Doc Savage: Death's Dark Domain (19 page)

A slim hand flew to her open mouth. “Oh!”

“This time, young lady,” said Ham Brooks sharply, “you will land with the rest of
us.”

“You are doubtless wondering about me,” Fiana Drost said thinly.

“We didn’t exactly figure you for a creature of the night,” Monk grunted.

“I am not what I appear to be,” Fiana allowed thinly.

“I’ll tell a man,” snorted Monk.

Before the conversation could get interesting, Doc Savage announced, “We are landing.”

The changing of the engine sounds corresponded to that alteration in course. Doc drove
the amphibian downward, ever downward, lining up on the main runway of the Pristav
airport.

Fiana Drost asked dully, “Are—are we expected?”

“Are you kiddin’?” Monk asked. “You’re our passport to land.”

Fiana Drost’s gaze grew clouded. She looked about her person, then searched the cabin
with troubled eyes.

“Where is my parachute?”

“We’re fresh out,” Monk lied. “And don’t get any cockeyed ideas. We’re almost on your
home soil.”

Fiana Drost possessed an unusual natural pallor, and it was difficult to imagine her
growing any paler. But this she did. It was as if all human hue had drained from her
face, her neck, her hands. Her rouged mouth became consequently redder by contrast.

Flinging out of her seat, Fiana made a desperate dive for the cabin door.

“Not again!” howled Ham, lunging for her. He missed.

But Monk Mayfair, seeing what was coming, reached the door in time, blocked it with
his wide body.

Fiana snarled, “Out of my way, dolt!”

“You’re not wearin’ a chute,” returned Monk, taking her shoulders into his big hands.

Fiana began clawing. Her bared teeth lunged for Monk’s throat. There was not much
neck there, so the homely chemist was in little danger.

Using both hairy hands, Monk shoved her back. Fiana fought back like an energetic
wildcat. She employed her long nails for the most part. Monk acquired some scratches
to add to his proud collection of facial scars, but that was the worst of it.

Doc Savage banked the aircraft sharply, throwing the woman to the cabin floor.

Finally, the simian chemist pinioned Fiana’s wrists with both paws. She subsided reluctantly.
After that, Monk hoisted her up off the floor and onto her seat.

Fiana sat there, pale and fuming.

“Were you planning to turn into a bat again?” queried Ham, genuinely alarmed.

“I was prepared to die….”

“Blazes!” said Monk. “Doc, you better get this bus onto hard ground—fast! I think
this she-bat’s suicidal.”

Doc Savage did just that, slamming the amphibian downward, then lined up on the approach
runway. The air wheels touched, bumping along busily until the tail wheel finally
made contact with the tarmac asphalt.

Soon, they were coasting to a slow stop. Doc cut the whining engines, one by one.
Monk flung open the cabin door.

They began piling out.

A CONTINGENT of Tazan soldiers were assembled to meet them. They wore uniforms the
approximate color of dusty limes. Their steel helmets were dark gray.

This welcoming committee was headed by a tall man in a resplendent military uniform,
with a long curved sword hanging in a scabbard by his side. He stepped forward, smiling
so generously the points of his mustaches bristled.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am General Basil Consadinos, War Minister of the
principality of Tazan. At your service.” He actually clicked his heels when he executed
his snappy bow.

Doc Savage nodded. “We have just arrived from Egallah, where we were held prisoner
of the government there.”

“Yes, yes,” Consadinos said briskly. “So our loyal spies informed us. I understand
that you have brought us a pretty present.”

Ham Brooks escorted Fiana Drost from the plane. She came reluctantly, eyes sunken.

“Here is your lost lamb,” he said, gesturing with his cane.

Under his breath, Monk muttered, “More like a fugitive bat.”

The general’s mustaches spiked like cat whiskers. “Excellent. Men, seize her!”

Soldiers swiftly surrounded the woman. She seemed unsurprised by this turn of events.
Ham was shoved roughly aside.

“What is this?” demanded Doc Savage sharply.

General Consadinos smiled suavely. “We are grateful to you, Savage, for surrendering
her to us. For this woman is an Egallan spy.”

“Ridiculous!” snapped Ham. “We just rescued her from an Egallan firing squad.”

Doc Savage interposed, “General, how do you know that she is a spy for Egallah?”

“Our spies in Egallah have so informed us.”

Soldiers began hustling Fiana Drost to a waiting limousine. She made no effort to
resist. Her shoulders sagged, all fight knocked out of her by the abrupt turn of fortune.

“What is to be done with her?” asked Doc Savage.

The general shrugged negligently. “What is customarily done with spies? She will be
interrogated and shot.”

“We object,” said Doc.

General Consadinos’ voice became oily. “You are honored guests of Tazan. It is improper
for you to object. Now, what is your business in Pristav?”

Doc Savage watched the limousine doors open and close, swallowing Fiana Drost. The
machine started off. Fiana Drost cast a fleeting, forlorn glance out the rear window.
The expression in her dark doe eyes was that of a doomed person.

“We have reason to believe that a terrible new war weapon has fallen into the hands
of Egallah,” Doc started.

Consadinos nodded briskly. “No doubt. Egallah is a cauldron of terrible things. Not
for nothing is it known as the cradle of vampirism. They are our hereditary enemies.”

“That weapon was stolen from us,” explained Doc. “We seek its recovery.”

Consadinos began toying with one quirked mustache point. “This is very interesting
news. Now, then, we have made arrangements for you all to stay in the royal suite
of the Kronstadt, our finest hotel. Come with me. We will discuss this nasty matter
like old friends.”

Reluctantly, Doc Savage agreed.

“If Fiana Drost is a spy, as you say,” he said quietly, “we would like an opportunity
to interrogate her. She may have knowledge of this fearsome weapon of war.”

“I will consider this. First, let us repair to the hotel. You will find it very comfortable.”

Having no other choice, Doc and his men allowed themselves to be packed into another
limousine. It flew the colorful flag of Tazan, at half mast.

THE royal suite of the Kronstadt Hotel was everything that might be desired. Marble
floors. Damask draperies. Solid gold faucets. Other luxuries. Even Ham Brooks was
impressed.

“Rather elegant,” he said admiringly, twirling his cane.

“I am pleased that you are pleased,” purred General Consadinos. He clapped his hands
together. “Now—tell me of your adventures in Egallah, that benighted land.”

Doc Savage said, “Your respective nations appeared headed for war.”

Consadinos frowned heavily. “There is a portion of Ultra-Stygia that both countries
claim as their birthright. We call it Monti Alb. To the detestable Egallans, it is
the Marea Negra—the Great Black. By any name, it is a section of Ultra-Stygia that
has remained a bone of contention stuck in our respective national throats down through
the ages.”

Doc asked. “These lands have traded hands many times over the centuries. Why has it
become such a tinderbox now?”

“That,” said Consadinos, “you will have to ask of the Prime Minister of Egallah, the
tyrant, Boris Ocel. For it is his tanks that are massing. His black warplanes have
been filling the skies. A strike is expected soon. Very soon.”

“I see,” said Doc.

“We are in hopes that this Fiana Drost will provide us with valuable intelligence
that is more correct than guesswork, you see. But we will speak no more of her.”

His tone was so definite that Doc Savage decided to drop the issue for now.

“There is another matter of interest to us,” said Doc, changing the subject.

Consadinos cocked a gray-shot eyebrow. “Which is?”

“An American reporter named Simon Page vanished from a hotel in the frontier town
of Cateral a few days ago. Before he did so, he contacted my headquarters. One of
my men, Long Tom Roberts, traveled to meet him, but fell victim to what appeared to
be agents of Egallah’s espionage service.”

The general made a firm mouth. “Ah, Simon Page. I know of whom you speak. But he is
not missing. Simon Page is our prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” interjected Long Tom.

“We caught him in Ultra-Stygia under very suspicious circumstances.”

“Which are?” asked Doc.

“He was often seen in the company of the spy, Fiana Drost. We therefore concluded
that he was in league with the devil-woman.”

“Why do you call her that?” asked Ham, sharply.

Consadinos smiled broadly. “All spies of Egallah are devils. It is that simple.”

Doc said, “We would like to visit Page, to learn his story from his own lips.”

General Consadinos frowned anew. “I do not think that is a very good idea, Savage.
For he is in a very bad way.”

“Injured?”

“Worse than that.”

“What could be worse?” asked Monk, low brow wrinkling.

General Consadinos was a long moment in replying. His face worked thoughtfully, as
if weighing matters. He worried one mustache point, then the other.

“I have changed my mind,” he announced, smoothing down his mustaches with two fingers.
“You may visit your American friend, after all.”

“Where is he?” asked Long Tom.

“A very ancient castle, close to here. Come, Savage. We will go there now. Your men
must remain here, however. I understand that they have had a very difficult time of
it. And this consultation is not for underlings.”

Doc Savage did not object to this suggestion. It made sense.

The others were content to remain behind and take advantage of room service. They
were very hungry after their imprisonment, especially Long Tom.

THE drive to Jagellon Castle, as it was called, was not long. Winter showed few signs
of having arrived. No snow, only some frost, touched the ground. The air coming through
the open windows was not very cold. It might have been late Fall.

The general attempted some conversation. “This war weapon of which you speak. What
is its precise nature?”

Doc declined to answer directly. “It is too terrible to contemplate. Let us say that
no nation can withstand its operation.”

“I see…” mused the War Minister of Tazan, who went back to fussing with his mustache
points. When they pulled up to the pile of ancient stone that was Jagellon Castle
perched on a knobby hill, Doc Savage was escorted within. There was no moat, no drawbridge.
This was a Balkan fortress, the former seat of a cruel count, according to the history
books.

There was a cellar, however. Really more in the nature of a dungeon. Doc Savage was
led down to it. The way was lit by bare bulbs hanging by electrical cords from the
stone ceiling. The wattage was very feeble. It was difficult to see. They walked single
file, Consadinos in the lead, his green-uniformed soldiers taking up the rear. A long-faced
turnkey accompanied them.

Coming to a halt, General Consadinos clicked his heels smartly, and announced, “Here.”

The dungeon cell—there was no calling it anything but that—was sealed by an iron-studded
door built of heavy oaken timbers. A latticed panel was sunk into the center of it.
It looked very old, but possessed a sturdy appearance as if it were originally constructed
to resist a battering ram.

Consadinos opened this grilled artifice, and invited Doc to look inside. The bronze
man did.

The chamber was very dark. There were no interior windows, of course. Nothing could
be seen of any prisoner.

The general said, “Mr. Simon, you have a distinguished visitor.”

Something stirred within. A disagreeable odor wafted out. Doc Savage recognized it,
but withheld comment.

A distinctly American voice spoke up, “Who is it?”

General Consadinos said, “A famous fellow countryman, Doc Savage.”

“Doc Savage—! Here?”

Something stirred noisily and the weak voice seemed to gather strength.

“Have you come to release me?” Page asked anxiously.

“Not quite,” purred Consadinos. “Mr. Savage merely wishes to confer with you.”

The general signed for the turnkey to open the door. This was done. Hinges groaning,
the thick door was swung open ponderously.

Consadinos waved Doc in, saying, “It is not permitted that he be allowed to leave,
not in his unfortunate condition. So you must conduct any conversation behind this
locked door.”

Doc Savage hesitated.

“Merely a matter of form. You understand protocol?” Consadinos challenged. “Yes?”

Doc nodded, stepped within.

The door was immediately clapped shut behind him. A key turned in the lock, making
an unpleasant squealing. It had not been oiled in a long time, evidently.

“Page,” said Doc, attempting to discern the man in the gloom.

“I am here.”

“Where?”

“Directly in front of you.”

Doc Savage’s eyes began adjusting to the murk. Slowly, a pair of lizard-green orbs
began to resolve themselves. They were lidless, grotesquely round, like serpent eyes.
The serpentine suggestion was enhanced by the fact that the orbs hovered barely a
foot above a tangle of dirty straw in one corner of the dirt floor.

The straw stirred. Slowly, two eyeballs began rising in an eerie fashion, coming level
with his own.

Doc fixed the position of the man, moved toward him.

As Doc approached, the eyes steadied, became clearer. But the man remained elusive.
Not even his outline showed.

Abruptly, those uncanny emerald eyes blinked. When they did so, they disappeared entirely.

With both hands, Doc Savage reached out. His hands encountered nothing that felt human
to him.

“Page!” rapped Doc. “What has befallen you?”