The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  Suddenly a beautiful young girl with a basket of roses came up to John.

  “Take the rose, sir,” she said, smiling. “English roses are the most beautiful in the world.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t need it,” said John.

  “As you wish,” the girl smiled and went down the street.

  John went inside the museum. A few visitors were there. John looked around but didn’t see any familiar faces. Then he stared at the pictures. At the end of the hall, near the column, an old man was sitting; he leaned on his cane and stared in front of him. And a small marble column a foot high stood before him. John slowly walked to the end of the hall and looked at the old man. He didn’t see any messages, and John began to think he might have made a mistake. He sat down beside the old man. For some time he sat lost in his thoughts. And suddenly he noticed the old man was leaning on a cane with a handle in the form of a tiger’s head, and an engraving went down the entire length of the cane. This was the cane John had left for Kurt, although Kurt didn’t know who had left it. John turned and looked at the old man. Such a gaze was impertinent and didn’t comply with the rules of propriety, but the old man turned and also stared at John.

  “Well, what do you want?” John asked.

  “Not much, sir,” the old man replied politely, not being abashed by the question. “Just a few drops of your blood.”

  “What?”

  “Blood.”

  “Why?”

  “These are the conditions.”

  John chuckled. “And if I refuse?”

  “That’s your choice.”

  “I’ll pay you a sovereign if you just give me a message.”

  “I’m sorry, but only blood.”

  John frowned, and they were silent for a few minutes. Giving blood for John wasn’t hard, but he was annoyed by his position of being driven, and by the need to play by someone else’s rules.

  “Okay,” John said through clenched teeth and held out his hand to the old man. He flicked his cane and drew a small dagger out of it. John was surprised; he hadn’t told anyone about the secret mechanism in the cane, which had come from his father. But for this old man it wasn’t a secret. He slashed John’s arm with a sharp blade and immediately grabbed John’s hand and pulled. Blood dripped directly on the surface of the marble column, and John saw the engraved letters appear, stained with his blood.

  “This is the message.” The old man gave John a handkerchief and stood up.

  “Leave the cane,” John said, not looking at him. The old man didn’t object; he silently leaned the cane on the bench and walked briskly to the door.

  She’ll come to you. Don’t make a trick.

  And only rose makes her speak.

  “And for that I cut my hand?” John snorted. He came out of the museum and looked around. The street flowed like a bustling river. Suddenly, someone touched his elbow. A girl with a comely face, strewn by freckles, gave him a charming smile.

  “You have the next message?” John asked.

  “If you have a rose.”

  “I don’t have a rose!” John remembered that recently he had been offered to take a flower, but he’d refused.

  “Too bad,” she pouted resentfully. “Well, then we can play a game.”

  “What game?” John’s eyes suddenly flashed, and he approached her. She instantly blushed and shrank aside. John smiled and shook his head. “You’re a beginner; others coped better.”

  She laughed, as if trying to hide her embarrassment.

  “Well, beginners rush in.”

  She led John back to the coach, which stood there waiting for him, and they both got inside. But the coach didn’t move. The girl pulled a pack of cards out of her pocket.

  “Oh, that’s a big mistake on your part, doll.”

  The girl’s nervousness was barely noticeable.

  “You hold the cards for the second time in your life,” John said, smiling. “Maybe, you could just give me a message?”

  But she just smiled, and they started the game. She wasn’t focused or tense, and she never looked at the cards, just at John, giggling lightly.

  “Full house,” John said and laid his cards on the seat of the coach. “Now get on with it.”

  “I’m afraid not,” smiled the girl. “Royal flush.”

  John frowned, and she laughed.

  “Mr. Fenririr, you don’t need to be so serious; this is your message. Good luck.” With these words, she hurried out of the coach and disappeared in the stream of people. John again looked at the combination, then checked the deck—the cards were marked. Grinning, he ordered the coachman to drive back home.

  He entered the room where the poker game was usually held. On the table, covered with a green cloth, there was nothing. John tried to remember that memorable evening when Kurt first won after the start of the matches. That was the way it was; John had a full house, and Kurt—a royal flush. John remembered where he was sitting, and looked under the table. On the other side of the table top a piece of paper was attached.

  You lost was written on it. Puzzled, John looked at the words. There were also some other lines. John looked under the table again, and this time he was more attentive. In the place where Kurt had been sitting, there was another sheet.

  I won was written on it and also some lines. John looked at them for a moment, and then put the sheets to each other, so that the inscription was on each side, and looked at them held up to the light. The lines entwined in a map, and one place was noted with a cross. John went out and stopped on the porch. The sun was setting, and dusk had fallen. John looked at the list again; the lines described something familiar. He turned to the garden and walked the path.

  He knew he hadn’t mistaken when the first light of a lit candle appeared before him. And the farther he went, the more lights were around. John went to the arbor by the lake, where a table was set, musicians were playing, and the flame of candles swayed as if to the rhythm of the music.

  Kurt appeared before John.

  “Good evening,” he smiled warmly. “You made it before sunset. Please.”

  John focused on Kurt’s face, on the fact that he didn’t limp anymore, on the decorations, the musicians, the twinkling lights. He seemed to be trying to find a trick in all of this.

  Finally, John sat at the table, and they were served dinner. John was pretty hungry, so he immediately began to eat. The meal was delicious.

  “I have to admit, Kurt, you managed to make some diversity,” John finally said, taking a sip from a glass of wine. Kurt nodded with a smile. “And yet, it’s very corny. Dinner, candles, music,” he shrugged.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Kurt said loudly and nodded to the musicians. The music stopped, and Kurt was left alone with John as the minstrels left.

  “Dinner was very good,” said John.

  “Thank you, I take it as a compliment.”

  “You made it?”

  “Personally.”

  “Then it’s definitely a compliment.” John paused. “Certainly, you want to ask me why I haven’t been visiting you all this time?”

  Kurt smiled. “Obviously you were very busy with preparations for your weekly reception.” He said it so easily, as if it didn’t touch him at all.

  “No, that wasn’t the reason,” answered John. “I just didn’t want to see you.” Unlike Kurt, John didn’t try to keep the atmosphere relaxed and, just the opposite, he tried to hurt Kurt.

  “Did you get bored with the matches?” Kurt asked calmly.

  “A little. Everything became somehow bland and predictable. Although today, I repeat, you managed to bring some diversity.”

  “I completely forgot about one thing,” Kurt said and, from a coat pocket, he pulled out the ring. It was golden and massive, highly polished with a large faceted diamond. “My maid found it in my jacket pocket. It must be yours.”

  John’s look slyly slid across Kurt’s palm, then his face. Kurt was certain John knew immediately where Kurt actually meant to
lead the conversation, because a shadow of a smile twinkled in his eyes.

  “Keep it. It’s yours,” said John, looking at the lake, as if he wanted to hide his smile.

  “What does it mean?” Kurt asked, still preserving a calm tone.

  John stared at him in response.

  “You didn’t win the match, so I don’t owe you any revelations. Don’t the rules say so?” John’s voice sounded with a sneer.

  “Yes, the rules do,” Kurt said and put the ring in his pocket. “Then should we discuss our next match?”

  “Because of the ring?”

  “There’s something else I’d like to get.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’d like to keep it to myself.”

  “So, this isn’t a revelation.”

  “No.”

  John studied Kurt’s inscrutable face for a few moments.

  “Intriguing.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Oh, isn’t it too much?”

  “It’s not difficult. In the end, people like you are rarely seen in my life. Perhaps, this is my only chance to show the world that part of my personality.”

  “Flattering.”

  “Not at all,” Kurt said and shook his head. “You’re fond of flattery, John, but you understand it too well. I don’t need to waste my strength on flattery.”

  “That’s right. So, all this is…” John looked around the arbor, “…is a manifestation not of flattery, but something else.”

  “You didn’t win the match, John, so I don’t owe you any revelations,” Kurt said, returning John’s words with cold serenity on his face. “Don’t the rules say so?”

  John smiled. “They do. But I don’t have to win anything; I see everything I need.”

  “That’s good.”

  They fell silent, studying each other’s faces. The sun disappeared over the horizon, and twinkling lights shone in the quiet garden, which wasn’t disturbed by any sound until nightfall. Their voices silenced, and only when the crescent moon rose in the sky, the sound of footsteps heralded that silence was left alone.

  Chapter 14

  Pretending is only half of my plan. No matter how hard I try to make believe, to conceal carefully what’s inside of me, I know it is there. I can feel it. And even though I may neatly hide it from John, how can I hide it from myself?

  Kurt opened his eyes. The sun in the sky chased night away, but for Kurt, who hadn’t managed to sleep, it seemed night remained with him as a ghostly shadow. He forced himself to get up and have breakfast. He did it in a daze, not even trying to collect his scattered thoughts and feelings. He didn’t really want to see a holistic picture now. He had arranged that date with John, and he wanted to beat him. Hadn’t he beaten himself instead? Again.

  His feelings didn’t want to give up, didn’t want to yield to mind, and victory over John interested them not at all. They just needed freedom. Or, better, reciprocity. In response to these thoughts, Kurt shook his head. He went to the window and looked at John’s house. Feelings stormed out again, overflowing him with waves and taking him into the past, where memories of John were like the flickering lights of candles. Kurt was going to lull John’s vigilance and regain his positions, but in fact it turned out that again, Kurt was expecting some reply from John. Kurt tore rosebud petals nervously from a bloom, one of many in a lush bouquet. Only after a long time, when the beauty and charm of the rose were strewn on the floor, Kurt became aware that this bouquet hadn’t been here before. The bouquet was fresh, and Edna would not have brought it here.

  Kurt was grasped by anticipation, while his heart fluttered with joy and his feelings rushed skyward.

  Inside of the bouquet, Kurt found a note.

  Today at two, it sparingly notified. But it was enough to gratify his feelings.

  I’m really in a special position in his soul, no doubt! Kurt thought with certainty, allowing himself to be captured by joy. He would like to think it was the joy of victory, but it wasn’t quite so…

  If the winner has bleary sight, the enamored is completely blind.

  All the time before lunch Kurt sorted out costumes, surprising Edna with his unusual liveliness. He drank a dozen cups of tea, and when he finally was about to go, he sensed an unprecedented excitement. In the hallway, flowers were being delivered; Kurt wanted to come to John with them.

  John’s voice rang out suddenly behind Kurt when he approached the entrance to the garden.

  “Is it really for me?”

  Ignoring the mockery in his voice, Kurt turned with a smile to John and gave him the flowers. John took them without much pleasure.

  “A gesture is worthy of a hopeless romantic,” John grinned.

  “Why hopeless?”

  “I’m indifferent to flowers, but these have thorns, and I like that they aren’t only beautiful, but they can stand up for themselves,” John continued, ignoring Kurt’s question. “However, it is trivial and vulgar. I’m not surprised,” John chuckled, but for some reason Kurt wasn’t hurt; he watched and enjoyed the moment.

  “Come on!” John rushed to the coach that stood a little way off. Kurt followed him. After they sat down and the coachmen lashed the horse, Kurt was touched by vague anxiety—it reminded him of what was at the river. Especially when they came to the river. A large round tent stood on the shore. Kurt was so greatly excited, he barely restrained himself so as not to turn into an enamored and silly smiling boy.

  When the coach stopped, John stepped out first, and Kurt followed him into the tent.

  The day was in full swing, and the weather today was unusually clear and sunny. The tent was open, and the wind freely ruffled its fancy curtains and silk cords with tassels.

  The first disappointment overtook Kurt when he saw three people sitting at the table. They were dressed in robes and their faces were hidden behind masks. It was as if Kurt had been brought into a court for an unknown crime. He looked questioningly at John, but he just smiled and walked over to him.

  “Did you forget about our deal?”

  “What deal?”

  “I invited you to join the order, and you agreed.”

  “Right now?”

  “And you have changed your mind?”

  “You didn’t warn me.”

  “Have I ever warned anybody about anything?” John laughed. “Or do you want to take back your word?”

  He looked expectantly at Kurt. Kurt thought that his vision began to clear; a veil of fragile delusion fell off, being unable to fight the surrounding reality. Even the sun disappeared behind the clouds, and the day became gloomy.

  The same game, Kurt thought, and he felt this thought in his heart bitterly. He frowned. “What should I do?”

  John made a sweeping gesture toward the seated persons, and Kurt heard a muffled voice.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Rhein.”

  “Good afternoon,” said Kurt.

  “As we know, you expressed a desire to become a member of our order.”

  Kurt hesitated, and his silence obviously was considered as acceptance.

  “Our order has been in existence for several hundred years, and we revere traditions. We rarely accept strangers, because we take not just a person, but all his or her family. In the case of your acceptance, Mr. Rhein, all your descendants will have the right to join the order with only a dedication. But you need to vouch for them, and hence you need to be tested to prove you’re worthy to become a member of our community.”

  “And what are the tests?”

  “As I said, we revere traditions. Since the founding of the order, our members have met strict requirements. In return, they’ve received the support and protection of the entire order. The word of our order is Resolve, Bravery and Honor, and that is exactly what we require from our brothers. This is exactly what you need to show to join our ranks.”

  “And what if I won’t show these qualities?”

  “Don’t show false modesty, Kurt,” John’s voice interrupted him. “You have
everything necessary to become a member of the order.”

  The voice continued, “This triad of qualities represents overcoming our fears, overcoming pain, overcoming yourself.”

  “Okay,” Kurt said after a pause.

  John smiled predatorily and pushed aside the curtains of the tent on the opposite side. Kurt saw a walkway to the river, but it wasn’t the path or paved stone way; it was something else. John untied the ribbon on the bouquet of roses, Kurt had given him, and strewed flowers in the beginning of the way.

  “Your dedication is on the other side,” he said. “Take off your shoes.”

  Kurt obediently took off his shoes.

  “Now go.”

  Kurt took the first step, and the thorns pierced his feet. Kurt clenched his teeth. He was convinced John was watching him. He didn’t want to show any weakness, but then a new challenge arose. Splinters of glass shone brightly in the sun. Kurt paused. Thorns, of course, dug into the skin painfully, but it wasn’t to compare with the shards of glass. Kurt carefully took the first step, trying to allocate his body weight evenly. But the glass still cut his feet, as if someone had deliberately selected the sharpest pieces.

  But what appeared after scared Kurt even more.

  He had already overcome two-thirds of the way, and it wasn’t much further till he reached the edge of the water, but on the way to the water embers were waiting for Kurt. They were still glowing red, flecked here and there with grey of scale, as if they competed with the sun on this bright day. Kurt refrained from looking at John; he would not deliver so much pleasure to him. Kurt overcame the rest of the way quickly, awkwardly shuffling his feet, trying to make each step as widely as possible. Reaching the water, Kurt dipped his bleeding and burned feet in the cool river. It was an incomparable bliss.

  And then Kurt heard John approach the shoreline. He was applauding.

  “I told you, Kurt, don’t show false modesty. I’m even willing to count it for the win in a match, so ask what you wanted.”

  Kurt paused.

  “Give Edna Hoggart back her daughter, Rebecca.”

  John’s eyes seemed to flash unkind fire.

  “Why do you want it?” he asked.