The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

"Let's go, Leopold Borisovich!" he said, dragging me after him into the back room. "Come with me, and you can see it for yourself!"

  "No need," I tried to refuse, but the crusty old man dragged me after him with surprising strength, and I had to go back down into the basement.

  And it was a good thing I did. It made little sense to start a fight with this man, who’d taken it on himself to prepare me two dozen incendiary rounds, after all.

  "What’s the lead for?" I asked when the inventor started messing with the casing of some apparatus.

  "Extra protection," he answered simply.

  "Extra?"

  "Yes, there's also a grounded Faraday cage," Alexander Dyak explained. "My first device was called the 'lightning detector.' It registered disturbances in the electrical field. This time, I wanted to keep all the disturbances in, for understandable reasons."

  "To keep the experiment pure?"

  "That was one reason, yes," the inventor confirmed. "And also to make sure the radiation of my apparatus wouldn't hurt anyone else."

  I just sighed.

  At the same time, the shop owner hooked the apparatus up to the generator and asked:

  "Leopold Borisovich, can you see the spirit? I need to use special lenses to see it but you, I suppose, have no need for them, is that right?"

  "Yes, I see it perfectly as it is," I confirmed.

  The immobile poltergeist was frozen in the middle of its prison at an equal distance from all of the spark-sprinkling electrodes. I had never before had the chance to see spirits in a calm state; normally these creatures were in constant motion, changing shape, throbbing and stretching from one position to the next.

  "Is it static?" Dyak asked, turning on the device.

  "Yes."

  "Watch what happens next."

  I heard a quiet humming, but the fleshless spirit didn't even budge.

  "Is something the matter?" I smirked.

  "Just wait!" The inventor demanded. "In the course of the experiments, I determined that the important factor was not the radiation in itself, but its frequency. And now, I'm starting to change it..."

  "In what way?"

  Dyak just laughed:

  "I'm afraid that any explanation of how this device works would take the rest of the day, and you're already anxiously glancing at the time as it is."

  "Yeah, I've got an important meeting scheduled at four."

  "This won’t take that long!" the inventor reassured me and started very slowly turning a knob. "Now, you can see it with your own eyes. Look!"

  For some time, nothing happened, then the poltergeist started rippling. Alexander Dyak continued his manipulations and quietly muttered to himself:

  "At these frequencies, it usually starts to take effect..."

  "There's something happening..." I admitted.

  The spirit faded out and was constantly twitching as if invisible gusts of wind were tearing it to pieces, thrashing it hither and thither. For a certain moment, it even seemed that it had disappeared from our world, pressed back into the underworld, but no – the power of the effect went on the decline, and soon the ghostly being had returned to its former state of immobility.

  "Stunning!" I muttered, immeasurably surprised by the successful end to the experiment.

  "As I said!" the inventor forwarded, melting into a happy smile, as he turned off the transmitter. "I propose a celebration!"

  We went upstairs and, while I took the "experiment in progress" sign from the door, the store owner put on a fresh pot of tea. He placed the teapot directly on the counter and offered me some shortbread cookies.

  "Are you convinced now, Leopold Borisovich?" asked the inventor, pouring the aromatic drink into teacups. "The electromagnetic field has an effect on otherworldly creatures! It is a scientific fact!"

  "How has that just reached you now?" I replied, shaking my head and glancing at my watch. My window of time was growing razor thin.

  Alexander Dyak didn't notice my glance and laughed softly:

  "Leopold Borisovich, you still think me an addle-brained old man, but if I expound upon my theory, you'll certainly consider me a madman."

  "After the demonstration of your device, I'm prepared to believe anything," I admitted and finished drinking my hot tea. "But I won't insist. Tell me when you think it necessary."

  The inventor nodded, then walked around the shopping floor, looking over the shelves of goods and said distantly:

  "I've always been interested in the topic of the insurrection. For what reason were the fallen deprived of their power? How did the conspirators manage to rise up everywhere around the world at the same time – in the Old and New World, Zuid-India and even the Celestial Kingdom? Especially in the Celestial Kingdom, where, according to the memoirs of one of Clement’s supporters, they had no truly like-minded allies whatsoever?"

  "Good organization?"

  "Good organization could have helped them rise up simultaneously at an agreed-upon date," Dyak replied, "but then it would seem that Clement and his close companions knew in advance the precise date the fallen would lose a large portion of their powers." "Perhaps," I supposed, "they had a hand in it?"

  I winced skeptically.

  "Not convinced?" the inventor smiled understandingly. "And meanwhile, my data is in full agreement with that theory. The only thing I don't know is how such a strong signal was sent that it reached the whole planet."

  "Did it really reach the whole planet, though?"

  "You're right, Leopold Borisovich," the shop owner nodded, "we don't have any reliable evidence about what precisely happened in Alexandria and Tenochtitlan when the fallen were defeated."

  "Then, the way I see it, there is one weak point in your judgments," I said, shaking my head. "Based on the results of the experiment, disturbances in the electromagnetic field are not fatal, even to ethereal spirits. What might that mean for the fallen? And by the way, though there were no conspirators among the Egyptians or the Aztecs, the fallen were also defeated there. And since that time, no one has seen them."

  "The pyramids," Alexander Dyak said simply.

  "What, excuse me?"

  "Electromagnetic disturbances cannot penetrate deep into the earth," the inventor stated. "The fallen were able to take shelter in hidden chambers under the pyramids. And that is the complete explanation for the subsequent armed conflicts between our countries."

  "I do not know, I do not know," I doubted. "The fallen were omnipotent, do you think some mere electromagnetic waves could deprive them of their powers?"

  "We all have our weak points," the shop owner shrugged his shoulders. "They say every piece of glass has a small spot you can lightly tap to break the whole piece. My studies are not yet finished. I have to find the proper frequency."

  I set the empty cup down and smiled:

  "What if not only the frequency is important, but the contents of the signal? Perhaps, the problem is in the message."

  "Are you suggesting curses, transmitted via electromagnetic disturbance?" the inventor frowned. "Leopold Borisovich, with all due respect, you should not mix science with magic. It's irrational."

  "The very presence of the fallen in our world is irrational."

  Alexander Dyak thought over my assertion, then waved his hand:

  "In any case, my apparatus does not allow for the transmission of sound. This is no telephone."

  "But what about a telegraph?" I reminded him. "Like those electric pulses and signals from Morse. Could that be done?"

  "Yes," the shop owner agreed. "But, curses...? I'm a scientist! I don't know any curses. I don't believe in them and I am not prepared to use them! I believe in the primacy of knowledge and the power of science!"

  "Let's not dig into the theological implications," I suggested. "Just send the message I write for you, okay? Think of it as just another experiment. Just a series of short and long pulses, that's all."

  "If you insist, Leopold Borisovich..."

  "I do!" I said, walking up to th
e counter. Then I demanded: "Paper and quill!"

  After getting what I asked for, I started writing out the order of the signals:

  "Dot-dash-dash-dot; dot-dash; dash; dot; dot-dash-dot; dash-dot; dash-dash-dash; dot-dot-dot; dash; dot; dot-dash-dot..."

  Alexander Dyak accepted the paper from me, acquainted himself with its message and looked with unhidden skepticism.

  "Are you sure, Leopold Borisovich?" he asked, stroking his gray beard in perplexity.

  "Treat like with like, isn't that right?" I smiled carelessly in reply. "It's just an experiment."

  "I never could wrap my mind around Morse code," the inventor sighed, "and now, at this age, my fingers are starting to lose their dexterity. I'm afraid I’d make a mistake and violate the purity of the experiment."

  "Well, you could inscribe it into a mechanism, like the one in a music box."

  "Now there's an idea!" Alexander Dyak lit up. "I'll try! Why not?"

  "Please do," I nodded and headed to the exit but, already at the door, I was stopped by a cautious question from the shop owner.

  "Leopold Borisovich! I can count on you not telling anyone about the experiments I'm carrying out on the poltergeist, right? At my age, stays in prison are hazardous for the health."

  "Don't worry, I won't tell," I promised him. "But I need something from you in return."

  "I'm listening."

  "Nothing serious, I would just like to park a self-propelled carriage in your back yard. It’d only be for a day or two."

  "Nothing could be easier," the shop owner caught his breath with relief. "You could even come now!"

  "In that case, I'll make use of your kind offer in short order," I nodded and went out the door.

  My head was spinning in the most natural fashion, but there was not enough time left to gather my thoughts and really think everything over. I had to hurry to the meeting with my uncle. And before that, I had to get ready for the meeting.

  That was precisely why I took the armored carriage there. There was a distinct chance that the invitation was an ingenious trap, and I had no desire to leave this world with a knife driven under my shoulder blade.

  Who could say what my uncle wanted from me?

  3

  THE RAIN started coming down all the harder. There were rivers of run-off gushing down the streets as the storm front gradually crept over the center of town. There weren't many people outside. The inhabitants were hidden in their homes. I only saw the odd courier or patrolman catching cold in a rubberized cloak.

  That was precisely why it was no work at all to pick out the hired observers. One was a boy sitting bored in the doorway of the building opposite the lawyer's office. Another was taking shelter from the rain under an overhang not far from the back door. I noticed them as soon as I came around the corner to the awkward building that housed Maître LaSalle’s rented office.

  I didn't fall into a panic. The fact that my uncle had taken such precautions was no sure indication of bad intentions; also, it was possible that these observers had been hired to watch Maître LaSalle’s office by the detectives investigating the bank robbery.

  None of the observers could have seen me through my rain-covered windshield, so I drove calmly into the neighboring yard and parked the armored car under an archway. I locked it and went up the fire escape to the roof. The buildings in this neighborhood stood one against the next. The distance between their sloping roofs did not exceed half a meter, and getting from one to the next was no problem at all. The main danger was presented by the extreme slipperiness of the tiles underfoot and the sharp gusts of wind, constantly shifting direction.

  Cursing the bad weather, I jumped over to the neighboring building, got over to the other side of the roof and jumped from it to the roof of the maître’s office. To the sound of the next thunder blast, I jimmied open the attic door and went inside the dark dusty room. I took a listen – it was quiet. The only sound was the odd plunk of drops falling from the leaky ceiling.

  Then, I pulled back the bolt of my Roth-Steyr and checked if I had a round in the chamber, took the Cerberus off safety and returned it to my left coat pocket; the incendiary grenade was in the right pocket. After that, trying not to stomp, I found a hatch to the floor below and easily jimmied it open. I simply stuck the split end of my short crowbar between the frame and the lid, carefully leaned on it, and the mortise lock gave with a quiet rasp. No one could have heard a thing.

  I didn't have to jump: there was a little ladder in the wall leading to the hatch. I went down into a secluded nook on the upper floor and looked cautiously down the hall. The office door was clearly visible.

  I looked at my timepiece. It was three fifty. I leaned on the wall and unholstered my Roth-Steyr just in case. I wasn’t particularly hoping for the Count to be punctual so, when I saw him walking up the stairs five minutes before the scheduled time, he surprised me a good deal. Characteristically, he came alone. The observers stayed below to keep watch.

  My uncle knocked on the office door. The lawyer let him inside with no delay and informed him laconically:

  "He hasn't showed up yet."

  I then jumped up from my cover and, before the door managed to slam shut behind them, dashed into the office with my pistol in hand.

  "No stupid stuff!" I warned my uncle and commanded: "Go!"

  Maître LaSalle puffed out his cheeks vehemently, but didn't raise a stink, instead walking into the office. Count Kósice, though, was not able to maintain his calm demeanor; he stared at me, flashed his eyes dully and demanded explanations:

  "Just what do you think you're doing, young man?!"

  "Go!" I repeated. "Or are you planning on conducting negotiations in the entryway?"

  My uncle frowned, but didn't insist and followed after his lawyer. In the antique-furniture laden office of the maître, he immediately turned back and spat out the annoyance clearly filling him up:

  "What is the meaning of these tricks?!"

  I walked up in silence to the window and looked outside. The observer was still at the neighboring building and hadn't lowered his eye from the back door.

  "You're the one playing tricks, not me," I snorted, pointing down.

  The Count went red in indignation, but didn't lose his presence of mind, just shrugged his shoulders:

  "A simple precautionary measure."

  "And so you see I also took... a precautionary measure."

  "What are you talking about, sir?" the lawyer shuddered.

  My uncle looked in disappointment at him and asked:

  "Maître, please leave us."

  "But, Count..."

  "This is a private conversation!"

  The lawyer pursed his lips and reminded him:

  "If you haven't forgotten, Count, I'm still in the crosshairs!"

  "Oh, no!" I smiled, putting my pistol back in the holster. "I beg your pardon, good sirs, if my actions made you afraid. You may be absolutely free in your actions."

  "Maître!" Count Kósice repeated. "This is a one-on-one conversation."

  "Tête–à–tête," I agreed, taking a seat on the wide windowsill.

  My uncle gave a sniffle and lowered down in the maître 's seat.

  "Well?" he hurried the lawyer along.

  The maître shrugged his shoulders and went into the reception. The door closed tightly behind him.

  "What was it you wanted to talk about?" I asked, not feeling like wasting time on long and cautious inquiries.

  The Count unbuttoned a traveling bag he'd brought, pulled some rolled paper tubes out of it and threw them on the table.

  "My decree transferring you your part of the family fund," he told me.

  "Generous!" I said in immeasurable surprise. "What do you want in return?"

  "First, call off your laughable injunctions," my uncle demanded.

  "I'll call them off today," I said, agreeing to his condition. "But that's the least of your problems, right? The police are now after you, and they’d like to ask you all
kinds of uncomfortable questions, isn't that so?"

  "What on earth for?" asked my uncle, not even raising an eyebrow.

  "About the bank robbery," I hinted.

  "Proving I wasn't involved in that sordid little affair is no effort."

  "I believe they now have some tangible evidence. Clues, if you will."

  "Clues?" the Count laughed back. "Come off it! The investigators have nothing to suggest it wasn't planted in my ruined mansion by the criminals!"

  I nodded, beginning to understand what exact line of defense my prudent relative was taking.

  "And if that's what they're talking about," my uncle smiled unpleasantly, "where were you on the night my manor was broken into?"

  "Don't you worry about that, I have an iron-clad alibi," I answered calmly. "And don't pretend you're so innocent. Your participation in this affair has long been an open secret."

  "Don't think me an idiot!" Count Kósice sniffed. "The fact that you have the check is more eloquent than any words."

  "Exactly," I nodded. "So then, what is the second condition?"

  "A mere trifle really."

  "Just a trifle?" I asked, jumping down from the window sill and taking the documents from the table. I began to look through them, having begun to suspect a nasty trick, but no. All the signatures and stamps were in the right place. I also had no problem with the wording.

  "And this trifle," I grumbled, putting the papers back in my pocket, "means enough for you to sacrifice twenty thousand a year in income?"

  "I warn you in advance," said Count Kósice, "if we do not come to an agreement, I'll declare this document signed under threat of violence, and the maître will corroborate."

  "Get to the point! Just tell me about the box. The aluminum box with black runic lightning on top. What interests me most is what was inside it."

  "Just to clear this all up," my uncle frowned, "the only one who can profit from the box is me and me alone. You'll have to be satisfied with twenty thousand in yearly income or rely on alms when I declare you a fraud and impostor."

  Not so long ago, such a threat could have knocked me right off my feet, but now I just snorted contemptuously and repeated my question:

  "What was in the box?"