by David Bishop
The tide had long since bubbled through the metal grille in the floor and was now inching its way up the walls. She was standing in the corner, the cold seawater already lapping around her knees. The chain restraining her movement did not even have enough slack for Natalia to reach the wooden door. She was trapped on the far side of the stone chamber, shivering from the cold. I should just lie down and accept my fate, let the waters wash over me, she thought, but I can't. I have to stay alive as long as possible, even if it is hopeless. I have to give myself every chance...
Dante pushed his chest upwards, arching his spine. This pulled apart the slice on his skin, sending stabs of pain through him, but also dislodged the scalpel from its position. The sliver of metal slid down his chest towards his throat, point first. Time this wrong and he would get a scalpel in his neck. As the blade moved closer Dante shoved his chin down into his chest and opened his mouth. The scalpel picked up speed as it slid, hurrying towards his face-
"Got it!" he hissed after catching the handle between his teeth. Dante twisted his head sideways and passed the scalpel into the grasping fingers of his right hand. They nimbly rotated it so the tip of the blade was facing the locking mechanism that clamped his wrists to the table. Now for the tricky part: picking the lock without knowing anything about its style or manufacture.
Twelve minutes later Fabergè returned to his laboratory, still carrying the Steel Military Egg. He breezed inside, not bothering to seal the door behind himself. "Sorry to bother you again so soon," the doctor said cheerfully, "but I seem to have misplaced my scalpel. And since this was the last place I used it..." His voice trailed off as he noticed the empty examination table, a pool of blood and open clamps telling an eloquent tale.
"Is this what you're looking for?" Dante asked.
A right hook sent Fabergè sprawling. Moments later Dante was on top of the doctor, punching him repeatedly in the face, pummelling him with blow after blow until Fabergè stopped fighting back.
Satisfied the doctor was unconscious, Dante produced the razor-sharp blade so recently used on himself. He kneeled on Fabergè's right forearm and began hacking at the wrist with the scalpel, slicing through skin and flesh, tendon and bone. It was a messy job, with blood spurting from the lacerated limb. Towards the end of the operation Fabergè came to and began screaming for help. Dante rammed his spare knee down on the doctor's throat, threatening to crush the windpipe. "Keep quiet or it won't just be your hand I cut off!" Eventually he succeeded in severing the hand completely, holding it up in the air to admire his efforts.
"Now I can get through any lock or door in this castle," Dante said with grim satisfaction.
"What about me?" Fabergè whimpered, his eyes fixed on the bloody stump where his hand used to be.
"I haven't finished with you yet," Dante replied, a wicked glint in his eye. "Where's Natalia, you bastard?"
The stone chamber was now almost completely flooded, only an inch of air remaining below the ceiling. Natalia had let the chill waters float her to the top, treading water despite the chain restricting her movements. It couldn't be long before the tide stole away the last pocket of air and then she would be left holding her breath, hoping and praying. She wished she'd paid more attention during mass on Palm Sunday, maybe there were some words of solace read out that might have been a comfort. But she hadn't planned on drowning less than a week later. I'm only seventeen, I was supposed to have my whole life ahead of me, she thought.
Natalia felt another surge of water rising past her feet, towards the ceiling. She took a final, desperate gulp of air before it was all gone, then let herself drift downwards again. How could she hold her breath for? Thirty seconds? A minute, at most. Not much time, not nearly enough.
Suddenly a dull thudding sounded through the water. Someone was banging on the door outside. Or maybe I'm just imagining it, Natalia thought? She'd read that drowning people who were revived often recalled vivid hallucinations. Maybe the sound was one of those, just an oxygen-starved brain taunting her with a final hope...
Dante slammed his fists helplessly against the door, but the thick wooden beams resisted him. "Natalia? Natalia, can you hear me? Hold on!" Water was pouring out through the ancient lock. Fabergè's severed hand had opened every door between the laboratory and this place, but it could not undo the final barrier. The scalpel, he remembered, I've still got the scalpel. He retrieved the blade from a pocket and stabbed it into the old lock, carefully pushing the tumblers aside one by one. After a final click the lock was undone and Dante began pushing the door, fighting against the weight of water pressing back from within. But once the door had opened more than a crack, the sea found a new space and began rushing outwards.
Dante shoved and shoved against the door, stumbling forwards into the chamber. It was still half-filled with water but that was draining out rapidly now. A forlorn female figure floated face down in the cold liquid, the material of a patient's gown billowing out around her. "Natalia!" Dante cried in anguish.
He rushed to her side and tipped the girl's body over, lifting her out of the water. She appeared lifeless, her skin cold and lips blue, eyes staring sightlessly past him. Dante slapped her face once, twice, but got no response. "No, no, you can't die," he insisted. "Not like this!" Dante dropped into a crouch amidst the receding water, resting Natalia across his knee. He bent forwards to listen for signs of breathing, but there were none. Dante pinched her nose shut and pressed his mouth over hers, blowing hot air into her lungs. "Come on, breathe! Don't give up on me now. Breathe!"
But there was no response. Natalia was dead.
THIRTEEN
"When the time comes, all will go to their grave"
- Russian proverb
Dante cradled Natalia's body in his arms, rocking her slowly, not caring about the tears on his face or the seawater stinging his chest wound. "I could have saved you if Fabergè hadn't deactivated the Crest," he whispered. "You didn't have to die today, not like this." Then words failed him, leaving him alone with his grief. Another person was dead because of Doctor Fabergè and his insane ambition, another murder to be avenged.
"Nikolai? Are you down here?"
Dante recognised the voice. He wiped his face dry and laid Natalia's body on the cold, wet floor. "I'm in here," he called.
Spatchcock appeared in the doorway, holding a severed hand. "I figured you must be. This looked like something you'd..." His voice trailed away as he saw Natalia's corpse. "What happened?"
"Fabergè had her drowned. I wasn't fast enough to save Natalia, but I can make her murderer pay. I can stop Fabergè's experiment."
"What do you need us to do?"
"Get the other students off the island. I doubt Wartski will let you take the shuttle-"
"We'll convince her," Spatchcock said, a sly grin on his face.
"Try to get the teachers on board too. None of them are involved, except the twins and Wartski."
"Got it. What will you be doing?"
"Stopping this madness, once and for all," Dante vowed. The sound of a siren cut through the air, its wailing echoing along the castle corridors. "I guess Storm and Tempest have found their mentor."
Spatchcock looked at the severed hand he was clutching. "So this is...?"
"A useful way of getting through security doors. Take it with you and go!"
Near the kitchen Scullion was helping Flintlock back out of the drain, where he had been hiding from Wartski. "Are you sure it's safe?"
"Yes, yes," the alien replied, using one of her tentacles to drag him onto the floor. "She was summoned to the north tower, some emergency up there." The wailing of security sirens cut off her voice.
"I decided the twins could deal with that problem," Wartski announced. The massive matron was blocking the only door out of the drainage room, a meat cleaver held in one of her fists. "You'll suffer for hiding this one from me," she promised the cook. "I have plans for Lord Flintlock."
"How do you know my name?" he quailed.
&n
bsp; "I know all about you and your master," Wartski sneered. "The Tsar will pay handsomely for the head of Nikolai Dante. But you and Spatchcock - you have no value, except as sport."
"I won't let you touch Spatch," Scullion warned. "He's mine!"
"Don't tell me you're getting attached to the little guttersnipe? Does the appalling odour he gives off excite you that much, freak?"
Scullion pushed Flintlock to one side and threw herself at Wartski, tentacles coiling around the matron's bulky body. Wartski fought back, hacking at Scullion with the meat cleaver. Green blood flew through the air, spattering Flintlock's face. "I say!" he spluttered unhappily.
"Flintlock, over here!" Spatchcock was in the doorway, waving with Fabergè's severed hand for Flintlock to join him. Meanwhile Scullion and Wartski's brawl continued, the two fighting females staggering about the room, battering each other with all their might.
The alien was retreating towards the open drain, Wartski advancing on her rapidly. At the last moment Scullion sidestepped the charging woman, leaving a tentacle behind to trip her up. Wartski tumbled forwards into the hole; face first, screaming in rage. "No! Nooooooo!"
The cry was abruptly cut off when her vast torso became wedged in the circular hole, half in and half out, legs kicking helplessly in the air. Flintlock delivering a kick to her copious buttocks. Wartski howled with rage but remained stuck fast. The former aristocrat savoured the ugly spectacle. "You know what that's called where I come from? Toad in the hole."
But Spatchcock wasn't there to appreciate the joke, having helped Scullion out into the kitchen. He was trying bandaging her wounds, deep slices cut into many of her tentacles, green slime pulsing from the injuries. Flintlock joined them, still enjoying the sounds of Wartski's furious screams. "If the tide keeps rising, so will the levels inside the main sewerage pipe. With any luck that vile woman will drown in effluent."
"Forget about Wartski," Spatchcock urged. "Dante asked me to evacuate the teachers and pupils. He's tackling Doctor Fabergè and the twins by himself, and doesn't want anyone else caught in the crossfire. I'll help Scullion out to the shuttle. Can you fetch the others?"
Flintlock did not look convinced. "What happens if I run into Storm or Tempest? They'll tear me to pieces!"
Spatchcock slapped Flintlock across the face. "Show some backbone for once in your life!"
Dante was surprised to find all the north tower's security systems had been switched off. No doubt the Crest would have warned him to be careful, suggesting it was all part of an obvious trap. Well, so be it. Dante stepped into the lift shaft and let it raise him to the top level. Even there he could see no obvious danger or threats. The frosted glass door to the laboratory stood open, the sound of something dripping audible from inside.
"Please, do come in," a voice beckoned. "I have a surprise for you."
Dante moved cautiously to the door and peered inside. Doctor Fabergè was sitting on the examination table, a strip of leather tightly fastened above the stump on his right arm. Blood was still seeping slowly from the wound, falling into a crimson pool on the metal table beside him. "You needn't worry, I'm quite unarmed." The doctor smiled bleakly at his own pun.
"What's the surprise?" Dante asked, venturing carefully into the laboratory after checking there was nobody hiding in wait for him.
Fabergè gestured at the Steel Military Egg atop a nearby workbench. "When my namesake designed his Easter Eggs, he concealed a surprise within each one. I have done the same with my genetically engineered eggs."
"I've already seen your presentation," Dante replied.
"But did you stop to think why I called this project the Strangelove Gambit? My daughters, Storm and Tempest, were the first successful attempt at this procedure. I have waited more than a decade for the right moment to trigger their transformation." Fabergè spared a glance for his wounded arm. "I think this is the perfect moment, don't you? Girls, why don't you come out and show Dante exactly what you can do."
The twins emerged from behind a workbench, holding each other's hands. They were naked, their statuesque bodies glistening with sweat.
"I've already seen how these two spend their spare time," Dante said.
"This is not about sex, you fool!" Fabergè spat. "This is about life and death - your life and death, to be precise." He turned to the twins and nodded. "Activate the Strangelove Gambit!"
Dante took a step backwards, towards the door. He had no weapons, no Crest and no plan. The hunger for vengeance had driven him to this moment, but now it had arrived he was ill prepared. The Strangelove twins began striding towards him, their eyes glowing angrily. "Fuoco," Dante whispered.
For all her life Tempest felt like she was holding something back, never being true to herself. Childhood had been a blur of memories, growing up with her sister and Doctor Fabergè, blossoming into a woman. Even when she and Storm were allowed to make their public debut at the Imperial Games, their father had forbidden them from revealing more than a fraction of what they could do. Afterwards it was back to the island, back to a life of containment and waiting and stifling claustrophobia. Deep within her there was something squirming and twisting, fighting to break free - no, to escape.
When the doctor gave the command to activate, Tempest's reaction was purely instinctive. She reached down inside herself and let go, let the creature within take hold. It was an orgasmic release, flooding outwards through her body, searing the fingertips and extremities, exploding from the inside out. She shuddered with relief as the last boundaries were broken. The waiting was over. She was becoming her true self at last.
The twins began to glow, their skin radiating pure light. Within seconds Dante could not look directly at them, such was the brilliance of the light. He continued backing away, hands in front of his face to stop himself being blinded. Even then, he could still see the outline of what was happening to the twins.
Tempest and Storm were changing, mutating, their bodies convulsing and warping. As the process accelerated the twins begin screaming, pain and ecstasy given voice, the sound searing into Dante's brain until blood was dripping from both his ears. Stumbling backwards, he found the doorway and retreated through it, unable to tear his gaze from the blazing light in the laboratory.
The twins' screaming grew louder still, its pitch rising note by note until finally passing beyond human hearing. Light flooded the corridor outside the laboratory as Dante flung himself into the lift shaft. It pulled him down towards the basement. As he descended, Dante saw an explosion of light and sound at the top level. Then there was nothing but the air whistling past Dante as he descended.
"WE'RE COMING TO GET YOU," a metallic voice whispered.
"WE'RE COMING TO TEAR YOU APART," another voice echoed.
"RUN, DANTE! RUN, NIKOLAI-----."
"RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN!"
"IT WON'T BE FAST ENOUGH."
"YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE THE FURIES!"
Dante gave one last glance upwards before stepping out of the shaft. Something was moving above him, sleek and silver. Tempest and Storm were coming for him, but what had they become?
Helga was woken by sound of screaming. She sat up in her dormitory bed, the other students sharing her confusion. "What's happening?" Helga asked Carmen, who was looking out of a window to the north tower.
"I don't know," the Andorran woman admitted. "I was dreaming and then there was some sort of explosion in Doctor Fabergè's laboratory."
"You have to get out of here!" shouted a male voice. Helga pulled the bedclothes up to cover herself as a blond-haired man ran into the dormitory. "You have to evacuate the island," he yelled, gesticulating wildly at the students.
"Why?" Carmen demanded. "What's happening? I saw an explosion-"
"It isn't safe!" the intruder shouted. "Dante said we have to get everyone out while there's still time!"
"Dante?" Helga asked. "Nikolai Dante?" Everyone had heard of him, even if few knew what he looked like. The images taken of him during the war showed a
bitter-faced man with a shaven head and angry features.
"I mean Mr Durward," the man said, correcting himself. "Mr Durward is evacuating everyone from the island."
"Mr Durward is Nikolai Dante?" Carmen said, a sly smile of satisfaction spreading across her face.
The blond man rolled his eyes. "We haven't got time for this," he snapped. "I have to get you out-"
Another explosion shook the castle, this time echoing upwards from below. The students screamed in terror, all trace of sleep purged from their systems. Flintlock was almost crushed underfoot as the eleven women stampeded for the doorway.
"Everybody, make for the shuttle!" he shouted after them.
Dante was retreating to the kitchen in the hope of finding a weapon, any weapon. He looked back and glimpsed a blur of silver approaching. The shape threw a fist-sized ball of fire towards him. Dante hurled himself sideways and it flashed past, exploding against the end of the corridor. Electrical energy sparked outwards from the blast, tendrils of high voltage stabbing into everything within twenty feet. Dante was caught in the periphery of this, the shock jolting through his body.
Once the detonation had begun to recede, he continued running, knowing the kitchen was just round the corner. Where the fireball had struck was now a void, a circular hole larger than Dante in the castle floor and walls. Fabergè had been right, the bio-weaponry wielded by the twins made the Romanov Crest look like a child's plaything. I don't even have the Crest to help me, Dante thought ruefully. How long before the suppressant drug wears off, minutes or hours? If it was only minutes, he might have a chance. Otherwise...