Charon gave a hesitant nod and pulled himself together, once again taking control of the wheel and driving on as if nothing had happened. But he was bleeding heavily, all over his shirt, his pants and the nice seat cover. It took a long time for the wound to start to heal, but eventually he looked like a normal man again.
Asa did not worry about the blue flames, the glowing eyes and the strange thing that had happened to the tattoos. Stuff like that happened to her occasionally. She seemed to imagine these things sometimes. Must have been working on the Ghost Ride too long, she said to herself.
Charon set her down when they got to the container port in Hamburg. As he pulled away, Asa noticed he was talking into his cell phone while quickly glancing her way. He was probably telling another truck driver about some girl who meant what she said when her answer was no.
Asa had the address of her brother’s Hamburg restaurant memorized. He’d be glad to see her after all these years—and she had sufficient cash in her pocket to treat them both to the most expensive items on the menu and still have enough left over for a generous tip for the staff. Imagine their faces! This was going to be some evening.
It was just after three o’clock in the afternoon, so she thought it might be a good idea to find a hotel near the restaurant before she splashed out on the evening meal.
She sauntered off, looking for the nearest subway station, or perhaps a taxi. She passed a snack bar, and decided she fancied a coffee.
She entered the empty café and ordered a double espresso, some mineral water and, because they looked so good, a doughnut with chocolate filling.
As the machine got to work and churned out the coffee. Asa smiled at the man behind the counter, pushing the strands of brown hair out of her face. “Always as quiet as this?”
“Everyone’s at work,” he replied. “It’ll fill up at five.”
“I see.” Asa looked round in surprise and couldn’t really believe it. “So you’ll take a break?”
The young man merely sniffed.
Asa took a seat in the corner with a view of the port, relishing the sight of all the big ships. It made her want to go on a long journey. Perhaps she’d stow away, go to a foreign land; that would be exciting—a real challenge. China—that’d be the place.
But that would have to wait till after the meal in Chagall with her brother.
Somebody came to sit near her—she could hear the rustle of a jacket as whoever it was moved closer.
Asa stopped looking at the huge barges in the port and turned in surprise to the two uninvited guests, then she looked around the café. Music was coming out of the loudspeakers, but the place was as empty as ever. There was no earthly reason for this older man and his younger female companion to sit at her table. There was plenty of room elsewhere, so there was certainly no excuse for their pushing up so close.
“If you’d just let me by?” she asked politely, getting to her feet. “I’ll find somewhere else to sit.”
The man sitting opposite her produced a chilly smile and did not move. He was wearing an expensive pin-striped suit and his aristocratic features were framed by an elegant beard. His hands were in glacé leather gloves, revealing the bones of his fingers; in his right hand he held a cane which bore a picture of a glowing-eyed dragon embossed on the head.
The black-haired woman with him, about Asa’s own age, did not move, either. She wore a pleasant perfume—a warm, spicy fragrance, which for some reason reminded Asa of a fiery smithy. Her clothing was light; she was dressed in red and black, very stylish—her shapely figure and impressive breasts were shown off to advantage. Her face was flawless, the lips full and curved. For a kiss from those lips men would surely have braved any danger, any battlefield. But most normal people would have been repelled by the cold light in her eyes. Asa, on the contrary, was enchanted by her gaze—it was like love at first sight.
Asa sat down again.
She was in no mood for an argument and the doughnut looked delicious, so she stayed where she was and started to sip her espresso. She took a bite from the doughnut. The mysterious visitors would let her know what they wanted in due course. Or perhaps they were the local crazies, on the lookout for their next victim.
But the filling was coagulated blood, oozing out of the doughnut, and it tasted foul.
Revolted, Asa spat out what she was eating and went to rinse her mouth out with coffee—but again all she tasted was blood. She spat the liquid back into the cup.
The man sitting opposite gave a quiet laugh. “If you want to complain to the manager, look no further. That’s me.” He sketched a polite bow in her direction. “Barabbas Prince.”
Asa was considering whether to try the mineral water, but she supposed it would probably taste of urine. “Now I know why no one comes here.” She put the doughnut back down on the plate.
The woman gave a low, enticing laugh, and Asa caught herself wondering what it would be like to kiss that full mouth. She had never before felt such a strong attraction, either for a man or a woman. “She’s got a sense of humor, Father.”
“Not really. I’m just making deductions.” Asa put her hand in her pocket and slipped the silver brass knuckles on, in case the situation escalated.
Barabbas Prince laid his arm along the upholstered back of the bench, then leaned forward in a lordly and condescending manner. “You are a girl who knows no fear, I understand.”
Asa shrugged. She saw the man had a pin in the lapel of his jacket with the same design she had noticed in the trucker’s tattoos and on the film director’s pendant. They must all belong to the same organization, though probably not all at the same level of membership. This man Prince would surely have platinum status. “Who says so?”
“Truck drivers you’ve had rides with. And directors whose cellars you’ve slept in,” he answered, a touch of amusement in his voice. “You will do me a favor.” Prince’s snakelike eyes narrowed. “No, three favors. But the rewards are high. Fearless as you are, you should be able to cope with these tasks easily.”
“No. Why should I?”
“Because otherwise he’ll kill your brother,” the young woman broke in.
“There are not many restaurant managers in the Chagall who look a lot like you,” the man added as his companion held out a cell phone to Asa. On the display she could see her brother, bound and gagged.
“My father is generous if his wishes are met,” whispered the raven-haired beauty. “All the gold you could wish for.”
Asa looked at the photos and surreptitiously removed the brass knuckles from her hands. She believed every word Barabbas Prince was saying. There would be no reason for him to lie. Also no point in her offering resistance to these two without first knowing where they were keeping her brother. “Three favors,” she repeated. “Go on.”
The man laughed and twirled his walking cane so that the eyes of the embossed dragon on its head shimmered. “We’ll fly you to Leipzig in a private jet. There you’ll spend three days in different locations. My daughter will give you your instructions.”
“You’re to spend the night in each of these places,” the woman put in.
“And I’ll be doing what, exactly?” Asa felt confused.
“Nothing. All you have to do is stay there. And survive.” Prince looked her up and down. “If you succeed, you’ll be the first to do so.”
“Why is that?”
“The others all died.” The daughter stared at Asa intently, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. Then she stopped. Perhaps she had been watching for Asa to react, one way or another. Her expression changed to one of surprise and curiosity. “Of fear,” she added as an afterthought.
“Ah.” Asa’s mouth still held the disgusting taste of blood. “And what guarantee do I have that you won’t kill my brother while I’m there? Or afterward?”
Barabbas stopped twirling his cane and the embossed dragon’s head pointed directly at Asa. “There’s the snag. You’ll have to accept my word of honor, won’t yo
u?”
Asa looked at his daughter. “She goes with me. She’s my security.” Asa stretched out her hand. “Agreed?”
The black-haired woman laughed out loud. “No way—!”
“Done,” said Barabbas, silencing his astonished daughter’s outburst. “She will remain at your side, as far as this is practicable.” He shook Asa’s hand.
“I’ll come up with something. She gets whatever happens to my brother.”
“Father!” exclaimed the black-haired woman in protest.
But the man got to his feet. The deal had been done. “I’ll take you both to the airport. When you are in Leipzig, you’ll be in charge.”
The woman jumped up and grabbed his arm. “But, Father,” she implored, “how can you—?”
There was no warning when he struck out with his cane. The heavy dragon-head struck her a calculated, glancing blow on the left cheek, enough to make her cry out and stagger back, her black hair flying up round her head in a dark corona.
Asa caught the young woman in her arms and breathed in the heady fragrance.
Barabbas pointed the end of the cane at his daughter’s stomach. “Obey me, Bathseda! Soon we shall have reached our goal, after a thousand long years. Have a care to remember that you serve a higher cause than your own vanity.” With that he left them and went over to the door—and seemed to dissolve into thin air as he left the café.
All of a sudden a limousine with smoked-glass windows appeared as if from nowhere.
Bathseda straightened up and shook off Asa’s hands. “Let’s go,” she hissed, and the sound of her voice made the server at the counter give a strangled cry as he fell to the floor in a faint. Again she looked at Asa in surprise, because the girl appeared to be completely unaffected. Bathseda opened her mouth, but said nothing.
I can’t help it! Asa stepped forward and to her own astonishment planted a kiss full on those tantalizing lips. The taste was amazing—it was certainly a thrill to kiss Bathseda. A feeling like static electricity coursed through Asa’s body.
With a shattering crash all the windows in the café imploded as jagged glass splinters flew through the air, just missing the two women and burying themselves in the upholstery or into the walls.
Bathseda pushed Asa away. “How dare you—?” She stumbled backward, then staggered blindly toward the doorway to leave the building, not realizing that, with all the glass gone, she could have exited anywhere.
Asa felt like she had wings on her heels; she had superpowers—she could do anything. She would master the tasks they set her, and she would save her brother. As she picked up her duffel bag and got into the car next to the fascinating ebony-haired woman, it occurred to her that she was only having this adventure because she had killed a couple of people by mistake. What else could possibly happen to her?
Leipzig, Germany
“This is where you’re going to spend the night.” Bathseda pointed to a floodlit monstrosity of a building positioned in front of a large rectangular pool. It reared up into the darkening sky like some dire threat made manifest.
The two young women were standing at the far end of the water basin, about two hundred yards away from the building.
Asa had to admit that it was impressive. There were enormous stone sculptures at the top of the memorial, of warriors leaning on huge swords. The whole place had a martial air and epitomized the aesthetic of a bygone era, but this did not detract from the powerful visual effect.
Asa had seen the monument once before, but could not remember what it was for. “What is that?”
“The Völkerschlachtdenkmal—it commemorates the dead of the Battle of Leipzig.” Bathseda was wearing a black coat with red stripes down the sides, which only emphasized her slim figure. “It is dedicated to those who died in the Battle of the Nations. Austria, Prussia, Russia and Sweden formed an alliance to combat the French. Napoleon’s troops suffered a bitter defeat here.” She gazed at the monument in respect. “This pool is known as the Lake of Tears for the Fallen. The building itself serves as the funeral urn for all their lost souls.”
“An urn?”
“The souls of the fallen soldiers are housed here. It is their receptacle, since they are prevented from entering either Heaven or Hell.”
“How many lost souls are we talking about here?”
“A hundred and twenty thousand. None of them was innocent enough or cruel enough to be assigned to one side or the other. That is the irony of mediocrity—you get nothing.” Bathseda moved off. “Come on. You have to be there before midnight.”
“Because?”
“Because that’s when the transformation begins, and the dead take over the halls. Your task is to spend the night there. In the crypt. I know a secret entrance.”
Asa followed the other girl, walking along the narrow path at the edge of the pool. She was aware they were alone there. This was certainly not a coincidence. She looked up at the monument again, guessing its height to be about three hundred feet. “Where’s the way in?”
“By the steps. You press a certain area on the stonework of the archangel Michael and a hidden door opens.” Bathseda had reached the platform in front of the statue. The figure, portrayed as a medieval knight complete with sword and shield, towered above them, as if defending the monument, or perhaps preventing the souls of the dead from escaping. To the right and to the left there was a pair of carved reliefs, three feet square, showing the archangel in a chariot on the battlefield surrounded by warring Furies. There was a door set into the base of the statue, but this did not appear to be the secret entrance.
Asa stopped short at the top of the steps leading to the Lake of Tears. “I assume you’re not coming in with me?”
“No. I don’t want to die.” Bathseda grinned and her icy-blue eyes radiated an attraction Asa found irresistible. Against all odds, this must be the thing called love.
“But I’m afraid I can’t leave you unsupervised. You’re my security hostage.”
“If you don’t get inside right now, you won’t complete the task and your brother will die,” Bathseda countered. “That’s what’s known as a dilemma.” In a feat of superhuman strength she catapulted herself up from where she was standing to land on the statue’s shoulder, her coattails fluttering out behind her. She pressed down on the lower half of the grim-faced figure’s visor and there was a loud click, revealing a narrow opening in the wall behind the archangel’s shield.
“Go through! And stay in the crypt until sunrise,” came the instruction, before Bathseda leaped back down from the angel’s shoulder, landing at Asa’s feet.
“Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
Asa grasped Bathseda’s wrist. “Wait for me while I tackle the first task.”
Bathseda chuckled, covering her mouth with her free hand, unable to hide her amusement. Then she burst out laughing. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I say so. And because your father agreed.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Then I’ll have to make you.”
The other woman suddenly looked deadly earnest, and her eyes took on that expression that Asa was so drawn to. “You have no idea who or what I am,” she whispered. “Nothing can stop me. There is nothing that can force me to do anything!”
Asa, without being seen, had managed to slip one of the brass knuckles onto her right hand and she now dealt the black-haired girl a sudden blow to the cheek, finely calculated in strength and not violent enough to kill.
Bathseda gave a cry of surprise; the engravings on the weapon glowed brightly and she fell unconscious into Asa’s waiting arms. The power of the magical artifact had proved stronger than she was.
Asa laid the other girl down gently in a sheltered corner and placed her own coat over the inert figure. Then she clambered up the statue to enter the monument. The narrow door behind the shield gave on to steps that led down to the waiting crypt of the Völkerschlachtdenkmal.
The girl passed thr
ough a hidden entranceway into the Hall of the Dead. Behind her the door slid into place and then disappeared as if it had never existed.
Asa looked around the vaults of this symbolic grave with its mysterious illumination. In the center of the hall there was a bronze memorial plate set into the floor. Stone warriors stood guard around the chamber walls, their heads bowed. The figures stood in eight groups of two, their sculpted faces earnest and dignified.
Every step Asa took made a sound that echoed back from the roof. The dome of the chamber was far above her. She did not know what was in the gigantic room above the crypt, but she thought she could make out even larger sculptures up there in the shadows.
There was no escape. The proper entrance was locked and the stairs up to the Hall of Fame above the crypt were blocked off.
Asa sat down in the center of the room, on the memorial plate, closed her eyes and waited. She was ready for her confrontation with one hundred and twenty thousand souls.
It was not in her nature to feel any unease. On the contrary, she wanted to know everything they could tell her—how they had lived their lives, what it was like living on as a cursed soul. She was bursting with curiosity. So many different fates, so many individual stories!
And if the souls were not prepared to behave themselves, well—for that circumstance she always had her special brass knuckles …
Whistling quietly to herself the next morning, Asa strode past the astonished security guard who was just unlocking and opening up the steel doors to the memorial. She left the crypt feeling more alive and invigorated and happy than she had for a long time.
“Excuse me. Where have you just come from?” asked the man in surprise.
“You can see where I’ve been,” she answered blithely.
He took a look inside the circular crypt, noticing that the stone figures seemed to have lost their usual mournful appearance. He was also aware of a change in the atmosphere in the room. “You spent the night in here?” Asa nodded. “But … the ghosts? The one hundred and twenty lost souls?”
Fearie Tales Page 16