The next three days were a whirlwind of activity for
Simon Helder. He learned more about the workings of the fragile
bag of blood and bones called the human body and the mysteries
contained therein than he would have dreamed possible. Victor
Frankenstein was a fascinating teacher and as Simon Helder worked to
implant the glands they had extracted from the brain of Justicer
Wrightson into the fabricated human Frankenstein had created, he was
being given an education that doctors in Geneva or Paris would have
given ten years of their lives for.
The days were full of exacting surgery.
Frankenstein had carefully mapped out the sectors of the brain that the
glands should be implanted into and he hovered over Helder’s
shoulder with all the stern discipline of a boy’s school
headmaster. Helder wore special glasses of Frankenstein’s
own invention that afforded Helder vision to see on the microscopic
level while leaving his hands free to work. The delicate
instruments of Frankenstein’s cunning mind almost seemed to move
of their own volition as Helder carefully worked with the brain matter
of the fabricant. And as the younger doctor worked under the
harsh glare of lights that were almost painful in their brilliance,
Frankenstein whispered instructions in his ear. And more than
instructions: theories, conclusions he had proven, speculations and
more. Helder was only now coming to understand how truly little
he understood, how any other
doctor in the world understood compared to Herr Baron Doctor Victor Von
Frankenstein, who surely possessed a mind to rival God’s.
And the nights…ah, the nights…. even
though Helder stumbled to his room, convinced that he would immediately
drop off to sleep he would be proven a liar by the beauteous Sarah who
would be waiting for him and despite the weariness in his body that
made him feel as if his very bones had turned to lead, within a few
minutes, Sarah would transform him into a lusting, raving animal whose
only thought was to ravish her over and over again. Even though
he felt as if he could not bring himself to enter her one more time,
she would…do things with her hands and her mouth and
her…and oh, yes, he would again be filled with a wild, manic
passion that would make her indigo eyes sparkle and her sluttishly
merry laughter fill the bedchamber.
But when he awoke in the morning, she would be
gone. Where, he did not know. He would ask the few other
servants where Sarah’s bedchamber was but amazingly, none of them
seemed to know. In truth, it was as if they did not wish to know where she
slept. When not operating under Frankenstein’s guidance,
Helder would take to roaming the numerous rooms and great echoing halls
of The Vandicutt Institute, hoping to find Sarah. But he did
not. Finally, Helder dared to ask Dr. Frankenstein on the third
day of their work where Sarah was.
“Hm?” Frankenstein looked up from
the fabricant, annoyance plain on his lean, bony face. He was
replacing the skull now that the glands had been successfully implanted
and this was work he could do himself. He wiped his bloody hands
on his already gore-encrusted gown as he said, “What could
possibly be so important about that girl that you would interrupt
me?”
“I beg your most sincere pardon,
Doctor…. I was just curious as to where she was. I never
see her during the day and I can never find her, no matter how
diligently I search the Institute.”
“Perhaps she is a vampire. Did that idea
never occur to you?”
Helder was seriously ruminating that over in his
mind when Frankenstein threw back his head and laughed out loud.
“I am merely jesting with you, lad! You weren’t
honestly thinking that the girl was
a Nosferatu, were you?”
Helder fought the growing impatience he felt rising
in him. It occurred to him that Frankenstein certainly picked the
oddest times for jesting. “I know that vampires do not
exist, Doctor. But you must admit it is odd that I never see her
during the day.”
“But you see her at night and is that not
enough? Does she not serve your purposes then?”
Frankenstein asked slyly as he resumed his work fusing the skull back
onto the fabricant’s head.
“You…you know about…”
“My dear boy, hard as it to believe, I was
once young and very much a slave to the pleasures of the flesh.
Sarah is one of the most beautiful women it has ever been my pleasure
to behold and she has healthy appetites and you are in the peak of your
health. It would be odd if the two of you were not pleasuring
each other.”
Helder’s curiosity was now outweighing his
impatience. “Then if you find her so desirable, then
why-“
Frankenstein’s sly grin widened.
“Then why haven’t I taken my share of pleasure from
her? Simple, my young friend: Sarah and I have made a bargain and
as such, I maintain a professional distance from her. She assists
me when needed with her considerable talents in the occult arts and I
have promised to do a service for her in return. I saved
Sarah’s life when she would have been hanged as a witch and we
have made an unusual pact the two of us. And her part will come
tonight.”
“Why? What happens tonight?”
Frankenstein held up a gory hand and gave his work a
final inspection and he grunted with satisfaction. He stood up
straight and stripped the gloves from his hands as he said;
“Everything is ready. There is nothing left to be done but
to infuse the fabricant with life. And more.”
Helder was plainly confused. “What more
can you gift the creature with save for life itself, Doctor?”
Frankenstein’s eyes were thoughtful as he
motioned for Helder to sit at a small table upon which rested a jug of
wine and a tray of cheeses and fruit. “For years I have
been constructing these creatures, only to see them one by one turn
upon me like rabid dogs and attempt time and again to destroy me.
Or either they would go mad and destroy themselves. No matter how
I refined my technique, there would always be something that would go
wrong and at last I believe I know what it is.”
Helder poured them both wine. “Go on,
Doctor.”
Frankenstein lifted the crystal glass to his thin
lips and took a long swallow of wine before answering: “They
lacked a soul, dear boy. The one thing I continually overlooked
in all my years. I can give life, certainly. But I cannot
give my creations a soul.”
“But surely you as a man of science do not
subscribe to the religious superstition which you have long sought to
banish from the minds of men! Such fanatics as Wrightson have
persecuted you for years, trying to destroy you because you refuse to
bow down before their moldering claptrap!”
Frankenstein smiled as he sat down, patting
Helder’s forearm. “I thought as you did for many
years, Simon. And in some ways I still do. But there is one
thing I can no longer deny or ignore: there is a necessary element
lacking that will make my creations whole and I do not have it within
my power to give it to them! Whatever a soul may be, whether a
spark of divinity or an abstract intellectual concept, I have no way of
knowing. I only know that without one, my creations will not be
complete!”
“And how do you propose to endow this creature
with a soul, Doctor?” Helder inquired. “One
cannot purchase a soul at the greengrocer’s with the ease one
would buy a melon or a cabbage.”
“Ah, but that is where your darling Sarah
comes in, my boy.”
Helder was once again confused.
“Sarah? What jest is this you torment me with now?”
“No jest at all! Surely you have seen
that Sarah has considerable skill in the occult arts. You saw how
she blinded The Justicer and manipulated the power of the Trefoile Virtuem? She assures
me that with the proper preparations she can craft a spell that will
ensnare a wayward soul and bind it to the flesh of my creation.”
“This is utter rubbish, surely. Yes, I
have seen Sarah do things that on the surface appear to be magic, but
she must be manipulating natural forces by means and ways unknown to
us.”
Frankenstein was nodding eagerly.
“Exactly my thoughts. What we call ‘magic’ is
just another method for harnessing and controlling certain forms of
natural energy. Sarah has learned how to do this over years of
rigorous study. She claims to be descended from a long line of
witches and warlocks. Would I were so inclined, I would dearly
love to find her people and examine them. I am positive that
proper scientific study would explain the reason for Sarah’s
mastery of magic, but such is not the case. And she is invaluable
to me as is.”
“Where does she intend to find this
‘soul’? Doctor?”
“Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? I
know not. All I know is that she has promised to infuse my
creation with a soul. And then, dear boy, we shall see what we
shall see. Now we had best get some rest. Tonight will
prove to be quite memorable, I’m sure.”
Some twenty miles from The Vandicutt Institute, the
winding wide trail was a mass of bodies, hundreds of them that trudged
with a will, led by the three gaunt forms of The Justicers, each of who
sat astride great black horses that snorted and tossed their massive
heads as if eager themselves for battle. Blazing torches were
held high and anything that would serve as a weapon were in their
hands. Pitchforks, clubs, farming scythes, daggers, even old
swords that had been gathering rust for years had been removed from
their hiding places in attics and under bedroom floorboards and taken
up.
True to his word, Justicer Mayfair had raised up an
army. Beginning in Veyska, he had charged every able-bodied male
between the ages of thirteen and thirty to come with him. If any
women or older men wished to volunteer their services, they would be
welcome. One youth, who had just seen his twenty-first birthday
refused to join The Justicers. Two seconds after the word
‘No’ left his quavering lips; Mayfair had lopped his head
off with one clean stroke of his sword. Even as the body twitched
at his feet in the death spasm, Mayfair had surveyed the shocked
townspeople and calmly asked if there was anyone else who refused to
go. There were no further refusals of his request.
But he hadn’t stopped there. In every
town and village they passed through, Mayfair ordered everybody and
anybody that was able to walk and to hold a weapon to join his rag-tag
army. Now they were five hundred strong and their destination was
in sight. It would not be much longer before The Vandicutt
Institute would be besieged, torn down stone by stone and the demon
Frankenstein dragged screaming from his hidden lair and put to death
like the mad dog he was.
Mayfair’s puritanical face was the color of
old stone as he stared ahead. His thoughts were of his brother
Justicer. He held little hope that Christopher Wrightson was
still alive. The only thing left to do now was to avenge his
death. It would be such a blow to The Justicers if Wrightson were
lost to them. And it would be even more of a blow if the Trefoile Virtuem were also
lost. It made Mayfair’s heart turn to ice to think of what
such a weapon in the depraved hands of one such as Frankenstein would
mean to the world…
One of Magistrate Groan’s servants was
stumbling through the thick mud of the road toward Mayfair. The
Magistrates were riding in elaborate, ornate carriages that were drawn
by teams of a dozen horses each and they were needed, so large were the
carriages. The Magistrates did not leave their splendid carriages
for any reason and communicated solely through their servants and
aides. Mayfair glared at Groan’s carriage, which seemed to
resist the mud that caked the legs of the villagers who trudged as best
they could through the muck. Mayfair reined in his steed as the
servant drew close and stopped to catch his breath, one hand clutching
his thin chest.
“Good Justicer Mayfair, my master begs that
you call a halt to the march and bid the people take their measure of
rest.”
Mayfair scowled. “Rest? Now, when
we are practically on the doorstep of our prey? Has your master
gone mad or does he think I have?”
“Good Justicer, I only do the bidding
of-” The servant could not finish because Mayfair suddenly
spurred his horse forward and the hapless servant went tumbling over
and over to end up in the mud, the hooting and jesting of the rag-tag
army adding to his embarrassment.
Mayfair rode up to Groan’s carriage and
shouted, “Magistrate Groan! A word with you, sir!”
A gold painted shutter was soon opened and
Groan’s unlovely face appeared. “I take it you
received my message?”
“I received it with great displeasure,
sir. What mean you that we should halt the march when we can
arrive at the madhouse in but a few short hours?”
Groan gestured back at the rag-tag army of
villagers. “Take a good look at your ‘army’,
Justicer. You’ve been forcing them to march for days now
with barely time to stop to eat and sleep. And now you propose to
have them attack Frankenstein in his own lair when they barely have
strength enough to lift their feet? Look at them!”
Mayfair turned in his saddle and surveyed the
villagers and he had to grudgingly admit that Groan had made his point
well. The exhaustion in the villagers’ faces was all too
apparent now that Mayfair had been forced to look at them
objectively. His single-minded desire to reach the madhouse and
destroy Frankenstein had made him act unmercifully toward the villagers
and put the entire campaign in jeopardy. Groan had spoken true:
he would need every able body rested and refreshed for the attack.
“Very well. I will call a halt and
permit them to rest. But not for long! I do not want
Frankenstein to be warned of our approach!”
Groan snorted in disgust. “If
Frankenstein is everything the stories say he is, I’d wager he
already knows we are coming and has made preparations for our
deaths.”
Mayfair’s eyes were nearly bulging from his
rapidly reddening face as he bellowed, “I will not permit that
talk! We will take Frankenstein by surprise! We will
destroy him! We will bring God’s own holy fire to scourge
this land of his evil!”
“Why, of course we will, my dear
Justicer,” Groan murmured as he closed the shutters firmly.
“Of course we will….”
Deep within The Vandicutt Institute were secret
rooms and chambers that were cleverly hidden away. It was in one
of these secret rooms that Sarah kept the holy sword of vengeance
called the Trefoile Virtuem.
The room was one where Sarah stored the many articles that she used in
her black sorcery. Vials filled the essence of the many men she
had been with and by which she could control their flesh. Jugs of
baked clay, silver and delicate porcelain containing preserved human
and animal organs that she used to glimpse into the future.
Flutes made of human bone that she could use to entertain troubled
souls that refused to go onto the next plane of existence.
Mummified heads of humans and minor demons that could still whisper
dark secrets to her when the proper incantations were spoken over them.
The Trefoile
Virtuem still was locked in the long narrow box Sarah had placed
it in when she had stricken Justicer Wrightson blind in
Frankenstein’s dining room. The room was filled with a
disturbing hum that emanated from the box as if the sword itself were
voicing its displeasure.
Sarah herself was kneeling in the center of an
intricate design on the floor, drawn in human blood. The design
had taken many hours to draw and curved back in on itself in great
swoops and spirals of such design that to look at them for too long
made the eyes burn and the brain ache. But Sarah had no such
concerns to worry her. Where her beautiful indigo eyes had been
now were two orbs of midnight black that looked into a different
world. Sarah’s naked body was covered thickly with sweat
and her anthracite torrent of hair was now a matted mass of rat’s
tails that was thrown this way and that as guttural words poured from
her throat in a voice that was not hers. Her outstretched arms
trembled as if she were in the throes of some unimaginable
passion. And indeed she was for Sarah had given herself over to
possession of a demon in return for a favor and the demon was doing
things inside of her that would drive her insane with unholy delight if
it continued much longer.
But it was over as quickly as if had begun.
The demon was satisfied for now and left Sarah’s flesh with a
yowling cry of black joy. Sarah’s splendid body vibrated as
if electricity coursed through her, her hands cupping her breasts as
she screamed in pleasure and collapsed writhing on the stone
floor. Sarah rolled over on her back, her breathing loud and
labored. She looked up and saw four emerald eyes full of evil
greed looking back down at her from the depths of a black and rolling
cloud.
“Remember our bargain, O
Cimiries…remember….”
A laugh emerged from the depths of the cloud and a
voice said; “I
honor my promises, slut! I will give you what you wish and you will
give me what I wish! The Trefoile Virtuem to lay at the feet of
the prince of hell”
“Agreed…oh, yes…it is
agreed…” Sarah giggled.
“Then
I but await your call…”
The black cloud seemed to collapse in upon itself,
the emerald eyes disappearing and the room fell silent. Sarah lay
curled in a fetal position, allowing residual waves of pleasure to
ripple through her. It was done. She had worked long for
this moment. Just as long as Frankenstein had and if things went
as she had planned, both she and Frankenstein would have their
heart’s desires this night. The pact with the demon
Cimiries had been struck. Cimiries was an easy demon to bargain
with since his lust for human women was well known among witches who
would frequently summon him. Cimiries would find a soul for
her. But not just any soul…this was a very special
soul…one Sarah had been searching for now for many
years….and tonight, it would be joined with Frankenstein’s
creature….
