The Illustrious (The Sublime Electricity Book #1)

by Pavel Kornev

  After the farm, the road went around an overgrown sludge pond and a shady forest stretched out from its edge. Also there, I could finally see the manor. Behind its tall fence, there grew a well-kept garden. Towering above the trees, I saw a three-story mansion that I recognized from pictures. Above it, though...

  My breathing seized up from the disgrace and injustice of what I saw.

  Behind the house, the Count had installed a docking tower, and now there was a dirigible slightly rocking in the air, cabled to the ground next to it! Its semi-rigid body was white and titanic. It had a spacious cabin, steering wheel, and the word "Syracuse" painted down one whole side. The flying machine did not impress with its dimensions like an army zeppelin, but it was perfectly well suited for flights to the continent.

  Having your own dirigible. Just think!

  And this is the guy who’s been crying and moaning over twenty-thousand a year! I'm sure it costs him far more just to maintain this toy!

  I removed my glasses and wiped my sweat-covered face.

  Envy is bad. I knew that, probably better than anyone, but when looking at my own shoes, dirty and worn, I simply trembled in rage. I even had to stand in the shade of the trees and force myself to reduce the annoyance by taking a few deep breaths.

  After that, I buttoned up my shirt, put on my jacket, tied my neckerchief and set off for the gate of the estate, looking collected and tranquil. But I was still just seething inside...

  THE COUNT HAD NOT FORGOTTEN to inform his guardsmen of his nephew’s upcoming visit, so I didn't have to introduce myself. A sunburnt old man in a straw hat came out to meet me in good time, making sure to swing open the gate in advance; I gave him a careless nod and walked down the shady alley. By the stables, I caught a glimpse of a two-horse black landau, and I was again struck with anger.

  It can't have been so hard to send a carriage out for me, right? It wasn't like I'd invited myself. I was invited!

  Admittedly though, it no longer mattered.

  I walked up calmly to the porch of the manor and pressed the electric buzzer. A servant of the count had been trained to the point of instinct. Before the metallic buzzing had even started in the house, the door had already been opened by a red-cheeked young man in livery that was too tight at the shoulders. On it was the Kósice family crest: gray and green flowers. Without the lace ornamentation and flamboyant decorations normally found on such uniforms, it looked a bit like the man was wearing a military uniform.

  "Come in. The count is waiting for you," the footman stated primly and gave a slight bow, but without a hint of subservience.

  I hung my derby hat on the rack and, intensely aware of my alienation from rich society – which was to say nothing of my dirty shoes! – I headed for the guest room where I met a slightly older version of Theodor Barnes.

  His resemblance to my butler was simply striking; only the wrinkles at the corners of the mouth and the early graying allowed me not to reveal my confusion and give a patronizing smile:

  "Philipp! You and your brother are simply identical! I am glad to see you in good health!"

  "You are very kind," my uncle's butler answered dryly and continued: "The Count is expecting you in his office."

  I walked to the stairs; the butler stopped me and flung the door open. Behind it, I saw the cage of a service elevator.

  "The Count ordered his home equipped with the very newest in technology," Philipp told me with a barely noticeable hint of condescension.

  To my mind, rearranging rooms into an elevator shaft had been brought only by my Uncle's ambition to shine with his own originality, but I kept that opinion to myself and walked inside in silence. Philipp walked behind me and moved the lever from number one right to three. Somewhere beneath me, I heard the clunking of mechanisms. The steam engine gave a measured snort, and the basket rose to the top floor quite smoothly indeed. The butler flung open the door there, letting me out into the corridor. He walked behind me, and opened the door opposite without knocking.

  "Please."

  "Thank you," I nodded carelessly and went into my uncle's office.

  Count Kósice turned and pointed at me for the other man in the room.

  "Mr. Levinson, this is the very young man we were speaking about."

  "Nice to meet you," the chubby man smiled charmingly and introduced himself: "I have the honor of being the manager of the New-Babylonian branch of the Witstein Banking House and a junior partner in the firm. We wrote you last week."

  I shook the man's outstretched hand and glanced expectantly at my uncle; the purpose it all slipped by me.

  The Count caught my perplexed gaze, but was in no hurry to explain and suggested:

  "Would you like some wine?"

  "No, thank you," I declined decisively, despite the fact that my throat was still dry after my walk in the baking sun.

  "If you have no objections, Count," the banker said softly, taking the initiative in his own hands, "I would prefer to get straight to business. The path was quite long and, as you know, time is money."

  Mr. Levinson was a plump man with dark curly hair, a weighty nose and smart black eyes, but neither his mediocre appearance, nor his light tone could deceive me. He was demanding – demanding precisely! – that the Count come clean and that was just confusing the situation.

  What could this conversation possibly be about, if not inheritance? And, if it was about inheritance, what could the Witstein Banking House have had to do with it?

  As far as I knew, the Kósice family had never had many dealings with the Judeans.

  Having a guest make such a demand left the Count plainly ashamed. His broad face with its firm chin was practically split into separate halves, and my oh-so-dear uncle had to exert a certain amount of effort to maintain a composed appearance.

  "To begin, allow me to familiarize you with a fairly interesting document," he suggested, walking up to the table and pressing a button on its edge. In the corridor, a metal bell buzzed out. A moment later, the door cracked open and the doorman peeked into the office, his fortress-like physique not even a smidgen smaller than that of the boy at the entrance.

  "Have Philipp bring in the papers," my uncle ordered.

  The servant nodded and hid in the corridor; then the Count turned to us and warned:

  "I’m afraid you'll have to wait a bit."

  I decided to give my tired legs a rest, sat down in an open armchair and glanced around at the office. It was a bit too snazzy and eclectic for my taste.

  Though the awkward pomposity of his gilded telephone, the extreme complexity of the clock's face on the fireplace shelf and the bulkiness of the Dictaphone for voice recording on wax rollers did somewhat harmonize with one another, the full plate armor and carved shield with family crest and crossed swords looked like true atavism in comparison. New-fangled family photographs on the wall were hung next to ancient portraits of esteemed ancestors. A stack of business papers and heap of telegraph print-outs were lying around on the newspaper table next to a huge, almost half-wall-length aquarium.

  Either my uncle had a multi-faceted personality, or he simply didn't know what to do with himself and grasped frantically at one hobby after the next.

  If I was a betting man, I'd pick the latter.

  Count Kósice looked at me sourly, then turned to the banker who offered up a pocket watch and suggested:

  "Mr. Levinson, if your time is limited, please, begin..."

  He then opened his leather folder and took a few yellowed sheets out of it.

  "Sixteen years ago, the Countess Kósice, née Victoria de Myrte, gave us a number of pieces of jewelry to store. In accordance with her will, they were to go to her daughter, the Illustrious Diana Orso. She did not make use of that right, though. What's more, until recently, she was officially registered as a missing person. Only at the end of the last month was her death registered in the proper fashion, making her heir the Illustrious Mr. Leopold Orso, who is present here."

  The banker lo
oked at me expectantly. I nodded.

  In his day, my dad hadn't wanted to weigh himself down with official business, so I had to do a fair amount of running around to different authorities, filling out documents after his death; without a death certificate, I couldn’t even dream of getting my inheritance.

  "Unfortunately, his Grace's fiduciary was only able to inform us of your place of employment, Viscount," the banker continued. "We left a message, but before you got in touch with us, we got an offer on today's meeting."

  I nodded again, this time with poorly concealed disappointment, because my dead grandmother's jewelry wouldn't be enough to solve all my financial problems.

  Just then, the butler came into the office; the count accepted a folder from him, took a quick look inside and handed it to the banker with a self-satisfied smile.

  "Mr. Levinson, I think you may find this document of interest. Please familiarize yourself with it."

  He took a monocle on a chain from his pocket, placed it in his eye and set about acquainting himself with the documents.

  "This changes things," he replied some time later, stretching his words.

  "Beyond all doubt!" smirked Count Kósice, taking the folder back.

  Without asking permission, I took the papers and gave a very natural-looking, but feigned start. Atop the sparse pile of documents, there was a death certificate for Leopold Orso.

  A certificate of my death, dated fifteen years ago? That simply cannot be!

  "What the hell is this nonsense?" I voiced the thought that was slamming around in my head like a terrified bird.

  The Count gathered the documents and stated coldly:

  "This is a death certificate for my nephew, the Illustrious Leopold Orso."

  "That's a dirty old forgery!"

  "No, young man. I think it's more likely that we are now dealing with a surprisingly impudent impostor," my uncle objected.

  "But you know me!"

  "When my missing nephew resurfaced after ten years, it filled me with joy. I didn't look into the details! But your financial ambitions forced me to look at the situation in a different light. The investigation that followed showed that you couldn't possibly be the person you claim to be."

  "Drop the act!"

  But the Count didn't even listen to a single word.

  "Philipp, show this young man to the door," he demanded in an icy tone.

  "Stop!" I exclaimed, but it was to no effect. The butler had already pinched me up by the shoulder like a louse, and was dragging me out of the office. I thought it below me to try to escape, so I simply pointed at the aquarium:

  "Philipp, look at the fish."

  The butler mechanically followed my gesture, and his grasp immediately weakened.

  "We're in a pond, Philipp. At the very bottom, among the seaweed and fish. Can you feel yourself running out of air? Your lungs are on fire, but you cannot inhale – the only thing around is water..."

  The servant grew pale as chalk and hurtled himself headlong out of the office. I turned my head, cracking my neck bones, and when the pain in my eyes had passed, I warned my uncle, his palm already hovering over the call button.

  "It's not worth it, Count. Think about your daughters. You still need to get them married off..."

  But, as often happens when you try to play on the fears of a person you aren't well acquainted with, my words had the exact opposite of the effect I'd intended. At the mention of his daughters, Count Kósice abruptly lowered his palm, and the buzz of an electric bell rang out in the hallway.

  "It would be best, if you left on your own!" my Uncle snapped.

  I was not happy with the end of our conversation by any means, so I turned away from the entrance and unbuttoned my jacket. And when two lackeys burst into the office, I threw back my left coattail and smiled:

  "Leave us, gentlemen."

  My talent allowed me to turn people's own fears against them, but now I had decided to rely entirely on the good sense of the servants the Count had called.

  And in fact, little awakens good sense in people as quickly as seeing a semi-automatic pistol holstered on an opponent's belt.

  The lackeys exchanged glances and slowly walked back out the door. I moved my gaze over to my uncle and shook my head:

  "Hmm. What are you hoping to achieve here?"

  The Count was choking in rage and demanded:

  "Leave my home! This instant!"

  "Not before you explain yourself!" I flared up in reply.

  "You're demanding explanations?" Count Kósice narrowed his eyes disdainfully. "And who, exactly, are you to insist on explanations? My nephew, Leopold Orso, is dead. You're nothing but an impostor!"

  "Do you think that little fabrication is going to stop me?"

  "Fabrication? Prove it!"

  "Prove that I am myself? We're getting into Alice in Wonderland territory here! And I know exactly which of us isn't being sensible right now!"

  "Leave my home," the Count repeated, calmer this time, regaining his self-confidence.

  I stared at him for several minutes, assessing the man, decided that there really wasn't anything else for us to talk about and set about buttoning up my jacket.

  "We'll see each other again," I promised and went for the exit.

  And just then, the banker started gathering his things.

  "Leopold! Could I ask for a moment of your time...?"

  "Mr. Levinson!" Count Kósice raised his voice. "I am the only legal executor of property in this family. If you give any of my relative's valuables to this impostor, I'll have to sue you. Is that clear?"

  "Oh, dear Count, don't burden yourself with such warnings. Our lawyers understand the law at least as well as your fiduciary," the banker smiled carelessly and hurried me along: "Let's not waste time. Even though more than enough has already been wasted..."

  We left the office, walked past the high-strung lackeys and went down the stairs to the first floor. We were met there by Philipp with the whitish-green face of someone who'd just almost drowned. His constant gaze bore down on the back of my head, but all I could do was smile amicably to the butler, take my derby hat from the rack and leave the house.

  "Allow me to take you," Mr. Levinson suggested, following behind me.

  I had been waiting for just such an offer from the very start, so I immediately answered with agreement.

  The banker ordered the roof of the landau folded up, then asked with curiosity:

  "Perhaps, my question will seem tactless to you, Leopold, but what happened to the poor butler?"

  "Nothing too bad," I smiled. "The poor guy just felt as if he'd drowned."

  "And you can do that to anyone?"

  "No, Mr. Levinson. Naturally, I cannot."

  "Just Isaac is fine."

  "No, Isaac. That trick wouldn't have worked on anyone else."

  "Would you allow me to inquire as to why?"

  "When he was a child, Philipp almost drowned in a pond. He was just barely saved. His twin brother told me about it. Something like that would have to make a mark on a person. I simply made use of that knowledge, and that's all. It is my talent."

  "Ah, so that's it!" the banker began smiling. "As far as I understood, you were also trying to poke at a sore place for the Count, then?"

  "Unfortunately, I failed at that, though," I frowned, getting into the landau with the man.

  We sat opposite one another. The driver gave the reins a shake and the carriage started off. The shock absorbers concealed the unevenness of the village road. The thick rubber wheels rolled easily over stones and potholes. The shaking could practically not be felt.

  "Would you like some soda water?" the banker offered, opening a little drawer.

  "I wouldn't refuse."

  Mr. Levinson took out a soda fountain, and filled a glass with water. It was sparkling in the sun. He extended the glass to me.

  "We are returning to the city," the banker told me after that. "Will you be accompanying me, or getting out at the stati
on?"

  I took a few gulps, washing down the unpleasant aftertaste, tossed a mint-flavored sugar drop into my mouth and stated without innuendo:

  "That depends on why you're so interested in me, Isaac."

  "Whether you see it or not, Viscount," the banker smiled softly at me, "I was in an extremely ticklish situation. Under normal circumstances, you'd have received your deceased grandmother's valuables by the end of the day, but a death certificate – your death certificate! – bound my hands. The Count threatened to sue and, it should be said, he does have grounds."

  "And what do we do now?"

  "You'll have to get your death certificate annulled by a judge. Unfortunately, that process can take years and years."

  "Curses!" I let out. "And all over some little fabrication!"

  "There's hardly a way to prove that the document was made after the fact."

  I nodded.

  According to the Imperial Code of Justice on Missing Persons, a person can only be declared dead if they’ve been missing for more than a year, so my uncle had had more than enough time to get the ill-fated evidence on absolutely legal grounds. And though he didn't deign to get it done as early as possible, I wouldn't be finding any real evidence of wrongdoing either.

  "Leopold, is there anyone who knew you before..." Isaac stumbled but still continued, "the tragic event?"

  "No," I shook my head. "The Count and Countess were bombed by anarchists; that happened not long before we were... cursed. All our servants died that very night, while my father met his end six years ago. And I returned only after that..."

  "Any relatives from his side?"

  "No one left," I assured the man. "Only my uncle, that son of a..."

  "We won't have to rely on the Count's support," he smiled softly.

  I winced and wondered again:

  "Isaac, what is your interest in this?"

  "Can you say how many debts you've accumulated?" The banker surprised me with an unexpected question. "I don't need an exact number, just an approximation."