Apostate Konstantin

by Max Kramer

  “That is a large amount of money, now isn’t it child.” The priest licked thin lips. “Church coins no less. How do you suppose you went about acquiring such a treasure?”

  The ragged boy swallowed. “Please Father, someone gave it to me.”

  The priest chuckled merrily. Behind them both the snack vendor was busily closing up his cart. Only a fool stuck their nose into Church business.

  “Do you really expect me to believe that someone gave you this money? Who, pray tell, would be so generous as to give garbage like you a handful of good Roman coin?” The boy squirmed uncomfortably in the priest’s grip.

  “It was a blonde lady alright. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “A blonde lady ehh? Did the good Samaritan have a name?”

  “I don’t remember.” The priest twisted the boys arm painfully, eliciting a high shriek.

  “Please, I remember! Your man might have called her Brita.” At this the priests eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened further.

  “What do you mean, my man?”

  “The Inquisitor that was with her.” The boy tugged his arm. “You’re hurting me.” The priest pulled the boy close, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes.

  “Listen carefully boy. This is very important. The Inquisitor, what did he look like?”

  “I don’t know. Like an Inquisitor. The woman called him Frederick. He had scary eyes.” Although his grip remained painfully tight, the priest seemed to forget his miniature captive. His face puckered like he had just swallowed a mouthful of curdled milk and he stared over the boys shoulder into space without blinking. Lord in heaven, he was here? In the city? But why? He hadn’t checked in at the cathedral, which could mean nothing, but it could be important.

  The boy stood still, fascinated by the vein throbbing dangerously on the man’s forehead. With a violent gnashing of teeth the priest turned, dragging his captive toward the distant hulk of the Frauenkirche. Inquisitors were necessary for the continued dominance of the Church, but that did not make them popular with the rest of the clergy. Nobody was safe from the attentions of the Inquisition. Not even the head-priest of the largest cathedral on the Northern frontier of the Empire. Especially when that head-priest had been quietly embezzling Church funds on various black-market projects for years.

  “Konstantin…”

  ***

  Felix leaned back, running his hands through his wild hair. Blowing out a deep breath, he looked from Konstantin to Brita and back.

  “Well witch-hunter, I can’t believe I am saying this, but you do tell an interesting tale. If it’s true, it explains why you’re here. Brita, your brother has done a very brave and very foolish thing. Who might know how to cure you? He can’t. The Church won’t. He needed someone who deals in forbidden knowledge. He needed to find a witch. How was he going to do that dear lady? According to your government, magic use is illegal. We look like criminals because to you we are criminals. We were also his best chance of finding what you need. For better or worse, his chance is paying off. If what he says is true, it is not my place to decide your fates. You will get your audience with the Raven.”

  His decision made, Felix once again pounded his fists into the table top. Sliding from the booth, he walked toward the door behind the bar. Konstantin stood to follow, but his way was still barred by the armed men. Felix turned back, smiling at the suspicious Inquisitor.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but appearances must be maintained. You understand.”

  Before Konstantin could answer, the men fell upon him, punching and kicking viciously. He tried to defend himself, but there was no room to maneuver between the booth and the wall. In short order his struggles had ceased and he lay still under the onslaught of stomping boots and clenched fists. Brita watched aghast as her brother’s limp form was unceremoniously lifted between two of Felix’s men. Catching her eye, Felix shrugged apologetically.

  “It actually is because I don’t trust him. Plus he’s a dick.” He offered his arm to the young woman. “The Raven is our most valuable treasure, something we protect from the Church at all costs. Your brother here has given us trouble concerning her before. We must take certain precautions when he is involved.”

  Brita hesitated only a moment before linking arms. “Frederick is not a bad person Mr. Magnusson; he’s just a little…conflicted. He has had a hard life.”

  The northern giant rolled his scarred shoulders, smiling sadly down at Brita. “Aye little miss, I think that’s something we’ve all had.”

  ***

  Solomon Rex knelt in the empty chapel, his robes chafing on his still tender back. The ointment he had received from the apothecary had been ineffective. Behind him the church pews sat empty, a small cistern in the center aisle full of stagnant holy water. Before him towered colorful stained-glass windows depicting scenes of God meting out punishment on the wretched sinful masses of humanity. No sun ever reached through the panes of glass however, they were lit from within by electric bulbs. The Inquisitors’ chapel was deep underground.

  Solomon was growing frustrated. God had promised victory in his dreams but Konstantin was proving to be a canny adversary. So far no one except the fat ticket master had admitted to having seen the fugitive pair. The tattooed Inquisitor had apparently hit a dead end.

  Rolling his shoulders, Solomon lit another prayer candle, bowing his head in reverence. With a little faith, all things are possible. As he formulated his mental plea for guidance, the door at the rear of the chapel ground open, echoes bouncing around the empty stone chamber. A robed acolyte scurried forward, pausing only to make the sign of the cross with fingers wetted in the cistern.

  “Forgive the intrusion Inquisitor-Brother Rex, but there is news. A priest in our Munich parish placed an inquiry that our snooper programs flagged. He claims to have a source who recently saw Inquisitor Konstantin traveling in the city with a female companion.”

  Solomon smiled broadly. He was so pleased he failed to notice the boys shudder as he tousled his hair. Bowing once more at the altar he left the chapel. His was a kind and just Lord. Solomon Rex roared with laughter. He was going to Munich.

  6

  Frederick Konstantin clawed his way back to consciousness by degrees, like a sailor fighting to resurface from a sunken ship. When he tried to open his eyes, he wished he had not. Only one responded to his mental directive, but the light leaking into this was enough to ignite napalm blossoms of pain inside his abused skull. His attempts to probe the damage done to his face were hampered by heavy chains binding his hands in between his ankles.

  Booted feet shifted behind his back. He was not alone in the room. Continuing to feign unconsciousness, he began taking stock of his surroundings. He was lying against the wall in a room of as yet undetermined size. He was most definitely a captive. Weak light bled into the room through the barred window above him, but Munich’s near constant twilight made it impossible to judge the time. If he was still in Munich. Below the window he heard the screeching hiss of a commuter bus applying its air brakes. Good. He was still in the city.

  Judging by the dust covering the floor, this room was not often used. Graffiti on the water-stained boards in front of him further confirmed his suspicions. There were many abandoned buildings inside the city walls. There simply were not enough people left to fill them. The Church occasionally swept the derelict neighborhoods on raids but they lacked the manpower to evict all of the outlaws and vagrants hidden within.

  An improbably hairy spider worked its way out of a crack in the wall before Konstantin, waving its fangs menacingly in the Inquisitor’s direction. Trying to ignore his arachnid neighbor, Konstantin surreptitiously began checking the slack on the chains. Without moving he could feel that his captors had taken his gun belt and the knives stowed in his sleeves. With luck…yes, they had missed the small blade hidden inside his boot. A twist of his wrist and a stretch of his fingers and he retrieved the stiletto. Another twist and he was working on the bulky padlock holding h
is restraints together. It came undone with a click. The pacing man behind him did not notice. Careful not to clink the chains, Konstantin freed his wrists and then hid the knife up his sleeve.

  Keys jangled. A door behind him opened. Pacing man paused. A deep voice spoke.

  “Get him up. She wants to see him.” The she was emphasized. Konstantin assumed they meant the witch. Standing up on protesting limbs he faced his captors, dropping the chains in front of him.

  “Alright then. Shall we go?”

  Astonishment warred with outrage and fear on their faces. Rage won out. Bellowing incoherently, the two men dove at their captive like bulls after a matador. Much like a matador, Konstantin shuffled sideways at the last instant, evading their rush. The knife dropped into his hand and it was the work of a moment to trip one of the men and have the blade pressed snugly against the other man’s throat. It was the doorman from the nightclub. Bruised face stared at bruised face. Konstantin grinned through bloody lips.

  “Hi.”

  The other man leaned forward. Konstantin nicked his hostage’s throat, drawing a bead of blood.

  “Now now, play nice. I’m still a little woozy after all; I wouldn’t want to make a tragic slip.”

  The man backed away.

  “That’s better. You were sent to bring me somewhere. We should probably go. You might get in trouble otherwise.”

  If looks could kill, both Konstantin and his hostage would have come to a swift and unpleasant end. As it was, the other man relented, backing through the door he had just opened. Konstantin shuffled after with his prize, into a corridor as ragged as the room they had just left. Nearby, a door stood partially ajar, light streaming out into the debris filled hallway. His new friend took this route, shoving the door open with a bang. The room was crowded with rough looking men standing in small groups or lounging on various piles of junk. Perhaps most telling was the presence of several women as well. Women were rare in the post Judgment world. Konstantin’s dark eyes scanned the area. It was lit by primitive but serviceable gas lanterns. He quickly located his sister. Brita sat unmolested on the far side of the room, chatting amicably with Felix and an attractive dark-skinned woman.

  Konstantin shuffled closer. The woman was very attractive. As he approached, conversation in the room died off. Soon the room was silent, except for a faint grinding sound. It took Konstantin a moment to realize the sound was his hostage grinding his teeth in frustration. The men and women in the room were still for only an instant as their brains registered the surprising sight before them. Their moment of hesitation ended with a wave of fiery oaths and unholstered weaponry. Konstantin ignored them all, keeping his eyes on the confident looking woman sitting next to his sister. He knew she was the real threat.

  Meeting his gaze levelly she rose, casually lowering Felix’s shotgun with a manicured fingertip as she glided past.

  “Now now gentlemen, I don’t think all that will be necessary.” She smiled slightly, “will it Mr. Konstantin?”

  Green eyes stared up into black. Her head barely reached his chest. Konstantin felt his arms growing heavy. Why was he holding a knife to a man’s neck? He had been worried for no reason. He was among friends after all; there was no need for all this drama. His arm lowered slightly. The woman’s smile grew wider. He began smiling back. Deep inside his mind, a tiny kernel of self shrieked, throwing its body against the bars of an ever shrinking cage. He shook his head. Something was wrong. The woman’s gaze intensified. Konstantin finally placed the strange whispers at the edge of his consciousness. Witchcraft! He growled deep in his throat. With a titanic effort, he raised his knife. It took every bit of his rage-fueled strength but he got it back underneath the doorman’s jaw and held it there.

  Dimly he registered nervous shifting among the men surrounding him. They had not expected his resistance. The witch if anything appeared more amused. Grinning still, she turned away, stalking back to her couch with the grace of a jungle cat. With her departure, Konstantin’s mind cleared further. He was barely able to keep himself from slumping in relief. The mental battle had exhausted his energy.

  He shook his prisoner as he addressed the witch with a snarl. “Tell your men to lower their weapons, or he dies.”

  She waved dismissively as she sat next back next to Brita. “I should let you kill poor Snorri there. He hasn’t been very dependable recently has he?” Konstantin had not thought it possible but the man in his grip stiffened even more. “But then what kind of cousin would I be? Please Mr. Konstantin won’t you join us? Surely we can work out our differences in a civilized manner.”

  She gestured to her men and they began filing into the hallway. When the door shut behind them only a few people remained in the room. Brita and the black witch remained seated on the ragged couch. Felix stood beside Brita, glaring daggers at Konstantin. Another huge man loomed behind the couch, his hairy arms crossed over a powerful chest. His menacing glower was all the more intimidating coming as it was from only one eye, the other being an empty socket. A thick red scar traced its way from the top of his forehead down to the side of his chin. Where Felix’s hair and beard were kept long and wild, this man’s face and head were shaved to stubble, except for a purple-dyed mohawk. The Inquisitor’s trained eye wasn’t necessary to tell they were brothers.

  Konstantin released Snorri with a shove. A gentle cough from the seated woman sent the man stomping to the door, mumbling death threats in Konstantin’s direction. Felix blew him a kiss. Despite himself, Konstantin smirked a little at that.

  Pushing a rusty folding chair against the wall, Konstantin sat facing the two women. He kept his grip on the knife. Seated, he and the witch woman took some time to study each other.

  Her sharp features were almost fey. She had the high cheek bones and full lips of a pinup, with a complexion somewhere between dark chocolate and caramel. A spattering of freckles fell across her upturned nose. Her wild hair was black, with some streaks dyed red or blue. Glossy raven feathers had been woven in haphazardly, giving her an uncivilized look. When she smiled, her teeth were white and straight and a little too long. Her smile reached her green eyes, crinkling their edges and filling them with a mischievous twinkle Konstantin was uncomfortably drawn to. Lowering his gaze did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. Her body was a teenager’s wet dream, like something out of the ancient lingerie catalog his father had caught him with once.

  Konstantin was painfully aware of the contrasting sight he made. His face was bruised and bloodied, misshapen by swelling over his eye and nose. While her body was an ebony collection of sensual curves, his was more an unmemorable accumulation of straight lines and severe angles. He swallowed. It was just like a witch to use her feminine wiles on a dedicated man of God. The brown sugar devil.

  She giggled. Could she read his mind then? Curse the witch.

  “Where are my manners?” Her full lips pouted slightly. “We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. You know Felix of course. The big loud ox behind me is his older brother Naoise, my husband. He’s not actually especially loud, that’s a little joke, because of his name. Naoise. It sounds like noise. Get it?”

  The large man took a moment from glaring at Konstantin to smile down at his wife. Konstantin was surprised by the amount of feeling they both put into that glance. This was a couple that would move mountains for each other.

  He coughed. “I know you. You’re the Raven these men so foolishly follow.”

  She smiled gently. “People have taken to calling me that, among other things. Those closest to me know me by the name Deirdre.”

  Konstantin scowled. “I’m not close to you, witch.”

  The big men bristled. Brita winced. Deirdre just laughed.

  “Well, technically, you are, in a geographic sense, yes?”

  Konstantin growled.

  “Frederick. Be civil.” Brita said, “Deirdre and I spoke while you were asleep.” She meant beaten senseless. “She has agreed to help us.”

  Konstantin
cocked an eyebrow.

  “It is true my dear Inquisitor. I find myself quite taken by your lovely sister. For her sake, I wish to help.”

  Konstantin scratched at his stubble, wincing when he brushed a deep scratch along his jaw line. “So witch…Deirdre. I have your promise that you will help rid my sister of this curse?”

  She hesitated a moment before replying. “I do not have the ability to…cure your sister. I do know someone who can. You have my oath. I will do what is best for Brita.”

  Konstantin’s eyes narrowed. That was not what he had asked. He would play along however, as she seemed to be Brita’s best hope of returning to normal. Konstantin’s best hope.

  “This witch that can cure Brita. You will take us to her?”

  Her laugh was like the bright tinkle of Konstantin’s favorite bell choir. “He is not a witch, Inquisitor. He is Merlin. My father. And yes, I will take Brita to him if that is what she wants. Which places me in an interesting position concerning you. My men wish you dead. I admit my first inclination is to allow them their revenge. Your sister has lobbied strongly on your behalf. She can be surprisingly persuasive. Therefore, if you are willing to surrender, you may travel with us, as our prisoner. As long as you behave you will not be ill treated.”

  Konstantin gritted his teeth. He wasted a few moments silently creating new curse words. He was a proud man. Negotiating with witches and outlaws went against everything he had ever stood for. He looked at his sister. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, her eyes wide and frightened. She seemed so vulnerable. Lord, test not your faithful servant. He sighed. He would never be able to return to his order either way. They were not a merciful sect. Very well.

  “If I begin to suspect you are further corrupting Brita, you will find that even as your prisoner I can bring you no end of grief.” He knelt. “I accept your terms. Save my sister.” Flipping his knife in his hand, he offered the hilt to Felix. He could not bear to surrender to the woman directly.