White Tiger (61 page)

“How astute of you,” I said. “Indeed I am.”

He turned his head and said to the soldiers, “Easy, lads. This one’s expected, after all.” To my relief they lowered their muskets, carefully thumbing the hammers forward.

The dwarf said, “Come inside. I’m Ludwig. What should I call you?”

“The name’s Manfred.” Thenck hadn’t asked. Perhaps he’d already known. He seemed to know everything else.

A distant cheer suddenly reached us from the direction of the city square, as a thousand throats cried their appreciation of a fine morning’s entertainment. My hand rose involuntarily to my throat. I didn’t have to be told the forger’s neck had just been stretched. I hoped he’d died quickly and without pain, for he’d suffered the fate that should have been mine.

Ludwig slapped the small of my back, being unable to reach my shoulders. “Cheer up! You look as if someone’s just walked over your grave. Come with me, I’ll take you upstairs to the laboratory. You’re very fortunate, you know. Not everybody gets to meet the great Doctor Schmidt.”

The dwarf slammed the door shut behind me just as the Duke’s Wardens came into view. It had been too close for comfort. Relief swept my guilt away and left me feeling light-headed and weak-kneed.

Ludwig waddled down the corridor, trailing his sword behind him. I followed meekly, until I drew level with the two sentries. The sight of their faces shocked me so much that I nearly recoiled in horror. They were so scarred and mutilated that it was difficult to imagine they might be human at all. Their flesh had been sewn together with rough stitches, and some of the pieces of skin didn’t seem to match. As a result, their bloodshot eyes were hooded, their mouths were lop-sided and their noses were shapeless lumps of flesh with oddly-matched holes. I’d never seen anything quite so hideous, yet they seemed unaware of my attention—either that, or they simply didn’t care what I thought of their skewed features. I recalled the scarves the highwaymen and the coach driver had worn, and guessed they must all be veterans of The War. Evidently they’d received horrendous injuries, and equally horrendous repair surgery.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” Ludwig said, sounding more amused than irritated. We continued along the hallway until we reached a flight of stairs. Ludwig began climbing with all the grace of a waddling duck. For some reason I couldn’t fathom, I experienced a wave of sympathy for Thenck’s servant, trapped in his tiny body.

We stepped into a laboratory. Several tables contained complex scientific apparatus—glass bottles connected by winding rubber tubes, unfamiliar machinery of unknown function that whirred and clicked and popped. A queer metallic smell filled the air but I couldn’t quite place its origin. Amber light streamed into the room through several high, narrow windows, illuminating the far wall, which oddly enough was fitted with sets of chains and manacles like those I’d left behind in the city gaol. The plaster was broken and stained, suggesting that whoever had been kept here had clawed at the wall in agony. Was this a laboratory, a prison or a torture chamber? Perhaps all three. None of what I saw placed me at ease.

A rotund, cheerfully smiling gentleman came into the room through another door. He wore a black uniform with an officer’s scarlet sash about his portly waist. The twin sawblades of the Imperial Medical Corps adorned his collar. His pale blue eyes peered at me through the thick lenses of his spectacles. He said, “Pray tell, who is this fine specimen, Ludwig?”

“Herr Thenck sent him, Doctor Schmidt,” Ludwig said. “He’s from the prison.” He waved his little hand in front of his nose. “Which explains the smell.”

Schmidt came to stand before me, apparently unaffected by how I looked or smelled. He studied me closely for a while and then, without asking permission, he prised my left eye wide open with his thumb and forefinger. I stood silently through this odd procedure, too surprised to object.

“Please unbutton your shirt,” Schmidt said. I did so. He lifted a shuttered storm lantern from one of the tables and opened it. Its heat burned my neck. “Good, very good,” he muttered under his breath. He closed the lantern and returned it to the table. I was about to button my shirt again when he said, “You were wounded in The War?”

He’d noticed the scar on my chest. “Yes. A Moskovian musket ball.”

“It penetrated the lung?”

“Yes.”

“You are very fortunate to be alive. A fraction to the left and the ball would have struck your heart. Do you have any difficulty in breathing?”

“Not now. Sometimes I have to sit down and rest after any strenuous exercise, however.”

He nodded, but asked no other questions.

“Well, Herr Doctor? Was I right?” Otto Thenck said. He’d been watching from another doorway. He entered the laboratory and moved to join Schmidt.

“Indeed you were,” Schmidt said. “The wounds show up clearly under the lamplight. But how did you know, Herr Thenck?”

Thenck didn’t answer. Instead he asked me, “Do you remember how and when it happened?”

“I was wounded in Moskovia,” I said, not at all sure what he was referring to.

Thenck looked at Schmidt, who said, “Once again we find that the victim remembers nothing of the incident. The filth are indeed skilful in masking their activities.” He pursed his lips. “The elixir will restore his lost memories. I see no reason why we should not proceed at once.”

“Neither do I,” Thenck said. “Go ahead, Herr Doctor.”

Lost memories? What in Hades’ name were they talking about? Schmidt picked up a stoppered glass bottle. He held it up to the light and shook it experimentally. Then he uncorked the bottle and turned to face me again.

“Stick out your tongue,” he ordered.

I hesitated, suspicious. Schmidt shook his head in obvious irritation. “There is nothing to fear. This will allow you to recall the memories that were deliberately hidden by the vampyre filth that drank your blood.”

“Drank my—? Are you insane?” The absurdity of his statement confused and angered me. Vampyres were mere creatures of legend. Mothers threatened unruly children that they’d be snatched from their beds by vampyres if they were naughty. Did Schmidt really expect me to believe such nonsense?

And yet—

And yet there had been stories. I’d heard soldiers who’d served with General Beethoven’s 5th Army in Transylvania speak of what they’d encountered in that dark, remote place. Of undead rising out of the ground. Of flying things in the night.

I shook my head. How could any intelligent man be expected to accept such fiction?

“Do as Doctor Schmidt says, Herr Manfred,” Thenck ordered in his soft, infinitely dangerous voice. He reminded me that this had nothing to do with fairy tales. The thought of a noose tightening about my neck made me open my mouth and stick my tongue out.

Slowly, carefully, Schmidt tilted the bottle until a single drop of green liquid left the neck and fell onto my tongue—

An avalanche of memories.

We’d met aboard the overnight coach traveling from Guttzeig to High Sazburg. After the first few stops at various mountain villages, we had the coach all to ourselves. It was a long trip and, as people do, we started talking. She told me her name was Frauline Ulrike Dornier, and that she was soon to be married to a sea captain who commanded one of the new ironclads of the Kaiserine’s Imperial High Seas Fleet. They planned to live in the port of Bremhagen and raise six children. In return, I told her I’d been recently invalided out of the Army because of the chest wound I’d sustained in Moskovia, and was journeying to High Sazburg to seek employment. A cousin who lived in the city had written to tell me that merchants were always looking for trustworthy bodyguards, and Army veterans received preferential consideration. I’d been exercising steadily since my release from military hospital, fencing twice a day to build up my strength and stamina. My shortness of breath only became a problem if I had to exert myself for prolonged periods.

We were getting along famously until I lifted the curtain to see where we were on the mountain road. A shaft of light from the rising moon struck Frauline Dornier and she recoiled from the window in shocked surprise. In the space of a single heartbeat she changed from a beautiful young woman to a snarling harpy with cat eyes and fangs as long as my fingers. She lunged at me, pinning me against my seat with fantastic strength. I tried to break free, but couldn’t. Her mouth opened wider than it should have been able to; her fangs grazed my neck—

I opened my eyes. Thenck and Schmidt were staring at me dispassionately, as if I were a specimen insect under the lens of a microscope, my wings spread and pinned, my belly ripe for the scalpel. I could only marvel at what Schmidt had done. My attacker had somehow concealed my recollection of her assault, but whatever Schmidt had given me had torn away her deception, revealing the entire disgusting business.

“Now do you remember what happened?” Thenck asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I remember only too well. There was—a woman. Or at least, I thought she was a woman….”

“She was vampyre,” Schmidt said, matter-of-factly. “She did not drink enough of your blood to kill you, therefore you are still alive, and still human. Had she drained you sufficiently for death to occur, you would now be vampyre yourself.” He took off his spectacles and began cleaning the thick lenses with the end of his officer’s sash. “Or, if she did not wish you to become vampyre at the moment of your death, you would have become a mindless undead zombie instead, rotting slowly until your body eventually fell apart. A far worse fate, as I’m sure you’ll agree?”

I touched my neck, and detected a ridge of healed flesh which I hadn’t even noticed before.
She was vampyre.
A shudder ran down my spine as the full implications of Schmidt’s words came to me.

“Explain the gift to Herr Manfred,” Thenck said.

Schmidt nodded. “When the vampyre bites its victim, not only does it extract blood upon which it feeds—some of its own bodily fluids enter the victim. This exchange prepares the victim for the extraordinary physical changes which will come about if and when said victim dies and becomes vampyre. The victim’s strength is increased and his or her senses become sharper, enhanced far beyond normality. This is known as the vampyre’s gift. It only lasts for a period of days, and will fade completely if the vampyre does not return to finish its dirty work.”

Given what I now knew, I had no reason to suppose he might be lying.

“I believe,” Thenck said, “this explains how you were able to fend off the Duke’s Wardens in the alley. When my Constables reported the incident to me, I knew there must be something special about you. I’m glad my instincts proved correct. Tell me, when did the vampyre attack you?”

“What? Oh—two nights ago.” I shuddered, picturing her hot feral eyes and her extended fangs, only too clearly.

“You’re certain?”

“I arrived in High Sazburg only yesterday aboard the coach from Guttzeig, so yes, I’m certain. Why?”

Schmidt said, “It is likely that the vampyre’s gift still flows in your veins. As I have already intimated, it will fade soon—perhaps tonight, or tomorrow, who can say? Fortunately, Herr Thenck arranged to have you brought here in time. I am unable to initiate the start of the transformation from human to vampyre—only one of
them
can do that—but my elixir will stop the vampyre’s gift from fading, and will also permit the change to continue.”

I stared at Schmidt blankly, wondering whether I’d heard correctly. “May I ask what you mean when you say ‘continue,’ Herr Doctor?” I asked.

“Come, Herr Manfred,” Thenck said, “you are not a child, and can be trusted to draw logical conclusions. The vampyre’s gift allowed you to defeat the Duke’s Wardens. Without it, they would have cut you into very small pieces. I instructed Doctor Schmidt to give you his elixir because without it, the vampyre’s gift would soon have left you. The elixir is already working, pulsing through your bloodstream, transforming you into a vampyre.” He quickly held up a hand, stopping me before I could protest further. “Long before the transformation is complete, you will either have won or lost in the Arena. If you are still alive at the end of the contest, Doctor Schmidt will give you the counter-elixir he has developed. This will halt the change, and return you to your human state. Is this not so, Herr Doctor?”