The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

  "That's all behind you," I assured her. "Someone poisoned your drink. They were trying to kidnap you for ransom, but we arrested the scoundrel."

  "But who? Who was it?!"

  "Your father can tell you that," I replied, not wanting to upset her delicate sensibilities with excessive detail.

  We went outside. A fresh wind had blown in, and rain was lashing. Elizabeth-Maria's gaze grew clear, she looked around and gasped:

  "We were in the circus?"

  I led her to the police carriage, helped her get inside and sat down next to her.

  "Viscount!" one of the officers called out to me. "You have to go back inside!"

  "Just a second!" I called back in annoyance and closed the door. "Elizabeth-Maria, I have something to admit to you..."

  "What happened?" the inspector general's daughter gasped, starting to worry.

  "Do you remember that newspaper blurb about Albert Brandt writing a poem dedicated to you? I asked him to write it. I... I love you, Elizabeth-Maria! I've loved you for a long time!"

  I don't know what I was expecting. I just had to say my peace. The languor of love was burning me from the inside and I could no longer bear to keep it all a secret. And that was all despite my fear of being refused.

  I confessed.

  Elizabeth-Maria drew back from me. Her gaze was now cold and distant.

  "Viscount," she said, the usual warmth no longer present in her voice, "I am very grateful to you for rescuing me, but I have to say that I do not feel the same about you." Then she went silent, not even mentioning her fiancé.

  It was a heavy blow, but I set myself up for it, so I overpowered my feelings, stretched my lips out into a careless smile, and said in parting:

  "Forgive my lack of restraint. You can always count on me," and got out of the carriage, closing the door and commanding the driver: "To the hospital!"

  The carriage rolled off, and together with it went the Department Three officers, bouncing up and down on the running-boards. And also with them went my heart, ripped to shreds.

  There was nothing more holding me here but, unlike flighty creative types, people of noble origin tend to be characterized a healthy pragmatism. So, I didn't throw myself off the embankment into the river like I wanted, and just went back into the circus.

  Maestro Marlini was brought out to meet me; his hands were cuffed, and the lower half of his face had a half-mask gag over it.

  Bastian Moran looked with a smirk at my droopy countenance and wondered:

  "Are you still interested in an audience with the inspector general, Viscount?"

  "More than ever," I answered calmly and pointed at the maestro. "Did he confess?"

  "No, but there's no need. He was keeping the stolen documents on his person."

  "What surprising arrogance."

  "Such things are known to happen with people who think themselves of superior intelligence," the senior inspector threw out pointedly in reply. He then added quietly, just for me: "It'd be better if you'd just shot him when he tried to run, Viscount. There's no way for this not to gain wide publicity now. After a trial, no one's good name will remain intact, believe you me."

  "Give me five minutes," I asked.

  Bastian Moran shook his head:

  "You missed the chance."

  "I'm not planning to kill him!" I whispered. "I'm just gonna drive home the possible consequences."

  "Aren't you afraid he'll hypnotize you?"

  "I'm afraid of too many things to give any importance to my fears."

  "He's all yours until we get to the Newton-Markt," the senior inspector decided. "Make good use of the time."

  I got into the police carriage after the hypnotist, and the locks immediately clicked from outside. Maestro Marlini looked at me sidelong and turned away.

  I didn't pull the gag out of his mouth. I just leaned back in the uncomfortable seat and said:

  "Claiming innocence will not bring you significant advantage."

  The magician stayed silent.

  "I mean," I continued, "you could claim the daughter of the inspector general is guilty of anything, but who would believe that such a young creature with such a flawless reputation could ever do such a thing? Are you going to try and use mind control on the jury? Come off it! Everyone knows you have a talent for hypnotism. You won't even be allowed to speak. You'll just sit out the whole trial in a jail cell, your hands and feet in cuffs."

  The maestro started gurgling expressively, so I pulled out the gag.

  "Love of art can make one bear such things!" the magician declared.

  "Love of art?" I asked in surprise.

  "I’ve just staged quite the production! Two people, secretly in love, confess their inner feelings to one another. He – a poor private detective, and she – already promised to another. So, they decide to flee and start planning a robbery. He's caught, and she confesses it all in court but, not able to bear being apart from her beloved, she stabs herself. Now that is art! Shakespeare has nothing on me!"

  His words grated on me, but I just shook my head:

  "If you pretend to be mad, they'll lock you in the insane asylum until the end of your days. I advise you to opt for hard labor."

  "You don't understand a thing of the great power of art! Not a thing! You're mediocre, Viscount, just like everyone else! You carry on a friendship with a famous poet. You must appreciate the grandiosity of my intention. My story would make you immortal!"

  "Drop the act!" I demanded. "We don't have much time left."

  "Do you mean to offer me a deal?" the maestro inquired, his interest piqued. "You know, there are all kinds of things in the mind of your beloved. Would you like me to make her fall in love with you? I could do that."

  "If you bring that up again, I'll hit you," I warned him. "I need you to confess your guilt, and that is all."

  "Not gonna happen! I won't sign anything, even under threat of death."

  "Why would I want to kill you? Death by hanging is quite a lot more torturous and humiliating."

  "Balderdash!"

  But I'd already found the hypnotist's weak spot, so I laid into it with all the power of my talent, repeatedly widening the breach in his desolate defenses.

  "The theft is a relatively minor charge. A charming thief can always plead his case before an unassuming public, pretending to be a gentleman-robber of some kind, a modern-day Robin Hood or Arsène Lupin. And the attempt to convince Baron Dürer to commit suicide isn't so frightening either. At the end of the day, it's quite hard to prove your criminal intent in that. And really, who cares what happens to fat-cats like him? No one. But the accusation that you were colluding with Egyptian spies gives you no chance for acquittal. That is high treason. There won't be any pliant jurors, crowds of supporters or letters from influential admirers. It will be a closed trial, then the noose. Everyone will forget about you. Everyone. Forever."

  "Nonsense!" Maestro Marlini shouted out. "I am not in contact with foreign spies in any fashion!"

  "But who else would have wanted the duralumin patent?" I noted reasonably. "It's a top-secret document, didn't you know that? It was found in your things when they searched you. It will be very, very hard for you to twist your way out of the hangman's noose this time. Even if you accused an innocent girl of every deadly sin in the book, the fact would remain – the documents were found on your person."

  The hypnotist closed his eyes and started thinking.

  "But what if I picked the papers up by mistake? They might have just been sitting under my bills of exchange or obligations. I was keeping them on my person because I was intending to return them to the Baron."

  I melted into a smile and chummily poked the magician in the shoulder:

  "So! I knew you and I would find a common tongue! Of course, you picked up the patent on accident!" And then, now totally serious, I added: "You took it, not Elizabeth-Maria."

  The maestro winced in pain.

  "What could I get for that?"

&nb
sp; "Five years’ hard labor," I supposed. "Because you weren't in cahoots with anyone, were you? Elizabeth-Maria merely saw you leaving the Baron's office. And you weren't planning to kidnap her, she just got so worried she fainted. You had to give her first aid. There was no agreement, nor kidnapping. You took the patent by mistake, so there wasn't any high treason either. And Baron Dürer tried to slit his own wrist only because of his personal tribulations. There remains the theft, but everything stolen was returned in full measure. You’d be out in three to five."

  "That's quite a long time."

  "It’s better than certain hanging and biased interrogations."

  "Will Baron Dürer agree not to puff up a scandal?"

  "After the patent is returned? He'll be in seventh heaven!"

  "You're speaking so confidently, my friend..."

  When he called me that, I nearly squirmed, but I held myself together.

  "What are you shrinking back for?" I asked, moving toward the magician. "The most important thing for you is to save your life. A person with your talents can’t be held in a work camp for long. Escaping such a place would be a mere trifle in comparison with your other tricks."

  "I'll make the confession," the maestro then decided, clearly fearing that he could be called right into a judge's chambers.

  "Write it down!" I demanded and handed the hypnotist a pad and pencil.

  He thought it over briefly, then started writing out his nervous confession on his knees with his hands still shackled, claiming his deepest repentance for what he’d done.

  "Perhaps, someone from Department Three will express the desire to speak with you," I said, taking the notepad. "Unofficially, naturally. I insist that you inform them with no reservations who theoretically could’ve been interested in the patent. After all, you were holding onto the document only to make sure it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands, weren’t you?"

  The maestro promised:

  "I'll think it over."

  "Negotiate," I advised him and, having heard the sound of the locks opening. I opened the door, and saw that the carriage had arrived to the back of the Newton-Markt.

  Bastian Moran came up, carefully looked at me and asked:

  "Well?"

  "I don't have anything for you, senior inspector." I shook my head.

  "It was stupid to think otherwise," Moran sighed. "I'll fill out the arrest papers, and you go up to the inspector general's reception. Don't doubt that I'll keep my word."

  3

  BASTIAN MORAN came by only one hour later. I had already thoroughly lost hope of seeing the inspector general, and the looks his bewildered secretary was shooting me had become inappropriately curious. The senior inspector immediately ducked into his office, left a short while later and announced:

  "You're expected, Viscount!"

  He didn't go in after me.

  I walked in the door with my legs feeling like wet cotton. I had no idea how Friedrich von Nalz would react to my appearance, but it all turned out easier than I was expecting. The sickly old man didn't even raise an eye. He was sifting through papers and barking orders into a telephone at the same time.

  "Senior Inspector Moran told me about your involvement in this case, Viscount," said the inspector general, having left the phone on the hook. "And I am immeasurably grateful to you for the help in rescuing my daughter, but if you came to ask to be rehired, I'm afraid now is not the best time. Next week, we'll convene the ethics committee and we can discuss the issue there."

  "No need," I replied, shaking my head. "I don't think I'm experiencing the desire to return to work."

  "Is that so?" The old man asked in surprise. "So then, what was it you wanted?"

  I set the maestro's confession on the inspector general's desk.

  Friedrich von Nalz skimmed it over and stared at me with unhidden astonishment:

  "Am I to understand, then, that your involvement in this affair was somewhat more substantial than Moran reported?"

  "Forget about it," I waved it off.

  "But the thing you're offering..." the old man frowned. "A confession to the theft alone? It isn't enough to break this scoundrel on the wheel!"

  "I wholeheartedly share your righteous indignation," I sighed, "especially considering the role he assigned me, but accepting this admission point blank is your only chance to avoid a big scandal. If your own career doesn't worry you, think about your daughter. Think about what she'll have to go through."

  Friedrich von Nalz smoothed out the sheet and muttered:

  "She's but a chance witness to the crime, not involved in anything reprehensible. I'll have to discuss this with Baron Dürer."

  "Discuss it," I nodded, and advised: "But if you decide to contest the confession, my advice to you is: don't set up a kangaroo court, just strangle the bastard in his cell quietly and announce that he committed suicide. You already have his confession."

  "How cynical the youth of today are," the old man sighed, then threw himself back into his chair and asked: "So what did you want from me, Viscount?"

  "I've got a request, a mere trifle really..."

  On hearing these words, the inspector general put up his guard, but still nodded:

  "I'm listening."

  The old man had seriously deteriorated in the last few days; he no longer called up images of a big, strong tangle of pine roots, and had turned into a shadow of his former self. But, still, his talent had no less luster than before. Playing a game of doublespeak with him wasn't worth doing, so I didn't.

  "My uncle, the Count Kósice... I'm sure you've heard about the unfortunate events that have befallen him recently, inspector general."

  "I have," the illustrious man confirmed.

  "So then, my uncle had a piece of a photograph that belongs to me. It was discovered by the police among the Count’s possessions on the dirigible crash site. I'd like to have it back."

  Friedrich von Nalz looked at me with doubt, clearly deciding whether to throw me right out the door or find out the details first; his professional curiosity got the better of him.

  "What is depicted in the photo, Viscount?" asked the inspector general.

  "My grandmother and mother," I answered with the pure truth. "It's an old picture from forty years ago. It was the only picture I had left of my mom before she got married. Her family was against the marriage. All the pictures after she moved stayed with the Count and Countess. Of course, it's hard to even call it a picture. The piece in evidence only shows their legs. I have most of the photo, and I'd like to put it back together."

  The old man relented.

  "How did such a thing happen?" he answered, no longer so harsh.

  "The Count and I had a little scuffle at our last encounter," I shrugged. "But if you doubt my words, ask someone to check the ledger from my last arrest. I had the whole picture then."

  "I see no reason to doubt your words, Viscount," Friedrich von Nalz announced. "But you'd better tell me one thing: does the picture have any value at all to the direct heirs of the Count?"

  I threw up my hands.

  "What value could a fragment of a photograph of their grandmother's and aunt's legs have? In any case, the Count's whole office was full of such photos. But it's of value to me as a memory."

  The inspector general hesitated, but not for long. In the end, the old man decided to settle accounts, having considered the old photograph fragment a fully acceptable price.

  He raised the phone, told them to get him Maurice LeBrun and ordered my request fulfilled.

  "Go to the evidence lock-up, Viscount," the inspector general told me after hearing the head of the CID's answer. "And I thank you again for the help in rescuing Elizabeth-Maria."

  "It was my duty," I smiled, though a pang shot through my heart when I heard the name of the inspector general's daughter.

  I took a bow and left the office, then hurried to evidence before the old man changed his mind or one of his subordinates suspected something. Being slow with such things could
only make it worse.

  And I was fast enough. Immeasurably surprised at the order, the red-mustached detective sergeant passed me the photo fragment under signature and tried to accost me with questions; I didn't play along, though. I signed the ledger and hurried to the exit.

  While I was walking to the guard post, I memorized the number combinations written in even columns, then stashed the valuable photo fragment in my wallet, caught a free cab and told him to take me to the Greek Quarter.

  Yes! I was overflowing with emotions. I wanted to spit them out, share my experiences with someone at least, and who better than Albert? Though I couldn't tell him the whole truth, I had to share my joy with someone! My joy and... my sorrow.

  I remembered Elizabeth-Maria von Nalz's parting words and grew gloomy.

  I could see lightning once again on the outskirts. The rain was getting stronger, and the streets were gradually darkening. The only sounds were the clanking of the steam tram's steel wheels on the rail joints and the clopping of horse hooves on the wet causeway. There were almost no pedestrians to be found. And that was no wonder. There was another storm brewing over the city. The wind was whistling between the buildings and wailing down the chimneys. Everyone who could was waiting out the bad weather at home. But I was so strongly opposed to returning to my dead-flesh reeking manor that my teeth were grinding.

  And why did I have to? There was nothing more holding me there. Nothing other than the old edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

  After letting the cab go, I walked into the cabaret, shaking the water off my hat in a habitual motion and carelessly nodding to the barkeep.

  "Is he home?" I asked, pointing at the ceiling.

  "He’s in a very bad mood," she replied.

  I just laughed. I went up to the second floor, threw open the door and announced from the threshold:

  "Albert! I have wonderful news: I've come into my inheritance!"

  The poet didn't react to that in any way. He just kept standing by the window and looking out of it.

  "Has something happened?" I then wondered.