Hour of the Wolf

by Andrius B Tapinas

  The city was bursting at its seams with people. Every hotel room, every bed in all the common-use houses was booked. Even though – what irony! – no one was going to sleep in them. The intention of all the inns, pubs, cafes and restaurants was to stay open for 24 hours, while the street traders were having a lie-in today, as they were expecting to work through the night and until dawn. They all dreamed of making sales that would allow them not to get out of bed for the whole of the next month. In his interview to the new publication The Vilnius News, Jonas Basanavicius and the alchemists promised a grand show of lights in the sky unparalleled in the world. The heat wave was expected to hit at midday, so the gira and beer sellers were working up a sweat.

  The Town Hall had also become an arena for heated discussions.

  Russian Foreign Minister Vladimir Lamsdorf was fighting like a lion on several fronts – as the cities of the Alliance had declared neutrality in case of any military conflicts, he immediately reproached Baron Rothschild for extending his invitation to the reserved Japanese Ambassador Todasu. Another reason for his fury might have been the gross mistake the Japanese Ambassador allowed himself to make when addressing the Russian Minister as Madam. Everyone unanimously agreed, though, that the Ambassador’s far from perfect English was to blame for this misunderstanding. Except for Prelate Masalskis, who spitefully sneered before mumbling under his breath, “It serves this lover-hungry sodomite right.”

  Russia’s relations with the Kaiser’s Germany also suffered a good shake. Prussian Minister of War Karl von Einem, rattling his medals and showing off his twisted waxed moustache, kept repeating the same thing over and over again: a united, peaceful and strong Europe is the one and only goal for Germany. Quite out of the blue, Lamsdorf received a lifeline from Foreign Minister of the British Empire Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice, who dryly noted that the flying German fortress suspended above Vilnius was a perfect symbol of sustainable peace in Europe. The French Foreign Minister, snorting throughout and occasionally poking his nose into a tiny vessel of smelling salts, also expressed his support for the idea.

  The chairman of the meeting, Governor of the Alliance cities Baron Nathan Rothschild, did all he possibly could to take control of the situation by urging other members to change the topic and engage in a discussion on new technologies, their distribution and sales to other European countries. This provoked an angry reaction from Lamsdorf, who was quick to accuse the dwarf-like Alliance of having pretensions to be the centre of Europe and not showing enough regard to the giant nations of the world. All the participants of the Summit, with the exception of Izzet Pasha El-’abed, Secretary to the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, were drawn into the fierce discussion on what place the Alliance cities and the Rothschilds’ technologies had in the world. He was patiently waiting for the conversation to veer round to European railways and his dream: the Hejaz project.

  Burgomaster of Vilnius Vytautas Venslauskis-Venskus felt like a bream in a pond teeming with sharks, even worse than at home where he was bossed around by the high-powered Mrs Venskus. He quietly watched over his guests, taking care of their hors d’oeuvres and drinks, then sighed and exchanged glances with the Burgomasters of Prague, Reval and Krakow, his impatient glances at his watch expressing his overwhelming desire for it all to end. He hoped to get his share of fun in the evening, in a private Antokolis club, to which he had also invited his colleagues from the other cities of the Alliance. This was to be an exceptionally discreet party with exceptionally discreet girls and, of course, with no Mrs Venskus in sight.

  At ten in the morning Legate of Vilnius Antanas Sidabras sat in a chair, a straight razor slowly sliding across his neck. As the sharp blade was working around his Adam’s apple, Sidabras closed his eyes and held his breath. Several more sweeps of the blade over his skin and the barber wiped the creamy lather off with a warm towel. He then had a close look at the Legate’s face before giving an approving nod.

  Sidabras opened his eyes.

  Following last night’s events, he had had conversed with the medical expert Radzinskis, before going back to Sluskai Palace for a few hours’ sleep. By force of habit he had risen with the first signs of dawn, even though there was no reason for him to rush anywhere. The letter from the Council of Vilnius, which was handed to him yesterday by a duty officer, clearly stated that he – Legate of Vilnius and Public Order Councillor Antanas Sidabras – was officially prohibited from showing his face at any event of the Summit. The word officially was underlined twice.

  The letter made Sidabras laugh – he knew who was behind this subtle hint.

  Nevertheless, he had more time on his hands than ever, and was determined to put it to good use. Dressed in gym shorts and a vest, he started with a run along the shady pathways of Sluskai forest, then took a dip in the waters of the Neris, using a long stroke to swim almost as far as the Lower Castle, before coming back. His well-trained body moved by itself, allowing Sidabras to think about his next ventures. He climbed out of the Neris with a draft of a further action plan in his head, which he later finalized at his breakfast table and in the barber’s chair. He was not surprised at all to see the new Vilnius News in the barber’s shop. It was a clear sign that Vileisis and Gimbutas’ joint plan had been a success and that the Vilnius Legion now had one less reason for concern, with Steam City’s strikers out of the picture.

  Sidabras walked out of the barber’s shop with a plan to pay a visit to Aloysius Nunevicius, the busy worker of the Sluskai cellars. Yet he found the old man sleeping like a log and had to give him a shake to wake him. Nevertheless, the realisation that the commander of the Legionnaires had yet again turned to him for help made the half-sleepy Aloysius happy as a child, and he hurried to turn on the infernal machine – Engine No 5 – dressed in nothing more than his nightgown. Bobbing up and down on the ladder he resembled a tousled sparrow who, having been treated to a handful of grains by some well-wisher, was flailing about unable to make up his mind where to begin his feast.

  At first sight Sidabras’ idea looked very simple – his intention was to compare the Vilnius street map to the one of its underground sewers, trying to ascertain whether or not there was an opening to the underground somewhere near the Sharp End house of Marina Baltrus – aunt of the man called Baltrus, the same person who had gone missing from Novovileysk Psychiatric Hospital. Having put all the known facts together, including last night’s murder of Jonas Simaska and the daub on the wall, Sidabras was nearly certain that the Vitamancers’ handyman Baltrus was being kept away from prying eyes in the underground tunnels and, very likely, not entirely alone. Someone must be providing for him – food, drink and possibly tools, and who else if not auntie Baltrus could be so caring. Since the underground opening was in the vicinity of her house, the number of potential suspects immediately decreased. Before tonight the Legate’s men had been ordered to arrest all daubers and take them to Sluskai with no delay, but Sidabras was not pinning his faith on this operation. The daubers only crept out into the streets at dusk, and to find the single one who was so proficient in drawing monsters was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The avenue of investigation involving the aunt sounded more promising.

  But the task proved to be more complicated than he initially thought. Due to rapid expansion and changes to Vilnius’ layout, the street maps were often outdated as soon as they were freshly out of the printers. Not to mention the underground tunnels and the sewers – no one even bothered to depict these areas in any great detail.

  Aloysius fed Engine No 5 one punched card after another, making the machine rumble and thud, spit steam and smoke as if it were a Steam City factory, but it was all in vain – the underground labyrinths were beyond its reach. The last thing Aloysius wanted was to disappoint the Legate, so he went out of his way trying out all possible options, sweating like mad and ripping his night shirt, before clambering down the ladder, switching the machine off and, with his eyes guiltily downcast, acknowledging defeat with a shrug and his palms outstretched.r />
  Sidabras did not chastise him but promised himself he would raise this issue in the Council of Vilnius as soon as he was officially back to his duties. He then removed his earplugs and abandoned Aloysius’ lair.

  At ten thirty in the morning someone opened the windows in Markuciai Manor – it was getting stuffy inside. If an outsider had achieved the impossible and sneaked inside the Vitamancers’ grounds, separated from the rest of the world by a tall fence, disappointment would probably be their most likely reaction. It was an ordinary house – made out of wood and not too large, with a porch embellished by wooden carvings. The meeting room floor was covered with carpets, and it was furnished with antique handmade furniture, a faint scent of incense lingering in the air. This hall was used for visitors. Important guests were welcomed by the Elder of Vilnius Vitamancers himself, while the common people were left to other members of the Lodge. This was the room where people brought children, with the intention of leaving them in the Lodge’s care, as well as the place where clients collected previously ordered potions and paid for them. From here the guests were taken to the room of predictions. Vitamancers made sure that outsiders saw no more than they were supposed to see, as all the rest was not meant for the eyes of strangers.

  Very few people had access to Markuciai Manor Laboratory.

  It was now entered by the Elder of Vitamancer Lodge, with his floor-length gown rustling against the floor. When at home he had a habit of wearing archaic clothes, which served as testament to the age-old traditions and authority of the Lodge. He was now dressed in a floor length coat, made of clove-coloured twill of outstanding quality, its wide sleeves and hemline decorated with twisted silk rope piping, a sash embroidered with gold thread wrapped around his waist. Underneath he wore an orange silk shirt, while his eyes observed from behind round-framed spectacles.

  He paused on the doorstep and surveyed his space. By day and by night the laboratory, buried deep in the ground, was lit by flaming torches, while its guards were humans and ferocious mastiffs alike, and it was hidden behind a pair of secret doors that only a few members of the Lodge knew existed.

  The Elder always felt safe here. Not today though. It had been a while since he first felt the iron grip of the Prague Lodge around his throat, and he was aware of his every step, every decision, being furtively reported to the Grand Master. Therefore, immediately after Pranciskus Baltrus had disclosed his latest drawings and confirmed that he could execute them, the Elder had decided to endeavour to keep all the glory, money and influence in the hands of the Vilnius Lodge. At the beginning the idea of keeping Baltrus concealed in Novovileysk Psychiatric Hospital while the Lodge prepared to manufacture the bionic seemed very clever. But then – and what were the chances – the Legate of Vilnius, copies of the secret drawings under his arm, had knocked on the Manor gate. It soon became apparent that Pranciskus Baltrus had gone missing from Novovileysk, with no one having the faintest idea of his location.

  The torches cast their light over the main piece of furniture in here – a massive steel table fixed to the floor with sizable screws. There was a corpse on the table, or rather what was left of him after the two men leaning over him had done their job. They both wore gloves and orange robes with an embroidered phoenix on their backs. In order to avoid being splashed by the remnants of bodily fluids, their eyes were concealed under large goggles.

  The laboratory carried on with its work with no interruptions. Thank God, they never ran out of corpses, as they were secretly and regularly supplied by caretakers from cemeteries in Vilnius and the surrounding towns. And now, with a disinterested glance at the two men, the Elder gave a faint cough.

  Both Vitamancers were startled and looked up. Realising it was the Elder, they lowered their protective mouth cloths and pushed their goggles up over their foreheads.

  “Salve”[37], the Elder muttered.

  “Salve, Master,” the men bowed. Then one of them said, “We are working on a very captivating experiment, maybe you would also like...”

  “Later, brother Urtas, later,” the Elder shook his head. “I have more urgent business to attend to now. I need Rattus. Is he ready?”

  “He is always ready, Master.” Pulling off his gloves and throwing them on to the metal table, the man called Urtas walked over to the other, dimly lit end of the laboratory. “I thought he would come in handy,” he added.

  “Really?” the Elder raised his eyebrow.

  Urtas was one of the very few Vilnius Vitamancers who had been inducted into all the most secret plans, and the Elder trusted him completely.

  “Yes, indeed,” Urtas replied. “We failed at Sharp End. We are searching for a needle in a stack of hay. Rattus is the only creature who could attempt to find it. But I still have my doubts.”

  There followed some banging and clanking noises – Urtas was unlocking something.

  The Elder became thoughtful.

  “Why are you doubtful, brother Urtas?” his voice was very soft, but Urtas heard him anyway.

  He carried a small metal cage into the light. Something was lying inside.

  “Because Rattus is only capable of following someone whose etheric imprint he has and whose picture he has taken. He will not find Baltrus, as all we have is his imprint. We never took his picture as we never thought there might be a need for it,” Urtas replied.

  “But who said that Rattus was to look for Baltrus?” the Elder’s voice was tinged with genuine surprise.

  The cage moved together with the creature inside it. It was a rat. Only a very close inspection would reveal it not to be real. Its tiny bristles were made of metal, although they could have been easily taken for the genuine rough strands of a rat’s fur. It all looked true to life – the dully glistening claws, the long snout and the exposed teeth. But one close look at the rat’s eyes revealed its true nature.

  A laboratory project of the mad Vitamancers. A mech rat.

  Each of the creature’s eyes were made of two metal tubes, one sliding into another like the parts of a closing telescope, which ended with glass eyes and working cameras obscura installed behind them. Extremely fine wires, hiding under the bristles, spread over the entire neck, back and paws of the creature.

  Mech rats – the rattuses – were invented in Prague and kept strictly under wraps. Their existence was known only to their creators the Vitamancers and a few other trustworthy people. Boasting about their achievements had never been part of any Vitamancer plan. What they really wanted was to use rattuses in the struggle against the current darlings of the Alliance – the Alchemists and Mechanics.

  People would not pay close attention to rats since they were a very common sight in cities. This made the mech rats excellent spies. All they needed was a tiny etheric imprint and one glance of the eyes (the person was photographed by the minute cameras obscura installed in the glass eyes) of the person being followed. When the rattus was hot on the heels of his victim, the observers could use the Elektrolab to see the rat’s location; as the creature was constantly taking pictures of his prey, the observers knew what the object of their interest was up to.

  As the latest editions of the mech rat also carried an inclinometer, observers were able to tell where exactly the rattus was – whether he was on the ground, underground or on an ascending dirigible. Being the owner of one of these rats, the Vilnius Lodge called him by the simple name of Rattus.

  “Who said that Rattus should follow Baltrus?” the Elder asked again, before going over to the cage and taking a compact laboratory flask from the pocket of his gown. “He will pursue the man who is searching for Baltrus. The man who has recently honoured us with a visit and who is very well known to us all.”

  The Elder raised his hand with the flask. Stuck to it there was a hand-written note, which read: Antanas Sidabras.

  With an understanding nod Urtas placed the cage on the table and busied himself with the Babbage Engine and the Elektrolab, strikingly similar to the one in the secret room of Nikodemas Tvardauskis. He t
hen removed Rattus from the cage and began to connect his wires to the Babbage Engine.

  “Hurry up,” the Elder muttered, his hand holding the laboratory flask extended. “Our man in Sluskai has reported that the Legate is still there. Missing him would be disastrous. Besides, the phoenixes are getting impatient.”

  Chapter XXXVI

  Vilnius, Before noon

  26 04 1905

  It was eleven in the morning.

  “Nu ty kur-r-rwa litewska,”[38] swore Lt. Michal Vielholskiy, on duty with other Legionnaires outside the Town Hall, in reaction to a message that a gasping courier had just delivered to him.

  With his soldier’s beret off, Vielholskiy wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand and showed what a true Pole he was by swearing like a trooper one more time, making the air around him vibrate. It was hard to say whom the cursing was meant for – spiteful fate, crazy Vilnius residents or the hot-headed commander Sidabras, who, following his suspension, was wandering God knows where instead of leading the Legionnaires in charge of Town Hall security and telling him, Michal, what to do in a situation like this.

  The Lieutenant scanned the note once again. Needless to say, he much preferred the previous message that had informed him the strikes had been called off, Steam City’s workers pacified and the strike leaders arrested. He cast a baffled glance over the three circles of his men closing in on the Town Hall, before clearing his throat and spitting.