Dieselpunk: An Anthology (27 page)

Tabitha crossed the room to the bed just as she had been told, her mind struggling to stop each step of her foot. Rasputin turned down the lamps and blew out the candles as she was turning to sit on the bed, her bloody buffalo coat still on. She stayed that way, her mind screaming curses at Rasputin, as he left the room. She imagined all the things she would do to him when she regained control while listening to the gypsies make their music and dance.

Tabitha used to like gypsy music and always enjoyed a good fiddle player. Along with her curses, she now promised herself she’d break the next violin she saw.

Time passed and Tabitha continued cursing Rasputin. The already dim light disappeared entirely. Eventually, The Mad Monk returned, sweat streaming down his body. The smell of vodka filled the air. He shut the door behind him and walked unsteadily around the room lighting lamps. After the room was lit, Rasputin went to the washbasin, sparing her a glance and a grin. Rasputin turned his back to her and washed his face and neck, then stripped to the waist and washed his hairy chest and armpits. Tabitha saw that his back was crisscrossed with purple welts, scars, and scabbed-over wounds. The Templar could see a thin string of twine hanging around his neck.

Rasputin went to the wardrobe and removed a cat-o-nine-tails from it. As he walked towards her, Tabitha could see that the twine held a long piece of white, cylindrical leather that was at least nine-inches long. Tabitha’s mind screamed. The mad monk walked into the middle of the room and knelt down, his back to Tabitha. He removed the item from his neck and laid it beside him. Rasputin began to whip himself violently, striking over his shoulders at his back, opening the scabs and creating new ones. All the while he chanted loudly in Greek or Latin; Tabitha couldn’t tell.

After half an hour of his flagellation, his back was a raw mess of cuts. Rasputin replaced the necklace and stood. Tabitha could see that the rivulets of blood streaming down his back continued, but the cuts stopped their flow. Scabs had begun to form immediately, and the newly opened ones were beginning to knit again. The Mad Monk removed a towel from near the washbasin and wiped his back as clean of blood as best he could.

He removed his pants silently and pulled on a pair of blue velvet ones. Next, Rasputin drew out a light-blue shirt and, wincing a little, slipped into it. He buttoned it as far as he could, but couldn’t get the top one. He fumbled as he looked into the wardrobe mirror a moment more but, frustrated and drunk, still couldn’t get the last button. The Mad Monk came over and stood in front of Tabitha.

“Stand,” he slurred.

Tabitha stood.

“Help me,” he said, indicating the button with a finger. Tabitha’s hands reached up and buttoned the shirt for him, her mind all the while struggling to crush his windpipe with her fingers. When she was finished, he checked the work and said, “
Spasiba
.” He turned and walked across the room and stopped at the chair. He moved the bag from the seat and dropped it heavily on the floor. He then collapsed into the chair.

Rasputin leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looked at Tabitha. “Sit,” he said. Tabitha sat. The Mad Monk
harumphed
and sat back in the chair, arms on the rests. “You know, my dear, when I have all my forces aligned, I will control this country. I will bend it to my will, and to the way of the true God,” he said. “Nothing your false Church or any of these petty governments will do can stop me. Nor will the people. The people are stupid. The Workers’ Party. They are short-sighted. They do not know the true fraternity of man. That is only for God and for myself.” He looked up to the ceiling and touched the object that hung from his neck. “With this, I can control men and women. I can break their minds eventually. This whole world will be redeemed after it experiences the true depths of sin.” He moved his gaze from the ceiling to Tabitha. He stood, weaving a little in his drunkenness, and stared at Tabitha. He blinked heavily and crossed the room. He was almost to her when there was another knock at the door.

Rasputin cursed loudly. He yelled something in Russian. This time an older woman’s voice replied. Rasputin’s eyes brightened and he replied in Russian. He looked down at Tabitha. “My friend Felix has arrived,” Rasputin said, that damned smile creeping across his face again. “Stay right there, my dear. I will return shortly.” He turned down the lamps and left the room, saying something to someone in the hallway as he walked out.

He shut the door and left Tabitha. At least there wasn’t any more gypsy music.

Time passed just as it had before. After a few hours, Tabitha refocused her vision. A silhouette, maybe a man, was moving in front of the open door. She didn’t think it was Rasputin, it was too short. Besides, Rasputin had been careful to shut the door all the times before. But, then again, he had already been drunk before. Maybe he was even drunker now and had stopped paying attention to the details. The Templar hoped it wasn’t him. She could tell what he had planned for her, and she didn’t think she could bear that on top of everything so far.

“Dame Piotrowski?” asked the silhouette. Tabitha recognized the voice. “Are you well, Tabitha?”

It was Gurdjieff. She didn’t know if she should rejoice or curse him. He’d pointed her here after all. He stopped in front of her and looked down into her unflinching gaze. Gurdjieff shook his bald head, whispering something in a foreign language. “This is not what I intended. I had hope that you would have killed The Mad Monk.” He waved a hand in front of her, but the Templar couldn’t react.

Then he snapped his fingers in front of her face. Her muscles went slack and she slumped to the side with the bad shoulder. Her back immediately tensed again as the pain came roaring back.

“
Rasputin,” Tabitha hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m going to gut that cocksucker.”

“
I know,” Gurdjieff said, as he helped her to right herself. “What happened to your shoulder?”

“
Those fucking zombies of his,” she said, breathing heavily as she cradled her arm against her chest, “they dislocated it. Can you reset it?”

Gurdjieff nodded. “This will hurt.”

Tabitha nodded, dropped her arm to her side, and straightened her back. Gurdjieff leaned down and put her arm at a ninety degree angle and rotated it inwards, then moved it back out so it was straight away from her body. He then gently, but still painfully, moved the shoulder back into its socket. Tabitha bit back a scream as she felt the bones rub over each other, until, finally, her shoulder relocated. She exhaled in relief.

“
Are you well now?” Gurdjieff asked, straightening.

Tabitha nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “That was precise. You a doctor or something?”

“I am a student of the body, nothing more. But we should be going. Rasputin must be dead if you are free from his control.”

“
What? I thought you broke me free?”

“
Me?” he asked, then his eyes widened. “Ah, yes, you think that this did it,” Gurdjieff said, snapping his finger. He laughed that deep laugh of his, making Tabitha feel a little foolish for her assumption. “No, his assassins must have found him.”

“
How, though? I saw him whipping away at himself a little while ago, and he had to take off the Phallus to break skin. Started to heal right quick when he put it back on.”

Gurdjieff simply shrugged and said, “Poison perhaps? He is able to get drunk after all. Perhaps his protection extends to only the rending and tearing of his flesh?”

“Maybe,” Tabitha replied, standing. She walked over and grabbed her pistol and sword and strapped them on, asking, “Assassin’s? How do you know?”

“
People tell me things,” Gurdjieff said. “I sent you here because I wished for you to reach him before they did. I realize now that was wrong of me, for which I apologize.”

Tabitha pulled on her pack, saying, “Look, Georgie, it was my own damned fault for following those men here. Speaking of which, how did they know I was here?”

“Perhaps one of the monks,” Gurdjieff said, walking to the door and opening it. He held it open for her and continued, “Rasputin is like me. He has many friends who believe him to be a holy man, not just ones which he controls with the artifact. They must have told him. Now, come, I have a car waiting.”

“
Makes sense,” Tabitha said, walking through the door. “An American woman coming into a monastery is going to raise some eyebrows.” They left through the backdoor. There was a car waiting for them in the alley, its engine still running. A driver stood beside it smoking a cigarette. “Nice car,” Tabitha said.

“
Thank you, it is a Russo-Balt C24-40. It belongs to a friend.”

“
You sure got a lot of friends in this town.”

Gurdjieff laughed as they walked down the stairs.

“Where we headed?” Tabitha asked as the driver opened the rear door for her. She climbed inside and Gurdjieff climbed in beside her.

“
To where the assassins are going to dispose of the body. Where else?”

They sat back and the car roared into the Petrograd night.

It was a short drive to the spot along the canal of which Gurdjieff’s friend had informed him. It was early in the morning. Gurdjieff and Tabitha, shotgun in hand, got out of the car.

“
They’ve already dumped it,” Tabitha said as soon as her feet hit the snow.

“
How can you be certain?” asked Gurdjieff, huddled in his great fur coat and top hat.

“
See those tire tracks,” she asked, pointing to the road. “And see those footsteps with a long drag through the center, heading down the steps to the canal? A bunch of rich men’ll drive a car out here with the body. They ain’t gonna haul it all over the city.”

“
Yes,” Gurdjieff replied. “I trust your skill of tracking.”

“
Thanks. Are you sure these assassins don’t know about the Phallus?”

“
Positive,” Gurdjieff said. “They have never mentioned it before in their dealings with me. Trust me.”

“
I am, Georgie, I am. Let’s go down and check the ice for the body. I might need you to hold my coat and guns while I go for a skinny dip,” Tabitha said, heading for the steps.

“
Agreed,” said Gurdjieff, following after her.

Tabitha followed the killers’ tracks to the bottom of the steps and out onto the frozen canal beside a hole in the surprisingly sturdy ice. Gurdjieff walked closely behind her. The Templar looked down at the hole and, without a word, handed Gurdjieff her shotgun, then pulled off her heavy coat and gloves and also handed them off. She knelt down next to the hole, took a deep breath, and stuck her arm in the ice-cold water.

Goddamn that water was freezing. Tabitha groped around, searching and feeling for the body, but couldn’t find it. “Anything?” Gurdjieff asked, hovering nearby. Tabitha shook her head. Her arm was almost numb, and still nothing. Tabitha didn’t think she’d feel Rasputin’s corpse even if she did find it with her blind grabbing. She drew her arm back out and sat back on her haunches with a shiver, her teeth chattering from the cold.

The Templar looked up at Gurdjieff and said, “I think I’ve gotta go in.”

“
Nyet
. The water is too cold and the current too strong. You will freeze to death before you find anything.”

“
I can feel him down there, though,” Tabitha said, standing and beginning to unbutton her shirt. “I can feel that damned prick hanging around his neck too. Come too damned far to fucking stop now.” Her right hand was numb from the water, but fumbling with the buttons helped to get the feeling back.

Her shirt almost fully unbuttoned and the cold biting at her uncovered flesh, Tabitha started to walk towards Gurdjieff and away from the hole. She’d gone three steps when Rasputin struck.

His hand burst through the ice and grabbed Tabitha’s boot, holding her in place, crushing through the leather and into her ankle. The Templar cursed and tried to yank her foot free of the boot, but Rasputin’s grip was too strong. She kicked feebly at it with her other boot, but he only tightened his grip. She looked up at Gurdjieff who was moving towards her. “Shotgun,” she yelled, sticking her hands out.

Gurdjieff tossed her coat aside and threw her the shotgun. The Templar caught it and racked a shell into the chamber, pointing it down at the ice just to the left of her right foot. She fired into the ice, cratering it deeply, but not deeply enough to reach the water. Tabitha fired again, clearing away the rest of the ice and reaching water. Still, Rasputin’s hand didn’t release her. She shot into the water one more time. This time The Mad Monk let go, his hand slipping back into the chilly water.

“Go, Georgie,” Tabitha yelled as she began to run to the canal’s edge. Gurdjieff turned and ran, Tabitha on his heels. She leaned down to pick up her coat just as there was a horrendous
crunch
that reverberated through the ice beneath her. Behind her there was a thud. She spun, shotgun ready, and saw Rasputin crouched on the ice. He rose to his full height, his face covered in frozen blood, one eye hanging from its socket, and icy water dripping from his beard and greasy hair. With remarkable speed for a corpse, he ran at her, roaring a war cry.