The Kaiserine's Champion

by Derek Paterson

  “You're too kind, m'lord."

  I lifted my arms while the servant fastened the belt about my waist. Then I noticed Patrizia talking to a handsome, fair-haired fellow who leaned indolently against a door frame, his arms folded across his chest. He pretended to listen to what she was saying, but I sensed his entire attention was focused on me at that particular moment.

  “Are you ready?” the Duke asked.

  “Yes, m'lord."

  We went outside and down the steps as a coach drawn by two matching black stallions appeared around the corner.

  “That was damn quick,” the Duke remarked, and a dull warning bell began tolling in my head, for no ostler could have harnessed the coach so speedily. The coach driver wore a black cloak and a tricorn hat, so that his features were in shadow; the coach's blinds were drawn so that anyone hiding inside would not be seen. The alarm bell rang louder and I began to pay it the attention it deserved. The Duke's bodyguards came out of the house, looked cautiously left and right then began moving down the steps. None of them even glanced twice at the coach. It had been summoned, and was therefore expected.

  As the coach drew level with the steps, the blinds were ripped open and two muskets thrust out. I gave the Duke a hard push and went the other way, leaping the stone balustrade as the muskets flashed and roared. One of the balls struck a guard; the other smashed a flowerpot on the top step. The Duke, winded and confused, fell head-first into thick bushes while the guard, face contorted in pain, collapsed on the steps clutching his stomach.

  I reached the coach, wrenched the door open and found myself staring at the two ghastly soldiers I'd met in Thenck's headquarters. Their reconstructed faces were incapable of registering surprise, but their eyes widened fractionally as I pulled myself into the coach. They immediately dropped their discharged muskets and drew bayonets from scabbards on their belts. There was no room for swordplay and no time for finesse; I grabbed one of the fallen muskets and rammed the butt into the face of the man on my left. The second soldier slashed at me and I deflected the stroke, striking him on the side of the head with the barrel. Both men collapsed across the padded leather couches, temporarily relieved of their senses.

  The sliding hatch opened above me and the driver—he who had earlier conveyed me to the Arena—aimed his pistol at my head. Our eyes met briefly and I sensed his reluctance to kill me. But, like the two unconscious soldiers, he had his orders. His pistol discharged, the noise deafening in the enclosed space, but the ball missed me as I shifted out of his line of sight. I grabbed his arm and pulled once, twice, three times, smashing his head against the hatch. He groaned and slumped, stunned, while I marvelled at the physical speed and agility that had allowed me to avoid his lead ball.

  The Duke's guards swarmed over the coach and dragged the unmoving bodies onto the street. The wounded guard was carried into the house and a messenger ran off to summon the Duke's physician again.

  “Who are these men?” Duke Wilhelm demanded, his face scarlet with rage as he brushed flower petals off his hitherto immaculate uniform. “Or should I ask, what are they? Their faces—"

  “Thenck sent them,” I said, cutting short his speculation.

  “Thenck! But, why?"

  “I can only guess, m'lord, but I don't think he likes to leave loose ends lying about for people to trip over. Which is to say, he prefers his business to remain private and does not wish me to speak of what I have seen and heard."

  The Duke stroked his mustache. “And what have you seen and heard, exactly?"

  “With respect, m'lord, that's between Herr Thenck and myself. I ask that you convey my apologies to the Kaiserine. I've some urgent business that needs attention."

  Duke Wilhelm opened his mouth to speak, as if to warn me against my intended course of action, but he saw my determination and nodded reluctant agreement instead. Perhaps the wounding of one of his own men also influenced his decision.

  I bent over the driver and stripped off his black cloak and tricorn hat, putting them on myself. Thus attired, I climbed up onto the driver's seat and took the reins. The Duke touched a finger to his forehead in salute as I pulled away, heading for Thenck's headquarters.

  A light rain began to fall as I guided the coach through the cobbled streets of High Sazburg. The journey gave me time to think, to ponder again what had just happened. Thenck's highwaymen should have killed me. That they had missed at point-blank range, and had then failed to skewer me with their bayonets, was far too much of a coincidence. The vampyre's gift still pulsed in my veins. Doctor Schmidt's counter-elixir hadn't worked its magic yet. Which begged me to ask the question: would it ever work? Did the counter-elixir even exist? Had Thenck lied to me just so I'd drink Rosemarie's blood and repair my injuries, allowing me to return to the Arena? Hopefully answers awaited me at the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security.

  The coach approached the rear of the sinister red brick building. I pulled the tricorn hat down to mask my face from anyone who might be watching from the upper windows. I stopped the coach, pulled on the brake handle and slowly dismounted, pretending to be in pain. Hunched over and limping, I climbed the steps and banged my fist upon the door, hoping that whoever was inside would be expecting the coach and its occupants to return.

  Bolts were drawn, locks turned, and the door opened. Ludwig scowled at me, then looked at the coach.

  “What went wrong?” he demanded.

  “This,” I said, slamming my fist into his jaw. He collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, unconscious. I ran to the stairway at the far end of the hall. My senses alert for any signs of trickery, I climbed the steps and cautiously entered Doctor Schmidt's laboratory.

  Noone was there, but I heard voices coming from one of the adjoining hallways. I drew my sword and silently approached the source of the sound. Thenck and Schmidt stood in one of the side rooms with their backs to me. The mute, one-handed girl I'd attacked after taking Schmidt's damned vampyre elixir lay upon a bed, asleep or unconscious; I couldn't tell which. She was the subject of their conversation.

  “Her vocal chords are intact, Herr Thenck. She can speak again, though her voice may seem odd for a short time."

  “What about her hand?"

  “See for yourself. It has completely regrown."

  After a moment's silence, Thenck said, “Will she be able to play the piano again?"

  The question surprised me but Schmidt said, “Indeed she will, Herr Thenck. As well as she ever could."

  “It meant a lot to her mother,” Thenck said, as if he felt the need to explain, and I detected the emotion in his voice, sensed his genuine concern for the girl's well-being.

  Things had been slowly forming somewhere in the back of my mind, and now my suspicions crystallized.

  “Perhaps she'll play us a tune, Herr Thenck, so we can all dance and make merry and pretend this nightmare never happened,” I said, and they both turned around, Thenck looking shocked and guilty, Schmidt looking like a surprised fish because of his thick spectacle lenses.

  To his credit, Thenck didn't begin his next sentence with, “How did you—?” Instead he said, “You know, I had a feeling you'd turn up sooner or later.” He reached beneath his coat and produced a pistol, but I scored a red line across the back of his hand with the point of my sword, forcing him to drop the weapon. He hissed his pain and clutched the wound. Blood leaked between his fingers.

  I gestured at the girl. “Would you care to explain?"

  “There seems little point,” he said. “I'd hardly expect you to understand.” He held his injured hand against his chest.

  “If you mean you think I'd probably find what you've been doing to this poor girl disgusting, then yes, I can appreciate your reluctance to attempt any futile explanation,” I said, and he lowered his gaze, no longer able to look me in the eye.

  “You have no right to judge me,” he said.

  “No? I think I have every right. How old is the Kaiserine? Sixty? More? Yet she doesn't eve
n look half that age—thanks to Doctor Schmidt here.” I swept an arm about me, indicating the building around us. “How many experiments have there been, Doctor Schmidt? The soldiers, Ludwig and who knows what else hidden in your damned cellars? Made from bits and pieces taken from other bodies. How fortunate the Kaiserine is to have her personal carpenter, able to glue on a new hand, give her a new voice or nail on whatever else she needs when her own bits and pieces begin to fail."

  Schmidt, suddenly enraged, took a half-step forward, but stopped when I put my sword between us.

  “You have no understanding of matters,” he said. Red spots of anger darkened his cheeks. “The soldiers you speak of were terribly wounded in battle and would have died, had I not put them back together again. Ludwig also—the physical defects he has suffered from birth would have killed him long ago, had I not performed surgery. It benefited us both. I learned from the experience, and Ludwig still lives."

  “And what about her?” I said, indicating the sleeping girl.

  Thenck glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but he didn't answer. It was Schmidt who said, “Some months ago, the Kaiserine contracted the wasting disease."

  I sucked in a deep breath. The wasting disease had appeared some years ago and noone had yet discovered the cause or the cure. Sailors serving aboard the steam-powered ironclads of the Imperial High Seas Fleet and the crews of the Junkers war engines were most often affected. Some scientists claimed it had something to do with unknown poisons in the oceans or in the air, while others suggested it might be the secret process that powered the Empire's machines that was somehow responsible.

  “Without my skills, and without Eva's willingness to donate parts of her own body, our sovereign would now be crippled and unable to function."

  The idea that the girl might have volunteered to have parts of her own anatomy removed hadn't occurred to me, but it seemed too bizarre not to be true. I remembered how Rosemarie had drank the counter-elixir without a second thought for her own well-being because she thought it might help her mistress. Such was the loyalty and devotion the Kaiserine inspired in all her subjects.

  “Eva has you to thank for her recovery,” Schmidt said. “She is proof that the vampyre's gift not only enhances the senses, but also heals and repairs.” He indicated the girl. “Her hand, which I had surgically removed and grafted onto the Kaiserine's arm, is regrown. Her vocal chords, which now reside within the Kaiserine's throat, are restored."

  Suppressing my revulsion, I shook my head. “This makes little sense, Herr Doctor. If the Kaiserine is unwell then why did you not simply arrange to have someone expose her to the vampyre's gift directly? Why use this unfortunate girl?"

  “The Kaiserine has an incurable fear of vampyres,” Thenck said. “She will not even permit them entry into the Imperial Palace, which is a maze of mirrors; the filth detest mirrors because they reflect their true image, that of rotted, decayed, worm-ridden corpses. That is why the Kaiserine's Guardsmen carry silver-inlaid swords and load their muskets with lead balls containing silver fragments. Therefore we were forced to seek an alternate solution, for the good of the Empire."

  “A solution that had to involve your own daughter?"

  His eyes widened, telling me that I'd guessed correctly.

  “Tissue compatibility, Herr Manfred,” Schmidt said. “Eva has the same skin tissue type as the Kaiserine. She is ideally suited for the task of providing replacement parts."

  I dismissed his incomprehensible medical jargon with an angry wave of my hand. “Why me?” I asked.

  Thenck frowned. “What do you mean?"

  “You already have vampyres in your employ. Why didn't you ask one of them to assist in restoring your daughter to full health?"

  “You are altogether too perceptive for your own good, Herr Manfred,” he said, his tone carrying the unmistakable promise of violence. “How did you know?"

  I shrugged. “The fact you were able to warn the Kaiserine in advance of the vampyre plan to assassinate her suggested you'd received information from an inside source. I realize now that no human could penetrate a vampyre nest and expect to live. Who are they? More of your volunteers?"

  Thenck's lips twisted into a parody of a smile. “As a matter of fact, yes. They are courageous men and women, willing to give up part of their humanity for their Kaiserine. Most are, unfortunately, no longer working for us."

  The full impact of his words struck me. “They've become full vampyres?"

  “But of course. As you would have, if not for Doctor Schmidt's counter-elixir."

  Schmidt said, “You are my first test case, Herr Manfred. I'm pleased to see the counter-elixir has worked."

  “As am I,” Thenck said. “It will make it so much easier for us to kill you."

  I sensed another presence and swung round to face a smiling swordsman who wore the Duke Wilhelm's uniform. It was the same handsome fellow Patrizia had spoken to as I'd left the Duke's house. His hawk eyes remained fixed on me as he cut the air with his sword, warming up for the forthcoming fight.

  “And who might you be?” I asked.

  “My name is Schwertkampfer.” He bowed formally from the waist. “I am the Duke Wilhelm's swordmaster, and the greatest bladesman who ever lived."

  It all became apparent. They'd been happy to entertain me, waiting for Schwertkampfer to arrive.

  Thenck said. “I can assure you that Schwertkampfer's boast is not a boast at all; it is a simple statement of fact. Since Doctor Schmidt's counter-elixir will have taken effect by now, the result is already a foregone conclusion."

  “All I ever wanted, Herr Thenck, was to ride out of High Sazburg with my body and soul intact,” I said. “I've no wish to oppose you, and I'm unlikely to expose your secrets, given that certain awkward questions might be asked concerning my own role in your scheme."

  “Under other circumstances I might have let you go, Herr Manfred,” he said. “However, I'm still very irritated by the way you allowed the Duke's man to walk out of the Arena, instead of cutting him to pieces in front of the Kaiserine as I wished. Therefore, you will die."

  “I've already said you're the most devious swine I've ever had the misfortune to meet, Herr Thenck. I believe I forgot to include ‘petty’ and ‘childish’ as well. Consider my earlier statement modified, will you?"

  Schwertkampfer said, “Can we get on with this? The Duke may ask awkward questions if I'm missing for any length of time."

  “Sorry to have inconvenienced you,” I said, scoring a line down his left cheek with the point of my blade. “Let's hope he doesn't ask how the greatest swordsman who ever lived received that scar."

  Schwertkampfer touched his hand to his face and stared, wide-eyed with shock, at the sight of his own blood. I used the moment to kick Schmidt in the face as he bent down to pick up Thenck's fallen pistol. He fell back into the room and sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

  “You'll die for that,” Schwertkampfer said, his handsome face now a twisted mask of rage.

  “Oh, come now,” I said. “You intended to kill me anyway, so delivering death threats at this stage in the game is somewhat redundant, wouldn't you say?"

  My words had the desired effect. He screamed his rage and stamped forward, his flashing sword seeking vengeance for the cut. I backed along the hallway, absorbing his attack until I had his measure; then I gave him a scar on his right cheek to match the one on his left. He screamed again and leapt bodily at me, slashing at my face and stabbing at my heart, but his sword only cut air. On his next lunge, I slipped inside his blade and drove the pommel of my sword down upon his exposed neck. Schwertkampfer crashed to the floor, senseless.

  “So much for the greatest swordmaster in the world,” I said to Thenck, stepping over the unmoving body and touching my sword to his breast. “That leaves you for me to deal with.” My anger was greater than Schwertkampfer's by a considerable factor. I didn't intend to leave this place without killing Thenck, because there was no doubt in my mind that he would
make it his business to see me dead. Not only did this man have the entire Secret Police at his disposal, he had half-vampyre agents, too. Schmidt could manufacture them on demand.

  “If you would put down your sword, Herr Manfred, I would be most obliged,” a familiar voice said. I turned in surprise as the Kaiserine swept regally down the hallway toward me, followed by the Duke Wilhelm, plus a good number of her Imperial Guardsmen and the Duke's soldiers.

  Wilhelm gestured frantically and I obeyed, lowering my blade and stepping away from Thenck, who seemed to be in a kind of shock, no doubt a combination of my defeat of his unbeatable swordsman and the Kaiserine's plainly unexpected arrival.

  The Kaiserine stopped and looked down at Schwertkampfer's body. She must have recognized the uniform, if not the man wearing it, for she said to the Duke, “Kindly remove your rubbish, my dear Duke. I so dislike clutter."

  The Duke signed to a corporal, who pushed forward through the Guardsmen and dragged the defeated swordmaster away. I could see by the Duke's face that he was puzzling over Schwertkampfer's presence here. He looked at Thenck, saw his guilt and it all suddenly came together in his mind. His angry glare did not go unnoticed by the Kaiserine. Her eyes narrowed and she nodded slowly, drawing her own conclusions.

  Then she looked at me, and smiled. “I'm pleased to see you alive and well, Herr Manfred,” she said. “I would have been very disappointed indeed had you survived the Arena only to be killed in a silly private duel."

  Not knowing what to say, I bowed like a courtier, taking care to keep my unsheathed sword behind me.

  Her hand—the girl's surgically transplanted hand—touched my shoulder. I straightened, trying not to show my feelings, whatever they were. Disgust? Horror? No. I was realistic enough to realize that were I a victim of the wasting disease, I would very probably do anything I could to prevent it from destroying me.

  “You have my thanks for what you did in the Arena,” she said. “If any man has earned the title of Kaiserine's Champion, then it is you."