered outside, the assailants had gone without a trace. The neighbours concluded that they must have been criminals and armed themselves in case they came back. Baltrus claims to have no knowledge of Pranciskus Baltrus, she is not in touch with him and can’t remember the last time she saw him. She said the same to the attackers. Had we arrested the woman and tried to deliver her to Sluskai, this would have infuriated the locals even more, and bloodshed could have become a real possibility. Therefore I took the decision to let the woman stay at home, but posted two officers to watch over her.”
“That was the right decision,” Sidabras nodded. “The less tension in the city, the better. Go and rest.”
With the sergeant out of the room, Sidabras got up and rubbed his temples. Although he had promised himself not to do it ever again, he opened the latest issue of The Truth of Vilnius, which was nothing short of screaming into his face about massive strikes, soon to spread all over Vilnius. Following a quick scan of the headlines, he banged his fist against the desk, sending a metal ink pot flying into the air, its lid falling off and rolling across the floor. Sidabras hated it when someone beat him to something. And this was the second time.
He called the duty officer with a request to prepare a large hotjug of the special tea, and then summoned The Vaiselga pilot.
He was now inside the dirigible, getting ready to talk with Lieutenants Michal Vielholskiy and Justas Vagneris.
“Damn it all,” he muttered under his breath, beckoning the two to approach. He suddenly felt like a juggler overcome with the realisation that there was no way he could catch all the balls he’d thrown into the air, and that at least one of them would inevitably hit the ground.
Vielholskiy and Vagneris came up to him. Their grim faces clearly conveyed their deep understanding of their boss’ state of mind. Vagneris was feeling especially uneasy, as the second Vitamancer serpolett had been lost by the corporal of his squad, resulting in Ujeiskiy being murdered. The mercenaries were convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that his murder was a Vitamancer job, and that the same gang of phoenix worshippers had paid a visit to Marina Baltrus. Unfortunately, there was no evidence. The professional who had done the dirty job in the Steam City common house had left no trace. And trying to find something in Sharp End was an exercise in futility. The locals were of no use at all: not even that they were not going to help, they would actively interfere.
The mindful pilot made the airship gain altitude. The view of Vilnius down below became clear and expansive, like a map spread out on a table.
“We’ve got some very difficult days ahead,” Sidabras said, scrutinising both his men. “Reinforcements are on the way, but we will still be short of people.”
Other cities of the Alliance would send their own Legionnaires to help maintain public order in the host city, but they did it reluctantly and the numbers of allocated men were very small. They would justify their position by explaining that they could not be left without protection themselves. But the truth was that ‘one’s own shirt is closer to one’s chest’, and so they did not want to pay the Legionnaires to work in a foreign city.
“The main focus of attention will be University Dominium,” instructed Sidabras. “Michal, you will keep watch over the University and the Town Hall.” Sidabras bent overboard to have a better look at the city stretching out below. “Position the support squads here, here and there,” he pointed at the Dominium streets and courtyards around St Johns’ bell tower and Town Hall Square. “The assault squad will be deployed in the square, while the portable cannons will be positioned on the roofs over here and there, but we will only turn to them as a last resort.”
In the dirigible hanging aloft under t
he Vilnius sky, Sidabras’ finger drew invisible figures in the air, while his very composed Lieutenants followed his every gesture, signalling their understanding with nods of the head.
“And what about the protection of VIP guests?” wondered Vagneris.
“Before the banquet tonight I am meeting the security chiefs of all the participating countries. We will meet the guests in Viscigavas and see them to their hotels. From then on their own security will take care of them. We will assist them in every way we can but our main duty is to patrol Vilnius and maintain order on the streets,” Sidabras spoke in a confident voice. “And another thing. Even though Baron Nathan Rothschild will be guarded by his personal security squad, our men will encircle them, forming an outer ring.” Sidabras turned to look at Vagneris. “You are responsible for security in the city during the holiday. Organise as many squads as possible, even if only small ones, making sure your presence is felt everywhere. Get constables involved, get mercenaries from other places of the Alliance involved, and see that each squad has no fewer than two of our men. Keep an eye on places that are bound to attract the largest crowds: outside the Exhibition Dome in Lukiskes, in the Avenue, in Mirth City and Pohulianka. Deploy mobile posts on all bridges, most importantly – on Green Bridge. Arrange it with the Mechanics to supply us with all the wireless that they currently have in their possession, and make sure each post has a signaller to relay messages with no delay.”
Hour of the Wolf Page 28
