The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

  "Oh, youth, youth," Dyak shook his head, letting me out into the sales room. "I expect you tomorrow, Leopold Borisovich."

  "Alexander, you wouldn't happen to know anyone from the history department, would you?" I asked after that.

  "The second half of my shop name can give you an unambiguous answer to that question," the inventor smiled. "And why do you ask?"

  "I've got a question on the history of New Babylon, and I have discovered some regrettable gaps in my education."

  "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

  "Yes, information on a fallen one known as Rafael."

  Alexander Dyak gave it some brief thought, then looked at the clock and ripped a fragment of paper from a newspaper.

  "Go out onto the square, turn left and you'll see the coffee shop Helen of Troy," he said, writing something on the paper. "If you hurry, you'll be able to catch Juan Dominico Ramillo, the assistant head of the archeology department." The inventor folded his paper in half and handed it to me. "I don't think he'll refuse to illuminate you on this issue, Leopold Borisovich."

  "Thank you," I nodded and headed for Helen of Troy.

  On the coffee shop's veranda, to my unstated disappointment, I saw only ruffling notes and yellowed pages of library tomes. Nothing but students. Then, I went inside and immediately noticed a black-haired gentleman not much older than me, who was writing distractedly in a thick workbook.

  "Señor Ramillo?" I asked him.

  The assistant head of the archeology department looked at my none-too-presentable outfit with unhidden doubt and inquired coldly:

  "With whom do I have the honor of speaking?"

  I simply extended the paper I got from Dyak.

  The historian familiarized himself with the missive and immediately dissolved into a smile:

  "Take a seat, I beg you! A friend of Alexander’s is a friend of mine."

  I carefully set the backpack on the floor, lowered into the chair and immediately warned him:

  "I don't think my question will take too much of your time..."

  "Ask away!" Señor Ramillo allowed.

  "I’m wondering about a fallen one known as Rafael. What can you tell me about his suburban manor?"

  "I've visited it before," the historian said. "From an academic perspective, it’s of little interest."

  "Who owns it now?"

  "I suppose it's public property. No one of sound mind would take such a burden on themselves."

  "Is that right?"

  "I can tell you one thing," the archaeologist smiled, "the grass doesn't even grow there." And he added weightily: "To this day."

  I nodded, taking it into account.

  "One last thing, Señor Ramillo. How do you get there?"

  The assistant head of the archeology department was amiable enough to draw us a map.

  After giving him my heartfelt thanks, I turned toward the armored vehicle and motioned for Ramon, who was standing on the back street, carbine at the ready:

  "Let's go!"

  "Where to now?" he asked, getting into the passenger seat.

  "To get the flamethrower."

  "Did you find any clues?"

  "I’ve got a hunch we should check out," I confirmed, starting the engine.

  Much to my surprise, driving the armored car suited me. I liked the speed, I liked the power hidden in the engine. Even the particular clumsiness of the armored vehicle didn't spoil my impression. In fact, because of that, the construction seemed all the sturdier, and thoughts about accidental trotyl detonation had long since stopped making me wince at every loud engine clap.

  But it's poor maneuverability on a flat road turned into pure torture on the way up Calvary. The engine gave forth a heart-rending roar. The wheels skidded in the mud. The car jerked forward unevenly, then skidded down a bit; our ascent went at a truly turtle-like tempo.

  "This would have been faster on foot!" Ramon said, finally losing his cool.

  "Do you want to haul the flamethrower on your own hump?" I snarled, driving the self-propelled carriage across the bridge over the stream. "That's all, we've arrived."

  Right after the turn, I stopped the car, got out and unlatched the gate. I then hurried through the black garden, dead and wet, directly to the carriage-house. First of all, I dragged the flamethrower out, then went back for hand-held mortar rounds. Finally, I dragged out the mortar itself.

  "What's that all for, then?" Ramon asked, taken aback. "Are we going to make war, Leo?"

  "I want to test all this in action," I explained, lifting the tailboard. "It'll come in handy."

  "Well then, hopefully that kind of fortune doesn’t find us," the hulk chuckled, throwing open the passenger side door and shuddering in surprise when he saw a blinding flash of lightning on the top of the hill. "What the devil?" he grew surprised.

  "Business as usual," I said with a hand wave.

  The tower on the summit of Calvary served as a giant lightning rod, and it was struck even in clear skies with envious regularity. And now, there was a storm at our doorstep, so the lightning up there was nearly constant.

  "Alright, let's go," Ramon hurried me along.

  I took a seat at the wheel, turned the self-propelled carriage to the platform before the gates and rolled down the hill. Every time I drove the unwieldy carriage, I got better and more confident, so now I drove down the lively street without particularly worrying that I might hit someone.

  "Leo," Ramon sighed after we turned around on Dürer-Platz and got on the nearest route out of town, "I respect you immeasurably, and also you're paying me, but if you would be so kind, please tell me what you've got planned! Or just stop, and I'll get out!"

  "Calm your nerves," I said to my friend. "A friend of mine reminded me that monsters like that strangler were once known to run in the retinue of Rafael the fallen one. We're going to check his manor. It's not far from town. We'll be back before sundown."

  "Do you think that's their nest?"

  "I think it's worth taking a look."

  The street to the bridge was fully clotted with carts and carriages. A no less dense stream was coming the other way. Also, a steam tram was leaning on its horn, demanding they all make way. Not wanting to waste time, I turned down the neighboring street. I drove around the deadlock on small alleys, going by one crawling cart after the next.

  "Why there exactly?" Ramon asked after thinking over my idea.

  "Such creatures don't particularly like New Babylon these days. Haven't for a while," I explained. "If they've returned to the city, something extraordinary be happening. They didn't even have time to prepare. It's logical to suppose that they might try to hole up somewhere familiar."

  "Where did you get that idea?"

  "The unfinished tattoos," I reminded him. "The tattoos were so important for them that they even had to find a local artist. But note that they did bring the implements and ink with them. This was no planned return. It must have been impromptu."

  "But why out of town exactly?" my stubborn companion continued. "Why in the manor of the fallen one?"

  "I asked someone who knows vampires, and they told me vampires prefer to stay underground, the deeper the better. And sure, there are catacombs in the city, but they’re so packed with homeless and thieves down there you can't even walk."

  "What's stopping them from renting a place?"

  "A master who doesn't come out during the day and his Moorish servants? Do you think Department Three would overlook something like that? Their investigators practically till up the soil with their noses trying to root out Egyptian agents. And also, they brought the veterinarian out of town."

  "Or so he said."

  "That’s why we're checking."

  "What are we checking? The fallen one's manor? The new owner won't even let us get near!"

  "There isn't any new owner. They say the grass still doesn't even grow there."

  My hulking partner nodded and turned to the window.

  Sometime later, the t
hick development of the city was left behind and the armored car rolled down a wide road. Alongside of it, there were high fences for warehouses and small factories. We gradually started encountering less and less loaded-down carts, and began seeing gardens and private houses instead.

  Ten minutes and we were out in the expanses of the suburbs. Then, they were also left behind. All around, there stretched out fields and groves of fruit trees, oranges, lemons, and olives.

  When I saw a pond flash behind a tall wall of poplars, I drove off the road right through the meadow to its bank, all overgrown with reeds. A band of trees was blocking us off from the street, and from the other side, as far as I could see, there stretched out an endless field, so I could stop worrying about prying eyes.

  "What are you doing?" Ramon, surprised, got out of the car after me.

  "Testing the weapons," I answered, throwing open the back door of the armored vehicle. "Have you ever used a flamethrower before?"

  "There can't exactly be an art to it," my hulking partner muttered as he started sifting through ammunition.

  I helped him attach the tanks of my trophy flamethrower to his back, fastened the belt, screwed out the valves and pointed at the pond:

  "Try it out."

  Ramon lit the burner, then pulled the mask onto his face with its round glass eyepieces and walked down the shore in search of a gentle slope to the water. He stood at the very edge of the pond and a stripe of smoking flame shot out toward the reeds. In surprise, the squat man panicked and released the trigger too quickly, so the fire went out without doing any harm to the plants.

  "Scatterbrain!" I laughed amiably.

  Ramon swore to himself and, taking his past experience into account, let forth a long stream of burning kerosene on the reeds. He then led the nozzle from side to side, increasing the zone of effect. The high stalks caught on fire and instantly burned to ash. A pillar of thick smoke stretched upward and the water in the pond grew cloudy.

  The hulk put out the burner, pulled off the mask and headed back for the armored vehicle.

  "Let's go! We need to get out of here!" he hurried me along.

  "Just a second," I called back and pulled the hand-held mortar out of its wooden box. I didn't fully charge the drum, just placed elongated rounds in three of the tubes. "Move back!" I said to my partner and aimed at a small oak growing on the other side of the pond about fifty meters away.

  Ramon cursed out and started taking off the tanks; I plunked down on the trigger, it gave a quiet thud and a band of smoke extended over the pond. A moment later, water mixed with mud and seaweed was flying up into the air. I undershot.

  I pulled the handle, turning the drum, and made a correction in distance before I repeated my attempt. This time, the explosion took out grass much farther away and significantly to the left of the tree.

  "Leo, let's go!" Ramon shouted.

  "I'm coming!" I called back, the wooden stock a bit better braced against my shoulder this time. I pulled down the trigger again. The smoke trail went a bit higher. The round landed in the thick canopy of the tree and immediately blew up; the foliage was sliced through by shrapnel flying in all directions.

  I put the mortar back in the car and closed the trunk.

  "I think I more or less got the idea," I said to my partner, getting into the car after him.

  "Let's go!" Ramon demanded. "We aren't far from town! We might get caught!"

  It wasn't like I was planning on going slow, though. The path ahead wasn't short, and there wasn't much time left before sundown.

  The car, its powerful engine growling from time to time, got up on the road and rolled forward, gradually picking up speed. There were occasional potholes and they shook us hard, but that didn't stop Ramon from dozing off. No bump could keep him awake. Simply evidence of a sleepless night. And to be honest, my eyelids were sagging as well.

  Ramon woke up forty minutes later after I had passed a few villages and turned onto a rural road. I had just found a convenient way to drive onto the field. One of the orientation markers made by the archaeologist on the map was a memorial stele on the side of the road. It was behind us. In front of us, there was a tall hill that grew up gradually out of the gray mist and drizzle. We had to go around it on the right.

  "Is there much longer to go?" asked my hulking partner, yawning so wide it was a miracle he didn't dislocate his jaw.

  I immediately wanted to yawn as well.

  With some effort, I overcame that urge and steered the car onto the roadside as I told him:

  "We're close."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  The car rumbled as it rolled down the steep slope and jumped up onto the overgrown soil. In places, there were stone blocks peeking up from the earth. Half a century ago, this path had been paved. In some places, huge trees had managed to grow right through the stones, forcing me to drive through the field or steer the car straight through a bush.

  Ramon was clutching a handhold above his head, with every bump cursing like a drunken dock-worker. But I couldn't care less about his groaning: all my attention was going to steering the armored car.

  Where before, there had only been trees growing on the sides of hills, now they started coming down into the flat areas as well. We drove over the edge of a young grove, maneuvering amongst the underbrush. It would have been impossible to take a shortcut through the washed-out field after the rain, because the heavy armored car would have surely gotten stuck and sunk in.

  An eerie sense that I recognized this place started crawling over me. No, I had never been here before, but some kind of tension in the air was bringing up associations with the atmosphere of my own home.

  The same curse? No, this place had no curse. Just a weak echo of former times.

  The self-propelled carriage finally made it around the grove and Ramon couldn't resist a surprised whistle. And it really was impressive. Before us, a hundred meters away began a black patch of dead earth as if some kind of evil magic had burned all life there.

  Just black dirt, mixed with very old ash.

  After stopping the armored car on the very edge of the former property of the brilliant Rafael, I got out of the car and, without particular surprise discovered empty bottles in the grass, soaked packs of cigarettes, old bonfire pits and other traces of a great many picnics. But, based on the lack of tracks in the mud, none of the fanciers had the nerve to walk any closer to the building.

  I shared this finding with Ramon, who just shrugged his shoulders and walked calmly onto the burnt-out earth. In no hurry, I went back and pointed to the lack of tracks.

  "It's not all so easy," he snorted, "right?"

  I didn't answer, carefully looking around. Behind us, there loomed a steep hill. In front, there was a stretch of burnt land and the towering ruins of a former residence. From behind them, there peeked out the silhouette of a half-destroyed castle.

  "Well?" I turned toward the car. "Ramon, are you ready?"

  He got into the car, and I pointed it at the manor's dilapidated fence. There had once been a paved road here, and the armored car rolled over the surface surprisingly smoothly, not at all bouncing on the uneven potholes.

  The echoes of old magic didn't get stronger as we got deeper into the property. As before, they were barely noticeable and obviously could not harm anyone. The curse on my mansion burned incomparably stronger.

  When the armored vehicle passed the gates, Ramon got out his Winchester from behind the seat, checked it and set it between his knees, its stock on the floor.

  "What are we searching for?" he asked, looking out the side window.

  "Any clues," I answered, turning to the ruins, meeting me with a heap of crumbling and burned brick. "First of all, we'll check the basements."

  "We'll have to find them first," moaned Ramon. He warned me: "Don't drive up close. Let's get out the flamethrower first."

  Considering my friend's apprehension well grounded, I stopped the vehicle and got my Wincheste
r.

  "You go, I'll keep watch."

  While Ramon was dealing with the tanks and belts, I was strolling not far away, carefully looking from side to side. Then I called him to the nearest ruins:

  "Cover me!"

  Ramon rushed after, but I had already gone through the empty door frame, stood back up straight and waved my hand:

  "All clear!"

  The collapsed ceiling had filled the room to the top with crumbling rubble; only incorporeal spirits could possibly have had a lair there.

  We returned to the armored vehicle; Ramon stood on the running board and held onto the open door as I steered the self-propelled carriage toward the neighboring building, which had suffered even more than the first in the assault.

  This one was shot through everywhere from what must have been quite close range. The reinforced stone walls had borne it, but there were quite a lot of divots in them. Everywhere around, there were bits of sandstone and tile fragments. We didn't find anything interesting inside.

  "Leave the castle for last?" Ramon asked when I steered the carriage around the fully destroyed administrative buildings to a semi-circular marble amphitheater.

  "Yes," I confirmed. "For last."

  The sun, which now was shining through the layer of clouds as a pale spot had already begun to slightly dip toward the horizon but, considering the destruction all around, checking the whole estate couldn't take that much time.

  Unlike the other buildings, the amphitheater had practically not suffered in the assault, and we even managed to walk around the internal rooms. Inside, we discovered just trash-strewn cages and went further.

  In the end, making a full rounds of the property took a little over an hour, but the only cellar we found was underwater, and the entrance to the underground floor of another building was blocked off by collapsed ceiling. No matter how much we circled around, we didn't manage to find any other ways down.

  So then, we drove up to the central building. The palace met us with the basin of a huge pool containing empty pedestals that had once been topped by statues. The walls had burn marks, the roof was collapsed and the windows of the upper floor were broken unevenly. The central stairwell's marble steps had all been displaced by the explosion and were jutting out unevenly and menacingly; we walked up it and froze at the entrance to the spacious hall.