by Pavel Kornev
But, no matter how badly I wanted to load the incendiary grenades into the car and hole up in my manor, that plan was destined not to come to fruition. It was a miracle the carriage reached the inventor’s shop at all. Approximately half way there, a thick white steam started billowing out from under the hood of the self-propelled vehicle. I even had to stick my head out of the window under the pouring rain because the windshield was covered in condensation.
It was the radiator, broken in the fight with the vampire; when I'd parked the armored car in Alexander Dyak's back yard, he immediately pointed out the reason for the defect.
"It needs soldering."
"How much?" I asked, not knowing whether to worry about high cost or thank the heavens that I only had a leaky radiator.
"Come now, Leopold Borisovich!" the inventor said, insulted, hiding from the rain under an unfolded umbrella. "There can be no talk of money!"
"Alexander!" I responded, taking my turn to claim wounded honor. "I am no blackmailer and am not preparing to report you to the police regardless of what conditions our partnership continues under and whether it in fact continues or not."
The shop owner nodded, calculated something fast in his head and announced:
"Fifty franks."
"I've got it."
Through the back door, we walked into the shop. There, I got out my wallet and counted out five tenners.
"When can I come pick it up?" I asked, leaving my cane against the wall and pulling off my cold, wet jacket.
"Tomorrow lunchtime," the inventor decided.
"No way you could make it earlier?"
"Nope. Am I correct in understanding that you'd prefer to keep it out of official repair shops?"
"Yes."
"So, then. I will need to scare up some tools. The work itself will take up a pretty good chunk of time, too."
"Alright. I'll come by tomorrow," I sighed, looking through the window at the rain-covered street, gray and unpeopled.
"Tea?" Alexander asked.
"I wouldn't say no," I nodded and looked at my outstretched hand.
My fingers were barely shivering. And that was very bad. After all I'd gone through, I should have been a nervous wreck, shaking all over from head to toe. But I didn't feel anything in particular, as if I discovered I was a member of the royal family every day. Twice on the weekends, even: once before lunch and once after.
Shock. It should have been a shock.
Curses! I'm the grandnephew of Emperor Clement! And though I'd never manage to extract any preference from that, there was one factor that made that valuable.
Blood is thicker than water!
"Tea's ready!" the shop owner said, interrupting my contemplation.
I walked over to the counter and drank down the hot tannic beverage. I didn't add any sugar; I'm not sure why, but I didn't want anything sweet.
I wanted vodka. And that was on a purely genetic level – I had never drunk vodka in my life as, it should be said, I had never tried any other alcoholic beverages. My dad set me an example that inspired a healthy aversion to such excesses. Also, my illustrious talent necessitated that I maintain a certain degree of self-control. Even sober, it made leprechauns.
"Is something bothering you, Leopold Borisovich?" Alexander Dyak asked.
"My day's been going all wrong!" I laughed, hiding my nervousness with laughter.
"Would you like some mint in your tea?" the inventor suggested.
"No, thank you."
"Then feel free to take an oatmeal cookie."
I followed that advice and returned to the counter with a mug of tea. The rain wouldn't quiet down for anything. From time to time, lightning flashed and the windows shook from strong blasts of thunder.
"I guess I won't keep distracting you, then," I sighed. "Are the incendiary rounds ready yet?"
Alexander Dyak faltered self-consciously.
"You see, Leopold Borisovich," he said with downcast eyes, "your theory about transmitting signals got me so off track that I completely forgot about everything else, and focused my efforts entirely on that. But I do have five grenades ready right now."
"Reproaching you for that would be base ingratitude, Alexander!" I called back, realizing that without my armored car, getting the handheld mortar to my estate would be an affair that was not only burdensome, but also fraught with utterly unnecessary legal issues. "I've put too much on your shoulders as it is! You’re already forgetting about the shop!"
"If I’m getting paid for interesting work, why not?" the inventor said with a philosophical shrug of his shoulders.
"I don't pay you that much."
"That's neither here nor there. In this weather, there won't be any customers anyway."
"That's true," I nodded, looking at the street and shivering from the cold.
What did I care about customers? Finding a cab now, that was my mission!
Alexander Dyak went into the back room and quickly returned with a small canvas bag.
"The grenades," he said, setting the bag on the table with a respectable metallic clang.
"Great!" I put on my coat, no less wet than before, hid the bag of incendiary rounds under it and asked: "Alexander, if your theory is correct and the fallen were destroyed by electromagnetic waves, then what secret would the people involved in that find most frightening?"
"The very fact that electromagnetic radiation has an effect on the fallen," the inventor answered simply. "And if you delve into the details, the wavelength optimal for affecting otherworldly creatures. Finding it experimentally would be very, very difficult."
"But possible?"
"Yes," the shop owner confirmed. "Do you think they consider the contents of the signal important? If I knew the right frequencies, with a bit of fine tuning, I could capture a signal and rebroadcast it."
"Perhaps, in their mind, the secret is the design of an oscillator of such great power," I guessed.
"It could be anything," said the inventor, throwing up his hands. "One can't very well climb into another person's head without knowing a damn thing about them."
I nodded. I couldn't climb into the Duke of Arabia's head.
Why had he entrusted such an important secret to his lover? I suspected that the Dowager Empress didn't want to give up influence. Or maybe, he simply wanted to provide a decent existence to an out-of-wedlock child.
What moved him? I didn't know.
And I didn't guess. I squeezed Alexander's hand farewell and went out in the rain.
As I had supposed, catching a cab in the torrential downpour was impossible. There were steam trams, though, splashing up water from deep puddles as they rolled over wet rails.
I rode a steam tram up to Dürer-Platz and started walking up Calvary, leaning heavily on my cane. Dirty streams carried cloudy water down from the hill, but the ditches were still not overflowing, and the road was clear. However, the worst was yet to come.
Holding tight on the incendiary grenade bag under my coat, I stepped out to meet the sharp gusts of wind and cold, dreaming of taking a hot bath or, at the very least, crawling into a warm and dry bed. Conspiracies and riddles were now of little concern to me, I was worried only about crossing paths with Lazarus. That fear was making me nervously look around and fitfully grab at the incendiary device in my coat pocket.
I didn't have much hope for the grenade under the torrential rain, but when the dark figure of a sopping person stepped out of the bushes by the bridge, that was what I grabbed for. It was the wrong choice, though. The Cerberus would have been better...
"Drop it!" ordered a Chinese man, holding me in the sights of a sawed-off double-barreled twelve-gage hunting shotgun. Mr. Chan's henchman had wooden poles tied to his shot-through leg, and was leaning on a crutch.
I hesitated for a second, then threw the incendiary grenade down in the ditch and watched the aluminum cylinder quickly drown in viscous muck.
"Well then, white-eyes, are you happy?" the cutthroat faded into a malevolent
smile.
"Easy with the trigger," I asked him. "The fund is mine, now I can pay my debts."
"I don't give a damn!" the cutthroat laughed. "Mr. Chan has already written off your debts, white-eyes. It will be a good lesson for the others!"
"You won't get away with murdering an illustrious gentleman!"
"The only ones here are you and me!"
"Yeah, but you won’t be able to keep your mouth shut!"
The cutthroat didn't answer, just stuck the butt of his sawed-off into his shoulder in silence, but didn't have time to shoot. Through the sound of the wind and rain, there came the familiar crackling of a powder engine. Then, I saw the roof of an armored police carriage flicker by down below. The self-propelled carriage crawled slowly down the road, obscured by bushes, but soon came out in the open after rounding a bend.
"How are you gonna run from the cops with only one good leg?" I chuckled with untold relief.
"Get over here!" The Chinese man demanded. "Say one word and I shoot!"
But, before I had time to carry out the cutthroat's demand, the leprechaun pipsqueak, deftly and quickly spinning his arms and legs like a circus monkey, climbed up onto the Chinese man's back and plunged a kitchen knife into his neck with all his might.
The sawed-off boomed out twice. The shot blasted a clod of dirt from under my foot, and Mr. Chan's henchman fell lifeless into the ditch. The leprechaun jumped down from his back and calmly wiped the knife on the sleeve of his badly soiled frock coat.
"Cool, right?" he asked with a grin, vanishing into the shrubbery, disappearing from view instantly.
"Curses!" I cried.
There was a dead Chinese man with his throat slit, and a police armored carriage coming up the hill. To make matters worse, it was just me and no witnesses other than my imaginary friend.
Was he even a friend? More like pain in the ass!
After throwing the grenade bag on the side of the road, I hobbled over to the corpse and, in that there wasn't time to hide the body in the bushes, grabbed the dead body under the armpits and dragged it to the bridge.
The phrase "feed stray animals" flickered in my head, as I pushed the Chinese man over the edge and sent him tumbling into the water below.
There, I fed them! From down below, there came a plunk and a confused roar.
I didn't wait by the bridge, just went off in search of the incendiary grenade bag. Relief rolled over me with a pleasant relaxation and, when the police armored car started slowing down, I didn't assign that fact any meaning, just covered my eyes with my hand to block the bright headlights coming around the bend.
"Everything's fine!" I shouted to the constable on his way out of the passenger seat in a waterproof cloak. "I'm just heading home!"
The police man nodded and suddenly threw up a short crossbow. The string twanged and a wooden bar with iron pins and wires slammed painfully into my chest. A moment later, I was pierced through from head to toe by a powerful electric shock, like I had been struck by lightning!
Well, I wish it were lighting...
4
I WOKE UP in the back of the armored vehicle with a jolting pain in my numb muscles.
My head was splitting devilishly. My throat was very dried out. I couldn't move my arms or legs at all. Curses! Even my fingers wouldn't move. It felt like they had been tied down with ropes. My eyes were covered by a thick blindfold. There was a gag stuck in my mouth.
"Why such attention to detail?" I thought, trying to loosen the straps, but I soon suffered another blow to the temples from something substantial and fell unconscious yet again.
I was carried out of the vehicle on a stretcher. I could have gotten out myself, I just wasn't asked.
Where they brought me, I couldn't tell, but something told me that this was not just some mere kidnapping and that we were now arriving to the Newton-Markt. There was something particular in the air; familiar smells and sounds.
And I didn't even know whether to be glad about that or not. No matter how I spun it, I had committed lots of sins recently, enough for a hanging and a lifetime of work camp thrown in to boot. That dirigible explosion, how many people had died in that? I was defending myself, sure, but that would have to be proved.
In the cell, I was finally unlatched from the stretcher, moved to a table, had my arms and legs cuffed, and at chest level, had a thick belt tied around my back. I was immediately reminded of the electric chair, but in the end, managed to put on a calm demeanor, filled with chilly rage.
"Leave us!" demanded Inspector General von Nalz.
I heard the sound of footsteps. The door slammed shut. Then the blindfold was torn from my eyes and the gag was yanked from my mouth.
I moved my jaw, stretching the cramped muscles, looked at the Inspector General and joked gloomily:
"It seems this is becoming something of a tradition..."
"Silence!" Friedrich von Nalz shouted out sharply, slamming his hand on the table. "Where is my daughter, you scoundrel?!"
"You couldn't think up a better pretext to bring me in?" I asked in a stupor.
"Silence!" the old man barked again, and the transparent flame filling him spilled over, lashing out at me with its impossible heat, bringing to mind Jimmy, baked from the inside.
Friedrich von Nalz was capable of frying a person without any curses or black magic, but what had scared me even a week earlier, had now lost all meaning.
"Where is my daughter?" the inspector general demanded an answer, and somehow instantly I was left without even the slightest doubt of his sincerity.
I just squeezed out:
"Has something happened to Elizabeth-Maria? Is she alright?!"
"You're asking me?!" the Inspector General balked in rage.
"Yes, I am!" I frowned, feeling annoyed, and in some measure, squeamish. "Please explain the reason for my arrest! My second arrest in a week, just imagine! And yet, not one person has apologized! I'm getting the impression this isn't a police department, but a coven of lunatics!"
The old man was fast. I didn't even manage to blink before he hit me with a forceful slap. I tasted blood.
"Blown off your steam?" I asked after that. "Can we talk now?"
"No!" the Inspector General barked.
"You haven't blown off your steam, or we can't talk?"
Friedrich von Nalz took a heavy sigh, then turned away as if my damaged face was unpleasant to him, and suddenly rasped out:
"Is something the matter with you, Viscount?"
"So, it's Viscount now!" I snorted, at an impasse after the unexpected question. "I guess I graduated from scoundrel pretty quick..."
"There are plenty of scoundrel viscounts about," the inspector general cut me off, barely able to resist hitting me again. "What is this game you've conceived?"
"That I conceived?" My surprise had no end. "You stunned me with electricity and dragged me down here! I didn't ask for that!"
"Are you trying to say you’ve done nothing wrong?"
"I'm trying to say that it would be nice to hear some charges for starters!" I growled back.
Friedrich von Nalz waved his hand wearily:
"Drop the act, Viscount. You know perfectly well what this is about."
"As for now, I understand only that your daughter has disappeared. Where you got the suspicion of my guilt remains a mystery."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, indeed."
"You don't think we'll find any clues against you?"
"I would never do anything to harm Elizabeth-Maria," I answered with utter sincerity, even though my words now sounded slightly out of place.
"Youth is characterized by thoughtlessness. Young people often don't think about the consequences of their actions."
I closed my eyes, thought over what I'd heard, then asked:
"Are you accusing me of having ties with your daughter? Do you think she ran away with me, not wanting to marry a man she didn't love? Utter nonsense! If that were the case, we would be together, don't you
think?"
"Perhaps you already got what you wanted from her."
"What do you think I could get from her?" I blurted out without thinking, and immediately caught another severe blow. "Curses! I could have gotten by without that quite well!"
"Enough of the comedy! Answer the questions!"
"Let's calm down," I suggested, gathering my thoughts. "You're supposing you can find out from me where Elizabeth-Maria is. Let's say I do have access to that information. Let's say that, before I make a deal, I want to figure out what proof you have of my guilt. Put my back up against the wall and I'll start working with the investigation right away but, first, I’d like you to explain what the devil is going on here!"
I shouted out the last words as loud as possible, and the face of the inspector general instantly filled with bad blood. He could barely hold back. It seemed he really had been counting on getting this information from me.
"In the end, it could save us a significant amount of time," I said, now totally calm.
Friedrich von Nalz crunched his bony fingers and warned me:
"You will not leave this cell alive," he said calmly, "if you do not tell me where my daughter is. I would be happy to sacrifice my career to get her back, if need be."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Enough!"
"Friedrich," I sighed, "you must understand that these accusations against me do not stand up to criticism. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. These kinds of interrogations are normally done by detectives, after all. Remember what you said about Elizabeth-Maria's taste! Do you really think she'd suddenly think me a suitable partner? I cannot possibly compare with the minister of justice's nephew, right?"
The inspector general frowned, took a seat at the table and got out a cigarette case that contained pills instead of cigarettes.
"For my heart," he said, tossing one down his throat. "Everything's all mixed up, Viscount. The situation has flown directly into the depths of hell. But if you give me my daughter back, I'll try to forget about personal slights."
"Get to the point," I demanded. "What happened? Just the facts."