by Pavel Kornev
"Where is the Reynard?" I asked, drawing my Roth-Steyr.
"In a room on the second floor. I'm not sure which one exactly. There are girls sitting at the entrance. After that is the smoking room and the stairs," the gray-mustached constable explained, then asked: "I beg of you, please try not to shoot."
"Alright," I promised and, pulling back the bolt on my pistol, delivered a round into the chamber.
"It's time!" The constable then commanded.
We walked up to the entrance to the Jade Staff; I shoved the door open, and Ramon was first to jump into the room, which was lit with colorful torches, and filled with half-naked girls, their waifish bodies covered only with semi-transparent mantles. The girls gave a piercing shriek, and a short boy recoiled from the billiard table and threw himself at us with a billiard cue in hand. Ramon knocked him off his feet with a strike from his gun stock; something gave a vile crack, and the bandit spread out motionless on the floor.
I stepped over him, grabbed a billiard ball and threw it with all my might at a man who was running away from us. It hit him on the back of the head, and he collapsed, slid on the painted boards and froze, the top of his head slammed into the wall.
"Great left-handed throw," Ramon commended me and looked cautiously into the smoking room. "Clear!" He told us after looking into the wisps of sweetish smoke that filled the air there.
Grabbing another billiard ball from the table just in case, I joined my partner and prodded him down the stairs that led to the second floor. But, just a moment later, a certain detail forced me to slow my pace and call out to Ramon:
"Stop!"
The toxin-filled air was making my head spin and I don't even know what exactly put me on my guard: the light breeze, the cracked-open kitchen door or the white-haired leprechaun loafing about on a bench with one leg over the other swinging his toe-less boot.
It was probably the totality of it.
But, when the small man pulled away from his pipe, exhaled a thick stream of smoke and nodded at the cracked-open door, I cast my doubts aside and flew in the direction he was pointing.
"Be gone," I ordered as I ran.
"Leo, where are you going?!" Ramon was taken aback.
I noticed a ripped out wall hanger as if someone had been running to get out of this place before being grabbed by the gills, and turned to my friend:
"They warned him! Those bastards warned the Reynard!"
Ramon cursed out quietly and extended me the torch.
"We should have paid them more," he declared. "Your loss."
"Get fucked!" I cursed, taking the torch in my left hand and commanding: "Come on! Move it!"
My squat partner, his lupara at the ready, walked into the kitchen. I stole along behind him, immediately stepping to the side to light up the room.
There was no one, just ovens, boilers and pans. There was no one, sure, but the door leading outside was flung wide.
We made no rush. It was one thing trying to catch a werebeast unawares, but another thing entirely to track such a creature if it’s expecting you.
"Cover me!" Ramon gasped quietly, gathering his spirit. "Let's earn me my three thousand!"
Right after my friend, I went out into the bordello's courtyard, which was lent a white color by the undergarments hanging from clotheslines there. I immediately caught an aftershock of aged fear. It spread out on my tongue like a sour flavor. It was a very harsh sensation, like the smell of old piss.
The Reynard wasn't planning to run. The Reynard was afraid, but was preparing to give resistance to the outsiders.
Loneliness and fear had filled the werefox, having long grown accustomed to being able to rely on his pack. The instinctive fear of a stronger predator was impressed in his very nature. And that was precisely what forced the lone Fox to throw himself at the competition with abandon, showing everyone – and most of all himself! – that he was the scariest creature in this forest.
"Don't leave my side!" I warned my partner, hurriedly scanning from one dark corner to the next with my torch. "No matter what happens, don't leave my side. Not even one step!"
No hope whatsoever remained for the other constables to help us; they wouldn't be coming into the courtyard. The best we could hope for was for them to sound the alarm near the main entrance.
Ramon stepped out in front. He cast a bedsheet to the side and immediately spun around, set on edge by an incomprehensible rustling behind him; he handled his lupara so deftly that it seemed weightless. I walked next to him as if glued there, trying to guess where to expect the attack from. There were horrifying shadows growing up on the white sheets like the screens of a cinema; my heart was beating rabidly. My imagination was playing on my nerves, giving life to the fears gathered in my mind.
We didn't even notice when the hunters became the hunted.
Bit by bit, the fog thickened and it seemed we were wandering around the middle of the hippodrome, not at all in the internal courtyard of a bordello that could be spit across easily both lengthwise and across.
"Let's go back!" Ramon decided when an unpleasant snicker billowed out next to us.
And we started back toward the door. From time to time, the drumming thump of rapid footsteps rang out nearby and strange shadows played on the bed sheets. My hulking partner had simply begun ripping down the laundry and throwing it underfoot, but we still were not able to get to the kitchen, or even the exit from the courtyard, for that matter.
Curse this fog!
My knees shook. Fear rolled over me in waves. Hundreds of needles stuck into my soul, sapping my strength. The Reynard could come out from behind any of these sheets, jump on my back, bite my neck...
Suddenly, a quiet rustling sounded out and the width of the nearest sheet was split down by a long slash. Ramon lunged toward it, but whoever it was started laughing uncontrollably in a villainous tone, already in a different place.
"Don't leave my side!" I whispered out, pulling my friend back.
We were standing back-to-back, listening to the sound of the night in panic. The sound of quick scampering, the rustling of fabric ripping, noisy breathing. And then, there was movement at the very edge of my vision. The kind you catch for just a second from the corner of your eye, but you turn, and no one is there.
The beam of my torch was moving from side to side, but I still couldn't manage to shine it on the beast running circles around us. The Reynard was playing with us. The Reynard was having fun.
But us? We had to accept the rules of the game as he set them. My fear began to somewhat subside. I came to the understanding that Ramon's lupara and my torch would allow us to bring the werefox’s advantage down to zero. Just let him come to us...
And then, with a noisy crack, the torch burnt out. I tried to bring it back to life, but no matter how I slammed on the button, nothing happened. It just started smelling more and more of burnt wire.
"Do not run," Ramon whispered. "The most important thing is not to run..."
Movement in the dark, rustling on the verge of audibility, movement in the air.
The beast was near. The beast was tired of playing.
He wanted blood.
And then, I let the fear sweep through my head, completely fill my consciousness and reanimate any phobias that were lying dormant there.
I was afraid of animals. But I was even more afraid of becoming like him. I was afraid of letting out all the evil that was hidden in the depths of my soul.
Empty fantasies? Oh no. I had plenty of reason to be afraid...
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and gave a hoarse laugh.
"You like games?" I rasped quietly in another's voice, full of smoke and drink. A moment of silence took hold. The Reynard felt the presence of another predator and froze, not knowing what to do about it.
My dried lips stretching unpleasantly over my teeth, I took Ramon by the hand, not letting him step back and I continued:
"I like games too!" The hoarse voice tore itself from me with a
noisy gasp, but that didn't hamper its effect. "Shall we play?" I suggested to the Reynard. "Let's play hide and seek! I love to seek. I love it so much..."
Laughter ripped itself from my ribcage painfully and I finally melted into my fears; they flowed over my body in a fit, settled in, spun around and tried to break me.
I held out, though I had to lean on Ramon a bit.
"We could play, or we could talk. It’s up to you!" I rasped again in another's voice. "But believe you me: you aren't likely to win my game. And, it’s the kind of game you can't lose more than once..." The rasping laughter scratched my throat like a harsh nail file.
I don't know how long I would have been able to balance here on the very borderline, keeping creeping nightmares at bay and at the same time holding them by a leash, but then the fog and shadows began spinning and weaved together into a short Chinese person. He was mobile and flexible, like the mercury or melted gold his yellow pupil-less eyes were filled with.
Curses! I guess Reynard was a deceptive nickname. The Reynard was a woman!
Just then, a pint-sized woman stepped out of the darkness with a boyish figure, slender if not to say plain. And I didn't even want to think about what she was doing in a bordello.
The sides of her thin nose trembling, the Reynard flung open her mouth, revealing a set of crooked teeth, and took a whiff, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. She saw a weak person, but her animal instincts, which the beast had become accustomed to trusting incomparably more, were telling her that a stronger predator had joined the game.
The last few years, the Reynard had lived with a dread that another animal might invade her territory one day, and I didn't hesitate to take advantage of that. My fingers dug into her fear, and I joined it with my own phobias to get the upper hand. My talent had not led me astray...
Letting go of Ramon's hand, I took a step toward the Reynard. With my left hand, I grabbed her by her thin jaw, pulling her toward me in a decisive motion.
"Was it you who gutted the Judean?" I rasped, looming over the woman.
The Reynard shook her head cluelessly, not feeling up to answering. The fear inside her had balled itself up into a steel trap, and the werefox wasn't even thinking about triggering it with the sharp claws that crowned her fingers.
"It wasn't you..." I realized and threw her aside. "Be gone!" I ordered her, and the Reynard immediately dissolved in the shadows.
The fog began breaking slightly. Ten meters from us, we began to see the yellow fires of the bordello's windows once again.
"Leo, when did you become a master ventriloquist?" Ramon took a step toward me, cautiously turning his head from side to side. He couldn't believe that the danger had gone.
"I am full of talents," I answered, forcing my fears back into the murky abyss of my own subconscious.
For the second time in only a day, I had had too much, but instead of the sour taste of vomit, my mouth was filled with the aftertaste of a terrible hangover. My arms and legs were trembling. I almost fell over. I was feeling bad and in pain. I couldn't let go of the feeling that I was no different from the Reynard. That there was an animal hiding inside me as well.
Nonsense! It’s just fear. An idiotic fear that shouldn't ever be let out.
I straightened up and placed my pistol in the holster. My glasses, for some reason, had ended up in the breast pocket of my jacket. I returned them to their place, then picked up the burnt-out torch from the ground, and popped two mint sugar drops into my mouth at once.
"Leo, are you alright?" Ramon asked, not having the patience to remain here any longer.
"Completely," I replied, wincing in pain. "Let's go!"
WE LEFT THE COURTYARD through the back gate. We let the constables go, not telling them anything had gone wrong, and hurried to the Metro station; Ramon assured me that he would find the way back no problem.
And I didn't argue. Weariness had set in with a heavy weight. My head was splitting in pain once again.
"There’s something I’m not understanding, Leo," he stated when we were already on the platform waiting for a train. "Why did you let her go? Why let her get away?"
"She wasn't our suspect, Ramon," I winced and my head started spinning from side to side to the quiet cracking of my spinal cord. "She wasn't in the Judean Quarter, and that's that."
"Where did you get that idea? You said you were sure that your moneylender must have poisoned the werebeast against the banker!"
"That was my bias talking."
"But how can you be sure?"
I looked at my friend, took a heavy sigh and lowered myself to explanation.
"The height and jaw shape don't match up to our victims."
"Explain."
"The murderer from the banker's house was tall, maybe even taller than me. The distance between the footprints on the floor was a bit longer than my gait."
"But what if he was running?"
"No, the footprints weren't smeared. Foot size was from twenty-nine to thirty centimeters, and that means, using the de Parville index, that the murderer's height is...
... at least two meters, maybe more. As long as he doesn't have dwarfism.
And don't forget his gait, either."
"Of course," Ramon nodded. "What else?"
"Bite shape," I explained. "The jaw is too wide in animal form. Our perp was able to rip the throat out of one of the guards."
"But the Chinese werebeast was smaller, so the bite would have been narrow," my partner sighed and cursed out in vexation: "Devil! I can kiss that money goodbye!"
I chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder:
"Don't worry about it. We've got an agreement."
Ramon snorted and asked acridly:
"So, you want to go hunt for Procrustes after all?"
"Procrustes died a long time ago. We tracked down one werebeast, and we can track down another."
"Is that so?" Ramon grinned. "And just how will we do that, I ask you? What do you know about him other than the fact that he is tall?"
"Other than the fact that he is tall?" I thought about it, remembering what I'd seen in the Judean's manor and began enumerating: "He is thin. His feet barely made a mark. He has a high instep. His left foot was a bit longer than the right and wider, I bet he's a lefty. And he must not be from here. Such beasts cannot stop themselves from killing, so it wouldn’t have just started now."
"Look at you, Sherlock Holmes!" he laughed uncontrollably. "What do you think, do I make a good Doctor Watson?"
"You make a good enough likeness to earn three thousand and the gratitude of the Witstein Banking House."
"You can keep the gratitude to yourself," Ramon cut me off. "I'll take the money. I inquired about the pay for a night guard at the coalhouses. It's not so good."
"When’s your first day?"
"Day after tomorrow."
"I'll find you," I promised.
"Please do."
Just then, the train rolled up to the platform. We went into the wagon and left the Chinese Quarter to the drumming of its steel wheels.
I was hoping that I'd never have to come back here again. Never ever.
Part Four
Procrustes
Instinctive Reflexes and Accelerated Regeneration
1
ANXIETY IS TOXIC.
Too highbrow? Alright, fear is poison.
On its own, fear can be fleeting, but its aftereffects can last for many years. For the first few minutes, though, it can really make people shiver.
And now it was making me shiver.
I should have gone to bed earlier. That always helped. But I was dominated by the thought that I would be lounging around all night in an empty house, and hearing a scratch at the blinds caused an attack of nervous trembling.
I did not want that. Any other day, sure, but today it was unacceptable.
So I went out to stay at Albert Brandt's.
IN THE CHARMING BACCHANTE, there was smoke up to my shoulders. The warmed-up aud
ience was smoking, drinking wine and devouring the scantily clad dancers with their eyes. Even I spent some time standing in the doorway, watching the stage until I caught myself on the thought that I was being a creep. But her legs were as slender as Elizabeth-Maria von Nalz's...
I squirmed.
Then, I got through to the bar and asked the owner, pointing at the ceiling:
"At home?"
"At home," she replied and added proudly: "He's been working all day!"
And Albert actually was working. When I got up to the second floor and glanced in the door, he was leaning over the table and putting something to paper with a quill in the uneven light of a kerosene lamp. But when I came in, he immediately looked away, crumpled the manuscript and threw it in the top drawer of his desk.
"Inspiration’s struck?" I asked, undoing my mud-caked boots.
"Better!" the poet laughed wholeheartedly, satisfied with his life. He took the class ring sitting in front of him, and attached it to the chain of his pocket watch. "I’ve met her!"
The declaration didn't surprise me in the least; Albert had always been thrall to a healthy, affectionate nature.
I set my dirty boots behind the door, placed the billiard ball I'd forgotten to take out of the pocket of my canvas pea-coat on the shelf and, finally, sighed wearily:
"Who is she?"
"True love! The meaning of my whole life! A fire that warms me and lights up my bleak existence in bright colors."
My pea-coat removed, I poured myself a glass of water and noted in passing that the poet was drinking just soda water today, so I drained the glass and chuckled in an outpouring of my emotions:
"Yet another comely lass?"
My friend was already over Kira, though. There was no reason to stick my foot in this delicate matter another time. All these art people had unstable enough psyches as it was.
"Comely?" The poet groaned. "Leopold, if you keep talking like that, I'll have to challenge you to a duel!"