A Sojourn in Bohemia

by G. D. Falksen

  And with that, he stumbled to the door, his head spinning half from the sudden revelation and half from the five—had it been five?—drinks he had downed in his brief time in the parlor. As he went, he heard one of the revolutionaries ask:

  “He’s an odd one. Is he mad or something?”

  “Don’t mind him,” Wilhelm replied. “He’s just a scientist.”

  * * * *

  In a daze, Friedrich rushed back to his laboratory. His head swam and his ears sang from the heavy drink he had imbibed. It would pass soon; it always did. But there had been enough of it in so short a space of time that, coupled with fatigue, it had left him rather tipsy. But in that hint of inebriation, he had found the key to his failure!

  Not beast, but man! Of course the rats had succumbed to cancer and decay. Surely their bodies were weaker than that of a human, of a more highly developed creature almost two hundred pounds heavier than they! Just because their primitive forms could not withstand the rigors imposed upon them, it did not mean that man could not!

  Friedrich stumbled against the door frame and shook his head. It was not really the drink so much as the exhaustion the plagued him so, but it was all the same. He had found the solution!

  Stumbling to his work table, Friedrich measured out a syringe full of his latest formula. Already the blur of momentary intoxication was leaving him. It always did. He was so often the last person drunk and the first person sober. But sobriety would bring with it doubt and hesitation. What he needed now was action.

  Rolling up his sleeve, Friedrich jabbed the syringe into his arm and injected a full double dose of the solution into his body.

  Come what may, he thought, let me be the test.

  Either he would be proven right or he would die. Either way, he had long passed the threshold of hesitation. No more experiments, no more failures, no more dead rats.

  Death or immortality. That was all he would accept.

  * * * *

  It was with high spirits that Friedrich returned to the parlor a few minutes later. His head swam a little from the heavy drink, but true to form, the worst of the intoxication had passed. He would soon remedy that.

  The revolutionaries were already far more into their cups, shouting at one another in incoherent debate and often pausing to tearfully embrace each other as comrades and toast their impending revolution. Stanislav jumped to his feet and embraced Friedrich when he entered. Friedrich hugged his friend back, tightly and with joy. None of the others would understand, but he had accomplished something wonderful tonight.

  Friedrich took the bottle from the table and drank deeply from it before passing it to Stanislav and walking to Zoya’s side. Zoya was already laying down the preliminary brush strokes for Erzsebet’s portrait. It was more conventional than her usual style, a sure sign that she had been drinking. But of course! They had all been drinking, for what else were artists and revolutionaries to do when they were not changing the world?

  “What do you think?” Zoya asked.

  Friedrich studied the painting and then studied Erzsebet.

  “Magnificent,” he declared.

  “Her or the painting?” Zoya asked.

  This gave Friedrich pause, for he had not really considered the option of one or the other.

  “Both?” he ventured.

  Zoya chuckled, then sighed. “Oh Freddie. Still…I suppose there is only one person you have eyes for, no matter who poses in front of you.”

  Friedrich blinked a few times, slightly confused. It was not just the drink. He suddenly felt very warm. The injection had done something as well, filling his veins with heat and muddling his thoughts.

  Zoya sighed. “Go and stand next to Erzsebet.”

  “Shouldn’t it be Stanislav?” Friedrich asked.

  “Stanislav is too busy with his friends,” Zoya answered, casting a glanced toward the revolutionaries, who were even now in the midst of another argument. “Erzsebet wants a man in the picture. God knows why.” There was a moment, and then Zoya’s irritated expression softened a little. “It may as well be you.”

  “Right,” Friedrich answered cheerfully. He hurried to Erzsebet’s side as the edges of his vision began to blur. Was it the drink? Or the chemicals? He could not tell. But something was happening. Whether death or success, he had accomplished something.

  Erzsebet looked up at Friedrich and smiled at him. Her eyes were wide and very pretty. Friedrich smiled back. She was like his niece, really. They all were, to be honest. He was the oldest, and he had to take care of them. It was why he had invited them into his home, decaying as it was. Well, into his private home: he could hardly risk their safety by housing them at the respectable Prague address he maintained for public purposes. This was a safe place where the police would never find them. They were all going to do great things, and they needed someone to take care of them until they did. But then there was the work, and it demanded so much time.…

  And why was his head spinning? Why was his blood on fire?

  “Freddie?” Erzsebet asked softly, her expression growing concerned. “Are you well?”

  Friedrich quickly smiled. “Of course,” he answered, patting Erzsebet on the shoulder. “Now then, smile for Zoya.”

  “I’m not a photographer, you know,” Zoya answered, looking as much amused as she was exasperated. “You don’t have to pose. Just stand as you are. Just like that, Erzsebet, keep smiling.” There was a short silence as she drew a few brush strokes. Then she looked at Friedrich and asked softly, “Are you sure you’re well?”

  Friedrich grinned. “Zoya, my dear, I am better than I have been in years.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  A few days later, Julius surprised Varanus by calling on her at breakfast. Iosef and Ekaterine were there as well, and all three of them were busy reading—Varanus her scientific papers, Ekaterine another gothic novel, and Iosef an old manuscript of uncertain origin. They were not often in the same place at the same time, but a shared breakfast did allow them a few minutes each day to acquaint one another with any news of note.

  She looked up from her work as their footman entered and unobtrusively approached Iosef.

  “Count von Raabe is at the door, Highness,” he said softly. “I informed him that you and the family were at breakfast and that he could call again later, but he asked that I extend his special request to you.”

  “Of course, Pravec,” Iosef said without looking up from his work. “Ask the Count to join us.”

  “Certainly, Highness.”

  The footman went out and promptly returned with Julius, who was rosy-cheeked and dressed for the brisk weather, and who smiled warmly at the sight of his new friends.

  “Count von Raabe, Highness,” Pravec announced.

  “Thank you, Pravec,” Varanus said. She gave Julius a friendly smile and inclined her head in greeting. “Count von Raabe, please join us. I will have some breakfast brought for you.”

  “Oh, thank you, but no,” Julius replied, his tone warm and jovial. “I fear I cannot stay long.”

  “We certainly did not expect you this early, Count,” Ekaterine said. She smirked and pointed at the heavy curtains. “Certainly not before evening. You have the treat of seeing our lightless dining room. Entirely my own invention, I might add.”

  “Of course,” Julius replied, bowing his head to her. “The talk of Paris, I believe.”

  Ekaterine looked surprised. “Really? Who told them?”

  Iosef suddenly looked up from his papers as if only just noticing that Julius had arrived. “Julius,” he greeted, rising to his feet. “Is it Tuesday already?”

  Julius laughed, but softly enough not to be impolite. “No, Your Highness, I fear I have called on you quite out of schedule.”

  “No matter,” Iosef replied, sitting again. He motioned to an empty chair. “Come, sit. Have you eaten?”


  “I have already dined,” Julius replied, remaining by the door. “As I was telling the Princesses Shashavani, I cannot stay. I depart for Germany on the afternoon train.”

  “That’s quite sudden,” Varanus exclaimed. She had come to enjoy her late night conversations with Julius. It was most inconvenient to learn that he was leaving so suddenly, like a thief in the night.

  “A thief under the cover of broad daylight?” Korbinian mused aloud from across the table.

  Varanus looked and saw him seated in an empty chair beside Ekaterine, the same chair that Iosef had offered to Julius. There was a faint hint of blood upon his lips, but he seemed far more composed than he often did of late. Perhaps the hour had something to do with it.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, Korbinian added, “I simply cannot abide a late night, Liebchen. Or the things one does in the dark.”

  What an absurd thing to say. She had hardly done anything at all. Yet.

  “Running away from us so soon?” Ekaterine asked playfully. “Normally I don’t terrify people away for at least six months.”

  The corner of Julius’s mouth made a momentary grin before he asserted his Prussian composure and answered them all:

  “No offense is intended, I assure you. I am required back at home for my family duties. I would have mentioned it some weeks ago, but I fear that I have become so engrossed in our work, Highness, that I rather lost all track of time.”

  “Is there some sort of emergency?” Varanus asked.

  “Nothing of the kind,” Julius assured her. “But you see, around this time of year my family hosts a sort of soiree at our home in Prussia. To celebrate the equinox as it were. It is all a great deal of fun. My wife is in command of all such matters, of course, so the arrangements are out of my hands; I fear I forgot how fast it was approaching until my son telegrammed me this morning asking when I planned to return!”

  “An equinox party?” Varanus asked, almost laughing.

  “An equinox party!” Ekaterine exclaimed. “Oh, that does sound like fun!”

  Julius smiled. “I am pleased to hear that you find the idea exciting. In addition to rendering my most humble apologies for my sudden departure, I came here today to extend an invitation to your household to join us this year. It is only a small country affair, I grant you, surely nothing to compare to the great balls of Saint Petersburg, but I would be honored to have you join us as my guests.”

  Ekaterine gasped with delight and clapped her hands softly. Varanus smirked a little at her friend’s excitement, but even though the party did not capture her enthusiasm, she was curious to learn more about Julius and his family. And besides, a trip to the country might be a nice escape from her continued frustrations over her work.

  She glanced at Korbinian, expecting him to offer some comment on the matter, but suddenly he was gone, leaving only an empty chair. Indeed, his sudden disappearances were almost as unsettling as his unheralded arrivals.

  “Hmm,” Iosef mused, putting down his manuscript. “The equinox. That is…next week?”

  “Yes,” Julius replied. “But I invite you all to come for the week itself and to stay longer, if you prefer.” He motioned to Iosef. “There are some texts I would like to show you, if you are interested. And you might enjoy taking a turn around our old Teutonic ruins. They are quite sublime.”

  Ekaterine gasped again and exclaimed, “Ruins!”

  “Ekaterine, restrain yourself,” Varanus told her, though she was unable to fully conceal a chuckle at Ekaterine’s excitement. Who else could become so excited at the thought of visiting abandoned buildings rather than ones still in use?

  “Marvelous ruins, Princess,” Julius assured Ekaterine. He paused and turned to Varanus. “So you will all join us?”

  “Yes, I think we shall,” Varanus answered.

  “And how many shall we prepare for? Is it only the three of you? And your servants, of course.”

  “Of course,” Varanus agreed.

  She paused for a moment, wondering if she ought to invite Friedrich along. It might do her son some good to get away from his decaying house and his nest of artists. Respectable company might be beneficial; well, as near to respectable as the aristocracy was ever likely to get.

  But as she thought about it, Varanus realized that it was probably not a good idea to let Friedrich out in public at the moment. Last she had seen him, he had looked terribly unkempt, not to mention unhealthy. And who knew what sort of bad habits his recent lifestyle had impressed upon him. He needed a month on the Riviera, not at some polite society gathering.

  She quickly put on a smile and said, “Yes, just us three. Everyone else in the family is…elsewhere.”

  * * * *

  It was fitting that Varanus thought of her son, for he had spent a hellish night in his lab, feverishly examining himself for any sign of improvement. It was the same as it had been for the past several days: every hour looking in the mirror, measuring the lines and the weathering of his face, the luster of his hair, the tightness of his skin. Indeed, searching for any possible indication that the serum had worked.

  But as with each hour before, each day before, he could detect no change. And worse, the very fatigue of sleeplessness and stress left him both looking and feeling older still. Was that the case? Had the mixture done the opposite work and was it slowly aging him, insidiously working its way into the fibers of his body, decaying them from within?

  Friedrich’s drunken enthusiasm that first night was now long gone. In its place was anxiety, which burned through his veins just like the intoxication of drink and the fever of the serum. Had he failed? Had he made a mistake? What had he been thinking?

  Perhaps he had miscalculated the dosage. The rats had all showed at least some change within the first two days, some of it remarkable. But as Friedrich examined himself yet again, he found no indication of anything.

  “I have failed,” he whispered to himself. “I have utterly failed.”

  Friedrich’s eyes fell upon his ledgers and papers and the countless piles of notes and formulae he had amassed over the course of his ten years of work. It had all been a failure. Each new thing he tried, each subtle alteration, each grandiose redesign failed. And Friedrich was so tired. He simply could not will himself to try again.

  “What a mess I have made of it all,” he murmured.

  He had been so happy to learn that his mother was in Prague, for he had been certain that he was on the verge of success. What a stupid plan it had been: to solve the riddle of aging and death and to deliver the gift of immortality to her when she was still young enough to enjoy its blessing. And if, as he suspected, Mother had already uncovered the secret of youth, then he could have revealed his own success to her as a fait accompli, providing beyond a doubt that he was worthy of being her son.

  But success eluded him yet again, as it always did.

  Mother would be so disappointed in him when she found out. Perhaps it was a blessing Father was dead already so that he could never know what a fool his son had turned out to be.

  If it was a test, then he had surely failed it. But why should he even believe that? There was no great mystery to be uncovered, no elixir of youth waiting for science to uncover. Mother looked young because she was fit and healthy and because she had mastered the art of appearance, like any aristocratic lady was expected to do. It had been naïveté that had driven Friedrich to even entertain another explanation.

  Solve the riddle of death? Friedrich chided himself. What a stupid notion!

  Ten years of work and all of it wasted.

  Friedrich pulled open the desk drawer and took out his pistol—one of the new automatic Mausers he had bought the previous year. He held the weapon, feeling its weight in his hand just as he felt the weight of his failure pressing down upon his shoulders. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he raised the pistol and pressed th
e barrel to his temple.

  How simple it would be to pull the trigger and end it all, to put a hole through his stupid brain that preferred flights of fancy to real science. He would be free of it all: of his failure, of his foolishness, of his memories of childhood, memories of Aunt Ilse and of the things she had done to him. Memories that he could never escape while he still lived.

  His finger slowly pressed against the trigger, feeling the resistance of the smooth metal. Press. Press. All he had to do was press a little harder and it would all be over.

  No. No, that was the easy way out. The coward’s way out.

  Friedrich pulled away from the Mauser and set it back down on his desk with a heavy thunk. Slowly, he lowered his head into his hands and felt his entire body shake with a silent scream of anguish. He had wasted ten years of his life with this immortality nonsense, and he would have to live with that shame.

  Friedrich reached blindly for the bottle of brandy that he kept next to the lamp on his desk. He uncorked it and took a long drink. The warmth of the alcohol flooded through him.

  “People die,” he whispered to himself. “They grow old and die and you have to accept that.” He looked at his papers again, seeing in the spidery writing all the self-righteous fervor of a dilettante pretending to be a doctor. “Give up this fairytale and do something useful for once.”

  And then, with the first real certainty he had felt in years, Friedrich tore open the door of the iron stove and cast his notes and formulae into fiery oblivion.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Varanus and the others arrived in Königsberg by way of a rather lengthy train journey. She was very grateful for the state of modern transportation and doubly so for the fact that the Germans had been thorough with laying their railroads. A journey by horse or carriage would have taken days and been far less comfortable.

  They were met at the station by Julius, who was as cheerful as ever despite his Prussian dignity. He waited for them next to a curious four-seated motorwagon, which was parked alongside a more conventional horse-drawn carriage.