The Bavarian Gate (the lion of farside)

by John Dalmas

  The interiors were far better, with statuary, precious metals, stained glass, tiles, parquet, richly figured woods, paintings, tapestries, and gems. And quality construction. The designs were seldom inspired, but neither were they hodgepodges. And the buildings were centrally heated, their fireplaces supplemental or simply decorative. The small bedroom assigned to Macurdy-not shared with Rillissa-had a warm-air vent in one comer, while a closet contained a snug-lidded commode, emptied twice a day by some luckless servant, through a back panel that opened into a utility space., All in all, Macurdy was impressed.

  A Voitu named Zhilnasz was his trainer, and for a time the emphasis was not on monsters, but on creating and casting plasmas, and occasionally Kurgosz tested his "German" protege. This casting of plasmas did not go well, partly because Macurdy deliberately withheld himself; he'd done better years before in Yuulith. It seemed to him that if he succeeded, Kurqosz might keep him in Hithmearc. For why would the Nazis be interested in someone who could cast a two or three-inch plasma a hundred meters-or even a few hundred meters-when they had thousands on thousands of 88mm artillery pieces and assorted larger guns, each with far greater power Nor had he forgotten Arbel's warning on the personal dangers in creating large magicks, dangers to which it seemed the Voitusotar were immune.

  He also discovered that casting plasma charges was tiring, took something out of him. Casting one or two wasn't bad; that's why he hadn't noticed it before. But to cast ten or a dozen in just a few minutes left him exhausted, and the energy wasn't made up by tapping the Web of the World. Apparently it was a different energy.

  After a futile and exhausting week, the nature of his training changed again, with Kurqosz showing less interest in him. Now he was to cast not plasmas but images.

  These were not quasi-physical monsters, but holo-images pure and simple, images that frightened partly from their horror content and partly by breaking the victim's confidence in his own sanity. Within days, Montag could stand on a balcony, target a slave in the courtyard, and create in the man's mind the sight of headless corpses wailing; bony scrabbling hands digging their way out of the ground; decaying bodies with worm-eaten faces moving as if to embrace and kiss-the victim. Invariably the target collapsed or stood paralyzed, fell unconscious or broke and ran.

  The first time, Macurdy had been pleased with himself. Then he'd realized the cruelty of the act, and the pleasure of accomplishment died.

  More difficult, he learned to tart people he couldn't see, at first in rooms whose locations he knew precisely, then rooms known only approximately. In these cases, he needed to have seen the person before, and be able to visualize them. He'd already become superb at visualizing.

  To the extent practical-which was very limited-Mac had used Hithmearcisc around the palace, including with Zhilnasz. Zhilnasz, of course, answered in German-his function was not language instruction-but most of the palace staff were humans, who of necessity answered Macurdy in Hithmearcisc, keeping it as simple as they could. So his small knowledge of the language improved, and meanwhile it gave him a form of recreation.

  Finally the Crown Prince tested his progress in image casting, providing himself as a target in a building halfway across the palace grounds. The results validated Montag's skill; his training there was finished.

  The next day, instead of being sent to Zhilnasz, Macurdy was ordered to Rillissa's suite, and as usual her demands were imperious, not to be refused. That evening before he left, she astonished him by weeping. Her father had kept them apart, she said, and the next morning Macurdy would be leaving, unlikely ever to return.

  "And I love you so!" she cried.

  He'd known she was fond of him, in her way, but love? Like a pet, Macurdy realized as he walked down the hall, like a favorite dog. Which at that was better than some people loved their spouse. He could feel for her-she did the best she could-but to love her was beyond him.

  The next day, with Kurgosz and a surly Tsulgax, he left the palace on a barge again. The trip up the Rovenstarn and Jugnal was much slower than the trip down had been; there was the current to fight, and the beginning of spring had worsened it. He practiced his Hithmearcisc on servants and crew, and once tried it on Tsulgax, who simply glowered at him.

  He saw Kurgosz only occasionally, and wondered what the crown prince did with his time. Perhaps, he thought, he spends it browsing the hive mind.

  On the eleventh day they arrived at the gate hostel, and on the twelfth passed through it into Bavaria again. Bavaria and spring.

  29

  Assignment

  Back at the schloss, they returned Macurdy to drills on beaming emotions. He hadn't had much success with them before, and didn't improve. He doubted they expected him to. It felt more like keeping him occupied, though while waiting for what, he hadn't a clue.

  Several days after his return, a guardsman arrived at the men's quarters after breakfast and took him to the colonel's office. The telepath, Anna Hofstetter, was there, but neither Anna's aura nor the colonel's showed cause for alarm.

  "Stand at ease, Herr Montag," Landgraf said genially. "I hope you found Hithmearc interesting. The Crown Prince tells me you did quite well in your drills there."

  "Yessir, colonel sir!"

  Landgraf gazed quizzically at Montag, who stood stiffly at attention despite the order to stand at ease. Perhaps he was intimidated. He would phrase the next question so the man couldn't answer it with a simple yes or no, and see how he did.

  "It is time to exercise your skill on the enemy-the Americans and British. What do you think of that?"

  "I am glad, sir. At the palace I made slaves scream and run, or freeze, or fall on the ground. I can do the same to the British and American swine."

  "Good." The colonel grimaced slightly, then turned his glance to Anna, fingers drumming briefly on his desk. "I am going to tell you both some things which you will discuss with no one except each other. Absolutely no one."

  He looked sternly at Montag before continuing. "I have a mission for you. The details have not been worked out yet, but I will describe the main features. The Americans and British are expected to assault the north coast of France, in May or possibly June. The Wehrmacht has prepared powerful defenses to repulse allied landings. Your task is to disrupt Allied headquarters in England by projecting psychotic images into the minds of key personnel, especially General Eisenhower and his staff."

  He examined Montag. "Do you know what psychotic means, Herr Montag?"

  "No sir, colonel sir!"

  At least the man could recognize and admit when he didn't know something; many brighter men could not do that. Landgraf turned to Anna. "Fraulein Hofstetter, explain psychotic to Herr Montag."

  "Psychotic," she answered wryly, "means insane. Crazy." The simplicity of her answer startled Landgraf, whose degrees were in psychology. "Good," he said after a moment. "Now, Herr Montag, Fraulein Hofstetter will go with you to England, where she will get you safely into the hands of the Abwehr-people who will help you. They will get you near enough to the enemy high command that with binoculars you will be able to see their supreme commander and other high-ranking officers. See them well enough that afterward you can attack them with images. The Abwehr will have a building diagram of their headquarters, with offices and conference rooms marked on it."

  "Do you understand?"

  "Yessir, colonel sir. The-those men… Our people…"

  "The Abwehr," Landgraf said helpfully. "The intelligence service. Our spies in England."

  "Our spies will take me to a place, some building, and show me who the enemy commander is. Then I will make him crazy, even if he is in a room I can't see. Our spies will have a paper that shows where the different rooms are."

  Again Landgraf's eyebrows raised. He hadn't expected that much understanding so quickly. "You are going to do well, Herr Montag. I have great confidence in you. Fraulein Hofstetter will tell you more when we know more."

  It happened sooner than Macurdy expected. The next morning
, Anna Hofstetter took him to an unused classroom, equipped only with a table and some chairs, and they sat down.

  They would, she told him, travel by train to the submarine base at Saint-Nazaire, in France. From there they'd be taken by submarine to a beach on the east coast of England, put ashore by rubber boat, picked up by German agents, and taken to an Abwehr safehouse in London. From that point they'd be briefed further by the Abwehr station chief.

  "Meanwhile," she went on, "it will be well for you to know a little about me. My father is German and my mother is English, a member of a fascist family. I lived in England until 1932, when I was thirteen years old, and for several years afterward we took our holidays there, so my English is excellent. I know English geography, much of it first hand, and I'm familiar with London. I am to be in full charge of the mission, and my function is to provide you with whatever you need to carry it out."

  "I am not subject to the Abwehr station chief. On the contrary, I can command him, within limits. His function in this is to do whatever is necessary to support you."

  She caught his gaze and held it. "I do not doubt that you understand me. You are considerably more intelligent than Colonel Landgraf imagines. You have been concealing your intelligence, pretending to be dull-witted. Herr Doktor Professor Schurz agrees with me on that. If I am to work with you in dangerous situations, I will have to know why you pretend to be otherwise."

  "It is nothing very complicated," Macurdy said. "Even with my crippled leg, I could be called into the army in a clerical role, or manning some flak battery. But if I am thought to be feeble-minded, there is much less risk. Also, fewer demands are made on me."

  Her aura reflected skepticism. "Is your limp as bogus as your feeble-mindedness?"

  In answer, he pulled his left trouser leg above the knee. She grimaced at the scarring.

  "It appears to be genuine," she said, and ended the briefing. As Macurdy walked the few yards to Greszak's office, he examined the morning and what he'd learned, both about the mission and Anna Hofstetter.

  She'd talked with Schurz about him. Schurz knew he spoke English-dreamed in it!-but apparently hadn't told her. Meanwhile, Anna's aura showed that she mistrusted him, had for some time, yet she hadn't blown the whistle.

  Schurz, Berta, and now Anna had covered for him. He would never have imagined such a thing. Strange, very strange.

  For several more days, Macurdy continued his training under Greszak. On one of them, Anna took him to the room he thought of now as their private conference room. On their way, they passed Tsulgax in the corridor. As usual, Tsulgax scowled at him.

  "I wonder why Herr Tsulgax dislikes me so?" he murmured. "I have never said or done anything to him."

  "He doesn't simply dislike you," Anna said drily. "He hates you. He considers you a threat to his father."

  Macurdy's buzz-cut crawled. "His father? Who is his father?"

  "The Crown Prince. To whom he is thoroughly devoted."

  "But-how am I a threat to the Crown Prince?"

  "I don't know. Nor does Tsulgax. It is simply something he feels. He believes that he senses the future. Not sees it, but senses it." Macurdy turned her answer over in his mind without saying anything. A threat to Kurgosz? He didn't even dislike Kurgosz, really.

  They entered the room. "So you read their minds," he murmured.

  "Not the Voitar's minds. They are totally opaque to me. But Tsulgax has no more shielding than he has compassion."

  "Do you read mine?" Montag asked.

  "I think you know the answer to that. No, not yours. Some people, and most psychics, have a shield which, if they feel sufficient trust, they lower, knowingly or not. But even if they do not lower it, I can sense their emotions and attitudes, and learn much from those. I have learned much about you."

  Macurdy met her gaze mildly. "I know what people feel sometimes."

  "I am sure you do. Herr Schurz thinks you read auras, and I believe he is right."

  Macurdy neither verified nor denied it. "You do not show very much what you feel," he said, "even to me. But I don't mind. It is not necessary that I know."

  Her aura and face both reflected wry irritation. "Do not be coy with me, Herr Montag. If we are to work together, please show me some respect."

  "My apologies. I do respect you, and I am ready to listen." She looked away, gathering her thoughts, then returned her gaze to him. "There is serious risk in what they have planned for us," she said, "but considering everything, I believe we can succeed." She paused. "Of course, if we are captured, we may be executed."

  He ignored the comment. "Can you read the Colonel's thoughts?"

  "As necessary"

  "Does he know that?"

  "He knows I am a telepath, but has decided not to be troubled by it."

  "What have you learned from him?" He asked the question as much for her reaction as for information.

  Her gaze was direct, calm but intent. "He has considerable confidence in both of us. Remarkably, he trusts us."

  "Have you learned anything from him about the Voitar?"

  "Quite a bit. It seems they came here through some `opening' on the Witches' Ridge. But you know more about that than I. Apparently in their country, explosives are useless, but they are interested in steam engines and water pumps. Also in ship building'."

  Ship building? That definitely seemed false.

  "In return they train us, mostly without useful results, probably because of our shortcomings as psychics, rather than theirs as teachers. Also, eight of them will travel to northern France, to help fight the invasion when it comes. To do what it seems we cannot-create terror monsters that are real, physical, and set them against the enemy."

  Macurdy tried to imagine what those monsters would be like. Physical, she'd said. Vaguely he remembered nightmares, and a chill ran over him.

  "When do they leave?"

  "In May. On the tenth, unless it's been changed again."

  "How will they get there?"

  Anna seemed unhappy with the question, as if she'd struggled with it before, to no good conclusion. "Not by rail," she said. "They will travel on rivers and canals. There was also something about walking. Or"-she shrugged uncomfortably-"running, actually. Accompanied by a motorized escort. It makes no sense."

  To Macurdy it did. Certainly more sense than an interest in shipbuilding. "When do we leave?"

  "I don't know. But soon, obviously." Anna got up. "It is time you returned to your drills."

  Montag nodded. The drills were definitely a waste of time now, but orders were orders, and anyway there was nothing else to do. If he had his way, they'd leave the next day.

  That evening, leaving the dining room, Anna's aura reflected repressed excitement, though physically she seemed her usual calm self. She paused outside the door, and as he passed, she murmured, "Very soon now. Very soon."

  Tomorrow? he wondered. The next day? She should have been explicit. Or maybe she didn't know explicitly.

  Afterward, in the reading room, Berta sat down beside Montag while he played solitaire. "You've been back for a week now," she murmured.

  He nodded, then got up. "Let's talk in the corridor," he replied, and they went out.

  "The rumor," Berta said, "was that you went somewhere with the Voitar. To wherever they came from." She put light fingers on his arm. "You and I should go to the party room. I've missed you. And I am curious."

  "I'd have invited you," Montag said, "but while I was gone, I had more sex than I could handle. For the first time in my life. I'm not sure I've recovered yet."

  "I've seen you with that scrawny little Hofstetter lately. Perhaps you have enough energy to take her downstairs."

  "You live in the same room with her. You should know whether she slips out at night."

  "Perhaps you screw her during the day. You are known to go into an empty classroom together. Apparently with permission."

  "You might ask Schurz why we do that. Or Colonel Landgraf. They know. We are under orders, she
and I."

  Berta sulked. "Orders! She is a Jewess. That sharp face, scrawny body…"

  "If she was sent here by the Gestapo, as I was, that is hardly possible."

  Berta deflated. "Shit, Kurt, I know that. And I have nothing against Anna. I'm just jealous. She has the hots for you, and you're allowed to spend time together. Can we go downstairs tonight? I want you badly."

  He considered. This was no time to get caught out after hours. The mission with Anna was his chance to report what he'd learned to Grosvenor Square. Or- If he was caught with Berta tonight, with the mission so close, what would they do to him? He had an assignment, and there seemed to be no one else they could send. He'd simply say it had been his last chance to go to bed with Berta. Besides, there was that old saw about Hell having no fury like a woman scorned.

  "And I want you," he told her. "Who knows if I will have another chance. The usual time?"

  Berta nodded, her excitement not primarily sexual. What is that about? he wondered.

  He found out. After having sex, they talked, as usual. She thought perhaps he was getting ready to run away, escape to Switzerland, and wanted to go with him. That wasn't it, he told her. He'd gone with Kurgosz through a sort of gate on the Witches' Ridge, "a hole in space," realizing how preposterous it must sound, even given the outlandish appearance of the Voitar. And on the other side, he added, they'd trained him to do a special job.

  To his surprise, she merely raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Hmm. And who was it there," she asked, "who gave you more ass than you could handle?"

  "Kurqosz assigned a slave to keep me company, and to tell me things."

  "A slave? She must have been something, if you couldn't bring yourself to say `no more.'"

  "She was not an ordinary slave. She was Kurqosz's daughter."

  "Kurqosz's daughter? A slave?"

  "She's a half-blood, like Tsulgax. She's a slave, but has slaves of her own. In a way I was one of them."

  Berta laughed. "I wish you were my slave! I'd wear you down to a Vogelscheuche!" She leaned against him then, kissed his lips, his shoulders, his chest, her right hand fondling him until he was ready.