The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

  "No!" I shouted, shooting up too sharply from my seat and spilling the senior inspector’s wine on his jacket.

  "Curses!" he swore, blotting the expensive fabric with a napkin; a waiter appeared next to him almost immediately.

  "Allow me," he asked, helping his valued guest with the wine-stained clothing.

  When the waiter had gone, Bastian Moran stared gloomily at me and whispered out:

  "You're unbearable, Viscount! Get out of here or I can no longer be held accountable for my actions!"

  "We'll see each other again," I called back, stepping into the restaurant foyer. Then, my dark glasses perched on my nose, I stood in front of a panoramic window.

  The rain outside was pouring. I was feeling no less nasty inside. My evidence wasn’t solid enough to attract the help of any patrolmen for the arrest. Such officers were not inclined to listen to private detectives, especially when talking about such a famous and popular personage.

  At that moment, a waiter emerged from the men's room with the senior inspector's jacket. I crossed his path and outstretched a hand.

  "Please, allow me to beg my forgiveness."

  For a certain moment, he hesitated, then handed it to me. I nodded and headed into the room, but almost immediately turned back and shook my head:

  "I'm afraid that would only make matters worse. My apologies."

  "Nothing to worry about," the waiter answered with absolutely serene calm, accepting the jacket from me and bringing it over to Bastian Moran.

  I then calmly went out under the awning, opened the wallet I'd borrowed from the senior inspector and called the doorman.

  "My good man!" I said, handing him the wallet, but keeping the badge. "Someone must have dropped this. Ask your patrons on their way out the door."

  "Without fail," he promised, not suspecting any tom-foolery in my innocent request.

  I nodded and hurried of in search of a cab. I had just a sliver of time.

  2

  A NIGHTMARE for any policeman, even an inveterate careerist, is to attract the attention of the top brass just as your shift is coming to an end. Especially if it's dog's weather, rain and wind, and you've already sat down in a cozy tavern with a mug of beer or a glass of warm grog. And I knew that first-hand. I'd once walked a beat in a pair of uniform boots myself.

  That was precisely why, after coming up to the area of the old circus, I headed directly to the nearest establishment that served liquor. I had no need whatsoever for vigilant wardens who’d start doubting and asking uncomfortable questions. No, I was intending to play it safe.

  Entering King of Clowns, a pretentiously named establishment of middling shabbiness, I found five Newton-Markt employees drinking wine together. I coughed and showed off the stolen badge.

  "Department Three, Senior Inspector Moran," I said significantly. "Gentlemen, to the exit."

  And they all obeyed. None of them were surprised at the senior inspector's young age or his visit to such a low-rent establishment. They didn’t seem to think about why such an important figure was not accompanied by a horde of underlings, or why he didn't ask a single question, either.

  "Insolence gives you half the world," as my grandfather loved to repeat; and beyond insolence, I also had an illustrious talent. Fear of upsetting the upper leadership constricted the constables, forcing them to carry out the impostor's orders unquestioningly.

  Outside, I arranged the patrolmen in a row and pointed at the circus dome.

  "We're conducting a search. For the inspector generals' daughter."

  "But, how can that be...?" one of the constables babbled out.

  "Do you not read the papers?" I asked coldly, and the light-haired bull instantly checked himself. "Move out!"

  And my little division started rushing across the square.

  With a perfect understanding that I couldn't keep the wool over their eyes for long, I hurried to split them up and get to business. The light-haired constable headed to the back door, his friend stayed in the foyer, and the others I led backstage.

  "You can't go back there!" cried an alarmed doorman as he ran after us.

  "Police!" I threw out as I walked. I then barked just like my former boss, who'd taught me to play nice with commoners: "Out of the way, you feckless ingrate!"

  The doorman instantly stepped back. The sentries looked with envious respect. Such treatment of a circus person was to their liking. Circus people and police had a long tradition of mutual acrimony.

  At the approach to the backstage, we were caught by the theater manager. But I'd encountered pompous individuals like him plenty of times in my childhood. And I saw through them. I could guess all their fears perfectly.

  "My good man!" I said, pulling the fop over by a gilded frock button. "One of your people did something they really shouldn't have. If you get in the way, you'll make yourself an accomplice. Get the message?"

  And again, I hit the mark. In any circus, in any troupe, even the most respectable, you can always find a black sheep. If not among the circus folk themselves, then among the ancillary staff. The leadership, naturally, would find out about the dark dealings, but where else could they find someone willing to work for such a comical salary? Also, this was a mere trifle...

  But such trifles only seem small until the police get involved.

  "What do you think you're doing?" the theater manager objected, having gone very pale. "I know many important people! I will be complaining!"

  "Do you have a telephone?" I asked, throwing him off with the unexpected question.

  "Yes, and what of it?"

  "Start calling around to your friends, while they still remember you."

  "This is ridiculous!" the fop exclaimed with a step back. "I'm calling a lawyer!"

  "Such is your right!" I smiled and called a constable after me: "Let's go! Come on! Faster!"

  Even my talent couldn't hold the theater manager for long; the contentiousness of such individuals surpassed all rational bounds. Soon, he'd come to his senses and kick up such a scandal that the very demons in hell would get nauseous.

  A little boy came backstage to meet us, probably an assistant of one of the artistes; I quickly stopped him and bid him take us to Maestro Marlini. The carny hesitated, then I clamped down his shoulder and reminded him:

  "You're about to start a big tour, right? It would be a shame to end up in the slammer and miss out on all the fun."

  The boy shuddered in horror, and quickly took us through the confusing passages of the circus. And that was just wonderful. The police gradually stepped back from their initial shock and looked at me with unhidden incomprehension.

  Well, move it!

  MAESTRO MARLINI was expecting us.

  We dashed into the spacious room to find it filled with boxes of stage props packed for the voyage. He was just smiling an unconcerned smile:

  "Ah, the valorous guardians of public order! To what do I owe your visit?"

  "Search the place top to bottom!" I ordered the patrolmen. "Look for the girl and Baron Dürer's documents."

  The police exchanged confused glances and went in different directions.

  "Stop!" the hypnotist said simply, and my underlings stopped in place.

  "Are you intending to impede the execution of justice?" I snorted. "That is fraught with serious consequences, maestro."

  "First, introduce yourself!" the magician demanded.

  I waved my badge before his face and announced:

  "Senior Inspector Moran, Department Three!"

  My assertion didn't have even the slightest effect on the hypnotist. His face didn't even change. Moreover, though we'd never been introduced, I started to get the impression that the magician knew for certain who I really was.

  "So then, I'm sure you have a warrant for this search, Senior Inspector Moran." the magician intuited, curious, unfurling the last of my doubts about whether he was guilty or not.

  He was mocking me! Simply mocking me!

  But I didn't express
any annoyance and, in response to the jeering in his question, calmly declared, no longer for the carny, but for the patrolmen:

  "A warrant is not necessary in suspected cases of unlawful detention."

  "Are you accusing me of kidnapping?" the maestro smiled softly.

  He didn't say anything in particular, or move his arm. He didn't even move from place, but the police took an involuntary step back toward the exit. If my talent weren't still holding them, they'd surely have been running away as fast as possible.

  "Who said this was about you?" I asked in surprise. "Are you the only one with access back here?"

  "Naturally, I am not!" the hypnotist announced, clapping his hands. Three young men came out of the neighboring room. "These are my assistants, Mickey, Don and Leon," said the maestro, introducing them.

  "Then you have nothing to worry about. No one is accusing you of anything," I shrugged and ordered the constables: "Commence the search!"

  "Stop! One minute!" the magician demanded. "My assistants will show you around." He assigned one assistant per police man and, when they'd begun searching the building, he turned back to me: "May I be so curious as to inquire who you mean to find here?"

  I looked carefully at him and said pointedly:

  "Elizabeth-Maria von Nalz."

  "Oh, I read about her disappearance!" the hypnotist called back just then. "What a tragedy!"

  "We'll find her."

  "But why here exactly?"

  "Investigatory privilege."

  "Don't think I'm doubting your competency, inspector general..."

  "Senior inspector."

  Maestro Marlini smiled:

  "As someone who's led a strictly civilian life, I think it a forgivable error, senior inspector. You've just been hoodwinked." He walked over to a table with a partially drunk bottle of wine and a bowl of fruit. He filled a glass and suggested: "Have a drink?"

  "I'm working."

  "Admirable restraint! It can't have been easy to work your way up to senior inspector at such a young age, can it?"

  "Appearances can be deceiving, maestro, you of all people should know that," I parried without hesitation, carefully observing the patrolmen’s actions. They were checking all the boxes a person could fit into, and yet something in their movements around the room was making me restless.

  "And your glasses?" the hypnotist distracted me again. "I've never seen such a thing before. Mind if I take a look?"

  My arm started moving toward the glasses loop against my will, but I stopped it in time and rubbed my cheek.

  Maestro Marlini laughed:

  "I'll have to order a pair for myself."

  "They'll hardly be of any use to you at the labor camp," I said, shaking my head.

  "And what of the presumption of innocence?"

  "The daughter of the inspector general of the metropolitan police is not the kind of person you can kidnap, then expect leniency."

  "I don't understand this escalation," the magician huffed. "Do you have a personal stake in this matter... Senior Inspector Moran?"

  "Oh, yes!" I smiled, having suddenly realized what exactly was causing the feeling that something wasn't right here. The center of the room was free of boxes, but both the constables and the maestro's assistants were only walking along the walls.

  "Personal interest can spoil a case," the hypnotist noted perceptively, clearly surreptitiously making fun of the doltish blockhead he took me for.

  I didn't answer, just waved a hand, calling for the police man looking over the stack of boxes in the far corner.

  "Constable! Come over here!"

  The sentry shuddered and hurried to carry out my order. But he didn't come straight over, he went along the wall again, as if the middle of the room was being blocked by some kind of obstacle he was going around without realizing it.

  "Yes, senior inspector?" the police man rapped off, now near me.

  "Find anything?"

  "Nothing."

  "Keep it up!" I let him go and returned to the maestro, who had been watching our conversation with unhidden curiosity.

  "You won't find anything," the magician assured me. "And you really don't have any right to search me. I'm sure our stage manager has already called a lawyer. I advise you to leave the circus before he arrives."

  "You’re giving me advice?" I laughed quietly and picked three small oranges from the fruit bowl. "You know something? I used to live with a circus. My father represented the interests of their field manager. Naturally, our troupe was no match for your circus but, regardless, my father's least favorite part of that job was intervening in conflicts the circus folk had with the police."

  "That does not characterize your father in the best light!" the maestro threw out sharply.

  "I'm afraid such is the character of all attorneys. They prefer to wait for a situation to resolve itself. You lot hit the road, and they stay here to live."

  "Is that a threat?"

  "Nothing of the sort. Do you know what else I learned in the circus?"

  The hypnotist shrugged.

  "The constables have finished their search," he announced. "You'd better leave."

  I pretended not to hear the reply, threw one orange into the air first, then another, and another, beginning to juggle them in my left hand.

  "My right hand was in a cast back then," I told him. "I still haven't learned to juggle with it."

  "I do not understand what this has to do with your accusations!"

  "Nothing," I answered; all my attention now fixed on the oranges flying up into the air and falling again into my hand.

  One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. This primitive rhythm completely occupied my conscious and put me in a trance. My mind was clear. The only thing that remained in the whole world were the orange balls with cold, slightly rough peels. They flew up and fell, then flew up and fell again.

  "Cut the buffoonery!" the maestro finally lost control, and I threw an orange at him and turned sharply, taking in the whole room with my gaze.

  Maestro Marlini was good and even, I'm not afraid to say it, a genius. Without any preparation, and with just a few meaningless phrases and banal gestures, he had managed to get into the minds of a group of people he didn't know, and force them to ignore a cabinet towering in the very middle of the room on a spinning foundation. We saw it well enough to walk around it, but didn't pay it any mind. Only the idiotic orange game had allowed me to slip out from under the web of his skilled hypnosis.

  "What is that?" I inquired loudly, thus immediately attracting the baffled gazes of the constables.

  "What are you talking about?!" the magician asked in surprise, now much less careless and blasé than before.

  "Have you searched that cabinet?" I asked, pointing to the middle of the room. Only then did the police notice the great big box that had been sitting in plain sight the whole time.

  "We missed it, senior inspector," one of the constables admitted. "I do not understand how such a thing could have happened..."

  "He's not the senior inspector!" Maestro Marlini suddenly spit out. "I remember this guy. He was fired from the police!"

  But it was too late. One moment later, I was next to the cabinet throwing open its doors.

  Empty! Inside, it was empty! Worse than that, the cry of the hypnotist had finally put an end to my power over the constables. Realizing I was an impostor, the policemen stared at me with muted amazement and would have certainly thrown themselves at me to punch, but I had a fair understanding of the stage props used by magicians and easily found and broke out the partition that divided the cabinet in two.

  And just then, who should tumble out but Elizabeth-Maria!

  I gasped in surprise, grabbed the girl and carefully set her down in an armchair. Then, I pressed my hand to her neck in alarm and exhaled loudly when I started feeling a weak pulse.

  After that, I gave a shudder and turned my head from side to side, but the maestro's trail had already gone cold.

  "
Where is he?" I snapped. "Where did the hypnotist get off to?!"

  The constables just threw up their hands. The magician's assistants, meanwhile, fell into a complete stupor.

  "You!" I poked my finger into one of the policemen. "Get a doctor, fast! The rest of you, don't let her out of your sight!"

  I then jumped out into the hallway and immediately ran into Bastian Moran.

  "Not now!" I waved him off, running past, but the senior inspector grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me around. There, two sturdy constables were leading Maestro Marlini to us down the hallway with his hands bound behind his back; there was a hefty bruise swelling up under the magician's eye.

  "As a matter of fact," Bastian Moran snorted, "I came here to arrest you, but the maestro was trying to leave the circus in such a hurry that it seemed a good idea to detain him as well. I hope I won't live to regret that."

  "Look for yourself!" I pointed to the thrown-open door.

  The senior inspector stepped over the threshold and whistled in surprise upon seeing Elizabeth-Maria von Nalz, still unconscious.

  "You know? I’d never have thought it but, sometimes, you know what you're talking about, Viscount!" He shook his head.

  "Is our agreement still in force, then?" I asked, returning the borrowed badge.

  "I'll think about it," said Bastian Moran, cooling my ardor. Then, he shouted to the constables: "Out of the way! Give her more air!"

  "Make way! Let me through!" the circus doctor said, pushing his way through the police crowding up the hallway. He knelt down near the girl and got out the smelling salts. "She'll be just fine!" he reassured us. "She's simply fainted!"

  Elizabeth-Maria's eyelashes started batting, and my heart fluttered, surprised to see her orange-flecked gray eyes.

  "Viscount!" Bastian Moran elbowed me in the side. "Take the lady to the carriage. She must be brought to a hospital at once!"

  "I'm completely fine!" the girl tried to object, barely able to stay on her feet.

  I offered her my hand and led her outside. Two Department Three officers came after us; Bastian Moran obviously still didn't trust me.

  "What is happening, Viscount?" Elizabeth-Maria babbled out. "I was at the reception, and now I'm waking up here. Where are we? What is happening?"