‘At our discretion,’ said Collingwood firmly. ‘We’re not charities, ma’am, we are businessmen. No donations. Only investments.’
To punctuate his point, he crossed his arms, adopted an adamant expression, and fell unconscious. The servant behind his chair caught him before he could fall forward.
‘My God! Collingwood!’ cried von Ziegler, but his concern rapidly circled back onto his own affairs when he discovered he couldn’t stand. De Osma wasn’t even capable of that much effort. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped forward onto the table, knocking over his goblet. Where the last of the wine fell, an acute eye might have made out flat crystals among the dregs, quite different from the common potassium tartrate crystals amid which they nestled.
‘Finally,’ said the Red Queen as de Osma slumped insensibly back into his seat. ‘We thought you were never going to succumb.’
‘What…’ Graf von Ziegler was the last of the Ministerium to remain conscious, having barely touched his wine beyond a sip to ascertain that he still didn’t like Mirkarvian vintages. ‘What have you done?’
‘Ah, von Ziegler. We are so pleased that you are still with us. We particularly dislike you, and would wish you to be aware of what is to happen now.’
He squinted at her through tearing eyes. ‘What have you done?’ he mumbled.
‘We have secured your fortunes. In creating the financial instruments we described, you have left your finances vulnerable. We have signatures, names, and the access numbers of Swiss bank accounts. Your various administrators have been habituated once to large outgoings; they will not cavil as we take all your wealth for Mirkarvia. It is a worthwhile goal, is it not?’
‘No … no…’ With an effort, von Ziegler summoned up some gall. ‘You bitch. It won’t work. Questions … there will be questions. You can’t get rid of us … you need us.’
‘We needed you,’ corrected the Red Queen. ‘And should it be necessary for one or another of you to personally explain why you are transferring so much money, you will do so. More correctly, you will appear to do so.’ She signalled to the servants. One went to the double doors and opened them. With difficulty, von Ziegler turned to look. He gaped. The things waiting outside were humanoid, but could hardly be considered human. Doughy, unfinished, bland figures of flowing flesh and eyeless faces.
‘My Lord Alsager’s search for shapechangers produced some interesting examples,’ said the Red Queen. ‘You are familiar with the idea of doppelgängers?’
Von Ziegler croaked fearfully in the back of his throat. The figures moved into the room. There were three of them.
‘Alsager tells us the legend is flawed. He says such as these should more accurately be called “shape-eaters”.’
The figures moved to either side of the table until one stood behind each of the chairs occupied by the Ministerium members. Von Ziegler tried to rise, but a misshapen hand like that of a waxwork left in the sun slammed down on his wrist, holding him in his chair. He mewled in terror. ‘Please … please, your majesty…’
‘The Ministerium Tenebrae was always larger than you three, but you were not brought here as its representatives because of your ability. In your cases it was always because you were the richest. That you confused wealth for worth is now the least of your problems.’
Von Ziegler was weeping.
‘Do not fear. You do not die alone, and you will live on, at least in appearance.’
Across the table, the creature leaned down towards de Osma’s head as he lay slumped and insensible. The creature’s mouth opened and opened and opened.
Von Ziegler tried to scream, but all that came out was a whimper. Then he saw the Red Queen reach up to her veil, and lift it that she might watch the proceedings more clearly. He saw her face, and even the whimper died away in his throat. He barely felt the dopplegänger’s hands grip his head to hold it steady, or the drip of its salivating mouth upon his pate.
His last sight was of that face. That accursed face. And, when he saw it, he finally—if briefly—understood the depth of her evil.
* * *
Not so very far away, Johannes Cabal stirred discomforted in his sleep, a reaction analogous to that of a bacterium upon the stage of a microscope, monitored by another consciousness yet not entirely alive to it. He turned over and fell into a deeper sleep, sliding away from the layer of dream, which was likely just as well. Even dreams were no safe territory for him these days.
He awoke properly an hour before dawn and sought out Horst. He knew his brother’s moods and knew that he would not stay away from others for too long. He was not the loner; that was the role of Johannes. He found Horst sitting on the edge of one of the entomopter transporters, swinging his legs and looking miserable.
‘Buck up,’ said Johannes Cabal. ‘You’re already dead. What else could happen?’
‘When you’re around, plenty.’ His brother managed a smile. ‘Sorry for going off like that. I just hadn’t thought…’ He stopped, unable to define such an alien concept.
‘You hadn’t thought it couldn’t all be about you. I sympathise.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Not for a second. Still, I appreciate it must be a shock to the system. When was the last time such a dreadfully unnatural event occurred?’
‘More unnatural than becoming a vampire?’
Cabal grimaced. ‘That process is entirely natural, just poorly understood. No, the heavens shake and the gears of the great engines of creation shudder and protest when Horst Cabal isn’t the centre of attention. I understand there’s going to be a symposium on the subject.’
The two brothers looked at one another for several seconds. Then, remarkably, they both smiled.
‘You’re right about the natural order of things being upset, Johannes,’ said Horst. ‘I’m finding myself liking you.’
‘The end days are upon us.’
Horst looked down at his shoes. His smile faded. ‘Still can’t quite believe they’d go to all this trouble just to drag you into play.’
‘By “trouble”, I presume you refer to your own resurrection? It surprises me a little, too. That is no minor cantrip. Presumably the formula must have been happened upon during their researches and they saw an opportunity. That you were specifically chosen, however, is either enormously petty or worryingly cunning. I suspect both motivations were in play.’
‘You must have made an impression on her.’
‘I did. I simply did not realise how great an impression.’ Cabal affected nonchalance. ‘Not an experience unknown to you, I think.’
Horst laughed. ‘Some hard looks, harsh words. Once was visited by a couple of really scary brothers.’ He paused, and reconsidered his words. ‘Not scary like us. Not a vampire and a necromancer.’ He raised a level hand above his head height. ‘“Big” sort of scary. Anyway. None of them ever resurrected someone for the sole purpose of luring me to my death, though. That’s … special.’
‘I always was the special one.’
Horst did not argue with this. ‘Do you have a plan?’
‘I have two. The first is to infiltrate Harslaus, then locate and dispose of both Maleficarus and this “Red Queen” character, plus anyone else who looks like they need disposing of. That, however, was before I discovered that the Red Queen is probably the Lady Ninuka. She knows me personally and will likely have researched my background closely.’
‘She knew about me,’ agreed Horst. ‘Damn it, Johannes, she even knew where to find me.’
‘By divination, but practitioners good enough to be worth house space are few and far between, and their services are difficult to secure. Here we see the strange occult power of money at work once again.’ He looked in the approximate direction of Krenz. ‘I wonder if she intends to kill her backers once she has what she needs. She doesn’t want their opinions, just their money. I digress. The second plan, which I have formulated in the last three minutes, is to launch an immediate attack on Harslaus Castle at the earlies
t possible opportunity with the express intention of drawing out their forces and destroying them in the field. Meanwhile, a small group of determined volunteers will infiltrate the castle to … Well, very much as the first plan, actually. All that disposal business.’
Horst blew out a breath. ‘If you mean “us” by “determined volunteers”, please say so, Johannes.’
‘I certainly meant me. I don’t want that bunch of half-wits from the freelance asylums they call “secret societies” running around, burning valuable papers in the name of their God, or their morals, or something else equally nebulous. If you’d like to accompany me, that would be nice.’ He said nice as if it were a new concept to him and he found the word interesting and exotic.
Horst nodded. ‘Fine. Count me in. The two of us.’
‘The three of us,’ said a voice from beneath them, causing even Horst to jump slightly. Alisha Bartos climbed out from beneath the flatbed and stood before them, fixing them with a steady stare as she brushed her hands off on her knees.
‘You were spying on us!’ said Horst in slightly amused outrage.
‘Of course she was,’ said Cabal, settling once more into his swamp of general misanthropy. ‘She’s a professional spy.’
‘An ex-spy,’ she said.
‘Oh, don’t bore me,’ said Cabal. ‘There’s no “ex” about it, apart from the shift in your loyalties away from the Prussians. The Dee Society is no more a ragamuffin collection of concerned individuals facing down the unknown than I am a respected pillar of the community. The Dee Society has been a deniable asset of the British security service under its myriad names since the days of Walsingham, and do not insult me by pretending otherwise.’
Alisha’s smirk vanished like hope after an election, but she did not deny the accusation.
Horst did not know whether to be outraged or delighted, so settled for both. ‘Oh! All your stuff about government contacts who could help … No wonder. Oh, that’s rich. I think I like that.’
‘Very well,’ said Cabal. ‘It would not make sense for the infiltration to consist of more than three, and it would be as well if those three have at least some knowledge of the castle.’
Horst looked at Cabal, eyebrows raised. ‘No argument, Johannes? You’re just going to say “yes” just like that?’
‘Of course. A solo infiltration would provide no flexibility, you and I would have better odds, but still be limited, whereas having Fräulein Bartos along means that you can act as a scout using your … unusual capabilities, she will act as my bodyguard…’ Alisha looked askance at this, but still kept her silence. ‘And I shall direct the operation in situ.’
‘You’re not my boss,’ said Alisha Bartos.
‘While we’re in that castle,’ said Johannes Cabal, leaning forward to look her in the eyes, ‘yes, I am.’
Chapter 16
IN WHICH A PRIEST IS DISMAYED AND BATTLE IS JOINED
‘Three of you,’ said Melkorka ‘Korka’ Olvirdóttir. ‘Three of you to go into the enemy stronghold and decapitate their leadership.’
This was a less formal council of war, drawn up over a pre-dawn breakfast. The faction leaders were there, as were several other assorted lieutenants and adjutants. They chewed bacon, spooned porridge, and listened.
‘I wasn’t planning on decapitation exactly,’ said Johannes Cabal, ‘but if that’s what it takes to put Maleficarus down and keep him down, I’m all for it.’
Korka looked at him stonily.
‘I think Miss Olvirdóttir was speaking figuratively,’ said the professor.
‘Doesn’t stop it being a good idea,’ said Cabal.
‘And while you are doing this we shall be dying outside,’ said Atropos of the Sisters. ‘I do not like this plan.’
‘You dying is not actually a necessary part of the plan,’ said Horst. ‘You should avoid it if you can. The thing is, sooner or later the Ministerium’s forces will have to be faced. Now, even if they lose and are destroyed to the last werewolf and zombie, there are still the means to create more. Inside the castle are the people with those means. If the battle starts to turn against them, we can’t expect them just to sit there politely and wait for us to get to them.’
‘They will not escape,’ said Atropos.
‘Ah, Ma’amselle Straka, I do not share your optimism,’ said Palomer, the inquisitor. ‘The castle is large and ancient, its perimeter vast. We have good numbers gathered, but we cannot fight their army in the field and still have enough in reserve to surround Harslaus. Even if we did, there will be hidden ways out of the castle, and perhaps this “Lord of Powers” of theirs has magical methods of escape ready, too. I like this scheme of theirs.’ He smiled at them. Specifically he smiled at Alisha. ‘Sometimes a knife in the back is better than a thousand rifles on the battleground. They get my vote providing one detail can be explained to me. The timing of the assault.’
‘The day, or the time?’ asked Cabal.
‘Both. Today, an hour before dusk. That is a lot to organise in a few hours, and just before dusk is not so very advantageous to us, hmmm?’
‘It’s true,’ said Melkorka of the Hecatians. ‘We should attack at dawn. The light of day is our ally.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Cabal, picking a disreputable piece of bacon from his sandwich and casting it aside. It was hard to tell whether the offending morsel or Melkorka’s statement was the subject of the comment. ‘You’re all used to fighting monsters, lycanthropes, ghouls…’
‘Necromancers…’
‘Thank you, Horst. You’re all used to fighting creatures that are inimical to daylight, and so your attraction to using it without further thought has become calcified. But consider. The Ministerium’s main force consists of zombies, which do not care especially what o’clock it is. Their primary support the last two outings have been non-terrestrial creatures that seem unconcerned by daylight, too. Even the majority of their shapechangers, apart from a few of the werewolves, can change as and when they desire, full moon or no. We, on the other hand, have the only vampire in play unless they’ve shown remarkable vigour in acquiring one of their home-grown nosferatu. This seems unlikely to me, not least because nosferatu are ugly in form, mind, and manner, and will probably attack rather than reason with whoever has to raise them from the dust. This in contrast to my brother, whose first demand on resurrection was…’ He gestured to Horst.
‘Trousers,’ said Horst.
‘Trousers. So, I feel sure we have the only vampire and, for all his undoubted blessings, he labours under one major disadvantage. Daylight. He is our ace in the hole, but we are limited in when he can be used. Thus, your attack is scheduled for one hour before dusk. When the enemy are fully engaged, then Horst will awaken, and he, Fräulein Bartos, and I shall infiltrate the fortress. Therein, we shall perform the necessary decapitation of the Ministerium. I, for one, am looking forward to it.’
‘He’s cold,’ said Palomer to Straka. ‘I like that.’ She did not reply, but nor did she manifest her usual show of repugnance for the Yellow Inquisitor, so that passed for agreement.
‘Strategically, the aim is to destroy the Ministerium Tenebrae in one night. How that will be achieved tactically is what we shall discuss now. I have,’ said Cabal impressively, ‘a flip chart.’
‘Dawn’s coming,’ said Horst brightly. ‘I had best be off to bed. Good luck with the planning, everyone!’ He vanished before anyone could even reply.
* * *
Plans were laid. As the sky lightened, the train was already preparing to move, and operatives were spreading out across the countryside. Time was short, and there was so very much to do.
It took some gentle persuasion that actually was gentle persuasion and not a euphemism for horrible torture, but Henri Palomer managed to find Father Hornung of the church of St Francis in Halderberg, a small town some twenty miles from Krenz. He was not the only agent there; both Johannes Cabal and ‘Korka’ Olvirdóttir were also in town on errands of their own.
&nb
sp; Palomer, however, was a Catholic born and bred, and even if the Vatican had decided that it could, and indeed should, do without the services of the Yellow Inquisition, he would not, and indeed could not, live without Mother Church. So, he sought out the father in humility and respect.
That he had to seek him out at all rather than just walking into the church was a demonstration of how the state of Mirkarvia was in transition from a nominal monarchy (but in reality a military oligarchy) into its interesting new form as a teratarchy, to use the exciting new term coined by Professor Stone. The new ruling class did not care much for churches and the like, places where the wrong god or gods were worshipped. When things had stabilised a little more and the Mirkarvian bureaucracy had adjusted to its new form, then the churches, synagogues, and the handful of temples and mosques to be found within its boundaries would be closed and, where necessary, deconsecrated. As it was, a rigorously enforced ‘worship tax’ was already in place, causing the closure of all but the most well-attended. The survivors served both to swell the Mirkarvian coffers while concentrating the more devout botherers of God into a few well-defined locations for ease of persecution.
Even while Palomer bemoaned such wickedness, Cabal could not help but enjoy the irony of major organised religions suffering a degree of the troubles they had visited so vigorously on others down the centuries. He had joined Palomer after securing a few minor requisites of his own, and now they sat on pew ends about the northern aisle of the church. This particular church was not open to worshippers by mandate of the Red Queen, and the priest had suffered visits from servants of the state to remind him of this. That these servants spoke with Katamenian accents and had emphasised their points with blows was no surprise in these difficult times.
‘These are perilous times for followers of the faith,’ said Father Hornung. He looked harried and tired, unshaved for at least a day, and a cut on his cheek still healing from the last time he’d been reminded that Mirkarvia’s state religion was no longer Christianity or any of its near relations.
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