Hour of the Wolf

by Andrius B Tapinas

  “She survived,” Golytsin’s reply was brusque. He did not feel like discussing the condition Emilia was in when she was found by the biplane’s crew, or the quantities of medication that had been used to save her life – or, for that matter, what her face looked like now.

  “Great! And how about that smart fellow who promised to set Vilnius ablaze if only we offered him a handsome reward?”

  “He did not survive.”

  “So I see!” Foreign Minister reclined in the arm chair. He seemed really pleased. “So to Russia, its bright future and to a speedy collapse of the Alliance!”

  The glasses chinked again. Illuminated by the bright midday sun, The Ilya Muromets was on its way home.

  Zverynas was a superb hiding place. It concealed merchants, when they needed peace and quiet, its secretive joy houses gladly sheltered those who had given into the desire of a paid lover, while true lovers hid themselves on the banks of the Neris, where they whispered sweet nothings in the shade of old oak trees, rustling in the wind. Even the dog Mitekas had become permeated with the spirit of Zverynas, and had acquired the habit of hiding behind the fences, from where he would emerge wildly barking, always giving the milkman a fright.

  Zverynas was also a good place to hide one’s bleeding heart. And the biggest secrets.

  Setting a lunch tray on the table in the garden pergola, and dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron, Morta scurried back to her room to be alone with her sadness and pain.

  Two men sat in the pergola. The first was tall and hunched, his hair turned grey overnight, while the second man’s face was black and blue, he had a broken arm and his once bushy and well-tended beard was now burned and thin as a torn cobweb. They were both drowning in their misery, not even looking each other in the eye. They were an odd pair – hiding in the deepest end of the garden, away from prying eyes.

  Finally Tvardauskis spoke, pouring his heart out. He told of matters previously concealed from his friend, admitting that he should have probably disclosed them to him before. His trusted companion, however, merely nodded, as for him, his friend was above reproach. The scientist told of a little girl whom he saved from a fire that had claimed lives of her parents. About the fact that the girl had been at death’s door and that for her he gave up his career, trying to save her in ways that should never be divulged to any living soul. For this girl he had made a metal heart, which beat when wound with a special copper key each morning. Before he knew it the girl was creating extraordinary mechanical toys herself. They came alive after she had ‘warmed them up’. Tvardauskis talked on about the Great Vitamancer Master and his plot, about the key to Mila’s heart, and about the Fetch who had passed himself off as adjutant Finley.

  Eventually he went quiet, and for a while neither man stirred, avoiding each other’s eyes and shunning each other’s pain and the tears that rolled down their cheeks.

  Later, Jonas Basanavicius quietly departed into the ink-black night, leaving his companion alone.

  Tvardauskis did not see his friend off, he didn’t even turn his head. Maybe because of a heavy feeling in his legs, and maybe because his heart was heavy with guilt. He had told much, but still more remained untold.

  Aiding himself with a walking stick, Tvardauskis returned to the house. He hesitated in the hallway, considering which way to go. He didn’t have the heart to go upstairs and face Mila, lying serene and peaceful in her bed, with Pierrot and Columbina watching over her from the shelf. Instead the scientist – who had turned into an old man overnight – hobbled downstairs, his stick knocking against the stairs. He used the password to open the door and removed three books off the shelf to gain access to the secret room, where he slumped in the chair in front of a mirror with no reflection.

  For a while the mirror remained dark. When Tvardauskis placed his palm over the surface, it began to ripple, gradually revealing the dark outline of a figure. Tvardauskis extended his arm and put it through the glass, which swallowed it up to the elbow.

  “You are back,” he remarked in a husky voice.

  “I have never left,” objected the figure in the mirror. “My tower was smashed and its rocks washed away by the Neris an age ago, but you are me, and I am you.”

  Tvardauskis was about to say something, but then changed his mind. He remained where he was, his eyes staring at the rippling surface of the mirror.

  Prague was drowning. The waters of the Vltava spilled over its banks and, adorned with the crests of white foam, blustered along the streets of the old town. When Prague Vitamancers ordered the city residents to leave town immediately, they obeyed without question. Long queues of annoyed, complaining and arguing residents stretched out outside the city gate. The golems, marching back and forth, were there to keep their fury at bay.

  But Prague’s floods and its residents’ problems were of no concern to Konrad von Wittgenstein – the Grand Master of Prague Vitamancer Lodge. His thoughts were preoccupied with other matters. He was very safe inside the tower on the hill under the protection of gargoyles, as nothing, even the furious Vltava, could force a way inside uninvited.

  Konrad von Wittgenstein sat in a soft comfortable armchair sipping his favourite bergamot tea, pondering over the tricks destiny can sometimes play on you. His trusted agents had already reported on the Iron Wolf’s carnage in Vilnius and about the girl with a wind-up heart who had brought its actions to a halt. He had also received a report from London’s Fetches on their failed operation and the agent who had perished under mysterious circumstances in Vilnius. The Vilnius Vitamancers had enlightened him on an underground laboratory in their home city, which had been discovered by mechrat Rattus, and four phoenixes who never came back. Such a train of bad news would have been too much for the majority of people, but the Master of the Prague Vitamancers was not going to lose any sleep.

  “You did not lie to me, Oracle. You took the gold and told me the truth. “Search for the key to the girl’s heart.” I can’t believe it!” the Master roared with laughter. “You crafty, crafty witch. We even got Fetches involved in a love affair! Fetches! When what we really had to do was find a simple key.”

  The Master finished his tea. He felt like hurling the cup at the wall, which was covered with stucco ornaments, but thanks to his impeccable upbringing, contained his emotions. Instead he put the cup down and stood in front of the vast window, which opened on to the breathtakingly majestic views of the enraged Vltava.

  “How stupid I was,” muttered Konrad von Wittgenstein under his breath. “I was searching for a doll. When a doll maker was actually what I had to look for.”

  He chuckled quietly, turned away from the window and left the room.

  “And he killed the wicked wolf, and he chopped its head off. And he pinned it on the tallest turret in the city in order for all to see, remember and tell their children about,” old Efraim finished his story and leaned back.

  For a while the dumbfounded children could not utter a word, but inspired by the fairy tale’s happy ending, they began to nag him for another story, their thin voices shouting over each other.

  “No, no my dears, uncle Efraim needs to have a break, it’s such a scorcher of a day today,” the old man waved towards the sky and struggled up to his feet. He grabbed the walking stick which was helpfully held out to him by the youngest listener and, using it for support, hobbled over to his modest hut in the Blots. Today all his listeners were children. Adults had more important business to attend to.

  At home Efraim closed the door and meticulously locked it with a metal hook. It was a threadbare door, and so was the hook, but the old man maintained that one who did not take measures to protect himself could not expect God do it for him. He sincerely believed it himself. His neighbours nodded in agreement but could not help ridiculing him behind his back – what valuables did that church mouse have to protect? Unless he was referring to the dust-covered Talmud, which put one in mind of the times of Methuselah.

  With his stick placed in the corner, he
took the creaking stairs down to his secret place.” “Oh yeah, potato and radish place, isn’t that right?” the neighbours would giggle behind his back.

  But little did they know... Efraim kept no potatoes or radishes in his home, and with every step down his back straightened. As he only needed his stick for others to see, it stayed upstairs for now.

  Pausing by the back wall, Efraim mumbled something, then pressed a few rocks – well polished by time – and watched the wall turn. Efraim was the only person in the world to know about this wall, although he did not think of it himself. That was another craftsman, who had left to join the Creator of the World some time ago.

  Stepping inside the smallish room, Efraim looked around, as he always did.

  “I wonder if Vilnius has any houses left without any secret rooms or mysterious laboratories,” he quietly giggled. But if truth be told, Efraim liked this city, and was being a touch hypocritical on this occasion. It wasn’t just by accident that he had settled here, having disguised himself as an old, slightly demented but kind cobbler and storyteller.

  The old Jew, who as if by magic had by now regained his youthful appearance, sat down at the table, his finger stroking the drawings lying there. These were the originals, drawn by Pranciskus, whose whisking away from Novovileysk had been organised by Efraim. Efraim was also the person to set up his laboratory in the underground cellars of Vilnius and make him drink alchemical elixirs, to help Baltrus create and refine a bionic: The Iron Wolf. He was the only man for this task.

  As meticulous planning of his every operation was one of Efraim’s strongest features, he was rather disappointed to learn about a copy of the drawings finding way into the Russian agent Ivan Skorokhodov’s hands. While the Russian’s killing in the Cholera Cemetery had been executed by the Wolf under control of Baltrus, they had lost the drawings to the Orderly who got there before Efraim’s people did. And that’s when it all began... so many lost lives: Ivan Skorokhodov, Tomash Ujeiskiy, Vitamancer phoenixes, the Radiant Simaska, the rioter Suslov and the innocents who had fallen victim to the monster’s nighttime carnage.

  Efraim sighed. He had had a strong feeling that a lot of blood might be spilt, so he had decided against revealing his plan to Nathan Rothschild, the only person to know that the true leader and brains of the Alliance was actually disguised under the mask of a senile cobbler. “He is a good child, that Nathan,” Efraim thought to himself. “But he is too naive, and not quite ready to take up the reins of the Alliance and my extensive knowledge, when I finally decide to retire.”

  Efraim began to feel fatigued – the elixirs of youth only offered short-term relief. But he had no right to withdraw now – the world was on the brink of war and resembled a gunpowder-filled barrel. Even if the Russians didn’t do it, the fuse would be set alight – by the Germans or the British. Efraim knew war was inevitable. And the Alliance had to prepare for it.

  The Iron Wolf. The bulletproof, invincible and nearly indestructible war machine, which had aptly demonstrated its skills last night. Efraim was convinced that all the top countries and corporations had already embarked on the manic search for the creators of the mechanical beast. The Wolf had been destroyed, but it did not matter.

  The world would soon see these monsters in dozens, hundreds or even thousands, and vast amounts of money would be generated. And money is power. Nathan needs more time to understand what the real driving forces behind the Alliance are. They are money and power. Only when he fully understands this will the Baron be ready to inherit Efraim’s position, while Efraim will be able to spend the rest of his days telling tales to the children.

  Efraim cleared his throat and closed his eyes. He still had plenty to do – destroy Pranciskus’ laboratory before it was revisited by Vitamancers or Legionnaires, without forgetting about the kind-hearted and too-well-informed auntie Baltrus; make enquiries about the Wolf’s death and the girl in a red dress, swiftly carried away by Tvardauskis. But all this could wait. For a little while.

  Efraim got to his feet, climbed the stairs and went outside.

  As soon as the old storyteller appeared on the street again, a flock of children clustered around, demanding to hear a new tale. The smallest offered to help with the stick, youngsters obliged him by leading to the bench, while the older children carefully carried a mug of the elder’s favourite hot and sweet tea.

  “Fine then,” Efraim cleared his throat, sitting down on the bench. With a sip of the sweet drink warming his mouth, he put down the cup and beckoned to the youngsters. “Fine then, I shall tell you another story. It goes like this...”

  THE END

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  Glossary

  Alchemy. The natural tradition of philosophy which came to Europe from the Arab World. The focus of Alchemists during the Middle Ages was turning base metals into gold, creating the Elixir of Life, and the artificial creation of life. The following centuries saw Alchemy dividing into several methods of practise – the creators of golems, Vitamancers and Modern Alchemists, the latter becoming very influential in the universities of the free cities of the Alliance through application of their ancient expertise in the creation of modern technologies. Promethelium gas, their most prominent invention, was known as the greatest invention of the 19th century.

  Alliance, The. Formed by the Rothschild Company organisation, a union of five cities: Vilnius, Reval, Kraków, Prague and a part of Constantinople. Pursuant to agreements with other European states, the cities of the Alliance are free and have their own authorities and laws. Prague became the first free city in 1868, and was later followed by Kraków. Vilnius and Reval joined them in 1870, while in 1871 an agreement regarding partial governance of Constantinople was reached.

  Antokolis. A quiet, upmarket area of Vilnius.

  Automaton. A mechanical device able to perform one or more actions, programmed in advance. Automatons can be of all shapes and forms – from a flying singing bird to a man-servant who welcomes guests. More complex automatons can react to certain changes in a situation.

  Babbage, Charles. English scientist and inventor of the difference engine or Babbage machine and originator of the concept of a programmable computer.

  Blots, The. An area of Vilnius, occupying the streets between Paplauja, The Old Town and Mirth City. Its residents are Jews, Chinese, Armenians, Karaites and other arrivals from foreign countries.

  Broceurs. Loitering in and around the quarter of the Troubles, they offer to be your chaperone, guide, advocate, companion, personal guard and even carry you home.

  Common-use houses. Cheap, shared houses built for workers.

  Council of Vilnius, The. The governing body of Vilnius, comprised of Councillors who are responsible for various aspects of life. The following councillors are currently working in the Council of Vilnius: Knowledge Councillor, Money Councillor, Spiritual Councillor, Public Order Councillor, Direction Councillor, Wanderers’ Councillor, Health Councillor, Steam Councillor and Alchemy Councillor. Burgomaster Vytautas Venslauskis-Venskus is the official head of the city.

  Dirigibles. Following the creation of promethelium by the Alchemists, these craft became one of the main means of transport. Dirigibles can carry passengers and cargo or be used for military purposes. Military dirigibles are divided into 5 different classes: large air cruisers, slightly smaller frigates, medium-sized corvettes, speedy air raiders and, smallest of all, scout planes, used for surveillance operations.

  Fetches. A secret organisation of occultists and killers. The name is related to Irish folklore, where Fetches are supe
rnatural creatures, exact spectral doubles of human beings. A sighting of one is regarded as an omen, usually of impending death.

  Fetches can become apparitions of their living victims; however, how they do that remains unknown. One of the popular versions portrays Fetches as Hypnomantics, capable of a very powerful hypnotic impact on people. Another version claims that they are energy vampires who can briefly take on a person’s appearance, having sucked out their energy.

  Golem. A clay creature produced by alchemic methods, capable of executing simple commands. The most popular creation of the Prague Vitamancers. Legend has it that golems have been produced in Prague ever since the 16th century, and were used for protection of the Jewish Ghetto against anti-Semitic attacks and pogroms.

  Hypnomantics. Explorers of sleep and hypnosis. Not much information is available about them but it is believed that they were the creators of opium mirrors and the ‘spider-drop’ elixir, which makes a person who has imbibed a drop of it temporarily believe everything that is said to them.

  Joy houses. Legal whorehouses, popular in Vilnius.

  Knights of the Cathedral, The. Fanatical defenders of the convictions and values of Catholicism, also known as ‘the fist’ of the Catholic Church. The Knights operate from the Lower Castle under the leadership of Prelate Masalskis, Spiritual Councillor of Vilnius.

  Legion, The. An organisation of mercenaries responsible for public order and security in the Alliance cities. Legates are in charge of the legions in the cities.

  Navigator. A person responsible for flight planning in airships or control towers.

  Navigators’ Tower. A flight control centre in the Tower on the Hill of Gediminas in Vilnius, controlling and directing the incoming and outgoing dirigibles and other types of airships using light signals.