Hour of the Wolf

by Andrius B Tapinas

  The view that opened up from the Hill of Tauras was breathtaking. Generally speaking, Vilnius was a rather clumsy spectacle, crammed with buildings each obstructing the view of the other, but the Hill of Tauras allowed one the opportunity to gaze above all the clutter, eyes alighting on the church spires, the Navigators’ Tower in the middle of a ring of multi-coloured rays, the Town Hall columns and the dreamy goblins of University Dominium, and even the dome of the Guild of Mechanics Tower, its green glistening roof a playground for the rays of the sun.

  During periods of pleasant weather the Hill of Tauras and its grassy slopes swarmed with people and their picnics. People enjoyed their days out and did not care a whit about the prattling rumours that the hill had once been a notorious suicide spot, and the remnants of these days – the poor souls – still roamed the slopes without a moment of peace to the present day.

  Today, however, the hill had been deserted by everyone. On the last day of the Summit there were so many attractions on offer in the city that it didn’t occur to anyone to climb the hill with the intention of staring at the rooves from high above.

  O’Braitis pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. A Royal Air Force adjutant’s uniform was not the best choice of clothing for such a sultry day.

  “Where is he?” O’Braitis’ eyes searched the area. “I hope this isn’t a prank because...”

  “No, it isn’t a prank, Edward,” a voice spoke behind them.

  Mila and Edward turned towards it.

  Charles Finley looked as if he had just stepped out of a photo-picture: with pomade-styled hair and a thin line of moustache, dressed in a light linen summer suit of impeccable fit, a bag hung over his shoulder and a hat in his hand. He was no longer a junior adjutant of The Star but a confident young aristocrat.

  No one would have believed it if they had been told that Finley had spent the last night drinking, fighting, kissing, poisoning himself in the illegal alchemic opium den and then, before he had the chance to take his forty winks, receiving an urgent order: get Mila out of Vilnius the next day – today! And do it at any cost.

  Following the moment of their separation the night before, he thought of giving it a romantic note, possibly with the help of light hypnosis – Fetches, just like the old Hypnomants, were fully proficient in the art of Hypnosis. In the worst case he would have resorted to spider’s drops – a substance capable of making a person unconscious for a few hours and then, when he or she came back to their senses, rendering them unable to remember anything and believe everything that he or she was told for a time. Generally speaking, only a select few were familiar with the drops, which were very hard to find. The Prague Vitamancers and Fetches, however, moved in a different realm and could lay their hands on the drops without too much trouble.

  “I was hoping to see Mila on her own, but it is also nice to see you, Edward,” Finley smiled

  O’Braitis took a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Where did you spend the entire night? You didn’t come back to the hotel, you... erm... Miss... You didn’t spend the night at Mila’s either, you didn’t report to the dirigible. Mabrey is fuming mad. What is going on, Charles? What are you up to?”

  Finley’s complexion oddly moved as if someone was trying to get out.

  O’Braitis was baffled by the sight – his eyes involuntarily blinked and it was gone. “I am imagining things,” he thought to himself.

  “Edward, my dear friend, I am so grateful to you for accompanying Mila here,” Finley’s smile was now even sweeter than before. “And for running all around the city searching for me. But now I would be very grateful if you could leave Mila and myself alone so we can have a peaceful talk. Go and tell the captain that I apologise for everything.”

  O’Braitis stared at him dumbfounded.

  “Charles, are you... What, are you going to desert?”

  “I am an adult, O’Braitis, and you are not my nanny,” came the gentle reproach from the second adjutant’s lips. “So please, mind your own business. And leave us alone. Go to the airship port. Make sure you are not late.”

  “Charles...”

  “Edward... please,” while Finley’s voice did not sound unpleasant, his request came across like an order, his face overtaken by severe muscle twitching.

  For a moment O’Braitis kept staring at the youth, before his gaze slid over to Mila and then back to Finley. He heaved a deep sigh and nodded. Without another word he turned round, strode to the carriage and clambered inside. The machine puffed, made an about turn and rolled away.

  Finley looked away from Mila briefly, pretending to fan his face with his hat, but actually attempting to conceal the lumps that had come up all over under his skin.

  Having stayed out of the conversation up until now Mila raised her chin and approached Finley.

  “Charles, I also find it confusing. What does your letter mean? And what is all the urgency about? What did Edward have in mind when he mentioned your deserting?”

  The young Englishman turned to face her so fast that she had to step back. His face, however, was lit with a sincere smile.

  “Mila, let’s make ourselves comfortable and I will explain everything.” His hand pointed to a bench that gave a spectacular view of Vilnius, where he led Mila by the hand. With the girl submissively sitting on the bench, Finley put down his bag and smoothly entered his role as a man confused and about to say something important, striding back and forth in front of Mila. Eventually he also took a seat next to the girl.

  “Mila, I know it is likely to sound mad, possibly unconvincing, and you might say that it is way too fast, but I can’t wait any longer. As soon as I set my eyes on you on The Icarus deck I knew we were meant for each other.

  I truly do not know if I would have dared to leap to help in a storm like that, had it been someone else,” his love confession was swiftly embellished with a mention of his hero-saviour’s accomplishments. “We have only known each other for a few days, but I feel that I can’t live without you anymore. And now I am looking into your eyes...” the girl began to feel the hypnotic effect of Finley’s gaze, “...I am looking into your eyes, hoping that I am right to think that you are feeling the same.”

  He moved closer. Mila noticed a minty smell coming from his mouth. It was fresh but also somewhat peculiar. “Darling, someone rich and noble like me does not have to serve in the British Army. I am, of course, grateful to them for a chance to come to Vilnius and meet you. But I wish to be free. And so do you. Let’s run away from this village, you are like a little bird locked in a cage here, but you yearn for freedom. Let’s explore faraway lands, let’s go to America, Australia or Japan, let’s take a voyage round the world in a dirigible or discover lands unknown. Let’s do it together – you and me. I love you.”

  Who could resist such a speech, infused with passion itself? Even more so when spiced with a good dose of hypnosis? Certainly not a young girl with so few positive experiences in her life. The sweet words dripping like honey, the little key was reaching straight into her heart. Finley bending over, Mila opened her mouth waiting for a kiss.

  Meanwhile O’Braitis was in the carriage on his way to the airship port, lost in thought and tapping his knee. Thoughts, like annoying flies, were buzzing in his head and wouldn’t let go of him. Charles’ unexpected companionship. The mad leap into the darkness trying to save the girl. Night-time disappearances. And another thing – a decision out of the blue to desert the Force, as if three years of studies in Sandhurst did not mean a thing to him. Something here was not quite right.

  “Turn the carriage round and go back to the Hill of Tauras,” the adjutant ordered the driver, having finally made up his mind. “And wait for me at the foot of the hill.”

  “Mila, my love,” Finley whispered in the girl’s ear. “Let’s not delay, let’s leave today, let’s leave right now.”

  “Right now?” Mila was taken aback.

  “Yes, now. Let’s board the first available dirig
ible and fly to the end of the world.” Finley had information that a passenger dirigible was scheduled to depart for the Vitamancer capital Prague before dusk today.

  “No, Charles, I can’t...” Mila spoke softly, her voice obviously lacking in determination. “I would love to leave with you but not today... I need to get ready, I need... What will my uncle Nikodemas say about it?”

  Finley’s velvety eyes were stroking, fondling, swinging, drowning her.

  “Today, Mila, today, let’s leave today, today...”

  “Charles...”

  “Mila, today, today,” a voice purred right beside her ear. “Today, let’s leave today, let’s abandon this city, let’s erase it from our minds, let it be eaten by flames...”

  Mila leaned back as if from a slap in her face.

  Suddenly the scenes from The Day that Changed Everything came back to life in her mind’s eye. Screams. Bodies falling. Father yelling something. Mother. And the red tongues of flames. Impossible heat. The stench of burning human bodies. Flames in front of her eyes.

  “No, Charles, no.” Mila leaned back. “No.”

  “But darling, why?” Finley, concern all over his face, inched towards her.

  “I can’t. Neither today, nor tomorrow, nor... Sorry. It was love at the first sight for me as well, but I can’t... you won’t understand.” Mila looked devastated. “I can’t, I am not like you imagine me to be, I...”

  “Mila, I don’t care what your life has been like until now, who you were together with and which place you called home,” Finley was doing all he could do to change Mila’s mind. “Let’s forget everything and leave. Just you and me.”

  “No, you don’t understand, you don’t understand,” tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks. “I can’t run away from it, I am not like... I am not...” and she burst into sobs.

  “Enough games,” Finley thought to himself, pulling out a small drinking bottle enclosed in a wicker case.

  “Darling, you look shattered,” he said in sweet voice. “It’s the damn humidity, isn’t it? I have some chilled punch in here. Why don’t you have a sip? It will calm you down and we can discuss it all in peace.”

  He handed the bottle over to Mila. The first mouthful of the cold pungently sweet liquid burned the girl’s throat. Mila began to cough.

  “How are you feeling?” Finley was looking very concerned.

  But Mila did not get a chance to reply to that.

  “You! Get away from her now!” came a quavering but still authoritative voice.

  Startled, both Finley and Mila looked up.

  The sight was rather hilarious: an elderly man, dressed in a silk robe and looking as if he had just gotten out of bed, was puffing and huffing on his journey up the hill, helping himself with a stick. His hair was in disarray, while his gaze was frenzied.

  Someone else might have burst out laughing but Finley knew better that do that.

  “What are you doing here, uncle?” Mila was obviously stunned to see him.

  “Get away from her! I am telling you!” Nikodemas Tvardauskis yelled, briskly walking towards the bench. “Now.”

  “Uncle, stay out of it,” the girl jumped off the bench. “You promised you wouldn’t interfere in my life!”

  “Mila...” Tvardauskis cut her short.

  “Mila, please allow me. I will deal with it,” purred Finley again, his composure back where it was before. He jumped off the bench and, with his arms stretched out wide, began to walk towards Tvardauskis. He was confident that one touch of his finger would be enough to put this elder in his place.

  “Dear uncle, if you allow me to address you in this way, of course,” he chirped. “No need to jump to conclusions, everything is fine here. Just allow me to explain.” Holding Tvardauskis by his elbow Finley walked him as far away from Mila as he could. Tvardauskis, feeling somewhat confused, allowed him to do that. Finley looked at Mila, as if to reassure her there was no need to worry, then turned back to the scientist. In his eyes now there was a snake, trying to hypnotise its prey. “Listen, you old man,” he hissed, piercing Tvardauskis through with his eyes. “I don’t know what brought you here, but it doesn’t matter. Walk over to Mila and tell her to do what I am asking of her. Tell her to leave with me today. It will be best for all of us this way. For me, for you and for her. Do you understand?”

  Tvardauskis was quiet.

  Finley gritted his teeth.

  “Move!” he hissed in Tvardauskis’ ear.

  “It will be best for all of us. Me, you and her,” Tvardauskis babbled.

  “And?”

  “And that you are on your way to all the circles of Hell,” Tvardauskis said in a changed voice, the flicker of an odd flame darting in his eyes.

  Finley backed off, his face became distorted. The Fetch sensed an enemy close by and tried to get out.

  “You think you are strong?” he breathed in and hissed. “You think you can resist me? But do you know what this hill was called before? You think I picked this place by a pure chance? This is the Hill of the Devil! There were peasants who swore to have observed evil spirits here. Dear scientist, would you like to see one as well? Would you like to see who you are trying to fight?”

  Finley’s complexion was convulsing, as if something was sliding underneath it.

  “And how about you?” Tvardauskis asked in a calm voice. “Would you like to see who you are trying to fight?”

  “What?” Finley snarled. His black eyes grew bigger, now resembling those of a mad man.

  For a brief second Tvardauskis lowered his head. And then he flinched as if from a lash of a whip, before looking up again. When Finley looked in his eyes, he felt as if he had been struck, and started backing away. Tvardauskis raised his stick, hurling Finley away from him. Consumed by spasms, Finley fell down on all fours, then hunched up, and when he finally got back to his feet, he had become a completely different person. He was no longer the Royal Air Force second adjutant, no longer the young dapper man Charles Finley, but an old man with no eyebrows and a head slick like a billiard ball, with the deepest eye sockets, glaring straight at Tvardauskis. His eyes burned with hatred. His open mouth revealed sharp teeth.

  “What is going on here?” Mila was in shock. She wanted to run towards them but felt her strength ebbing away from her.

  “You have disguised yourself well, my old friend,” the Fetch’s voice was cold, mocking and tired. “How did I not recognize you? How could I not sense that this body could be hiding you inside? I would have acted differently.”

  “Possibly,” Tvardauskis replied calmly. “But you are no friend to me. It’s strange, though, that you dared to show your face in Vilnius. They paid you well, didn’t they?”

  “Oh yes, they did,” sneered the Fetch, flashing his sharp teeth again. “Trust me, we’ll get the girl.”

  “The girl is under protection,” reminded Tvardauskis. “Did the Vitamancers not mention it to you?”

  Fetch took a step forward, opening up his arms.

  “The information that you have on us is out of date, my old friend. Don’t you forget about the thing called progress. We no longer lurk in swamps, urge to set mages aflame or play havoc in the cities. We employ modern working methods now. In my hand I hold the key to your heart, my beloved...” the Fetch sniggered. “Poetry... ahh you flinched, my old friend, didn’t you? Surprised? Yes, we do know about the key. And the charmer Charles Finley was the one to find it. There is no protection from love, it penetrates the thickest of barriers. Would you disagree?”

  “It would seem that Charles Finley is not around anymore,” retorted Tvardauskis, his voice cold as ice.

  “He is, he is,” the baldy nodded, shrieking with laughter. “He is alive in Mila’s memory – it won’t be hard to bring him back. And the spider’s drop elixir will take care of today’s scene, instantly wiping it from her memory. Look, what’s happening to her now,” he pointed at her with his hand.

  Tvardauskis instinctively turned his head towards Mila.
And that was a mistake. The Fetch launched himself forward. Long steel nails sprang out from his finger tips, so sharp and sticky that they could easily pull the entire skin off someone’s face. Luckily for Tvardauskis, their tips only lightly scratched his face this time, as he leaned backwards and raised his stick to ward off the assault in good time. Both men wrestled each other to the ground, before starting to roll on the grass. Tvardauskis’ movements were greatly restricted by his silk robe – besides, the Fetch was stronger, and Tvardauskis found himself lying underneath it, pushed down by his own stick.

  The Fetch moved close to Tvardauskis’ face.

  “You have no idea what we are capable of,” he sniggered, placing his rounded lips together as if getting ready for a kiss. “Farewell, my old friend,” he said before leaning back like a venomous snake about to assault its prey.

  A dry phut resounded across the Hill of Tauras, and was immediately followed by another one. To hit one man but miss the other was an incredibly difficult task but there was a good reason why Edward O’Braitis was known to be the best shot among the Sandhurst cadets.

  The Fetch groaned before collapsing to the ground, two patches of blood emerging below his neck like flowers . Having pushed him aside with one brisk movement of his arms, Tvardauskis jumped up to his feet. But the Fetch was not ready to admit defeat yet. He got up on all fours, wiped the streaming out blood with his hand, before staggering up onto his feet and slowly turning towards his opponent.

  “Mother of God!” the sight stunned O’Braitis and made him forget to reload his guns. He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands as if smoke was making them water.

  At that point Tvardauskis leaped at the Fetch, his hand clutching the stick, its tip glowing like heated iron now, and he swung it through the air above his head. The Fetch gasped but did not get the opportunity to say a word. The stick, as if made out of razor sharp steel, was driven into his stomach, piercing him through to the very back. When the Fetch bent down to see the wound, he noted that its shape resembled the crater of a small volcano. Tvardauskis left the stick inside him for a moment, before pulling it out with a sudden jerk. The Fetch groped his stomach seemingly trying to gag the abyss of a wound but collapsed to the ground and lay prostrated on the grass. His face set out on a journey of transformations, acquiring dozens of previous guises: that of a gentleman, military officer, monk, beggar, mechanic, courtesan, and finally poor Charles Finley. In the last one he froze – forever remaining a young man clad in a creased and blood-stained dandy’s frock.