Princess of Apocalypse

by Drake Wellington

  “Vashe Imperatorskoye Vysochestvo , mogu li ya imet' etot tanets?” he repeated and bowed deeply. That’s a new one. Usually things like that never happen, well, not to me that is.

  “What’s that?” At least that was my intention to say, but the words, leaving my mouth, sounded more like “shto eta?”

  “Your Imperial Highness, may I have this dance?” This time I understood, but the words were still no English to me just that my brain was translating it while he was speaking.

  Automatically I curtseyed, which was very weird as I never curtseyed in my life and was rather impressed with my achievement of this graceful move, or that was what I thought it must have looked like and the boy, man, whatever he was, didn’t burst into laughter. Also, rather as an automatic reflex, I held out my hand, which was covered with a white glove up to my elbow. I didn’t remember ever possessing such accessory. A surprised look down to my shoes revealed that I was dressed in a ball gown, not the one I selected for prom night, no this was old-fashioned as if it had jumped right out of a Jane Austin novel. Believe me, I don’t know much about gemstones, but the glittering stones embroidered all over the fabric that broke into all colours of the rainbow in the light from the crystal chandeliers above me, any girl could tell those were real diamonds, no fake.

  “Are you alright, Your Imperial Highness?” He must have noticed my shocked expression. I’m no highness I wanted to proclaim, but my mouth betrayed myself another time, speaking words in a different language, not to mention, I shouldn’t understand those words as I was speaking only English and French, well, forget about French. I had French in school for four years by now, but neither I nor Vicky ever managed to have the slightest conversation in the language of love. Nevertheless, my French was good enough for identifying this language wasn’t French at all.

  The man took my hand in his and before I could blink twice I found myself on the dance floor. Just now I noticed the soft tones of a string quartet playing and became aware that I was surrounded by dozens, no hundreds of other people, all dressed in the same formal attire like me and this gentleman. The music increased in volume. Damn! Tchaikovsky, I noticed. That’s Swan Lake. I can’t dance a waltz! My panic rose, I could feel my heart pounding heavily against my ribcage. As usual, that was the first sign of me turning into an extreme hyperventilating steam engine, only this time, I couldn’t get any air into my lungs. Something tied my chest and stomach together in a breathtaking squeeze, leaving me close fainting. The revelation came a moment later. That must be a joke. I was wearing a corset underneath this million dollar fabric. With the last breath I could master, I spit something out which sounded like karasho. Good my brain translated, but there was nothing good. I was dancing with a man I’d never met before, not to mention in a dress that held more diamonds than Tiffanies and did I mention the dancing part. I never ever danced the waltz before, but right now, my brain instructed me to some moves, which it called the box step. I never heard of the box step. Right foot back, left foot side, right foot side. One, two, three — one, two, three. You have to be kidding. To my astonishment, it worked. The goddess of a man, to whichever army he might belong — the uniform wasn’t telling me anything — Olga’s regiment, breathed a voice in the back of my head; who the hell is Olga, anyway, this very fine looking gentleman spun me around and I was gliding over the dance floor like one of Tchaikovsky’s swans. Our dance intensified and the pace blurred out the entire scene behind him. All I could see was his gorgeous face and then the face changed into Jake. “Help me, Izzy, help me”, he pleaded. I broke away from him and landed ungracefully on my bum. “Help meeee!” He reached with both hands after me, but as much as I wanted to return back into his protective arms, I was drifting more and more away from him as if I was falling into a bottomless hole. Suddenly, the ballroom was gone, the music was gone too. There was just blackness and he stood in the centre of the darkness holding out his hands, screaming my name. I stretched out my hands, but I was already too far away. “Help me”, his voice echoed in the distance. Then there was another voice, harder to understand, but getting louder and louder. Stick to me, if you wanna live — Dimitri.

  My eyes shot wide open, my lungs filled with air. Underneath me passed grey-blackish cobblestones, smooth and shiny from many decades of water and boots running over it. I lifted my head, which sent a harsh wave of pain erupting from the back of my head. With it, the memory returned: Me going to the lake, Dimitri and Tatiana making out, then Jake and the gang joining the scene and taking their hatred out on Dimitri, who didn’t weep once, while Jake was beating him over and over again... and then there were the Nazis and all had happened so quickly and… there was blood and… body parts… my friends dying one by one… a total nightmare. But no such luck. I was still slammed over the shoulder of one of the Nazis, only the black linen bag must have come loose and was gone now. Again, I tried lifting up my head, which sent out new pain waves, but when I turned my head to the left, I was able to make out something else than the steel-capped black boots running without exhaustion. There were buildings to my left, clearly Victorian style of the mid to end nineteenth century, two or three storeys tall. It had to be shops; there were letters and signs on the window displays, only that the letter made no sense. One read YREKAB, the next POHS REHCTUB S’YNOT, then ESUOH REBRAB S‘NOTGNILLEW. My vision became blurry and forced my eyes shut, slowly I drifted back into the sanctuary of a painless sleep. Don’t, Izzy. That wasn’t even my voice which popped into my head. That was… Stick to me, if you wanna live. I gathered all my strengths and forced my eyes open. Searching for any kind of orientation, especially people. Lucky me, there were pedestrians in front of the shops. A man in a dark suit and Abraham Lincoln style beard with fitting top hat pointed his cane with a trembling hand at me. He nodded knowingly to a similar dressed man standing next to him. There were others, but they were dressed all the same. A woman with a white pilgrim’s cap and long dark dress covered her gaping mouth in surprise or horror of my fate. Most likely they were all actors. My hijacker must have brought me to a film set. Help, I tried to call, but my mouth was so dry, nothing except a croak came out. “Help”, I tried again, but my lungs felt so empty of air and my cry for help ended in a whisper. Then the vision blurred out and I lost my grip on the bit of consciousness that was left and plummeted into the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

  ***

  Little by little, I became aware of my environment again. This time, my brain didn’t need long strives to catch up, but it was the same bleak looking situation, which I have escaped earlier, just more bleak now. Unmistakably, there were only me and my kidnappers present. I was tied with my back to a post and sat on a dusty wooden floor. Hands and feet were bound with a rope that cut into my skin. My back hurt from the uncomfortable steel post in my back. Who knew how long I’d been sitting here. The knots were so tight; I couldn’t even feel a prickle in my hands and feet. Even if I could have undone the knots, the knowledge was growing inside me, I wouldn’t be able to stand up or make a step in the direction of the door. Judging by my vision that decided to focus in and out whenever it pleased, I was in some kind of warehouse with no windows and the only source of light came from dozens of candles. My head must have taken some severe damage, well, it hurt as if a steam locomotive had driven through it, but also my eyes were playing tricks with me. There were timber boxes around me, all stamped in black ink with AET and in smaller letters written in a circle around it, DTL GNIDART GREBSMOOLB. It took my mind ages to figure out that the letters are just backwards and that it should have been TEA BLOOMSBERG TRADING LTD. But not only my visual senses had suffered from the blow over the head, my hearing was affected too. The three Nazis spoke in a language I never heard before. This was no German, French, Russian, Eastern European, Asian, Arabian. Insects might have spoken this way.

  Tears found their way into my eyes, forcing whimpering sounds out of me. I wanted my mum. Just bury my face into the spot between her shoulder and neck as I always did as
a small kid, when a thunderstorm scared me out of my slumber or I was afraid of the imaginable monsters in my closet or under my bed. Those monsters here, however, wouldn’t go away by mum switching on the light or dad kicking with a broomstick under the bed to prove that there was nothing else than dust and my long forgotten tennis socks hiding. Those monsters were real.

  “SHUT UP”, barked one of the Nazis at me and made me freeze. Instinctively I pushed myself harder against the post in my back; I would have gone through the post if I could, only to be as far away from him as possible. The other Nazis considered my fear amusing and burst into laughter, and even their laughter sounded anything else than enjoyment, more satisfaction towards my scared reaction. The Nazi in my front showed me his teeth, which were like pointy needles ready to rip out my flesh and crunch my bones if I wouldn’t stop crying immediately. So I stopped, more out of overwhelming fear than willpower. A satisfied grin appeared around his lips and he retreated. The floorboards squeaked in complaint with each step of his heavy boots.

  “The master will be pleased”, one of the Nazis, he was at least a head smaller than his tall grown comrades, told him, when he returned to their conversation. “I’m sure no one followed us. He’ll be so pleased.”

  The first Nazi nodded. “He’ll be here any moment.”

  “Pretty thing, don’t you think?” the third Nazi said with a terrible smirk in my direction. The man showed more tattoos in the face and on his bald head than the rest of his body. None of the cryptic signs pictured in those paintings on his skin told me anything. Again, a completely different language.

  “For human standards.” That was the first Nazi, his voice was more cold-hearted and didn’t allow for any mercy.

  “Do you think the master would mind if I have a little fun with –“

  “He would.”

  “But boss“

  “I said no!” The tone allowed no further argument. Then his head crooked to the side. “Unless, the master only mentioned in one piece and alive. Nothing was mentioned about not torturing her…”

  The other two loved the comment and responded with a horrible chuckle.

  “My parents aren’t rich!” I sobbed. “Please let me go! There is no ransom they could pay.” Certainly they must have picked the wrong girl. Vicky’s parents were rich, Jake and John’s even richer. My father was barely an accountant and my mum worked as a veterinarian. They didn’t even pay off their mortgage yet. “Please, there must be a mix-up. I’m worthless for you.”

  The third Nazi shrugged with his shoulders, his black tongue wetting his teeth. “If that’s the case, we can eat you alive.” He made a deliberate step in my direction, but his leader’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “She might have other values to the master.”

  “Yeah”, the second Nazi said again. “She’s a pretty thing. You think the master would mind, if I have a try.”

  “Right”, the third comrade was fire and flame for the proposal. “After all the hard work and those bloody trackers“

  “Not to mention, we lost some good comrades in the fight”, the smaller comrade threw in.

  The boss of the group turned on his heel, scrutinising me from top to toe. In my loose T-shirt and the blue bikini underneath I never have felt more naked in my life.

  “Alright, let’s have fun boys”, he said.

  I was all horror. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Jake, please help me.

  The three came closer; their boss reaching out for my chin, then banging my head hard against the pole, the impact almost blacked me out. Unluckily, it didn’t. When I opened my eyes, his black long tongue was licking over my cheek. A foul scent penetrated my nose and made me cough. I screamed in panic, but it only added to the Nazi’s amusement.

  Knock, knock.

  The leader of the trio stopped in his doing, annoyance forming on his face.

  Knock, knock.

  “Lucky you, that must be the master”, he muttered angrily and raised to his feet. His associate, the third Nazi, was already at the door and pulled back the bolt.

  Knock, knock.

  The door opened wide. “You’re not the ma—“

  The Nazi stepped back and swayed sideways, revealing a thin dagger pierced through his chin, up through his mouth and into his brain. The man gave a cry from him that sounded like a thousand mirrors breaking at the same time and dissolved, yes, dissolved, into a bubbling mass of tar, which stunk like Mrs Woolsby, my old art teacher, just a thousand times worse. What am I saying? Mrs Woolsby’s hundred-year-old-egg-scent smelled after roses in comparison to that. The smell left me choking.

  “KILL THEM”, the Nazi leader shouted to his comrade, who stormed like a Berserker forward, but before he’d reached the door, he found two boots in his chest and flew backwards. Whatever hit him was already back on his feet and darted forward to the leader of the mob, who suddenly had a butterfly knife in one hand and a steel-capped mace in the other. Immediately he swung the mace onto his target, the new arrival ducked under the blow and dashed into the Nazi. The impact brought both of them to a fall and they became a mess of fighting limbs, the mace had dropped out of the Nazi’s hand and he tried to stab with his butterfly knife backwards. But the stranger blocked the attack and snapped the weapon out of his hand. But then, the Nazi got the upper hand and with a powerful blow of his left, he landed a direct hit in the face of the stranger, who landed right in front of my feet with a bleeding forehead. His face was that much bruised, I barely recognised him. Also was it hard to say, which injuries were caused by the attackers and which by Jake.

  “Dimitri!” I was all astonishment. Dimitri had only time to turn around, then the Nazi leader was already on top of him and in both hands he grasped the mace, which came down on Dimitri in a heavy bash. Dimitri’s head jerked to the left, escaping the mace by a hairsbreadth. The steel point drove deep into the floorboard and stuck there. The Nazi tried to get it free with a jerk, but failed. Dimitri, didn’t waste another second and kicked the Nazi into his wing pipe. The Nazi raised and stumbled backwards. It took Dimitri less than a second to jump up and grab for the dropped butterfly at the same time. A step forward and he had crossed the Nazi’s defence. In a short sequence he stabbed the knife no less than five times in the Nazi’s chest. The man dropped to his knees, but Dimitri didn’t stop there. Without pause, another sortie followed, slicing the Nazi’s neck and ending in the man’s left eye, where the knife remained. Dimitri made a step backwards and studied the success of his work. “The master will kill you for that, boy”, the Nazi yelled and laughed hysterically, while slowly turning into a bubbling pool of dark liquid.

  Meanwhile, at the door, the shorter Nazi has recovered and blocked the entry to another arrival by pointing his knife at her. Well, it was Tatiana. Naturally, the girl couldn’t have been far away from her cousin. Her hair was waving like an angry firestorm behind her. Shorty stabbed after her once, twice, she retreated backwards, another try followed, Tatiana ducked under the blow and touched Shorty’s jacket with her left palm. Instantly, blue fire erupted from her hand. The fire grew and licked over Shorty’s jacket, setting it ablaze and turning him into a walking torch. Screaming, he tumbled through the warehouse and dragging a smoking trail behind him. After a few meters he collapsed and all what remained of him was a giant black cloud.

  “Are you okay, Elizabeth?”

  “Elizabeth? Izzy?”

  I snapped out of my petrifaction and… started crying hysterically like a drama queen. I couldn’t help it. His face was only centimetres from mine; his hand was touching my cheek, to comfort me or checking for some injuries, not sure. His hand slipped through my curls in the back of my head. My focus blurred. Suddenly, I felt intensely sick. His hand came back with his index and middle finger plastered in red. Blood. I felt even more nausea if this was even possible.

  “You have to be kidding?” Tatiana blurted out and came over to me and Dimitri. “You chose the wrong target, you superhero.”

  “I didn�
�t!” Dimitri said without looking up at her.

  “Well, explain me why we find one of the Barbies here instead?”

  “Target has changed.”

  “Oh, really. Sorry, but I must have missed that memo. You better explain yourself. You stuffed up, Dimitri… not to say, big time.”

  A smoky veil covered my eyes. I wasn’t far from passing out. Dimitri was just staring at me. “What are we doing now?” If he meant me or Tatiana I couldn’t tell, but Tatiana had already an answer for him. “Kill her, what else?”

  At this stage, I had very little resistance left. And in the next moment, the lights went off.

  Chapter IX

  Rescued?

  “NOOOO”, I startled up, sitting vertically, my breathing coming heavy, my heart pounding almost out of my ribcage and my eyes popping out in blank terror without recognising anything.

  “It’s alright, Miss Parker!” Soft but determined hands on my shoulders, forcing me back into a horizontal position.

  “THE NAZIS”, I shouted instead, still too confused to make any sense of my whereabouts. “VICKY, THEY TOOK VICKY, AND JAKE, THEY TOOK MY BOYFRIEND, AND JOHN TOO, SO MUCH BLOOD, EVERYWHERE, THERE WAS BLOOD EVERYWHERE, THEY KILLED…” My voice broke and gave way to the sound of tears.

  “You’re safe now, Miss Parker.” It was the same calm and unfamiliar voice that had addressed me earlier. “I promise you, no harm will come to you.”

  I tried to take in air, filled my lungs with oxygen to the point of explosion. I was very successful in doing so, I always was. Dad called me the hyperventilating steam engine.

  “Compose yourself, Miss Parker.” There was this voice again; its steady calmness dragging me slowly out of my panic attack. For the first time, I started realising my environment… which was beyond my expectation. There were paintings on the walls of people I’ve never seen and beautiful landscapes, all nicely framed in gold, the wallpaper was of a bright blue with golden floral design, there was a gigantic ceiling rose from which dangled a crystal chandelier. The ceiling was at least nine feet high with cornices at the sides you would only expect in a palace. And palace-like was also the four poster bed in which I was resting. I was covered with a white cashmere blanket; my head rested on a bed of cushions. It was dark in the room, only a few petroleum lamps, those used in Jane Austin novels, shed some light. Next to me on the bed sat an old man with white, but full hair and grey eyes that showed red rings from too less sleep. The man was wearing a suit with a tie that definitely wasn’t belonging to this century at all. And neither his suit. His skin was almost as pale as his hair, but the friendly smile upon his face finally made me calm down.