The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

  I just had to, and that was that.

  5

  THE CHARMING BACCHANTE was packed to the rafters. There wasn't a single open table. All around, the audience members were hunkering down, taking shelter from the storm. I ordered a cup of coffee, gulped it down, threw a few coins on the bar and walked up to the second story.

  His apartment door was not locked. Albert was standing before a mirror getting dressed and preparing to make an appearance.

  "Greetings!" I squeezed from myself against my own will. "Are you alone?"

  "Oh, Leo!" The poet grew joyful. "You've come at the perfect time! Let's go to the thermae!"

  His warm reception threw me off. I hesitated and couldn't make up my mind to say the words still burning me from the inside.

  In the end, I might have been wrong. It might have just been a coincidence. Such things were known to happen, after all.

  Perhaps, but I didn't believe in them.

  I felt quite sure, yet I didn't want make a scene. Was my sheepishness leading me astray, or had good sense awoken? I do not even know...

  "To the thermae?" I asked, just expressing my surprise at the poet's unexpected suggestion and throwing my derby hat over the billiard ball lying on the shelf. "But why?"

  "Oh, it's a fantastic story." Albert laughed. "Do you know where I spent last night and most of the day? You'll never guess! Behind bars! Can you imagine?"

  "What did you do this time?"

  "That's the thing, I didn't do anything! During yesterday's reception at Baron Dürer's, someone opened the safe and all the guests were searched like hardened criminals. Inconceivable! And then we were... what did they call it? Isolated while they conducted preliminary interrogations!"

  I forced a smile.

  "But there's also a good thing there, no? Your mystery girl was forced to give up the incognito."

  The poet tied on his neckerchief and turned away from the mirror.

  "Fortunately, she left the reception before the police arrived," he said. "But if only you could have seen what a furor my veiled lady made among the guests."

  I pressed my hand to my unbearably aching heart, and Albert wondered compassionately:

  "Leo, is everything in order with you?"

  "It's nothing. Just the end of a stressful day."

  "So, shall we go to the thermae?"

  "Let's go," I nodded. "Just take a cloak. It's dog's weather out there."

  "Well, naturally!"

  Albert took his long cloak from the hanger; we walked into the hallway and went to down to the first floor.

  "Curses!" I swore out. "My derby hat! I forgot it at your place!"

  The poet handed me his keys thoughtlessly.

  "Run!" he allowed. "I'll send someone out after a cab while you go."

  I ran back up to the second floor in an instant, unlocked the apartment and lit the candles on the desk. Albert had the custom of keeping his work drafts in the top drawer of his desk, so I broke it open first of all.

  On top, there was an unfinished draft of Inhabitant of the Night. It was of no interest to me, but after that, I discovered sheets of writing paper covered with sketches of a fine female figure. A narrow waist, a high chest, and curvy thighs. Her alluring body was sprawled out in luxury. Sprawled out on this very couch!

  I started shaking, but just after I turned over the sheet, my eyes went totally cloudy. A woman's face was looking up at me from the page. It wasn't as expertly done as Charles's drawings, but still easily recognizable.

  The face staring back of me was that of Elizabeth-Maria.

  My Elizabeth-Maria! The succubus, and not the daughter of the inspector general!

  There couldn't be the slightest doubt.

  My legs gave out. I fell back in the chair, reached out for a decanter and poured myself a glass of water with my hands shaking. I drained the glass greedily and tried to gather my thoughts.

  Albert wasn't playing any games, that was obvious now. The overly impressionable poet had simply succumbed to the unnatural charm of the succubus. He was not involved in the theft of the patent, or the mysterious disappearance of the inspector general's daughter. He hadn’t attempted to send the police down a false trail, or done anything wrong at all, with the exception of falling in love with the wrong woman.

  But then me... I had believed in his guilt all too easily, and that burned fiercer than red-hot iron.

  I threw the papers on the table, broke open one drawer, another, and a third. I rifled through their contents, then took a bottle of rum from the cupboard, threw open the window and broke it with the bottle so the glass would fall inside. I tossed the bottle outside and quickly left the apartment, not forgetting to grab the derby hat I'd thrown on the floor.

  Someone just broke in, that was all.

  But in my soul I felt uncommonly vile. Getting involved with a succubus had yet to lead anyone to anything good; I'd have to save the poet.

  When I was back down on the first floor, Albert was drinking wine at the bar and admiring the half-naked beauties prancing about on stage. The poet didn't pay the slightest attention to my delay; he'd always been inspired by the sight of fine female legs regardless of whether he was in love with someone or not.

  And even with my delay, we still had to wait at least another quarter hour for the cab.

  "The most prudent are waiting in the neighboring taverns for the end of the show and are about to take the audience for triple normal prices," Albert told me with a smirk after we’d gotten into a covered carriage and were rolling down the rain-slicked alleys of the Greek Quarter.

  The cabby, who smelled robustly of wine, was pretending not to have heard the acrid remark, and didn't intervene on behalf of his colleagues' honor. But perhaps, he really just didn't hear. He was pecking with his nose here and there, giving a shake and wiping the rain off his face, only to repeat the procedure all over again.

  For some reason, that observation put the poet into a state of indescribable elation. He was overjoyed and started stacking one tall tale on top of the other. He couldn't even stop joking around in the thermae, where he, thankfully, was a familiar face. For that reason, we were let inside without having to wait in the huge line that started all the way back on the veranda of the huge public bath building built in Ancient Greek style. The idea of warming our bones in such bad weather hadn't been quite as unique as we’d supposed.

  In the spacious vestibule, it was so crowded you couldn't move. There was a nimble little boy ducking around there with a stack of papers, shaking an evening edition of the Capital Times.

  "Mysterious happenings!" he shouted over the din. "Bodies disappearing from the city morgue! Police stumped! Storm coming over the city! Port closed!"

  Albert bought a paper, but didn't read it. He turned it over and stuck it in his cloak pocket. After choking by the crowded concession area, we headed directly to the changing room. We left our clothes in a locker there, wrapped ourselves in togas and walked into the steamy room. The hot air enshrouded me from all sides. A moist heat came down, chasing away the dank cold outside. I was forced to calm down and forget all my problems and cares.

  But I didn't manage to cast the weighty thoughts from my mind. One thing was certain: I didn't know how to tell my friend that his beloved was a succubus.

  We set up on some hot stones near the entrance, where the air was comparatively mild in temperature; I was drinking lemonade, and Albert was nipping at a goblet of wine. The wisps of steam enshrouded us, hid the other visitors, and muddied the speech, turning all the conversations around us into one uninterrupted din. I normally felt out of my element in the thermae and was careful to have my robe covering all my tattoos, but today, that worry took the back seat. I had to tell my friend everything, but couldn't find the right words.

  "You know what, Leo?!" the poet suddenly asked. "I decided to shake off the dust and head off on a trip. Spring in Paris, summer in London, fall in Persia or the New World, and return to New Babylon in the winter. It wo
uld be a truly marvelous voyage!"

  I nodded and inquired carefully:

  "And how does the lady of your heart feel about that?"

  Albert laughed carelessly:

  "She supported me whole-heartedly! She'll be free in the next few days and we'll fly out of this smoky cesspool like birds from a cage – to freedom. Just her and me. Don't you get upset though. I'll send you postcards."

  "How very sweet of you," I smiled sourly.

  The succubus was intending to be free in the next few days? Considering that only death could separate us, that was a bit disheartening.

  "The chestnuts in bloom on Montmartre!" said Albert, staring dreamily at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. "The foggy London nights! I know such places there, you'd be surprised! We'll be happy and carefree."

  And my tongue just couldn't turn to dash these dreams. I got cold feet. I was afraid of hurting my friend. I decided to wait for the situation to resolve itself.

  It was surprising, but no matter how well I knew others' fears, it was beyond me to overcome my own. Cowardice is like an invisible brand one can never be rid of.

  But I could no longer bear looking at the poet's serene face, so I decided to bring him to his senses at least a bit.

  "Albert, old friend," I said, unable to hold back an acrid snicker, "are you sure you'll be allowed to travel to the continent? Didn’t you just spend the night in the police station?"

  The poet just waved it off:

  "Do you think I was the only one thrown into a cell?" He sat on the stones, leaning his back on the warm wall. "Everyone was checked. Distinguished guests were released earlier. Staff and invited artists only after lunch. I actually got off easy, Leo! I'm considered trustworthy!"

  "Well, well," I smiled with half of my mouth. "Did the investigators not have any questions for the lady of your heart?"

  "I'm telling you: she left me long before the theft."

  "And you yourself didn't notice anything suspicious at the reception?"

  Albert tilted his head to the side:

  "Why are you asking, Leo?"

  "Discounting my normal worldly curiosity?" I shrugged my shoulders, "I'm feeling moved by professional instinct. Don't forget that, for a private investigator, to solve such a prominent case is the same as drawing a winning lottery ticket."

  "Procrustes wasn't enough for you?"

  "I already spent the reward from that to the last franc. By the way, you might congratulate me. Certain things have happened with my inheritance. I'll soon be living high on the horse."

  "On twenty thousand francs a year?" Albert asked incredulously, his mood now lighter. "Some socialites have been known to drop that much on cards in one night!"

  "Money begets money," I smiled, again filling my glass with lemonade. "If I make a bundle, I'll buy you a couple of first class steamer tickets to Lisbon."

  "Dirigible tickets," the poet corrected me. "We'll be traveling in style!"

  "As you say. So then, was there nothing suspicious?"

  Albert finished his wine, fell deep into thought, but soon waved a hand:

  "What the devil, Leo? Do I look like a detective to you? I didn't see anything suspicious. At the beginning, I was concentrated on wooing my lady, and after that, I was slaking the bitterness of parting with wine. Nearer the end, I went on stage and stunned all the buffoons who performed before me with my talent. Sorry, Leo, I wasn't really paying attention."

  I had no doubt in the poet's sincerity, so I just sighed. Somehow unnoticed, the conversation shifted to the arrival of Tesla and Edison, then we discussed the bad weather. When we drifted into politics, though, Albert finished his wine and stood decisively to his feet.

  "I think it's time to go home," he told me. "I have an important meeting tomorrow morning."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yes, I’m going to buy a traveling outfit for my little bunny."

  I turned away, covering up a morbid grimace and adjusting my toga.

  "What are you talking about?" Albert got on guard, having noticed a dissatisfied air pass over my face. "Is something the matter?"

  "The life of a private investigator is not sweet," I frowned. "Have you ever been electrocuted?"

  "You know, somehow I've managed to avoid it."

  "It's extremely unpleasant. That much I can tell you, old friend."

  "I'll take your word," the poet laughed. He then asked: "But, is everything alright?"

  "Yes! Of course! It's just that one of my former colleagues has expressed a bit too much zeal."

  We headed to the changing room, and Albert whistled when he saw the huge bruise on my chest; the electrode-laden bolt shot out by the crossbow had kicked my ribcage almost as hard as a rogue stallion kicking a ranger.

  "You've come into quite a noble inheritance, my friend!" the poet shook his head.

  "You're telling me," I sighed, getting dressed. "Shall we take a cab?"

  "Were you planning on walking in this weather?"

  I shrugged my shoulders and felt for my wallet, but Albert stopped me.

  "Let me tell you a secret, Leo," he said, cocking his eye. "Today, on my way out of the Newton-Markt, I went to a publisher and collected my fee for the publishing rights to the poem about you-know-who."

  "Congrats," I snorted. "Surprising, even."

  "What exactly do you find surprising?"

  "That such naive publishers could possibly exist. Paying such a fee as an advance is basically the same as chaining a poet to a barrel of wine! Throwing money to the wind! And I'm not even talking now about their unassuming taste."

  Albert trained his pointer finger at me and declared:

  "That is all envy talking, old buddy."

  "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

  "Look who's talking!"

  Trading insults, we left the thermae and sent a boy, who’d been dawdling around nearby, after a free cab. The cab drivers here fancied a certain tavern on the opposite side of the square and were drinking grog, warm and dry, having abandoned their carriages under the pouring rain.

  "Just make sure to get a covered one!" Albert shouted after the boy. He then turned to me and asked: "What are your plans for tonight?"

  "Weren't you about to go to sleep?" I asked in surprise.

  "Sleep isn't such a fundamental concern."

  I shook my head:

  "If I go with you, it will be. So, I'm going home."

  "As you say."

  A carriage drove up to us with its top raised. We loaded ourselves into it and rolled away from the thermae. On Dürer-Platz, I left the poet and started up Calvary, nervously glancing from side to side. My hand was clenched around the handle of the Cerberus in my pocket, but time and time again, when I saw an impenetrable darkness in the rain, or a lightning strike blasted the tower on top of the hill, my heart started racing and my soul wanted to jump out of my skin.

  I was afraid. Very afraid. There was Lazarus and the Convent with him, Mr. Chan and his helpers and the illustrious gentlemen with their police infiltrator. They were all trying to murder me. There was no negotiating, either. It was either them or me.

  That was precisely why I spent a good ten minutes looking in the dark wet grass along the roadside for the bag of incendiary grenades I’d left there. In the end, I did scare up the canvas sack, but the fifth grenade, which I'd thrown in the ditch, was nowhere to be found.

  Alas.

  So then, the bag strap over my shoulder, I hurried home. I undid the latch and walked through the dead garden, all black and wet, up to the manor, which greeted me with a warm light from all the first-story windows.

  Bewildered at the waste of electricity – what had Elizabeth-Maria managed to think up now? – I got up on the veranda, walked into the entryway and locked the door. I set my bag on the floor, then sat down on an ottoman and held my face in my hands, not knowing how I could frame the upcoming conversation with the succubus. I wanted to go on a rampage, but the bonds that held us placed certain restrictions.
/>   I couldn't kill the girl, no matter how much I wanted to.

  With a fated sigh, I pulled off my wet jacket, put it on the hanger and headed off in search of the succubus. But as soon as I entered the hallway, I immediately ran into my butler.

  And Theodor was just lying there, looking lifelessly at the ceiling with glassy eyes. He was dead.

  I immediately pulled my Cerberus from my pocket and froze, tensely listening to the silence of my empty manor. My first urge was to jump for the bag of incendiary grenades, but I overcame it and stayed still.

  There were no wounds on the butler's body, no bullet holes, no crimson drops of blood, so it seemed a most doubtful proposition that my servant had been done in by Lazarus. But at that, I was reminded of Albert's assertion that his flame intended to obtain her long-awaited freedom in the very nearest future, going with him to the continent.

  Was this just Elizabeth-Maria playing some new game? What if she was looking for a way to get out of the oath that bound us?

  That thought forced me to shiver uncomfortably, and I first slipped into the guest room. But no, my grandfather's saber was still hanging over the fireplace, right where it should have been.

  Squeezing the Cerberus to my chest in order not to have it torn from my hands, I popped into the dining room. There was no one there either. In the silence of the empty house, I heard rolls of thunder blasting out. Every time, the window panes started shaking, and I got the sense that there was raging battle underway not particularly far away. That didn't help my already fraying nerves.

  Finally confounded, I headed into the kitchen and froze in the doorway like I was interred. Elizabeth-Maria was lying on the floor, her face pale as chalk and her lips turned blue. The girl's arms and legs were convulsing. Her eyes were rolled back so far that her pupils were nowhere to be seen.

  The hair on the back of my head stood on end in horror. Whoever had been fighting with my servant and houseguest, they were such an expert at their craft that he had managed to kill a living corpse and overpower a succubus, and now they were waiting for me...