The House of a Thousand Floors (CEU Press Classics)

by Jan Weiss

  Anyone who captures the devil alive or dead will be granted a lifelong stay in Gedonia, 100,000 mulldors and 999 new stars.

  Signed Dr Van Gross,

  Governor of the 376th Floor

  The long and meaningless discussions taking place in front of the warrant began to bore Brok. But then the crowd grew quiet and all eyes were on a man who appeared in the entrance of the town hall.

  Brok recognised him at once. He was the general in civilian clothes with cruel blue eyes who had kicked him when he had been wrapped up in the net.

  The crowd parted. The general pompously descended the staircase with an expression on his thin lips that betrayed disrespect. He was headed somewhere on his own. Brok followed him, consumed with desire for revenge.

  They entered the lift and the general pressed the button marked 100! When the hand stopped on this number, the door opened and Brok found himself in a beautiful park. Dense treetops were decorated with grotesque lanterns which illuminated their fantastic shapes resembling green clouds. Brok slowly followed on the general's heels through an alley lined with palm trees, roses, alabaster statues and opal fountains. They passed under a gate made of thousands of colourful fountain streams coming out of two opposite rows of gargoyles.

  In the distance, in the middle of a blue lake, a magical island floated. On it, among the fans of palms and massive ferns stood a palace which appeared to be made of sun rays. Above the lake, the nine-coloured arch of a rainbow created a bridge connecting the island with the mainland. When they stepped on it, the bridge played a sweet melody of nine tones like a strange nine-stringed musical instrument.

  Unhindered, they arrived in the first waiting room. From there the only door led into a Roman bath where the general had to submit to a cleansing ritual whether he liked it or not. Brok was forced to watch the skin on the general's back, shoulders and calves turn red under the hands of female slaves. Smeared with fragrant balms and hair oils, and dressed in a Roman toga, he was finally admitted into the second waiting room.

  There were five of them sitting there, all scrubbed clean, hungry and reeking of fragrant lotions. Awaiting their audience in snow-white togas, they nervously drummed on the floor with their sandals. Some of them trembled with tension. Their mouths repeatedly whispering: Muller — Muller — Muller!

  Among them, Brok noticed the moulting old Schwartz who specialised in the production of Sio gas and whom he had met in Hotel Eldorado ages ago.

  The general headed straight for the door hidden behind a purple curtain. On it, black embroidered letters read:

  The general made a scornful face, almost sticking out his tongue at those five candidates who were alternately turning white with envy and red with anger. Then, as he entered the auditorium, Brok shivered...

  At last!

  At last, that terrible secret was within his reach — one more step and I'll see — what? A human being?

  What does the head that had spawned the monstrous Mullerdom look like?

  No matter what it looks like, I will face it at last!

  XXXVIII

  God Muller's original · Barricades on the 490th floor · ... I will retreat another sixty floors... · Vítek of Vítkovice is alive! · Old Schwartz and his gas · At night, when the enemy falls asleep...

  A royal chamber. Against the background of heavy black curtains, a man is seated on a scarlet throne. His obese body is dressed in a perfect black gentleman's suit. His enormous belly rests in his lap. His face, round, smooth, wise and good-natured, ends in a white double beard reminiscent of God from the Old Testament. His blue eyes stare ahead, dead, as if without lids. He would resemble Buddha if it were not for the beard — It was the original of the statue made of gold that Brok had first seen at the stock exchange. Even the painting in Muller's sanctuary had him as the model.

  And then Brok realised that not even this face was alive.

  It was a mere cocoon with glass eyes. The body was alive, it was moving and breathing but what did the face under the mask look like? Why was Muller hiding his true appearance? Was it so terrible that no-one could bear to look at it? Brok feels an urge to pull the mask off his face and look at him, no matter what he looks like!

  Attention! The mouth on the throne begins to speak. The lips move gently but the words come out sharp and imperious.

  "Marshall Grant! What do you think about the disappearance of Petr Brok?"

  The Marshall had been crawling from the entrance towards the throne and only when he reached it did he stand up and began speaking in a humble voice:

  "O Lord, the guard Aokun was drugged in the middle of the night..."

  "I know that!" The mouth thundered, "Guard Aokun is no longer alive! — But who could have dared.?"

  "Oh Lord, I assume there must be more than one invisible devil! There can be no other explanation!"

  "Except that the guard's laziness could explain what happened!! And you have disgraced yourself by losing the battle on staircase 555, Marshall!"

  "Oh Lord!" Grant wailed. "It wasn't my fault! Those scoundrels broke through ten floors and attacked us from behind!"

  "A good general secures his back! You ass! How do you see the situation today?"

  "They surrounded three front lines. We had to fight our way through. Nevertheless, our losses are minimal: 8,000 dead, 2,000 wounded and 1,500 taken captive. We retreated 60 floors lower. In zone 490 our retreat was blocked by hastily built barricades."

  "I saw your pathetic flight and the various kinds of cowardice it displayed. What's their booty?"

  "Insignificant, my Lord! The stores had been evacuated in good time during the retreat."

  "You liar!" the voice shouted. "I saw granaries stuffed with grain. I saw barricades of tinned food. I saw refrigerators swollen with meat. I saw cellars flowing with wine. And all that became their booty! — Do you realize, you ass, that in ten days' time I may go hungry? Do you know what hunger tastes like? You'll find out in the dungeon!"

  "Oh Lord!" Grant screamed and threw himself at his feet. — "Give me fifty thousand extra men and I swear I'll chase those scoundrels all the way to the roof. I'll take back every grain of wheat, every tin! I have an excellent plan! We'll retreat down 60 floors more so that their army disperses through the entire West-Wester. We'll fill it with wine and spirits. A hundred wild floors full of pubs, bars, prostitutes and thieves — that's going to dent their enthusiasm and dissolve their discipline. Full cellars will destroy them because they're a very thirsty lot — they're running out of water. Prisoners of war are saying they've already tasted their own urine and have been drinking the blood of the dead!"

  "You have brilliant ideas when you're in trouble! Don't forget that Vítek of Vítkovice is still alive! None of those West-Wester villains have managed to outsmart him! — But you'll feed yourself on hunger only when the way to the dungeons opens up for you. Until then take care of your paunch and lard up your stomach so you have something to process! And now — out!"

  Marshall Grant stepped back devastated, a defeated general. Little old Schwartz appeared in his place. He fell face down and also humbly kissed Muller's left trouser leg.

  "What is your wish, your Lordship?" he lisped in a tremulous voice.

  "As you know, your Eldorado companions came to grief up there! The hypnotist Mac Doss never came back from his expedition in search of Vítek. Chulkov with his Kawai came out empty-handed and grateful that he was still alive. Mr Perker was captured and forced to use his own poison. And I remembered you, Schwartz, or rather not you but your gas. Of course, I still have Orsag's bacteria but I need him for other things... Above all, you will show me what you can do! Can you manufacture your gas in large quantities?"

  "I fill little pocket balloons, sir, each one is enough to age a single person. I'm a loser, my Lord, without means... nobody wants to grow old voluntarily."

  "How many people can you infect if you start producing Sio wholesale?"

  "I can turn the entire Mullerdom into an old people's home
!" Schwartz lisped.

  "I want you to release Sio against an army of slaves on the 490th floor. There are about 20,000 young slaves. How long do you need to produce the required quantity of gas?"

  "20,000 men? — 18,000 gallons, 86 mulldors. Time is no problem." "Tomorrow?" "Tomorrow!"

  "I must warn you that the slaves are in possession of gas masks. They pilfered them from our stores. They used all our equipment. All attempts to gas them have so far failed!"

  "Easy! Our army will pretend to retreat down one floor and meanwhile we'll leave behind sacks with gas in the vacated spaces. At night, when the enemy falls asleep."

  "Enough, Mr Schwartz! I appoint you General Secretary of Marshall Gabler!" — Away with you!"

  The little old man kissed Muller's left trouser leg again and scuttled backwards, hands straight alongside his thighs, his backside towards the curtain, until he melted into it.

  The next one was the new Marshall Gabler.

  He had a bald pink skull, as if made of glass. At first it seemed to Brok that this glass ball had no face, so perfectly round it was from all sides, with two tiny ears attached to the skin. Only from the front did he notice that the surface of the ball had a kind of puckered blemish. It was a small flat surface, like the palm of a hand, but it gathered all possible protrusions and folds with grotesque symmetry. This blemish on the pink ball was the new Marshall Gabler's face.

  "Marshall!" said the voice. "80,000 men are awaiting your orders!"

  "Sir!"

  Tomorrow morning, General Secretary Schwartz will report to you."

  "Sir!"

  "You will head straight to the 490th floor in the lift. The army already set out on the Imperial Staircase last night. They'll arrive by morning. Schwartz will tell you the rest!" "Sir!"

  "Now, get lost!"

  XXXIX

  Achorgen again · He blew a white feather off Muller's shoulder · Orsag to the rescue · The fight collapsed on the floor · "Catch himl"

  When Marshal Gabler disappeared, none other than Prince Achorgen emerged from the black background of the curtain.

  Brok was not the least bit surprised.

  He had suspected that Achorgen would manage to free himself and return to his master. Then Muller must already know about the princess's disappearance! Brok was curious to hear the discussion between the motionless Muller and his cunning secretary. He might even take off his mask to have a rest from it! — He surely has nothing to hide in front of Achorgen. But to Brok's amazement, Achorgen silently walked around the throne, climbed the staircase up to Muller, placed his hand that had slipped down back on the arm rest, blew a little white feather off his shoulder and smoothed his beard.

  Brok was astonished. — Was there no lard or blood in this stuffed sack? The face — yes, of course, it was made of wax, but the rest of the body was a mere dummy? — It wasn't even this Muller? Why were those fools prostrating before him then?

  So where was the real Muller?

  What about the voice?

  Where was his mouth?

  Or was it the real Muller who had had a stroke? Perhaps his whole body is paralysed, and only the lungs and heart were still functioning? .. .And his brain? His chops?

  Brok leapt up onto the throne to make sure. He placed his hand on the left side of the massive chest. There was no heart there! He lowered his ear to the round smile. — No breath!

  One more test: stick a pin into the belly! If he's alive, he'll jump!

  Then — eeeeee — the rubber wound whistled.

  Mr Muller on his throne began to rapidly lose weight. His body was shrinking, the head fell to one side, the whole good-natured cocoon, complete with its beard, was shrinking. Finally, the human proportions of the figurine crumpled into a pitiful small black pile.

  Prince Achorgen observed the rapid disappearance of the false Muller with an expression of gleeful surprise. Then, as if he recovered his presence of mind, he warned:

  "He's here!"

  At that moment, a voice boomed from the ceiling:

  "Orsag!"

  The curtain in the background parted and the blind Orsag appeared from among the black folds. Hands on his temples, his lenses keen like the eyes of a predator. He must have been hiding there for a long time; ready to pounce. It was obvious that someone had been expecting Brok to come here! — Was all this just a trap set up for him?

  Brok held his breath. But before he could step aside, he felt sharp burning claws on his throat.

  "Help!" roared Orsag and a piercing signal sounded from the ceiling in response. Someone up there shouted:

  "Achorgen!"

  But the prince made no move. He just observed the life-and-death struggle with surprised, incredulous eyes which kept rapidly changing colour in the middle of cowardly wrinkles.

  Brok and Orsag had been wrestling upright but now they tumbled down onto the floor and rolled around on the thick carpet. Brok used all his strength to free his throat from Orsag's clutches but found himself pressed to the ground underneath the blind man's body. In a desperate attempt to free his hands, he had to let the enraged Orsag grab his throat again. Using the last remnants of his strength, Brok pulled his arms from under his opponent's knees and, with one violent movement; he tore the lens mechanisms from his temples. — Something broke inside. Brok's throat was free and Orsag's lifeless body collapsed on top of him.

  Brok got up. And not before time! The curtain parted again and this time some fifty heads in shiny helmets popped up against the black velvet background.

  Brok shot out through the purple curtain, with voices shouting at his heels:

  "Catch him!"

  The rainbow bridge again sounded its desperate melody under his feet. One last glimpse of gleaming helmets among the palm trees and the disharmony of the rainbow alarm grew distant.

  Brok leapt into the lift and pressed the button marked

  490.

  XL

  Petr Brok wants to save Vítek 's workers from ageing · "The drink of victory!" · The battle on the staircase · Old Schwartz on the back of a monster

  Yes! His aim was now to save the 20,000 young revolutionaries from the terrible fate of instant old age! And Muller? He'd catch up with him later! — The 100th floor! — It was enough to press the white button, and the rainbow palace with the voice that resides in it was within reach.

  Upwards!

  But now the lift mechanism seemed to be broken. Brok could hear grating noises behind the walls. The small indicator hand was madly jumping here and there and the lift began to sway. Brok felt dizzy.

  Was this his dream coming back?

  In one black delirious moment, the lift turned into a strange stretcher on which Brok was resting — Petr Brok! Two men dressed in white coats were carrying him away, everything around them was as white as snow. and the snow was slowly waning, turning black, until there was only darkness. — Darkness without thoughts, heart or brain.

  It was perhaps just a moment! — A sharp jolt — and Brok came back to his senses. The door opened. was this the 490th floor?

  In front of him is an open space that had been turned into a military camp. On both sides there are long rows of tents, and voices can be heard shouting, laughing and singing. There are soldiers everywhere with transparent helmets tapering upwards into a narrow point. — Their uniforms are black and behind red belts there are daggers, knives and revolvers. Ammunition across their chests weighs them down like heavy black fruit.

  Some are asleep, snoring in front of the tents, others are enjoying the "drink of victory" while yet others are playing peculiar games with golden stars that can be assembled into fatal constellations. Their hoarse voices sing the praises of the divine leader Muller's fabulous heroic victories on earth, seas and stars.

  Brok walked through several passages and everywhere he was met with the same sight: tents, songs, rosaries of grenades around soldiers' waists, and goblets that were meant to fire the heroism of the black mercenaries.

  The m
ain staircase appeared behind a half-collapsed wall. It looked different from the first time he had seen it, when he awoke on the red carpet on one of the floors. The carpet was gone and the stairs were covered with black blood. In the congealing pools were drying lumps of cotton wool and discarded bandages. The walls were marked with bullets. Part of the railing with marble globes had been blown up and the electric lights on the ceilings shattered. Enormous spotlights were flooding the battlefield with light.

  The broad painful bands of light revealed a high barricade. It was in fact a precariously stacked pile of sacks, barrels and broken wooden crates. Everyone seemed to be busy around a chunky, clumsy-looking machine resembling an old-fashioned fire engine. Some of the mercenaries were pumping; others held sacks and balloons to a metal hose. Old Schwartz was sitting on the back of this monster, lisping orders. The filled balloons were being stuffed into crates and barrels.

  Brok understood: Schwartz was mass-producing his gas! He would provoke the slaves to attack, then retreat to a lower floor. The slaves would conquer the barricade and then...

  Yes, that's why I've come! To warn Vítek of Vítkovice! To stop him before it's too late!

  Petr Brok climbed over the barricade and set off up the stairs.

  On the next floor loomed the black barricade built by the slaves. It was constructed with cast iron joists, steel plates, granite blocks, sturdy wheels and plinths of some sort of machinery. In many places, the stone and metal fused into rusty lumps. The half-melted wheels and joists pocked with holes suggested that the barricade had been attacked with fire and acid.

  But how could this colossal fused structure be penetrated? If fire could not conquer it, how could I do it with nothing but my bare hands? It seemed to reach all the way to the ceiling!

  Then Brok noticed a small gate behind a red-hot metal column. He was able to open it and pass under a steel armour plate.