The Bavarian Gate (the lion of farside)

by John Dalmas

  While the psychics walked, Colonel Landgraf and Captain Kupfer passed, wearing greatcoats and riding a pair of beautiful saddle horses. Both belonged to the colonel, Macurdy supposed. Landgraf rode like someone born to it. No doubt he had been; even his name was aristocratic.

  An hour later the psychics were back in the schloss, and most of them napped after lunch. After his own nap, Macurdy went to the rec room and sat with his thoughts. So far he'd learned nothing very useful about the project, beyond the strange physical appearance of the Voitar. He needed to learn a lot more than that.

  As for the stringent "off-limits" status of parts of the building: The north wing he could understand. It held the quarters, storage, and administrative activities of the SS platoon. And the south wing seemed to be Voitik country, though why so few needed so much room was not clear. So far as he knew, there were only six of them, plus Tsulgax, but even if there were twice that many… Perhaps it simply reflected the status of Kurqosz and Greszak-a crown prince and a baron, if that's what they really were.

  But the cellar?

  Even invisible, investigating would be dangerous. A case could be made for playing it safe, of simply pursuing the training, and seeing what it would teach him about the project's purpose. But by not snooping, he might be missing something very important.

  That night, when Schurz and the others were asleep, Macurdy cloaked himself and went to the door, which opened inward. Leaning into the corridor, he peered at the guards, one at each ell. They stood more or less at order arms, looking reasonably military, but by his aura, the nearest, at least, was daydreaming. He'd been spoiled by such routinely peaceful duty.

  24

  The Party Room

  On Monday, all but the old woman were mustered in the corridor before breakfast, for twenty minutes of light calisthenics led by Schurz. This too was new. The Herr Doktor Professor was not a severe master; his purpose was to maintain their health, not build strength. The movements were hardly enough to benefit Macurdy, but he continued his independent exercises during class breaks, doing his pushups in sets of forty.

  One evening after supper, when Schurz was in the washroom, Manfred came into the sleeping quarters. Otto had just lit a cigarette. Manfred smoked more heavily than the others, thus his cigarette ration invariably ran out early, so he stepped up to the old farmer and demanded a smoke. As usual when spoken to, Otto didn't answer.

  "Jensen!" Eich snarled, "I told you to give me a cigarette!" When Otto looked away, Manfred grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him close. The old peasant's reaction took them all by surprise: His big farmer fingers sunk like talons into Manfred's chubby arm, and with a cry of pain, Manfred struck him, knocking him against a wardrobe. Then Montag grabbed Manfred and threw him violently to the floor.

  "Achtung!" Schurz had come out of the washroom, and for the first time in Macurdy's experience had spoken loudly, commandingly. All of them except Manfred snapped to something more or less resembling attention, which in Philipp's case meant getting from his bed onto his feet. Manfred, on the floor, propped himself on an elbow, slack-faced and pale with fright at Montag's overwhelming strength. He realized with shock that this man could kill him if sufficiently provoked. "He struck me!" Manfred whined. "The Schwachsinniger struck me!"

  "I saw what happened," Schurz answered testily. Actually the first part he'd only heard. "You tried to coerce a cigarette from Herr Jensen, and when he refused, you struck him. And Herr Montag did not strike you, he only threw you down."

  Manfred got slowly up, resentment already replacing fear on his features. "I will get even with you, feeble-minded pig." Swelling, Montag leaned his face toward Manfred and retorted. "I will break you in two, cow turd!"

  "Shut up, both of you! And stand at attention! I am in charge here. If I report you, the SS will see to your correction." He paused to let the threat sink in. "Heir Eich, I will not report your misbehavior to the Hauptsturmfuhrer this time, on the assumption that you have learned a lesson. But if you undertake to bully anyone again, it will go hard with you. There will be no further leniency. The Obersturmbannfuhrer is already unhappy with your lack of progress, and the Voitar have told him you do not sufficiently apply yourself. You could very easily end up in the army in Russia, staggering through snow with a frostbitten face, a pack on your back, and a thirty-kilo mortar barrel on your shoulder, while angry Russians shoot at you. They would like so large a target."

  He turned to Montag, who stood stiffly at attention. "Heir Montag, do not harm Herr Eich! That is an order! Do you understand me? You do not realize how strong you are."

  "Yessir, Herr Doktor Professor sir!"

  "At ease then, all of you. It is time to wash for supper." Schurz's demeanor had seemed to show anger, but his aura showed satisfaction, as if he was pleased at Manfred's comeuppance. As for Macurdy-he was irritated with himself. He now had a dedicated enemy here, and in his position that was dangerous. But damned if he was going to let that tub of shit abuse the old man, whom he outweighed by seventy pounds.

  Meanwhile he was impressed with Schurz.

  Two evenings later, Macurdy spoke quietly to Berta as they left the rec room. "Fraulein Stark," he murmured, "you are very pretty."

  Her eyebrows raised. "Thank you, Herr Montag. You are a fine-looking man. You may call me Berta, if you'd like." Her glance was frankly appraising, with no trace of coyness.

  "You may call me Kurt. How could we get to know each other better? Without alarming Herr Schurz?"

  He realized he was on the edge of acting out of character, but it seemed necessary, and at any rate, Berta had already seen through him.

  "I will think about that," she answered. "To be alone here is difficult." She gestured at the south win ell. At that distance Macurdy couldn't read the guard's aura, but it was a safe bet he was bored, and probably inattentive. "If we met in my room," she went on, "the other women would be upset, and perhaps tell. Also, the Schwarzriicken patrol the corridors from time to time."

  Schwarzracken. Blackbacks; a disdainful term. So Berta was no admirer of the SS, the personification of the Nazis. That fitted the sense of-not rebelliousness but disdain that tinged her aura.

  They stopped in front of the men's door, and she lay a light hand on his arm. "You are an interesting man, Kurt, as well as an attractive one. There is much more to you than meets most eyes, and I am very curious." Then, after a quick look around, she kissed him, her full lips pressing his briefly. "I will find a way," she said. "I am told-one of the blackbacks propositioned me once-I am told there's a room in the cellar where we can find privacy. If we can get there."

  She left it at that, and Macurdy went thoughtfully into the men's quarters. This was developing faster than he'd expected. Now he needed to decide what he wanted to accomplish with this contact.

  He only wished her kiss hadn't given him an erection.

  After lights out, he examined what he might hope to accomplish, and at what risk. The basic risk was that Berta would give him away, but her aura belied that. And the scope of her disdain extended beyond the SS to the government, he had no doubt.

  As for getting caught: If they moved together under his cloak, the odds seemed good that they wouldn't be seen, not at night in these indifferently lit corridors. Unless of course they triggered an alarm system. Jangling alarm bells would sharpen attention drastically, probably enough that his cloak would be seen through.

  And if they were caught, they could say they were simply looking for somewhere to be alone together. A claim that would probably not be questioned, and would very likely keep them from being executed, though they'd no doubt be punished. It seemed highly unlikely that an invisibility spell would be suspected. Inattentive guards would be blamed for whatever progress they'd made through the halls.

  Most troublesome, Berta would know about the spell. Would she keep it secret? It was his bottom-line escape mechanism. What restrictions would be put on him if the SS learned of it?

  Risks could be lived with, if
the potential payoffs made them worth taking. But what were the payoffs?

  His only answer was, he had to start somewhere. And if he was alone and his spell failed him, he might well be executed. If he was with Berta, on the other hand, they had a convincing alibi that very likely would save their lives.

  In class they'd begun practicing with other senses than sight alone, giving their images sounds and odors, trying to actually hear and smell them. It went slowly, like starting over.

  Seeing Tsulgax in the corridor reminded Macurdy of Sarkia's people, especially her tiger troops. Most tiger clones had reddish hair and greenish eyes-certainly greener than his own. Tsulgax's ears were considerably larger though.

  On their group walk, the following Sunday, the psychics got strung out a bit, and Macurdy dropped back beside Berta, murmuring that he'd listened at the hall door on two separate nights. The corridor was patrolled at intervals of thirty minutes, give or take 5 or 6, the guardsmen making no effort to walk softly. That might, he said, he would come to her door about ten minutes after the first patrol had passed. If she'd come out barefoot, they'd go to the room she'd mentioned.

  He didn't wait for questions, just moved on ahead of her. Let her think about it. She'd either do it or not. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

  The covert message had excited Berta, and not just sexually, hungry though she was for a man. That Montag had carried out such observations and planning verified her reading of his aura. Perhaps together they could figure a way to reach the Swiss border and get out of this rotten prison Germany had become.

  She could not, however, see a way of getting past the guards. Did he have one? What could it be? Or was he acting on faith? If the latter, they were in trouble.

  Actually she didn't know for certain there was such a room, but the blackback who'd told her of it had stuck his neck out dangerously by propositioning her. Nor, assuming it was real, did she know which room it was; somewhere beneath the SS wing, she presumed.

  Her impulsiveness had gotten her in trouble before. She hoped it wouldn't this time.

  The windows of the schloss wore heavy blackout curtains, which in the absence of artificial light provided utter darkness in its rooms. However, in the men's quarters, one small bulb was left on at night in the latrine, along with the light in the shower room, and the latrine door was left slightly ajar. Thus one could see dimly in the sleeping room.

  Some minutes after lights out, Macurdy activated his cloak, then got up and went to the door, where he listened intently. After a bit he heard two men walking down the corridor, one murmuring, the other chuckling.

  He scanned the auras in his room. Only Philipp was awake, and he seemed on the edge of sleep. Presumably, hopefully, it was safe to open the door, despite the light it would let in. After a few minutes of hearing nothing outside, Macurdy pulled it open and stepped out, closing it softly behind him.

  He glanced toward the guard at the south ell, which was much the nearest. The man had noticed nothing. But the risk would be greater when the women's door opened; it would be more visible to him.

  Macurdy scratched at it anyway, and it opened at once. Berta peered out, failing to see him. "It's me," he whispered, barely breathing the words, and touched her wrist. Starting, she saw him. "I can make myself hard to see," he breathed, "as if I'm invisible. You will be too, if you hold onto me."

  After staring for a moment, she took his sleeve and stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.

  Macurdy held a finger to his lips and glanced toward the guard again. The man was looking toward them, frowning. He'd noticed the door open, then close, but seemingly nothing else. Berta's eyes followed Macurdy's, and she froze, but the guard turned away.

  Macurdy nodded reassurance, and they started down the corridor hand in hand, Berta's aura and sweaty palm reflecting extreme nervousness. The guard at the farther ell never even glanced their way.

  "To the cellar, you said," Macurdy whispered.

  She nodded. They walked down the staircase-the foyer guard was almost asleep on his feet and from the foyer into the cellar stairway, and down. The cellar corridor was more poorly lit than those on the other floors, and they saw no sign of guards.

  "Which way?" Macurdy whispered.

  Berta had recovered from her fright. "Beneath the north wing, I suppose," she whispered back. "It's a room the guards use when they smuggle in girls from town. They call it the `party room.' I don't think they use it during the week. They have no way to bring girls then."

  Starting north from the stairs, they tried doors. Most were unlocked, the rooms empty. Macurdy could have opened those that were locked-their lever locks would be easy-but it wasn't the time for that. Then, beneath the north wing, he opened a door to a large room with a hodge-podge of furnishings. The thin light from the corridor showed sofas, a love seat, chairs, and on the floor, several large mattresses pushed together.

  There were even paintings on two walls. Macurdy decided that furnishings must be stored in some of the rooms, and the guardsmen had plundered them. They stepped inside, and he tried the light switch; a table lamp turned on, and he closed the door behind them. On the inside, the door had a 5 x 10 cm oak bar that pivoted on a lag screw, and screwed to the door frame was a hand-carved wooden bracket. Macurdy seated the bar.

  They examined the room more closely. At one side stood a table, with cards, bottle opener, and a box that held a bottle of brandy, two of schnapps, and several liters of beer. By one wall were two sets of large laundry tubs; over their rims hung several military-issue towels.

  Berta put a hand on his arm, and they kissed, lingeringly, then passionately, his hands stroking the small of her back. Within a minute they'd begun undressing each other, and within another were naked on a mattress, fondling, kissing. Soon Berta was on her back, knees drawn high, Macurdy on top, rocking slowly. When they'd finished, they lay tangled for a bit, then cleaned up, and opening two bottles of warm beer, sat naked together on the love seat, drinking and touching.

  "Why do you think the cellar is off limits?" he asked. "Could there be valuables stored here?"

  "I don't know. At first I wondered if there were people locked up down here, but I'm sure there aren't. There are plenty of prison and labor camps for that."

  She changed the subject. "Where did you learn to make yourself invisible? That's a valuable talent."

  "From my first wife." It wasn't strictly true, but close enough. "Do you ever think of escaping this place and going to Switzerland?"

  "Sometimes. But while I'm here, I'd like to see what this place is about. Perhaps learn new skills; something to help me make a living."

  She made a face. "I just want to be away from here. The Swiss know how to live: peacefully and democratically! I could get clients from doctors there, help their patients recover from surgeries." She shrugged. "Many I could heal without surgery, but doctors don't like that, so I compromise."

  She cocked an eye at Macurdy. "What would you do, if you were in Switzerland? A man who can make himself invisible could surely find people he'd be willing to rob."

  "In a decent country like Switzerland, I wouldn't care to be a robber. I've been a healer, too, though I don't have the experience you have."

  "Why do you pretend to be feeble-minded?"

  "It helps keep me out of the army. Even with my leg, they might take me for clerical work or a flak battery, but since I seem so stupid, they consider me unsuitable. So I worked on the docks at Lubeck, and got married there. For mutual convenience; there was no love involved."

  Berta told herself it would be easy to love a man who could screw like this one. "Lubeck is a long way from here," she said. "Why did you come so far?"

  "My wife is from Kempten. We came here so she could care for her grandparents."

  "I suppose you want to get back to her."

  "Not necessarily. As I said, it was a marriage of convenience. She was a barmaid and party girl. There were men who threatened her, for part of the money she mad
e. I protected her, and we shared a place to live."

  Berta traced the large scars on his leg with a finger. "And this?"

  "An air raid on Lubeck, the same as my other scars. I would be much more crippled than I am, if I weren't a healer." Her aura indicated acceptance of his lies. Her reading of auras seemed less acute than his. And that was a dozen years past, a dozen years of observing people.

  "If we go to Switzerland together," Berta said, "we can do very well as healers. We can rent a nice apartment and live like real people."

  Her fingers had moved from his knee upward. Now she fondled him, felt him swell. After a little loveplay, they went back to the mattress.

  Later they dressed, and returned to their rooms without incident. For a bit, Macurdy lay in bed contemplating. What had he accomplished, beyond adultery? He'd learned something, he answered, learned he could move around the building at night. The next time he'd go alone and find out what the locked rooms had in them.

  Meanwhile he'd avoid further trysts with Berta, so far as possible. He'd enjoyed it too much. Adultery as an espionage tool was bad enough; pleasure made it worse.

  That night he dreamed of Mary. They were in Fritzi's getaway shack in the mountains, although in the dream, the shack wasn't really the shack. He told her about Berta, and they'd wept together. Then her lips moved, but there was no longer any sound, and he wanted so terribly to hear her words. Then Sarkia was there from his past, seeming ancient, and told him he was deaf from syphilis he'd gotten in his adultery.

  Mary wasn't there any longer, and he was looking for her in the cellar of the schloss-heard sounds from the party room and was afraid to look in-when he was wakened by a hand on his shoulder. "Montag! Montag! Wake up!" The whisper was Schurz's. Macurdy raised himself on an elbow, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. "Come to the washroom with me!" Schurz's aura glittered with vivid anger.

  In the latrine, the man gripped Macurdy's shoulders and tried to shake him. "You were talking in your sleep!" Macurdy stared, confused.