Geist intermezzo, p.4
Geist Intermezzo, page 4
Away from the others, Beatrice leaned against a column of steel, flicking her lighter on and off. Ingrid floated by her side, staring at the flames. Beatrice wondered why the girl wore that raven-beaked mask to begin with. And yet, the longer she speculated, the more she felt something groping in her skull. It made her mind ache and burn.
Is she deformed? A leper? Or maybe just psychotic.
“It keeps the voices of others at bay,” Ingrid said. “My mind is my own.”
Beatrice shot her a disturbed glare. “You seem to have no trouble tuning in.”
“On another note,” Ingrid sighed, “you are not from here.”
“I swear to God, if one more of you discredits me because of that—”
“You are not alone.” Ingrid turned to her. “Three days ago, I felt a presence warp from the aether into Holy Gothica. The Inquisition answered accordingly. Yes, they were sent after a young man you call Victor. This all makes sense now.”
“How you do know all that?” Beatrice asked. “I mean, I already knew, but still….”
“Like I said, I hear many things.”
Beatrice looked away. “You don’t need to act so tough.”
“And you do?”
“Touché.” Beatrice held back a smile. “I was never good at making friends either.”
“Try being locked away in the Leper Quarter,” Ingrid quipped. “The other children are not kind there.” There was a long pause. “Do I frighten you too? Be honest—”
Just then, the world regained color. The telescreens flashed on and a searchlight fell upon them. There was a blaring alarm, and without a second’s pause the gaius lunged from around the bend, charging in full force—something out of a soldier’s fever dream.
Hurdling over the railing, Beatrice bolted down the lower walkway as fast as her legs could carry her, feeling the rickety mesh quake under the gaius’s hooves. Ducking into random passages, she felt its tall shadow just behind. She dove and hid in an elevator, pressing behind its wall, catching her breath. As the moments passed, Beatrice thought she’d lost it.
Thank God.
Taking a few steps, she felt bits of debris fall on her head. She crept towards the stairway until a wire wrapped around her boots. Beatrice fell face first on the mesh, dragged away by the cable, shredding her brow against the floor. When the gaius halted, she was surrounded by a death squad of stormtroopers. Dazed, she was dragged up by gloved hands. Beatrice saw a shadow on the upper catwalk, leaning against a floodlight.
Who the hell are you?
Was it Ingrid hiding along the parapets? The stalker from before? Or someone else entirely? Even as the troopers pulled a black bag over her head, Beatrice knew the truth. She would not be held in their cells for long. A world of fog awaited her.
Just make it quick, Dollmaker….
CHAPTER FOUR
The clock struck three in the morning as Victor heard a strange song over the radios of Yoshiwara. It wasn’t the electro-jazz so common here, but a classical piano piece, akin to Chopin’s impromptus. Reaching into his pockets, Victor drew crinkled sheets of staff paper. Restless, he ran a hand through his hair, clicking a pen repeatedly, but was devoid of musical inspiration. And so Victor shut his eyes, trying to remember the Waking World.
Home….
It was impossibly far away, past Gotland’s distant shores and nameless stars. The dull greyness of reality. Victor never thought he’d miss it. But now, the gaslights and billiards of Yoshiwara were all he knew. Outside, red paper lanterns swayed in a haze of cigarette smoke. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Victor’s eyes opened to Charles’s weathered face.
“Homesick too, huh?” His friend gave a sad smile. “Don’t worry, man. We’ll figure this shit out.” With that, he walked towards the suites. “Really, though. You should get some rest.”
“Yeah,” Victor said to himself.
Above, the rafters creaked rhythmically. He’d almost forgotten this was a brothel. Victor stood up and wandered to the “library,” welcomed by silence and dusty shelves of erotica. He flipped through one of the novellas, only to find illustrations that would make a porn star blush. He returned it to the shelf and approached the back bar.
The odyssey was taking its toll.
“Same room as before?” the barkeep asked, polishing the same mug over and over. “Yeah, I recognize you. Room 336, right?”
“Whatever’s open.” Victor handed the barkeep a few thalers and took the copper key with trembling fingers. “I just need to pass out.”
“Have a good one,” the barkeep grunted. “She’s been expecting you.”
She? Who are you talking about?
Victor shoved his hands into his pockets and walked up the stairwell until he recognized the crimson corridors from his misadventures yesterday, passing by candlelight and stained glass windows. But it did not dawn on him, not until he knocked on that door again and Yuko opened it wide, dressed in a black lace corset, garters, fishnets, and thigh-high boots.
A woman of rivets and stitches. Not quite human, yet nonetheless alluring.
“Back for more?” Her lips curled into a smile.
“H-huh?” Victor’s eyes jerked wide. “Oh, hey. H-how are you?”
“Alive,” Yuko sighed. “And you?”
“Confused, about to pass out, but triumphant. Charles is downstairs. A lot can happen in a day.” Victor chuckled. “My God, do I have stories to tell you.”
“Looks like you could use another drink. Come on in.”
“I swear, I’m going to be an alcoholic by the time I leave this city.”
As they sat in that suite of scarlet velvet, Victor and Yuko talked for a while. Lying on the heart-shaped bed, he stared at the silver chandelier. He smiled, feeling her smooth hand over his, but more than anything, Victor was happy to have a simple break from all this.
To see her again.
“Huh,” Yuko said. “You never mentioned the other friend by name. Or is she more of an acquaintance?” She passed Victor a glass of warm sake. “I know Beatrice too. She’s a spunky chick. Comes here a lot. One of the few who even bother to stand up for the likes of us.”
“The oppressed?” Victor asked. “I see.”
“As a ‘filthy whore,’ the Imperium doesn’t give a shit about me.” She looked Victor in the eye. “But something else was bothering me. Yesterday, you mentioned that the Inquisition thinks you’re the Far Messiah? That’s a bold claim. No offense, but you don’t look it.”
“Yeah.” Victor cradled his aching skull. “I…I don’t really know anymore.”
Yuko looked away. “This seems like something you either are or aren’t. I said it once, but be careful out there. I hear the Inquisition is really cracking down on heretics.”
“It’s not that simple,” Victor said. “I only want one thing right now. To make sure my friends are okay. I found Charles, but that was lucky.” He turned to the clock on the nightstand. “Who knows, I might run out of time soon.”
“Well, it’s sweet that you care so much.” Yuko smiled. “You’re a good friend.”
“I should pay you to be my damn therapist, at this rate.”
Yuko shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”
“Anyway.” Victor stared out the window. “Have you heard anything about Beatrice?”
“Not much,” Yuko said. “Tomorrow I can hook you up with her people, though.”
“Thanks.” Victor turned away, his mind flooded with doubt and self-loathing. “I’m such an idiot. Blathering to someone I barely know about…well, everything. Thanks again, though.” He tried to stifle his anxious shakes. “And for the record. If things were different I…. “
Victor’s throat ran dry. He tried to formulate words instead of squeaking noises. But the way Yuko moved and talked, it was something out of vintage erotica. Her alabaster skin, her emerald eyes, her ruby lips. Before Victor knew it, her lilac perfume enveloped him like a tide of desire. His body acted before he could even think, inching closer to her.
“What?” Yuko bit her lip. “You’d totally fuck me? I’m not stupid.”
Abort, Victor. Abort.
“If it makes you feel better.” She laid a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eye. “It’s not every day a cute wallflower comes down here. I may have to indulge too—”
A pounding explosion quaked the room, and the Iron Sky flashed and sizzled, quaking as debris came crashing onto the rooftops like a hailstorm of steel. Alarms blared in the distance as Victor spun to the window. A distant reactor erupted like an industrial volcano, neon fire and vapor flowing across the Outer Wall.
“W-what was that?!” Victor’s voice cracked.
“It’s cool.” Yuko was completely unfazed, turning to the window. “Looks like your friend did her job. And the fallout can’t reach Yoshiwara. Well, from there….”
“That was the Powder Kegs?!”
“Yeah,” Yuko said. “The cleaning crews will be there tomorrow, before it reaches too many districts. Then it will be documented as a demolition exercise gone wrong.”
“What are they?” Victor mustered. “Really? Some kind of rebel insurgency?”
Yuko watched the flames die. “Ask the Inquisition, they’ll call them terrorists. Ask the downtrodden, they’ll call them freedom fighters. Considering what we put up with….”
“So, Beatrice really is one of them?” Victor’s heart sank, trying to calm down. “But still, you’d set us up with militants and guerrillas?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Great idea.”
Yuko rolled her eyes. “Please, the Powder Kegs are just a bunch of good people in a horrible situation. Lepers, gypsies, the poor. They’re all trying to make the world a better place.” She looked away. “It’s the only real hope this city has, and—”
“They bomb reactors,” Victor interrupted. “Real progressive.”
“Would you rather leave things the way they are?”
“No,” he said. “This place is horrible, but it could also be worse.”
“And how?” Yuko glared. “How could this place be worse?”
“Something is better than nothing.” He returned the scowl. “In other words, it could be a failed state governed by a reign of terror. Where I come from, history repeats itself, and it’s wide-eyed rebels who make it happen.”
“How isn’t this a failed state?” Yuko snapped. “You know they’re all for establishing a better future. You don’t need to be a leper to wind up in the ghettos.”
Victor’s mouth went dry.
“That’s what I thought.” Yuko turned to the lamp. “Anyway, I’m going to power-down for the night. Even I need some time to recharge, you know—”
Something metal knocked on the door. “Yuko,” said a familiar yet mechanical voice. “Your pardon, but I would like to have a word.”
“W-what the—?” Yuko opened the door, her voice dripping with venom. “Oh. It’s you.”
Thaddeus stood outside the door, sheepishly. “I seek to apologize for my behavior earlier,” he said. “I am no longer an agent of the Inquisition. I am— Well, I don’t know what I am anymore. To think the Powder Kegs were once my enemies. Regardless, Victor and I are still after our murderer, who so plagues your sisterhood, and due to our excommunication—”
“Wait. You’re still looking for the Dollmaker? Even after getting blacklisted?” Yuko folded her arms. “I find that very hard to believe. What do you really want?”
“I want you to take us to Ludwig, the Leper King.”
“Excuse me,” she snorted. “That’s a good one.”
“If we are to find Beatrice, which Victor has no doubt told you, then I must ask for your cooperation,” Thaddeus replied. “Many more lives are at stake here.”
“All right. But do you trust him?” Yuko turned to Victor. “Is he really your friend?”
Victor nodded. “Without him, I’d be dead by now.”
There was a somber look in Thaddeus’s eyes.
“I can buy that,” Yuko said. “I’ll take you there tomorrow. But if you try anything, I can’t say they’ll take kindly to it, Thaddeus. There’s a reason the Powder Kegs have gotten away with so much. We keep our secrets even better than the Inquisition.”
“Understood.” Thaddeus closed the door, slowly. “I shall…leave you two be.”
With that, Yuko attached a pair of cables to her neck. She turned off the lights and eyes dimmed. Victor heard her “heartbeat,” pondering just how mechanical Yuko was. She breathed even in sleep mode. Then it occurred to him—Victor pined after two women now.
A hooker with a literal heart of gold, and…Beatrice.
Whether desperate, lonely, or emotionally repressed, Victor didn’t know. When he dozed off, he saw images of civil war and guillotines, having second thoughts about all this.
Terrorists and freedom fighters…the same thing through different filters.
CHAPTER FIVE
Victor’s eyes fluttered open to cobalt lights, gazing upon a ceiling of baroque murals. He rose and walked past row upon row of cushioned seats. And so, Victor heard the unseen choir and orchestra again, as if tuning before a great concert. He knew where he was.
The Opera House? Again?
Victor turned his head, seeing the Impresario in his wheelchair before the silver screen. He clasped his wrists—the chandelier made his skin glisten, like a puppet of pale wood.
The proprietor’s grin widened. “Welcome back.”
Victor did not reply, staring at the gentleman with narrowing eyes.
“Your manners could use some refining,” the Impresario said. “No matter. You are fast asleep in the world of men. And I would not summon you here without purpose, Victor.”
“You’re not going to lecture on about destiny, are you?”
“No,” the Impresario said. “Not tonight at any rate. It is concerning Beatrice.” He shuffled the tarot deck with dexterous skill. “Indeed, a shadow lingers in the corners of your mind. This is not the same love you felt for Charles. In fact, I would not call it love at all.” He chuckled. “You hardly know her, and yet….”
Victor’s face turned beet red. “S-so what?”
“I have gazed into countless futures since this world’s genesis.” The Impresario sighed. “A thousand roads with a thousand endings. Even in all those possibilities, I do not see your destinies becoming one and true. Such is the will of the arcana.”
Victor looked away, feeling more than a twinge of disappointment. “I don’t need to know the future. I can find my own path. And if that doesn’t work out, well....”
“Spoken like a true fool.” The Impresario drew a card from the Imperial Tarot. The image of Dante was projected onto the screen, a Venetian knight crowned with rabbit ears, clutching a halberd, its blade curved as the crescent moon. “These feelings are yet another trial.”
“So,” Victor said, “don’t get my hopes up?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the Impresario replied. “But know this. Many a hero was driven by such emotion. Even Dante, guided through the heavenly spheres by courtly love.”
Victor lowered his head. “What should I do?”
“I think you know my answer already.” The Impresario’s smile returned. “Use the power of geist, and use it well. However, be warned, I sense a rival ahead of you.”
Victor didn’t understand. “A rival?”
“In due time you will learn,” the Impresario said. “Not all persons blessed by the geists are noble of heart. Some are wracked by the chaos of their ids, and some have such power thrust upon them. Grafted into their very souls.” He nodded as waking fog rolled into vision, and the Music began to fade. “Alas, the night is waning. Good luck, Victor.”
#
When Victor awoke, Yuko was not beside him. A chill ran through the mid-morning air. He got out of bed and walked to the fireplace, warming his hands above the cinders and smoke. The flames reminded him of Yuko’s flowing locks. Despite everything, Beatrice was still lingering in his mind. If she was alive, Victor would find her, and then….
Well, I never was a good planner.
With that, he put on his tattered trench coat and propped its collar. Downstairs, Thaddeus and Charles were already in the billiard room, playing cards at a back table. The inquisitor’s respirator was loosened, allowing him to sip at a cup of mint tea. Charles’s long, silver hair hung down his back as he fiddled with a pair of tie-dyed dice. The aged hipster waved, swallowing a mouthful of clam chowder.
“Welcome back!” he called.
“Hey,” Victor yawned. “What time is it?”
Thaddeus checked the grandfather clock. “Twenty past eleven. I was about to wake you. But where is this Yuko of yours? Still asleep at this hour?”
“I don’t think she sleeps, per se,” Victor replied. “She wasn’t there when I got up.”
“The sooner we embark to the rebel headquarters, the better. I desire a base of operations.” He looked about. “At least, one that isn’t a miserable brothel.”
Victor pulled up a chair. “What are we playing?”
“Tarocchi, or ‘trumps,’ to the common folk,” Thaddeus said. “The Imperial Tarot may be a tool of divination, but in the hands of most, it is a simple card game. Indeed, Leng taught me how to play.” He dealt the Fool, much to Charles’s dismay. “Victory is mine, again.”
Charles wiped his glasses clean. “Damn, that’s two to none.”
“On another note,” Thaddeus said. “We never formally discussed if you are joining Victor and me in the investigation. What say you, Charles?”
Victor smiled, already knowing his answer.
“Seriously?” Charles laughed, propping his boots against the table, kicking the chair back. “What else am I going to do here? Smoke weed and do cheap comedy?”
