The Heartless (The Sublime Electricity Book #2)

by Pavel Kornev

  Was this a delusion? Clearly.

  "So, I take it you weren’t expecting my visit," Friedrich von Nalz smiled.

  I’d have been less surprised to wake up in front of a firing squad, but I didn't say that out loud, just admitted shortly:

  "I was not."

  "Well, why not?" the ghastly old man asked in surprise. In his colorless eyes, I could see the far-off glow of his burning talent. "Senior Inspector Moran only had the highest praise for about you."

  Considering that it had been the senior inspector precisely that put me behind bars, hearing that was, at the very least, strange.

  "And where is the senior inspector?" I asked, trying to at least somewhat come to grips with my reality.

  "In the hospital," Friedrich von Nalz said. "The doctors suspect he was poisoned by the combustion products of white phosphorus, but he'll recover."

  "Is that right?" I asked in confusion, practically falling off the bench as I listened to my own sensations. There was nothing worrying me.

  "The senior inspector gave a full account of your actions," the old man said significantly.

  "That's what I was afraid of."

  The inspector general laughed.

  "There's nothing to fear, Viscount!" he announced. "You won’t be charged with anything for the attack on the embassy of Great Egypt."

  "Just don't tell me you were able to play this all off," I replied, blown away at the unexpected statement.

  "The newspapers are calling the whole episode a random demon attack. It moved through the city like a hurricane and attacked the Egyptian embassy. There's no reason to be worried, Viscount. The papers never lie."

  "And the Egyptians are swallowing that?"

  "Considering certain factors you’re already aware of, they're avoiding adversarial maneuvers."

  I tilted my head to the side and asked:

  "Then, why am I still here?"

  "Senior Inspector Moran thought it necessary to isolate you from society to protect you from reckless actions. In his opinion, you are marked by excessive vanity, and overly frank discussions with the press are not what we want in this situation."

  The allusion was clear as day, and I nodded hurriedly:

  "I'll keep clammed up."

  "It's in your best interest, Viscount."

  "I have no doubt."

  The inspector general got to his feet and suddenly asked:

  "Why didn't you tell me, Viscount?"

  A cold sweat came over me and I babbled out:

  "Why didn't I tell you about what?"

  "About your kinship with Emile Rie. I actually knew him back before he became chancellor. And I even managed to talk with him afterward. He was a surprising man."

  "Where did you get that idea?" I asked, taken aback. Then I guessed: "The photograph!"

  "Your request caught my interest, Viscount," Friedrich von Nalz confirmed. "I looked at the copies of materials and recognized the signature on the back at first glance." He chuckled. "I've got the exact same signature on my promotion papers."

  "To be honest, inspector general, I only found out I was related to the preeminent man a few days ago, and wasn't planning to spread that information around. It doesn't seem like a good idea."

  "What are you on about, Viscount?!" the old man slapped me on the shoulder. "I took it upon myself to inform her Imperial Majesty’s chancellery. The message caught their attention greatly."

  "You didn't have to..."

  "Balderdash!" said the inspector general, waving it off and walking over to the door. "You'll be asked a few questions now, then you can go. No charges, no grievances. Best of luck, Viscount."

  The illustrious man walked out the door. He was immediately replaced by a horde of clerks. They took out the folding chair and placed a folding table and three stools in the middle of the room, after which they left the cell without saying a word.

  A few minutes later, the door flew open again, and in came three young men in frock coats of an austere cut and identical ties. I sensed a certain military bearing in them, either from their carefully maintained cropped hair, or their direct manner.

  One of them set out writing implements on the table and sat on the stool; his colleagues exchanged sour looks without sitting. Being in my company made them obviously uncomfortable. Or was it just their first time in a one-man cell?

  Finally, a light-haired gentleman of twenty-five cast off his consternation and extended a hand:

  "Allow me to introduce myself, lieutenant of the Imperial guard for her Imperial Majesty, William Grace."

  I got up from the bench and shook his hand.

  "Nice to meet you."

  The lieutenant nodded, smiled politely and warned:

  "Viscount, this is in no way an interrogation, but I urge you to answer the questions with all due seriousness."

  "I'm as serious as they come," I snorted.

  Then, the second gentleman to come into the cell spoke. He was swarthy, with a pock-marked face. He caught the sarcasm in my voice and did not fail to express his disapproval:

  "Viscount, we are aware of your supposed close kinship with the Imperial family, so I am obliged to remind you that illegitimate branches are not accorded any special status."

  The grumbler, though, did not take the pains to introduce himself.

  "Well then, sirs, what are you doing here?" I inquired, feeling the tension in the cell growing thicker.

  "Her Imperial Majesty, the Princess Anna would like to meet you," the pockmarked one said with unhidden disapproval. "In connection with that, you'll have to undergo the requisite security screening."

  "What for?" I asked, startled. "Why does her Imperial Majesty want to see me?"

  William Grace sighed:

  "Her Imperial Highness was very interested to hear about you."

  "We had to obey," the pock-marked one added.

  "Alright," I sighed, not seeing any chance to refuse the honor without being arrested for disrespecting my crown-bearing relative. "So, let's begin!"

  Lieutenant Grace threw open the cell door and invited someone inside:

  "Enter."

  A tall, thin doctor walked in wearing a white robe with a bulbous leather traveling bag.

  "Clothes off above the belt," he said, getting out a listening tube.

  "What's all this for, then?" I frowned.

  The Imperial guard lieutenant gave a soft smile and explained:

  "The health of her Highness leaves something to be desired. Talking with a sick person, even if they just have the common cold, is categorically contraindicated."

  "I've never been sick with anything," I grumbled, but the doctor just waited and I had to throw my jacket on the bench. I pulled my shirt off over my head and noticed without particular surprise the eyes of those present growing wide in amazement. They had never before seen such a fresco on a man's body.

  "I say!" the pock-marked one exclaimed, drawing out his words, but immediately checked himself after catching the lieutenant's gaze.

  The doctor calmly placed the wide end of the tube to the star on my chest, evaluating my heart beat, then listened to my lungs and asked me to turn around. Hearing no rasping, he looked into my mouth and announced:

  "No pathologies detected."

  "Continue," the lieutenant allowed.

  He got a scalpel from his traveling bag along with a tourniquet and an empty syringe.

  "Excuse me?" I asked, confused, taking a step back.

  "The pathogens of many dangerous diseases can be detected by blood analysis," the doctor explained. "We'll have to take blood from a vein. Don't be afraid. It won't hurt."

  I allowed them to tie the tourniquet around my left bicep and clenched and unclenched my fist several times. The doctor disinfected a patch of skin with alcohol, then jabbed the needle in. It was utterly painless. A moment later, the syringe was full.

  "Press down!" the doctor said, handing me a cotton ball and warning: "Hold it for five minutes."

  T
hen, he gathered his tools and left the room. I, meanwhile, was left standing in the middle of the room with an arm bent at the elbow and naked to the waist.

  I didn't like that one bit, but my interviewers looked quite pleased. They started piling questions on me at a galloping pace. Frequently, they repeated them with minor changes in the wording. The stenographer was ferociously scraping a quill on the paper, hardly managing to keep the record.

  At first, their inquiries dealt with common matters, leaving me at peace with their methodology. But, when the conversation turned to the contents of the aluminum box and my conversation with Duke Talm, my patience ran out.

  "One minute, sirs," I said, taking a pause to pull my shirt over my head. As I got dressed, I slightly gathered my thoughts and decided not to hide anything from them, so I wouldn’t later end up with my foot in my mouth. "Continue!"

  It should be said that I didn't end up telling them anything seditious, having managed to smooth over a few tense moments and keeping some others concealed.

  Lieutenant Grace was pacing the cell with his hands folded behind his back and asked me:

  "And what is your opinion on the feasibility of electromagnetic radiation having an effect on otherworldly creatures?"

  I was not in any mood to give my opinion on anything. Beyond that – I had no desire to meet with the heir to throne; I just wanted to get out of New Babylon as fast as possible and head to Zurich for the ten million francs that awaited me there.

  Maybe, I should just be upfront and tell them that?

  I sighed and shook my head.

  "The problem isn't that the Most High has turned away from us and stopped caring for us. And it isn't even that we lost our faith in him. The reason for all the problems is that we're afraid to believe. And we're even more afraid that one day, he will come to believe in us anew. We consider sublime electricity a panacea against all our hardships, but if hell suddenly broke loose, all our weapons, all our inventions wouldn't be able to help. Only faith can save us. Faith, and faith alone."

  A freethinker self-indulgent enough to make such a statement should not have even been allowed within cannon-range of the heiress to the throne, but the guards just exchanged sour glances and kept silent. They had no more questions for me.

  The doctor returned soon, but didn't come into the cell, just glanced into the open door and said:

  "It's a match."

  "What's a match?" I grew surprised.

  "That just means your bloodwork was all fine," explained Lieutenant Grace. "Gather your things, Viscount."

  All I could do was sigh.

  2

  AT THE EXIT from the jail area, I was given back my confiscated property; I put the items back in my pockets as I walked, then we left the Newton-Markt, climbed into a four-horse carriage and rolled out to meet her Imperial Highness the Princess Anna. I was feeling devilishly beside myself.

  In an effort to distract myself, I looked out the window from time to time. And though the storm had finished this morning, broken trees caught the eye everywhere, along with mud and cloudy pools on the sidewalks and streets. The city didn't look at all washed up by the bad weather, more the opposite.

  At any rate, I was looking out the window occasionally, which gave me pause, making me suspect something was amiss.

  "My good sirs!" I then addressed the guards. "I may be mistaken, but I believe the Imperial Palace is the other way!"

  "Do you not read the papers?" asked a pock-marked guard, staring at me with an expression of sincere incomprehension. "Her highness has spent the last week in the Central Hospital for screening."

  "So, she's still in the hospital!" I thought to myself, cringing internally. But I didn't express my unhappiness in any way. I was still nursing the hope that the attendant doctors wouldn't allow our meeting to go on too long.

  I mean, what did I even have to talk about with the heiress to the throne, a woman who’d spent her whole life surrounded by nothing but courtiers, tutors and doctors? Who was I to her? Certainly not a relative. An entertaining oddity, nothing more.

  THE WHOLE AREA around the Central Hospital was surrounded by a high fence, but the boom barrier was sticking straight up, and the carriage passed unimpeded through the wide-open gates. No one was thinking of stopping us or even asking the purpose of our visit.

  That said, the far building set aside for the needs of the Imperial court was being guarded somewhat more seriously. Sentries were standing guard there, and although they recognized my companions’ faces beyond all doubt, they still asked them to get out of the carriage and studied their travel log and pass meticulously.

  In the hospital vestibule, we were expected by a whole delegation: doctors, assistants, and some inconspicuous individuals in white robes with the tenacious gazes of experienced investigators.

  An important gentleman, mustached and pot-bellied, led me into one of the rooms on the first floor, surprised at the unremarkable decor, and pointed to an empty box.

  "Get undressed and put your things in there," he demanded.

  I turned to the guards:

  "What the devil?!"

  "Final check," Lieutenant Grace declared.

  "Is this really necessary?"

  The lieutenant shook his head.

  "This is truly beyond the pale!" I grumbled.

  "Your security clearance is still very much in question, Viscount," the pockmarked guard reminded me. "But her highness was unambiguous in expressing an interest in meeting with you. Don't make more problems for us, I beg you."

  I didn't curse or call down thunder and lightning on the guards' heads. I just got undressed and accepted a hospital gown and slippers from a mustached gentleman.

  "Come in, Viscount," said the doctor, pointing at the next door over.

  A large part of that room was occupied by a huge apparatus with a thrown-back hood in the middle, which revealed an opening large enough for a person.

  "Please!" said the fat doctor, pointing. "I strongly encourage you not to fidget or move. The procedure won't take long."

  "Procedure?" I groaned.

  "We're going to send x-rays through your internals," the important gentleman explained calmly. "If there are any foreign objects inside you, we'll detect them. It’s a radiography machine, ever heard of it?"

  I had, in fact, read something about the latest word in diagnostic medicine a few years earlier, but asked about something else:

  "Foreign objects – what do you mean by that?"

  "Bombs, Viscount," the pock-marked guardsman answered calmly.

  "And just how do you suppose that such a bomb could be detonated?"

  "Using a timed mechanism, naturally," the lieutenant answered, utterly serious, and hurried me along: "Viscount, don't waste our time."

  I got into the apparatus and the lid, internally lined with lead foil, immediately slammed down. The mustached gentleman advised me:

  "There are handles, grab onto them. And I beg you: do not move!"

  And so I did. Then, a low hum started sounding out. The fat man stood, watching me intensely for the duration of the procedure. I managed to curse both the heiress Princess and her guards at the same time with my last words, but also didn't forget von Nalz who'd drawn me into this whole episode.

  When the humming faded away, I got out of the apparatus, and the assistant immediately crawled off to pull out the photo sheet. Meanwhile, the mustached gentleman asked:

  "Would you please kindly wait in the reception?"

  So, accompanied by the guards, I returned to the neighboring room and gave a cold shiver due to the chilly breeze that snuck in under my hospital gown but, when I went to get dressed, I was stopped.

  "Do you intend to go to a meeting with her Highness in those rags?" the pock-marked guardsman laughed. "Viscount, you're quite the character!"

  "These rags, as you so kindly put it, are my clothing."

  "No worries," Lieutenant Grace smiled and rubbed his dandified mustache, "we'll provide you with n
ew clothing. You'll be able to pick your clothes up again on your way out, if you so desire."

  "Have you got my measurements?"

  "Naturally!"

  At that moment, the door of the apparatus flew open, and a mustached gentleman joined us with the photo plate.

  "The heart is free of pathologies!" he declared. Then, he asked: "You're sure you didn't mess anything up with the blood type? It is of critical importance!"

  "No, doctor, a perfect match," Lieutenant Grace called back.

  I turned to him in surprise, intending to demand an explanation, but the pock-marked guardsman instantly put me in a headlock and pressed a damp cloth to my face. A sweetish ethereal smell struck me in the nose. My head started spinning and my consciousness was carried away to the unfathomable beyond, a place without troubles or worries, where the imagination easily stands in for the laws of physics, and words have different flavors and colors.

  In other words, he knocked me out with chloroform.

  FIRST THERE was nothing, then the darkness was cut through by a luster coming down from an unfathomable height. And so it continued for an indefinite length of time. Then, some intuition told me I was lying with my eyes wide open gazing at a glowing lamp hanging off the ceiling.

  The light started causing a terrible splitting pain in my temples. I tried to squint, but couldn't. I tried to cover my face with my hand. My arm though, stretched out flaccid alongside my body, just slumped down. My numb fingers hit upon a strange vessel, causing a rattling steel sound.

  And just then, a face hovered over me in a gauze face-mask.

  There was fear spilling out of the stranger's eyes. He was trying to recoil, but didn't manage. My fingers touched a piece of iron and, in a blistering movement, stabbed it into the medic's neck.

  Blood gushed out. His throat began to wheeze. He squeezed the wound with both hands and ran away from me. I followed him and stuck him in the back, facing the closed door. I pinned him down, struck him with the scalpel in the loins, between the ribs, and under the left shoulder.