The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

  The Heartless

  a novel

  by Pavel Kornev

  The Sublime Electricity

  Book #2

  Magic Dome Books

  The Heartless

  (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

  Copyright © Pavel Kornev 2017

  Cover Art © Vladimir Manyukhin 2017

  Translator © Andrew Schmitt 2017

  Published by Magic Dome Books, 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

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  Table of Contents:

  Part One. Moor. Tempered Steel and Gelled Kerosene

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  Part Two. Lazarus. Hand Grenades and the Fifteenth Element

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  Part Three. Demon. High-Voltage Shocks and Morse Code

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  Part Four. Heart. Surgical Scalpel and Kitchen Knife

  1

  2

  3

  About the Author

  ONCE, THIS WORLD was dominated by the fallen. But humanity cast off their tyrannical rule and created a mighty Empire with colonies spread out across the globe. The power of the metropolis is stronger than ever before, but its past is dark and its future cloudy. Old secrets are capable of destroying in one moment that which took years to create. After all, nothing can save humanity from treason, not armadas of battleships nor bomb-laden dirigibles.

  The key to one such secret, by happenstance and inheritance, has fallen into the hands of Leopold Orso, a former police investigator who now works as a private detective. His illustrious talent allows him to bring other people's fears to life. Unfortunately, though, it cannot help him extricate himself from the web of another's scheming. Defeat threatens to result in imminent death. Victory beckons with the ghost of a chance to escape with his life. His soul is plagued by painstakingly forgotten memories. And to think all Leopold ever wanted was to come into an inheritance that was his by birthright.

  "NERVES, NERVES, MY HEART IS STITCHED OF THEE!"

  From the song “Heart” by Steamphonia (Russian Steampunk Band)

  Part One. Moor

  Tempered Steel and Gelled Kerosene

  1

  NIGHT. DARKNESS. Speed.

  Peril.

  The engine blared out a heartrending bellow. The armored car was racing down a rain-slicked country road, every minute and even second threatening to fly off the shoulder and get stuck in the mud or, even worse, slam into a tree or flip over. Time and again, the tires bounced up on a bump, then plunked down into a pothole. The steering wheel was banging up and down, trying to break free of my hands. I had to grasp it with all my might or I risked losing control.

  My first misstep would almost certainly be my last.

  Speed. Peril.

  My legs had long gone numb. My back was shooting with unbearable pain, and my eyes were constantly tearing up. But I was glad to be rushing off to my uncle’s estate in the middle of the night, relieved to be done with the formalities in the Chinese Quarter so quickly. Ramon Miro, on the other hand, had been complaining about our trip from the very beginning.

  His normally red-tinged face was now nearer the color of cream. The former constable was splayed out like a starfish, afraid to fly out of his big seat on our next little jump, and clearly struggling against a bodily urge to vomit. He strongly doubted the possibility that the unknown strangler would be in front of us, and told me as much without end until he was finally overcome by nausea.

  "Stop and clean the headlights!" He demanded.

  "I can see the road just fine!" I retorted, not wanting to lose time.

  "It's make or break time!" I repeated to myself mentally. Another of my grandfather's sayings. "It's make or break time, no looking back now!"

  We had to make it. Make it or die trying!

  Fortunately, now that we were outside city limits, the rain had become less intense. The country road mostly ran through fields, making detours around the little forest glades. All that was left for me was to look out for potholes and keep the pedal pressed to the floor, pushing the engine for all its horsepower.

  It was crackling madly, just gulping down the trotyl granules. The unsecured cargo in the back was rattling loudly, as well. I couldn't even hear my own thoughts, but I did make out a question from Ramon.

  "No!" I screamed back, not looking away from the road for even one moment. "I have no idea who strangled the Judean!"

  But it definitely was no human. The hands of mere mortals could not cause frostbite, nor leave ice burn on the skin. Aaron Malk had been killed either by infernal beasts or an illustrious gentleman. It was probably one of the bank robbers who tried to work me over.

  Who precisely was not important. What was important was beating him to my uncle’s estate.

  The killer now knew for cert
ain where to find the lightning-rune aluminum box and, if we didn’t get there first, Count Kósice would be parting not only with it, but with his very life. The last part, to be perfectly honest, wouldn’t have especially bothered me. The problem was that, if it came to that, the chance of us meeting the same fate surpassed all rational bounds.

  If the illustrious gentlemen got their hands on the aluminum box, the malefics would come after me. Failing that, I'd have to keep running from the mysterious bank robbers. But if I had the box, I could take control of the game; my only real chance of overcoming my opponents was to make some more progress in the investigation.

  Just then, a front wheel plunked down into a pothole. The self-propelled carriage lifted off the ground, then slid into the mud; at the very last moment, I regained control and straightened out the armored vehicle just before it drove off the shoulder. We came very close to turning over in a ditch.

  Ramon made a convulsive gulp and moaned out:

  "I hate you, Leo!"

  I just snorted:

  "Think about the three thousand..."

  "I've earned it already!" My hulking partner cried out immediately in reply. "My job is done! But now, you've dragged me along on this long-shot adventure!"

  "The hunt for the werewolf you also thought a long-shot adventure, right?" I replied, easily finding an answer.

  But Ramon Miro wasn't quite as verbally adept. He stuck his finger into the loose seam of his blood-soaked cloak and asked in an accusatory tone:

  "Do you think this is normal?"

  I had nothing to parry his indisputable conclusion with, so I didn't even try.

  "We need to figure out why all this started! If we find out what's riding on this horse, we'll be showered in gold!"

  And again, Ramon was ruthlessly precise in his wording.

  "That's you!" he declared. "Not me! You'll be showered in gold, not me."

  "Don't worry. I won't leave you out in the cold," I promised him, noting a few flames flickering to my right and warning him: "We're past the station. We'll be there soon."

  Ramon went silent.

  Having thrown all the dogs and people nearby into a panic with its loud chattering, the armored car dashed between tenant’s farms, drove around an oak glade and finally rolled right up to the manor.

  "We're almost there," I warned my friend. "Get ready."

  "Turn off the headlights," Ramon advised.

  "There's no use," I refused, not even so much because I was worried I would fly off the road, as much as because of the engine's clapping. Only a deaf person wouldn't have heard that.

  Or a dead one.

  That was the very thought flickering through my head as the armored car came to a stop before the closed gates of my uncle's manor. In the guard-post window, there was a dim light flickering, but the late old man didn't think to glance outside and ask why the police were visiting at such an unearthly hour.

  Something wasn't right.

  "Something isn't right," I said to Ramon.

  But before my warning, he was already hidden behind the smoke-shrouded hood of the armored car, pressing the stock of his Winchester to his shoulder.

  "What am I even doing here?" he moaned.

  "You're covering me!" I reminded him, and got out of the vehicle. "Don't yawn!" I warned my friend, running around the self-propelled carriage, throwing open the back door, and tossing my cane in. In its place, I pulled out a semi-automatic carbine and a few cartridge pouches full of loaded clips.

  "The glasses won't affect your vision?" Ramon then asked.

  I lifted the smoky eyepieces and snorted:

  "What do you think is better?"

  My partner's reddish face lit up in the darkness with the luster of my shining eyes. He admitted:

  "On. Put them back on."

  I lowered my glasses back onto my nose and carefully walked up to the gate. Then, my rifle propped on a crossbeam, I commanded Ramon:

  "Come on!"

  My hulking partner jumped over the fence in a flash, undid the latch and opened the path onto my uncle's property.

  "The guard-box!" he whispered, warning me.

  "You first!" I sighed out just as quietly in response.

  I didn't want to loudly announce my presence, regardless of the warning shot I risked from a manor guard.

  Covering one another, we walked up to the cracked-open door. There, Ramon peeked inside and immediately recoiled.

  "Dead," he said, adding: "Broken neck."

  "Curses!" I swore, hesitating for a moment, then ordering: "Wait!" and hurried to the armored car.

  I removed the steering wheel and threw it in the rear, then climbed in after it. I felt around for the box of grenades I had strapped down under the seat, took out two and twisted in the fuses. Then, I hung a massive padlock on the tailboard and returned to my partner, now much calmer and more put together, my knees not shaking in the slightest.

  "We should call for backup!" whispered Ramon, greeting me angrily, having completely forgotten his recent dismissal.

  I didn't stick my finger in the wound, though, just shook my head:

  "I think we're too late."

  "Where did you get that idea?" asked my hulking partner, growing surprised.

  "The dirigible is gone," I told him, pointing to a lonely signal light on the docking tower.

  The airship’s signal lights were nowhere to be seen, along with the white oval of its balloon.

  "The murderer might have flown away on the dirigible," Ramon posited.

  "All the more reason not to worry," I snorted and started off to my family mansion.

  My hulking partner came behind me, but quickly stopped and declared:

  "Either the Count or the killer flew away. There's no reason for us to go in!"

  "Come off it!" I exclaimed, trying to bring my partner to reason. "We have to figure out what exactly happened here!"

  "Why the devil do we have to do that?"

  "In order to have an elementary understanding of who we're searching for! And also, if the Count flew away on the dirigible, the strangler must be somewhere nearby. What if we can get him talking?"

  "No," Ramon cut me off. "That's a bad idea."

  I looked at the silhouette of the mansion. There wasn't a single light on. Next to it, there was a stable and an overgrown garden that could have hidden a whole company of soldiers. I mentally agreed with my friend.

  It really was a bad idea. Bad and very dangerous.

  But I said otherwise out loud.

  "Either we go together," I shrugged my shoulders hopelessly, "or you wait for me in the car. But know that, if I don't come back, the Judeans won't pay you a centime for the werebeast. Think about that!"

  "Curses!" Ramon swore, wiping his sweaty face and nervously glancing at the darkened mansion. "Aw hell!" he relented. "Let's go!"

  With a quiet chuckle, I went first down the path, stopping when I reached the fork toward the stable, but didn't turn down it, not wanting to waste time. The mansion was luring me in.

  Luring? I caught myself on that thought and even slowed my pace.

  My excitement faded as if I had crossed over some invisible boundary. The world once again acquired dimension. The silhouettes of the buildings and the trees of the garden no longer seemed like carved plywood theater props strewn carelessly about the lawn. The understanding rolled over me that this was all happening in the here and now.

  My fear returned.

  I froze in place, listening to the silence of the night. Without the sound of our boots splashing in the puddles, the silence would have been grave-like. The only other noise was the horn of a steam train somewhere very far in the distance. But it felt like it was coming from another world; all the armored trains of the Empire taken together wouldn't have been able to help us now.

  "Leo!" Ramon whispered quietly. "What's going on?"

  I shrugged my shoulders to settle my imagination's unwelcome playfulness, and walked on. My family manor grew up out of t
he darkness like a black titan. Soon we were able to see the door. It was thrown wide open.

  "I'll be damned if that isn't an invitation!" Ramon sighed. "'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to the fly!"

  My laconic, hulking partner's strained nerves had loosened his tongue, and I found it necessary to reassure him, so I handed him one of my grenades.

  "Take this."

  "You just can't wait to blow this whole place up, can you?" Ramon joked, looking around apprehensively. "Maybe we should just burn the house down now and not waste time."

  "Excellent idea!" I grumbled, slowly and carefully stepping up onto the veranda. "Cover me!" my friend called out, first to cross the threshold.

  We stood in the entryway, looking around in the darkness, then I flipped the light switch on the wall, but the electric bulb on the ceiling didn't turn on.

  I hung my carbine on my shoulder, took my Roth-Steyr from its holster and requested:

  "Torch!"

  Ramon handed me his pocket torch; its bright beam swept through the entryway and immediately picked out the body of my uncle's butler from the darkness. Also, someone's legs were sticking out into the hallway in a pair of badly abused ankle-boots.

  After stepping over the night guard's body, we walked into the guest room. There on the sofa was lying the parlor maid with her head thrown back. The color of her bloodless face was now no different from that of her white apron.

  "Damn it!" Ramon Miro sighed.

  "Quiet!" I hissed at him, listening to the silence.

  On the other side of the wall, there was a cricket chirping quietly, but that was all. I couldn't hear anything else.