Tales of the Shadowmen 4: Lords of Terror

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  “Am I supposed to be impressed? You already knew this. Parker gave you Kaitlin’s file.”

  “We’ve both been fed false information. I never met Kaitlin before in my life.”

  “You met her at an English boarding school before she moved to Paris.”

  “I was never at an English boarding school.”

  “Yes, you were. Victor Chupin sent you there to escape the Nihilists.”

  “What Nihilists?”

  “The Nihilists who murdered your mother.”

  “My mother?”

  “Countess Yalta.”

  “Countess Yalta is not my mother! My mother’s Victoire Chupin! I’m Irene!”

  Irina felt trapped in a nightmare of her own making. Her own lies were now being used against her. Eva Relli must belong to the Black Coats. She had manipulated Rosette Trevor into contacting Irina to find Berenice, and had reported the cover story the detective had told them.

  The pendulum plunged to four feet above Irina. Milady was outraged by Irina’s claims.

  “You lie! Irene’s dead!”

  “Compare the names Irina Putine and Irene Tupin.”

  “Victor Chupin gave you the alias of Irina Putine as a homage to his late niece.”

  “I know all the contents of your letters to Irene. I can prove it, too. Ask me any question.”

  “A pointless exercise. My letters must have come into Victor Chupin’s possession. He showed them to you after seeing my real name in Kaitlin’s file.”

  “But the letters were signed Blythe Furnace.”

  “The truth could easily be deduced. The same initials. The surname. Your claims are ludicrous. You have a pair of hands.”

  “My hands are the result of an experiment by a surgeon named Cerral.”

  “Most ingenious. I learned of Dr. Cerral while researching your Russian mother. You must have kept abreast of what transpired at the hospital named after your mother and used his theories as part of your ploy.”

  “Check the scars on my wrists!”

  “The result of a suicide attempt during your imprisonment by the Nihilists.”

  The blade was swinging two feet above Irina.

  “Koluchy hated your mother, because she beat her. She secretly loathes you too. She only wants to manipulate you into killing your best friend!”

  “Parker must have told you about the false rumor that Madame Koluchy ordered the destruction of my mother’s school...”

  “She did! She worked in concert with Josephine. They were both beaten by your mother–just as I was! I couldn’t tell you that in my letters.”

  The blade now dangled only a foot above Irina’s neck.

  “Stop lying about my mother!” screamed Milady.

  “At school–in the storeroom–there, you told me things that were not in your letters. Your greatest fear...”

  “You’re stalling for time!”

  The blade was beginning its final descent.

  “Be very careful now,” hissed Milady. “The blade’s even with your chin.”

  The blade rotated to the right.

  “Berenice, your greatest fear was becoming...”

  Irina stopped talking as the blade passed over her Adam’s apple and swooshed to the left.

  “...someone like your mother.”

  Irina closed her eyes in anticipation of her own death, but it did not come. She opened her eyes. Milady had pressed the switch to stop the blade. Its edge was an inch from slicing the left side of her neck. The shackles sprang open. Moving slowly to her right, Irina rose from the slab.

  “Irene,” sobbed Milady.

  “Yes–Berenice.”

  “I’m not the girl from the storeroom anymore... I was full of despair when I thought you died. I wanted to strike out at the world. Koluchy offered me power. You wouldn’t understand...”

  “I understand all too well. Your mother and Josephine made me the same offer.”

  Milady opened Kaitlin’s cell door with her keys.

  “Kaitlin de Winter, I grant you your freedom. You know the exits from this building, Please take Irene to safety.”

  “Kaitlin, why did you keep that dedication page torn from Oliver Twist?” asked Irina, helping the other woman to get back to her feet.

  “At the Institution Bachelard, Berenice claimed to have proof that I had vandalized her quarters. I went to see her with the page, hoping to trade it in exchange for her silence. But I was overpowered by her and Koluchy. During my years of servitude, my only comfort was prayer. Reading your inscription reminded me to pray.”

  “You’ll soon all be saying your prayers!” said a woman’s voice.

  The wall mirror had swung open, revealing a secret passage behind it.

  Madame Koluchy emerged with a pistol. Following her were Dr. Mabuse and Count Corbucci, both armed with pistols, Josephine Balsamo, Eva Relli, the Pallid Mask, armed with his sickle, and a woman with black hair. She pointed to her uniform.

  “My Black Skirt unicorn lured you here,” announced the woman in an unmistakable Cockney accent.

  “Purity Parker!” said Irina.

  “No, I’m Maude North,” said the Black Skirt, switching to a cultured voice. “The Pallid Mask is Mr. North. The real Purity accepted my offer to take a joint vacation to Paris and I used a blonde wig to impersonate her. My husband’s blade never touched my face. A vial of pig’s blood was concealed in my hand. I streaked my face with it before falling into the Seine and swimming to safety with your 50,000 francs. After that, we killed the real Purity, disfigured her and threw her body into the river.”

  While the others covered the three women with their guns, Josephine strolled over to the pendulum. By manipulating the switches, she retracted the deadly blade back to its original height.

  “Dr. Mabuse’s concept of an Espionage Hotel came from this prototype,” explained Eva, pointing at the mirror. “It’s enabled us to see everything.”

  “Milady, lie down on the slab,” said Koluchy. “Maude and Eva, restrain the others.”

  After Milady had complied, Josephine closed the shackles. Maude held Irina’s arms from behind. Eva did the same to Kaitlin.

  Josephine pulled out one of the needles from the ball of thread on the table.

  “You shouldn’t have mocked my title, Berenice. And you not even being a true ‘Milady.’ But I remembered a letter to Irene, from my days as a censor, describing a necklace in the shape of a cat’s head–a gift from an admirer to the writer. Seeing that necklace around your neck, I suspected you were Blythe Furnace. Your prisoner’s real personnel file later identified you as Berenice Fourneau.”

  Irina had also recognized the necklace, but the false personnel file had misled her. It depicted the jewelry as property stolen from Berenice by Kaitlin.

  “Josephine came to me after she deduced your identity,” said Koluchy. “She warned me that you might betray us if you ever found out that Irina Putine was your best friend, Irene Chupin. For years, Eva Relli had been spying on your aunt. We arranged this affair to test your loyalty. Josephine’s title of nobility is hereby restored as reward for her cleverness. Her executive rank is also restored. You’re the branch that needs cutting, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll appeal to the High Council,” said Berenice. “Dr. Nikola won’t permit this.”

  “He can speak for himself!” said Count Corbucci. “Antonio, please join us.”

  Nikola entered from the wall panel.

  “Excellency, do I have your permission to speak freely to the condemned?”

  Corbucci nodded his head in approval. Nikola treaded slowly towards the woman he had known as Milady. His hand brushed the ball of thread with the remaining needle. He stoked the hair of his shackled lover gently.

  “Berenice, I owe everything I am to the Black Coats. They rescued me from starvation in Cuba. I cannot defy them. Not even for you.”

  Nikola bent down and kissed her on the lips. As he walked away, he spied Irina being held by Maude. Nikola moved in fro
nt of the detective. He seized her wrists.

  “I curse the day when my precious Milady befriended you.”

  Nikola spat in Irina’s face and then released her hands. He turned to Corbucci.

  “I do not need to witness this execution, Excellency. I ask permission to return to my hotel.”

  Although a ruthless man, Corbucci possessed genuine affection for Nikola. He sensed the younger man’s need for solace.

  “Your request is granted, Antonio. Furthermore, I shall accompany you.”

  Corbucci and Nikola left the dungeon.

  “I know why you’re doing this, Koluchy!” said Berenice. “My mother isn’t the only reason. There’s Antonio! You couldn’t stand the thought of another woman in your ex-fiancé’s arms!”

  “Countess Cagliostro, perform your duty. Cut the branch!” ordered Koluchy.

  Standing over Berenice’s right side, Josephine raised the needle like a sacrificial knife.

  “You will die by the pendulum, but you will only hear the blade. I’m removing your other eye.”

  While the Black Coats focused their attention on Josephine, another needle dropped from Irina’s right sleeve into her hand.

  She stabbed Maude’s left hand. Crying in pain, the woman let go of her grip on the detective. Irina broke completely free and sprang toward the slab. She pushed the outermost lever forward. Berenice’s shackles snapped open. Irina then tackled Josephine.

  Berenice whirled off the slab. Mabuse and Koluchy both fired their pistols, but the shots missed. A swift leg kick from the one-eyed woman hit Koluchy in the stomach. She collapsed, overcome by pain. Berenice then delivered a brutal punch to Mabuse’s face. He, too, fell unconscious.

  Meanwhile, Eva Relli was struggling to restrain Kaitlin. Busting loose, the former schoolgirl had turned around and delivered a devastating series of blows to the blonde woman’s body.

  The Pallid Mask swung his sickle at Berenice’s head, but it passed harmlessly over her as she dropped to the ground. Swinging around, her extended right leg hit the man’s feet. He smashed into the ground. Maude’s uninjured hand snatched Mabuse’s gun from the ground, but Berenice was faster and grabbed her arm. The Pallid Mask got up and sprang forward, lunging with his sickle. Berenice threw Maude in his direction. The blade pierced her stomach.

  “Juan...” gasped Maude as she died.

  Dropping his sickle, the speechless Pallid Mask let his wife’s body slump to the floor. He gripped Berenice’s throat with both hands. The one-eyed woman delivered two karate chops to her antagonist’s arms. The Mask released his clasp. Plucking the man’s right arm, Milady flipped him off his feet. As the chalk-faced assailant was lifting himself up, she kicked him in the jaw. The Pallid Mask crumbled in a senseless heap.

  Berenice saw Kaitlin standing above a vanquished Eva. Irina and Josephine, however, were still struggling on the ground. The needles were in each combatant’s right hand. Each woman was holding the other’s wrist with her free hand.

  Berenice seized the back of Josephine’s neck and pulled her away from Irina. The blonde woman dropped her needle. Berenice then shoved Josephine into Kaitlin’s former cell and locked the door. With Irina and Kaitlin’s help, she deposited the other Black Coats in neighboring cells.

  “You’ll regret sparing my life!” screamed Josephine from her cell. “I know how you escaped. Nikola hid the other needle up his sleeve before kissing you. He then slipped it to Irina and maneuvered Corbucci to safety. Koluchy will figure out everything. Someone will die for this. Cut the branch! This time, that branch will be your lover!”

  “I doubt it. Antonio will question Koluchy’s motives in engineering my disgrace. Allegations about her hatred for my mother will be tabled. Koluchy can’t afford another fight with the Alumni. You’re a more convenient branch! This is your third failure! Farewell–Countess!”

  “What happened to Kaitlin and Berenice after your escape?” asked Victor Chupin.

  Irina was briefing her uncle at the Chupin Detective Agency.

  “Kaitlin insisted on being taken to the home of Baron Gruner. He should protect her from any further persecution. Before leaving London, Berenice burglarized Maude’s apartment. Here are the 50,000 francs that Maude stole from us. Earlier in the dungeon, Berenice detached the Medina blade from the torture device. We delivered it to the Vollin estate. This is Roger’s check for its retrieval. Berenice’s staying as a guest of the Vollins for the present.”

  “Roger has an impressionable 14-year-old son. I hope Berenice doesn’t give young Richard any bad ideas. We need to discuss one final matter, your new assistant.”

  “This employment contract merely needs your signature. My choice wasn’t on the list.”

  “This contract is for Blythe Furnace!”

  “Berenice is reviving her old alias.”

  “But I said it had to be someone with top credentials.”

  “Besides the skills of an Iga ninja, Blythe possesses a rich knowledge of the London underworld. And she solved a mystery that even stumped you: The Case of the Purloined Pendulum.”

  “This isn’t funny, Irina! The woman’s a homicidal lunatic. She nearly beheaded you.”

  “A clear misunderstanding–atoned for by her subsequent actions.”

  “Not in my eyes! Let her seeks atonement in a nunnery or an asylum.”

  “If you persist, I might resign and open a competing agency with her.”

  Victor Chupin sighed. He couldn’t bear the thought of a separation from his niece. Reluctantly signing the contract, he silently prayed that this document wasn’t her death warrant.

  Like Harry Dickson and Fascinax, the Sâr Dubnotal is another anonymously-created hero from the French pre-World War I pulps. Some have credited writer Norbert Sevestre for the creation of this early master of the mystic arts, but that is very much in doubt. Roman Leary, who is new to Tales of the Shadowmen, has chosen to co-star this supernatural defender with another crime-fighter, also forged amongst the Tibetan snows. It is in New York’s notorious Hell’s Kitchen district that the two meet in a tale entitled...

  Roman Leary: The Evils Against Which We Strive

  New York, 1927

  I will never forget the day I saw the stranger standing outside Miss Nolan’s door. I have made many memories since that distant summer day in 1927, but few are as vivid as the sight of that extraordinary man. His stylish morning coat would have been enough to mark him as a man apart in the Hell’s Kitchen tenement where I lived, but it was merely incidental compared to the multicolored sash he wore about his waist, or the immaculate white turban that crowned his head. His angular features were framed by a neatly trimmed beard which was only a few shades darker than his deeply-tanned skin.

  I was only nine years old, and I had never seen such a man outside of the illustrations in a copy of Arabian Nights. I was watching him nervously through a crack in my own front door and wondering what he could possibly want with Miss Nolan, when he suddenly turned and looked directly at me. I felt an ice pick stab of panic, but something kept me from slamming the door and shooting the bolt. Instead, I simply peered back at the man and we regarded one another for a long, silent moment. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.

  “It is all right, lad,” he said. “You can come out if you like. I am a friend.”

  His English was flawless, but heavy with an accent that I was too provincial and inexperienced to recognize. I could only imagine what my father would say if he caught me speaking to this man, one of the “dam’ foreigners” he sometimes ranted about in his drunken tirades. Fortunately, Da was passed out on our tattered sofa and I knew from long experience that he wouldn’t be awake for many hours yet. So, curiosity overpowering my fear, I stepped into the hallway.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” said the man. “I am the Sâr Dubnotal, the Great Psychagogue, called by some the Napoleon of the Intangible.” He gave a deep bow and then, to my great relief, he added, “But you can call me Doctor.”

/>   He gazed at me expectantly with his piercing green eyes. I knew I should say something, but I was in such a state of awe that I could only stand and gape. For an awful moment, I almost ran back into my apartment, but then I thought of Miss Nolan and how disgusted she would be if I behaved in such a cowardly way. She had been very impatient with me lately, and I didn’t want the stranger to tell her I had been rude to him. I forced myself to stand up straight and hold out my hand.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor,” I said. “I’m Nick.”

  “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Nick,” said the Doctor, and he shook my hand as if I were another splendid gentleman like himself, rather than a pale, sickly boy dressed in rags.

  Emboldened by his friendliness, I asked, “Where are you from, sir?”

  “Many places,” he said, “but France is the country I call my home.”

  I brightened considerably. “I know about France! Miss Nolan gave me a copy of The Three Musketeers. It was a hard book, but when I finished it, she took me to the zoo. Do you know Miss Nolan?”

  “Should I?”

  “I thought you were getting ready to knock on her door.”

  “Ah,” said the Doctor. “As it happens, I do not know Miss Nolan, but I would very much like to meet her. Do you know if she is at home?”

  “No, sir, she’s at her bookshop.”

  “Her bookshop? She is the proprietor?”

  “She used to just work there, but the old lady who owned it died, and she left it to Miss Nolan in her will.”

  “Remarkable,” said the Doctor. “Do you know the name of this bookshop, Nick? Or where I can find it?”

  I was about to answer, and then I caught myself. Why was I telling so much to this strange man? What if he wanted to hurt Miss Nolan?

  “I promise I do not mean any harm to Miss Nolan,” the Doctor said.