Hour of the Wolf

by Andrius B Tapinas

  His trembling hand finally locating the whistle, the patrolman took a deep breath and blew. The shrill siren slit the night. People in the surrounding streets tried to shut their ears, cursed and searched for the source of the noise. But the siren wouldn’t stop, it’s echo bounced off the walls and glided over the streets.

  “Attention everyone, attention! Danger, the city is in danger! Attention everyone, attention!”

  Their heads raised in astonishment, the mercenaries on duty in the streets picked up their own whistles.

  “Attention everyone, attention! Danger, the city is in danger! Attention everyone, attention!”

  The panting Legionnaire stumbled inside Baltasis Stralis, where he was met by Lt. Justas Vagneris, a signaller, a few mercenaries and constables. The place began to fill with other Legionnaires, who were answering the alarm.

  “A beast! A metal beast near the Orthodox church in Mirth City!” the distraught Legionnaire yelled. “A wolf made of metal! A monster! Kills people! Danger! Pass it on to anyone who can hear you!” he told the signaller.

  The signaller of the wireless machine furrowed his brow. The constable, who was sitting beside him, sneered.

  “I think sobering up wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” he suggested.

  The men from the Vilnius Legion, however, did not share his opinion. The things that they had come across in the jungles of Madagascar and the deserts of Mexico appeared so unreal, that they did not see any reason why they shouldn’t believe their comrades. Lt. Justas Vagneris questioned the Legionnaire about the monster’s whereabouts and its behaviour, before turning to face the signaller.

  “Declare an immediate general alarm! Tell Sluskai to get The Vaiselga or The Svarnas into the air. A message to all patrols: there should not be a single civilian left on the streets. Prepare for an armed confrontation.”

  “Our guns can’t penetrate the monster! The bullets bounce of it!” the patrolman moaned.

  “Don’t speak too soon,” Vagneris’ voice sounded chilly. He then turned back to the signaller. “A message for Steam City’s armoury: we urgently need a portable cannon here. A message for the Knights of the Cathedral: all church bells must toll. People will know that something has happened. Everyone else follow me!”

  The signaller started tapping the keys. His message began with two words: level three.

  Sirens ratcheted up in Sluskai. Dirigible pilots, forced out of their beds only a minute ago, were now running up the stairs and onto the palace roof, buttoning their uniforms and pushing goggles down from their foreheads as they ran. The arsenal resounded with the sound of thumping feet, and another minute later the Lower Castle bells rang, immediately echoed by those in the Cathedral’s Belltower.

  The reclusive scientist from Zverynas and his foster daughter were visited by entirely different dreams that night, evoked by different types of medication. The reasons for their waking were also as different as day and night.

  Mila opened her eyes and sat up in bed. The night outside her window was black as coal, and the shrubs swung longingly with the wind. Somewhere in the distance the city’s night time frolics were in full swing, but the usual Zverynas peace remained intact. Nevertheless, something was going on. The girl listened up.

  Wailing. A barely-heard wailing. And not just one voice, but several voices wailing together. She looked up to the shelf. Her three little toys – Pierrot, Scaramuccia and Columbina, who would have normally be calm and frozen, were now nodding with their eyes wide open, a sad soft squealing coming out of their open mouths.

  “This is impossible, they haven’t been warmed up,” Mila felt baffled.

  And then, for no palpable reason, she sensed some inexplicable threat. Something very bad was happening somewhere. The toys could feel it.

  Having slipped out of bed and deliberated for a moment, the girl put on a light summer dress and grabbed a pair of comfortable shoes. With Scaramuccia under her arm she tip-toed out of the room and went downstairs.

  In the garden outside a light night breeze brushed against her cheeks. Lost in thought she slipped on her shoes. The last thing she remembered was feeling impossibly hot. And the hill. And after that? After that everything vanished in a fog.

  Finally realising it was not the best moment to ponder over the past, she strolled in the direction of the city centre, with the squealing Scaramuccia in her arms. She felt as if she were being pulled by an invisible magnet and allowed herself to be guided by intuition alone. As she stepped into St George’s Avenue, the bells of Vilnius’ churches began to ring.

  Tvardauskis was also woken by the bells. He tried to free himself of the annoying tolls by shaking his head, and then looked around, not quite comprehending where he was. And then like a tidal wave the day’s events rushed at him. Still slightly unsteady on his feet, Tvardauskis got up and scratched his face. The Fetch’s nail marks were still visible, but at least the medication had neutralised the venom.

  Steadying himself against the wall, the scientist left the secret room, closed the laboratory door and slowly climbed up the stairs. His plan was to reach the bedroom, collapse into bed and sleep like a log until midday. But before he could do that, he felt the need to check on Mila and see if the persistent bells were not disturbing her too much.

  When Tvardauskis cautiously opened the girl’s bedroom door, all he found was an empty tousled bed. The scientist’s eyes slid over the shelves. On one of them he saw Pierrot and Columbina. Scaramuccia was gone.

  The bells persisted in their ringing.

  “The bell ringers must have gone mad,” grumbled Tvardauskis.

  And then he heard the wailing. A quiet and ghastly wailing, loaded with fear and anxiety, emanating from the toys’ mouths.

  He knit his eyebrows.

  Mila was not there.

  The church bells tolled for an extraordinary long time.

  The switched-off little automatons were wailing with fear.

  Tvardauskis dashed out of the room and into the laboratory. He leaned over the Elektrolab. Where was Mila?

  Something abominable was happening in Vilnius.

  With the Town Hall banquet over, the honoured guests dispersed. None of them, however, went back to their hotels. Determined to finally realise the dreams they had bottled up throughout the Summit of the intimate caresses of Vilnius’ top beauties, Burgomaster Venslauskis-Venskus and his colleagues from other cities rushed into the arms of the city’s most expensive girls. Others chose to mark the end to the event in more modest ways.

  Among them was Vileisis, who had invited councillors from other cities, exhibition organisers, inventors and his colleagues to the Guild of Mechanics for a glass of wine. Only those whom he saw as captivating or useful interlocutors were among this evening’s guests. Although normally favouring his bed in the evenings, tonight Jonas Basanavicius chose to spend his time here. Not being an imbiber of strong drink himself, the chief Vilnius Alchemist allowed himself to be intoxicated by captivating conversation, and didn’t notice how the time flew before the clocks in his reception room struck four in the morning.

  At that time of night the subject of the heated conversation was the magic promethelium and its possible derivatives, which could be achieved by complementing it with various alchemical extracts. Suddenly there was the sound of tramping feet outside and the Guild’s duty guard, who was also its wireless operator, stumbled in through the door. As soon as he caught his breath after delivering the terrifying news, the church tolls began to ring. The guests rushed to the windows. Two bright rays of light were slowly ascending from the yard of Sluskai Palace on the other side of the river – the pilots of The Svarnas and The Vaiselga had turned the great Volta lanterns on.

  The guests’ faces clouded over, while that of Vileisis turned white as sheet. He was suddenly struck by the recollection of theVilnius Legate’s visit a few days ago, and the drawings that he had brought, which then seemed like a representation of someone’s madness or a forgery.

  “Pet
ras, what is the matter with you?” enquired one of the leading German engineers from the Kaiser’s industrial monster Allgemeine Elektrisitats. “Do you know who the monster is?”

  “I think I do,” Vileisis replied, his good hand rubbing the forehead. “A bionic.”

  “What?” the engineer couldn’t believe his ears. “But that is impossible!”

  “Only yesterday I would have claimed so myself,” Vileisis uttered before addressing the guests. “Sirs, did you hear the Legionnaires’ request? We haven’t got much time, let’s hurry.”

  “We would like to offer our assistance,” a few people stepped forward.

  “All help will be greatly appreciated,” responded Vileisis. “We need people at the armoury to load one or two cannons onto the Legion’s open carriages, which are currently on their way here from Sluskai.”

  “With the streets still bursting with people, it might take a while,” concluded Direction Councillor Scherbakov, gazing out of the window.

  “If indeed it is a bionic, cannons won’t be of much use,” Vileisis muttered. “A bionic is no doubt very fast. But still...” he stepped into the elevator. “Who is going to the armoury with me? Are you coming, Jonas?” he asked.

  Basanavicius tore his eyes from the dark sky and the two rays of light emanating from the Legion’s reconnaisance dirigibles, which darted around like two swooping daggers, searching for the monster across the city’s floor.

  “I think I have a better idea,” the Alchemist replied.

  * * *

  The wolf lumbered along Isganytojo Street. The single remaining Legionnaire, whom the beast was now treating as its target, kept walking backwards away from it and paused. Although he fully comprehended that bullets were utterly ineffective against the monster, he hurriedly stuffed a new cartridge into his pistol.

  A student group tumbled out of the nearby Latako Street inn, with a song trailing behind them, and, turning carelessly into Boksto Street, immediately found themselves faced with the Iron Wolf. The initial horror froze them to the spot for a few moments. But as soon as it wore off, they began to push and shove each other frantically, before racing back to Latako street, their terrified screams filling the night time air.

  The gears in the Wolf’s head began to turn. “More than one” – with an instant assessment of the number of targets in its head, the monster loped after the group. Two leaps later it was already hard on the heels of the runners, the slowest one between its jaws, and its iron side pounding the others. The people were propelled like billiard balls through the air, filling it with the cracking sounds of breaking bones and moans. The limp body of a victim in its maw, the monster shook its head, setting the poor soul on a trajectory that took him several metres through the air and ended with a bang against the wall. He slid down the wall and never stirred again. The Wolf paused, its muzzle pointing down. Ahead it had nothing but easy prey – injured and wailing people, paralyzed with terror, who only a minute ago thought they were having the best night of their life.

  “Aooooooooooo!” – if only someone had cared to pay attention, they would have detected a malicious note in the metallic howl. The living part of the brain felt triumphant – the Wolf was exterminating its natural enemies.

  The howl was interrupted by the jarring shriek of the mechanical whistle. The beast turned towards the sound.

  The Legionnaire directed his revolver and let it bark dully till he ran out of shots. As a special metal alloy had been used for the monster’s body (Pranciskus Baltrus had been especially pleased to have laid his hands on it), the bullets bounced off, causing not even a scrape. When one of them opportunely hit the monster’s red eye and pierced it, it sent shards flying and inspired a joyous yelp from the Legionnaire. It was cut short only a moment later, however, when he realised his celebration had been terribly premature. All he had done was break the protective glass: the red flame continued to burn.

  Now the daring patrolman had the Wolf’s full attention. Remembering the helpless victims lying around Latako Street no more, it lowered his head and glared up at the shooter. This target was a direct threat to it, and it was certain it had to be annihilated with no delay.

  “Run! People, run! Hide in your homes!” the Legionnaire shouted at the top of his lungs, before darting along Boksto Street himself.

  A few dozen metres was all that separated him from the beast now but he gained a few seconds on account of the gears turning in the Wolf’s head. Despite everything he had a ghost of a chance of escape – the patrolman had witnessed the speed at which the monster charged about and the brute force with which it tossed people.

  The Legionnaire threw himself at the first door on his way, trying to open it. It was locked. The one next to it was locked as well. It was obvious, no city dweller would dare to leave their door unlocked on such a heated night of carousing.

  The Wolf rushed headlong behind the patrolman. Every strike of its metal paws against the cobble stones sent sparks flying. Running at lung-bursting speed, the Legionnaire was aiming for the gateway two houses away, but the thumping behind his back was getting closer and closer. He had no doubt the monster would catch up with him before he could conceal himself in the gateway.

  The running Wolf – its open jaws smeared with fresh and caked blood – gained speed for a jump.

  Suddenly the Iron Wolf became shrouded in a stream of light beaming down from the dark depths of the sky. The beast stopped and lifted its muzzle only to be blinded by the blazing light. This prompted the immediate activation of the mechanical light-blocking filters inside its head. As one of its eyes was no longer protected by the glass, it was incapable of warding off the light and suffered the blinding effect. The beast began to thrash about, attempting to screen its eyes from the glare.

  Succeeding in reaching the gateway, the Legionnaire disappeared inside with a sigh of relief.

  “Hold the light!” yelled The Vaiselga pilot to the guard, shining the powerful Volta lantern over the Wolf. “Send a wireless report to all posts – the monster is in Boksto Street.”

  * * *

  “What are you up to, Jonas?” Vileisis yelled, struggling not to fall behind the Alchemist.

  It seemed the threat to the city had wiped ten years off Basanavicius’ life. Accompanied by several other guests he and Vileisis ran along the narrow gaps separating the lightless and mute warehouses of Steam City. Scherbakov and a few others rushed to the armoury, to offer their assistance to the gunners.

  “But you have said before that cannons are powerless when it comes to stopping a bionic. And we are not going to bomb the streets, are we?” Basanavicius panted but kept on talking, his eyes franticly checking the warehouse numbers, as if searching for something. “But isn’t it confusing here? In broad daylight it looks completely different,” he mumbled.

  “In broad daylight everything looks different,” Vileisis remarked. “It might be easier if you told me what you are looking for.”

  But the Alchemist had already found his storage space. Having briskly unlocked the double door, he flung it wide open. Vileisis thrust his lantern inside.

  There stood Basanavicius’ glider the Dragon Fly, parked on top of a wheeled platform, four wide belts keeping it securely fastened on all four sides. The Alchemist made his way to the flying machine. The steam batteries were full and so were the spare ones, located behind the pilot’s seat.

  “I landed it on the platform yesterday for it to be pulled to the Mechanics by horses. I asked them to perform some minor repairs and fill the batteries,” explained Basanavicius. “I was planning to collect it in the next couple of days after the city had returned to normal. I obviously had no idea I would need it today.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” one of the other men asked.

  “And is it not obvious?” Basanavicius said, showing disapproval by shaking his bushy beard. He hated the idea of wasting time on stupid questions. “While the Legion’s carriages do not stand a chance to roll at the bionic’s
speed, the Dragon Fly is fast and agile. All we need to do is pull it to the gunners really quick and have a heavy machinegun fixed to its nose.”

  “Do you think it will take off with a machinegun on board, Jonas?” Vileisis sounded doubtful. “Will it sustain flight?”

  “We won’t know unless we give it a try,” Basanavicius retorted, grabbing the shafts. “Let’s not waste any time. I would be most appreciative of everybody’s help.”

  The six men – city councillors, scientists and famous Mechanics of the Alliance – pushed the Dragon Fly on the wheeled platform into the yard, before harnessing themselves up and pulling it along Steam City’s streets in the direction of the armoury.

  Having escaped the monster, the Legionnaire squeezed through the narrow gateway and only then, when the throbbing sound in his ears finally subsided, became aware of the awful clamour in which the streets were drowning. The demented tolls of church bells intermingled with frenzied amplified commands from the sky – The Vaiselga’s pilot was telling people to hide inside the buildings. Only someone completely deaf or totally stupid would have failed to understand that the city was hosting some truly abominable events and that they were better off staying inside.

  But it appeared that Vilnius had a plethora of idiots. Completely ignoring the warnings, sirens and the omnipresent ringing of the bells, or maybe on the contrary – lured by them – some people couldn’t help going out. They had to see the monster wreak havoc on the city with their own eyes.

  The guards wasted no time trying to convince them otherwise. With clubs in their hands, they shoved people inside the inns and pubs, and even before they knew it, the streets were deserted.

  The flood of light caused the Wolf to lose its clear vision but once the filters began to work, the monster quickly adjusted. Slowly advancing along Boksto Street the beast’s heavy head swayed from side to side, its iron claws clicking against the cobblestones.

  A littler further down the street the Wolf stopped and pricked up its metal ears. Its attention had been drawn by a sound to the right. When he saw nobody there, he turned into Saviciaus Street.