Weatherby bowed his head. He knew he had to be polite and kind to all people. His mother had taught him that well. He knew the Nazis were in charge of things now, and even if he didn’t like it, he had to recognize their authority. But he was never sure why he was making them angry. He was deeply afraid of Sergeant Morgen, a thuggish Nazi who enjoyed his job.
“I’m just going inside,” Weatherby said, trying to move around Morgen. “I’m sorry, sir, if—”
“Yes.” Morgen grabbed Weatherby’s shoulder. His grip was like iron, and the boy let out an involuntary yelp. “Whine. Beg. I enjoy it, little rat. I enjoy it so much.” Morgen leaned down, his head very close to Weatherby. The boy felt his heart beating, and blinked his eyes. “You know, your father is going to anger General Von Koch. And he will tell Colonel Vessler. And Colonel Vessler will tell me. And that’s when I’ll get you.”
Weatherby shivered as the rain started pounding down outside. He didn’t hear the soft footsteps on the flagstones. “Unhand my child!” It was a familiar voice, courageous and kind, behind Morgen. Hannah Stein, Weatherby’s mother, hurried to Weatherby and Morgen, glaring hatefully at the Nazi. “You don’t have free rein to harm us yet, you brute! And you know what will happen if you disobey your superiors.”
Sergeant Morgen stood up, and Weatherby ran into the long arms of his mother. She hugged him tightly to her, and for just a little while, Weatherby felt safe. Hannah Stein was a slim woman, seemingly delicate, but with a warning of strength in her blue eyes. She had her son’s thin nose and blue eyes, but lighter brown hair. She wore a pale red dress under a short trench coat. Hannah was a modern woman. That was one of the many reasons why Wolfgang Stein loved her.
“It’s all right, Weatherby,” she said, and her son believed her. “Come along. There’s going to be a dinner – a very fancy one, and we must get ready.” She looked up at Sergeant Morgen. “You’ll be expected to be on your best behavior.”
Morgen shrugged. “But General Von Koch will be there, madam. And you know what he thinks of subhumans like you. Perhaps he’ll give me reason to forget my manners.” He approached her, his thick hands balling into fists. He was as angry as a petulant child who had lost a favorite toy. “And don’t worry, little boy. We’ll get to play again soon.”
Weatherby shuddered, and Hannah led him away. “He’s a beastly man,” she said. “I’ll complain to Herr Vessler. Perhaps he can arrange for the sergeant to be moved or transferred or something.” She looked down at Weatherby. “He didn’t…he didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“I think he wants to,” Weatherby said, shaking his head.
Hannah and her son walked down the long empty hallway of the castle, to their rooms on the second floor. Castle Stein was an old structure, the gray stones of the walls covered with dust and large portraits of deceased family members. Suits of armor holding bladed poles rested in the corners.
“He wants to do harm to everything in the world,” Hannah whispered to her son. “They all do. But don’t worry, Weatherby.” She patted his head. “You mustn’t be frightened. Your father and I will never let you get hurt. I promise you that.”
“And Selena’s not present,” Weatherby pointed out. “She’s safe in America, at school. I think that’s a very good stroke of luck.”
“It certainly is, darling,” Hannah said. “Especially around Colonel Vessler.”
“What do you mean?” Weatherby asked. “He doesn’t seem like the worst of them.”
Hannah shivered. “He is,” she said. “In his own way.”
They walked up a spiral staircase, and came to the second story, where the Stein living quarters awaited them. A pair of Waffen-SS guards flanked the hallway, their rifles on their shoulders. They stared emotionlessly and Hannah held up her head and walked past them, holding her son’s hand.
They walked into Weatherby’s room. It was a cluttered child’s room, with shelves full of books stretching around a small bed, and toys littering the ground. Like everything in Castle Stein, they were old and handed down from ages long past.
Hannah started to straighten Weatherby’s tie and spectacles. Suddenly, her eyes blinked several times. “Oh god, Weatherby,” she said. “We should’ve run. You should’ve stayed in England. Oh god, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Mother…” Weatherby clutched her hand. “Please, I’m unharmed. There’s no need for you to be sad.”
Hannah nodded with a deep sigh. “You’re right, darling,” she said. “You’re right.”
There was a knock on the door. “Hannah? Weatherby? It’s Wolfgang. May I come in?”
“Of course, dear,” Hannah called, and Dr. Wolfgang Stein stepped carefully into the room. Weatherby beamed up at his father. Dr. Wolfgang Stein had his son’s dark hair, in neat sideburns and a goatee, and wore similar spectacles. Weatherby remembered the vitality his father once had, a kind of happiness just to be in the company of his wife and son. He remembered spending hours listening to his father’s stories of their family history, while they rambled around the grounds.
But now, Wolfgang Stein slumped his shoulders and looked at his shoes. He looked deflated, weakened, like there was somehow less of him there. But he still knelt down and embraced his son, then wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. He wore a rumpled Victorian suit, vest and tie.
Wolfgang offered his son a hopeful smile. “What’s that in your hand? Ah, a rubbing of the viscount’s grave? He possessed a rare cruelty, Weatherby. I’ll relate his regrettable and bloody story to you, if you’d like.”
“Morgen cornered him, Wolfgang,” Hannah said.
“Oh. God in Heaven.” Wolfgang closed his eyes. “This is my fault,” he said. “There must have been something I could have done. There must have been some way to put an end to their devilry, instead of working for them.”
“It’s not your fault,” Hannah said. “They’ll kill us, if we don’t do as they say.” She looked up at her husband. “Tonight, is—”
“The general will be there. Von Koch himself.” Wolfgang shivered. “I’ve contacted demons and ancient gods, Hannah, and I don’t know anything worse than him. He’ll want results. And I can’t give them to him.” He sat down on Weatherby’s bed, his hands resting on his knees. Weatherby hurried to his father’s side, anxious to comfort him.
“You’ll think of something, Father,” Weatherby said. He admired his father deeply, and couldn’t stand seeing him like this. “And things will change. You remember what you said, before the Nazis came here – that they’re just a passing fad, and they’ll go away.”
“He’s right,” Hannah said. “Now that the Americans have landed in France, they’ll be coming here soon. These bastards won’t last long. The Russians will push them from the east, and the Allies from the west, and they’ll march all the way to Berlin.”
“I know they will,” Wolfgang said. “But I don’t know if they’ll come in time.” He pulled Weatherby close to him. Weatherby realized that his father was shivering, as if he had been out in the cold for a long time.
Hannah stayed quiet and then put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “We won’t break before them,” she said. “We won’t give them the pleasure. And we won’t let them hurt Weatherby. Come on, my dear. We must prepare for dinner.”
With a deep sigh, Wolfgang came to his feet. “Very well,” he said. He looked down at Weatherby. “We’ll see you for dinner, little one.” He knelt down, suddenly sweeping up Weatherby in another hug. “The situation may get worse, Weatherby,” he said. “But know that we love you and we’ll keep you safe. No matter what.”
“I know that very well, father,” Weatherby replied. His parents quietly filed out of his room. Weatherby set down the rubbing he had made and leaned back on his bed, staring up the dusty ceiling. He thought about his father and, for just a few seconds, felt safe.
That evening, Weatherby sat between his parents at the long table in Castle Stein’s dining hall. Colonel Vessler, Sergeant Morgen and General Von Koch
joined them, sitting opposite the Steins. An SS company cook prepared roasted sausage for the table, along with some of the finest vintages from Castle Stein’s well-stocked wine cellar. Sergeant Morgen ate with gusto, devouring his food and letting the crumbs and fragments spray across the front of his uniform. The Steins ate a little, but Weatherby felt like there was an icicle wedged in his chest, and it spoiled his appetite.
He looked at Colonel Rudolf Vessler, who did not take his eyes off of Hannah Stein. Vessler had a thin dueling scar zigzagging across his handsome features, and he wore a black trench coat, the civilian uniform of the SS. Weatherby didn’t really know what exactly went on between men and women, but there was nothing but hunger in Vessler’s gaze and it made the boy uneasy. Wolfgang patted his son’s shoulder, and Weatherby realized his father’s hands were shaking.
Dr. Stein was looking at General Von Koch. Weatherby didn’t know the general’s first name. He wasn’t sure Von Koch had one. The general was absolutely hairless, his black SS uniform perfectly creased and impeccable. A monocle rested in one eye, looking like a piece of frosted crystal. Von Koch didn’t touch his sausage, and stared directly across the table at Wolfgang. He spoke first.
“You are aware of the course of the war?” he asked.
“Indeed, Herr General,” Wolfgang said. “I understand the Fuhrer’s troops will force the Americans out of France very soon, and we are expecting a victory against the Slavic armies as well, and soon—”
“Doctor Stein, propaganda has its place, but I do not have the time or the patience for Goebbels’ version of reality. Rest assured, we are losing this war.” His voice lacked any emotion, and he spoke coldly and directly. Weatherby hated Von Koch, and looked away from the general’s piercing gaze and that awful, frosted monocle. “So, choose your words very carefully when I ask you this question – how is the project proceeding?”
Wolfgang coughed. “Well enough,” he said. “I have isolated the proper runes for the resurrection of the Draugr, and can even provide some command over the revived specimens. The use of the runes is really quite fascinating and—”
“Doctor Stein, I do not care for the details of the operation. How soon can the Reich mass legions of the dead against the American and British forces that threaten the Fatherland?”
“Well, Herr General, I don’t know if–”
General Von Koch gripped his carving knife. “By the end of the month, Stein? By the end of the year?” He shook his head. “No. I thought not. Do you have an excuse?”
“Herr General, it takes time. It’s difficult, you see, working with the corpses you send me—”
Von Koch’s response was immediate. “So you need living specimens. I can provide them for you. Tomorrow, I can arrange a shipment of prisoners from the Auschwitz concentration camp to arrive here. I guarantee they will be fully pacified and you can do whatever you wish to them. Rest assured, there is not much that Auschwitz’s resident doctors have not already done.”
Suddenly, Hannah came to her feet. “I can’t do this!” she cried. “I can’t sit here and eat while these monsters discuss the torture of thousands. Mr. Von Koch, my husband will not perform experiments on unwilling human beings. And may your soul burn in Hell for even suggesting such a thing.”
There was silence in the dining hall. Hannah continued to glare at Von Koch, and Weatherby looked up at his mother. He felt a spark of pride inside of him, for his mother’s bravery. Colonel Vessler laughed. “Our Hannah is a spirited woman, Herr General,” he said. “But she should apologize immediately for her outburst. If she wishes for herself – and her darling little boy – to remain unharmed.”
General Von Koch stared at Wolfgang. “I don’t care for her apologies or her opinions,” he said. “Dr. Stein, will you cooperate with us and perform your experiments on individuals from Auschwitz?” He posed the question calmly, like he was asking about the current climate.
Weatherby turned to his father. He saw his father’s hands shaking and could see the panic in his eyes. The boy knew a little about the camps. Terrible things happened there, beyond human comprehension. They had been mentioned many times in Castle Stein, always as threats. Slowly, Weatherby reached out and gripped his father’s hand. He felt Wolfgang Stein’s large fingers wrapped around his, and suddenly stop shaking.
“No, Herr General. My wife is right. I will not lose my humanity, not for your evil cause.” Wolfgang didn’t stutter, and looked straight at Von Koch. “I won’t harm the innocent.”
“That is a regrettable decision, Dr. Stein.” Von Koch said. He stood up, holding the carving knife high. He nodded to the two Waffen-SS soldiers standing at the entrance to the hall. They walked over to Wolfgang and grabbed his hands. They slammed his arm down on the table. Sergeant Morgen and Colonel Vessler came to their feet, while Von Koch remained seated. “You will have to be disciplined,” he said. He leaned forward, the knife in one hand.
“Father!” Weatherby tried to run to his father’s side, but Hannah grabbed him and pulled him close. Weatherby didn’t see what happened, but he saw the knife flash and Wolfgang’s shouts rang through the wide dining hall. Blood sprayed onto the white table cloth, and Weatherby saw his father’s finger, one from a hand which had tucked him in and helped his with his coat and waved goodbye to him at school, lying among the plates and cutlery in a red pool.
Von Koch finally raised his voice, but it was more like he was trying to be heard than feeling anger. “Will you relent?” he asked. “Will you cooperate, Herr Stein?”
“No!” Wolfgang bellowed, holding his bleeding hand. “I’m thinking of Hell, Herr General! I’m thinking of the special place designated for monsters of your ilk! I know the demons that will torture you, General Von Koch, and I wish them luck!”
Von Koch picked up his wine glass and had a quick sip. “Your behavior will have to be corrected, Herr Doctor. Morgen? Beat the boy into unconsciousness.”
Sergeant Morgen grabbed Weatherby’s hand. His grip was strong enough to make the boy cry out, and Weatherby heard his mother’s scream as he was dragged across the floor. Morgen was grinning like an idiot as he raised his fist. “Ja, Herr General,” he said. “With pleasure.”
Weatherby didn’t see Morgen’s heavy hand pull back. He suddenly felt the blow, pounding into his side and knocking him across the floor. The world spun around him, and pure white pain flashed in his eyes. He heard his mother scream, and it sounded very far away. Weatherby tried to cry out, or come to his feet, but then he felt Morgen’s heavy combat boot striking into his chest. He let out a small cry, a whisper of a cough, and everything burned into darkness around him. He fell away into nothing, and stayed that way for a long time.
When Weatherby woke up, he was lying in his bed. His father had put bandages on his bruised face and chest, and his mother sat on the bed next to him, running her hands through his hair. His eyes blinked open, and he smiled at her. “Mother?” he asked. “Is father there?”
“I’m here, little one.” Dr. Stein stood over the bed. Weatherby saw a white bandage around the stump where his finger had been. He knelt down, and looked at his son, then turned away. Hannah ran to him. They talked in hushed whispers, and then both sadly looked back at Weatherby.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Stein asked. “You’re probably a little sore, but it should pass. Nothing vital was damaged, and I thank all the gods and devils for that.”
“I feel well enough, father.” Weatherby sat up and stretched his arms. “But your finger, are you—”
“It’s just a scratch. I still didn’t agree to their plans. The dinner ended, so your mother and I could see to your injuries.” Weatherby’s father put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “There are guards outside,” he said. “I want to talk to you, and Hannah, out in the grounds. Do you feel well enough to walk?”
“Of course, father,” Weatherby replied without hesitation. He slid out of bed and grabbed his vest and coat. Each movement made sudden bolts of pain and nausea pulse throu
gh him, but he ignored them. He didn’t want to let his parents down. Weatherby set his spectacles on his nose, and followed his parents out of his room.
They walked down the hall, well aware of the Nazi guards behind them. Hannah stayed close to her son, her hands always on his shoulders. She steadied him, and he appreciated it. They walked through a tall stone hallway, past an arch with an attached portcullis, and out into the dying garden.
Autumn’s cold rains and fallen leaves had turned it into a graying mess of dying vegetation, with occasional flashes of bright orange and red. They walked in the mud, under the fluttering Nazi flags. All around the castle, the Waffen-SS had set up a perimeter, with a barbed wire fence, tall guard towers and even a pair of heavy Panzer tanks, rumbling by in a patrol. Weatherby winced at the terrible, clanking noise of the passing machinery.
Hannah looked into the gray sky. “We’ve got to do something,” she said. “These men mean us nothing but harm. They might hurt Weatherby even more next time. They might do something to me, Wolfgang, or to you. We have to do something.”
Dr. Stein nodded. “I know, my dear, I know. I don’t want to work for these devils, but what choice do I have? If I disagree, they’ll send you away to the camps. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“So we escape,” Hannah replied. “We could slip away from these Nazis, hide in the countryside, and make our way towards the Allied lines. We could go to America, to Selena, and make a new life for ourselves.” She pulled close to her husband. “I know you love your castle, and your family’s history, but—”
“For you, and Weatherby, I would abandon all of it in a heartbeat,” Dr. Stein replied. “But I don’t know how we could manage it. I’m not some soldier. I can’t survive in a war, and I can’t…” He closed his eyes. “I can’t take care of you and Weatherby. We couldn’t even get out. They’d gun us down, rather than let us fall into Allied hands.”
But Hannah wouldn’t be dissuaded. “So we make a distraction,” she said, her eyes blazing. “You have all of these creatures in your laboratory, the Draugr. Why not let them go? During the chaos, maybe we could break away?”
The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 1: American Nightmares (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #1) Page 16