Derek Paterson - The Kaiserine's Champion

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A heavy key clattered in the lock, then the door swung open and the sergeant said, “Here's your

breakfast, Manfred my boy. Enjoy your last meal!” With this he emptied the contents of the night bucket

over me and stood there laughing heartily, while I choked and gagged at the rancid stench.

"You hear that?” he said, jerking a callused thumb toward the barred window. I'd been listening to the

sawing and hammering since dawn. “You're going to swing soon, m'lad. Rest assured, I'll be in the front

row, cheering as you gasp and kick your way to Hell."

I wiped filth off my face with my sleeve and glared at him. There really wasn't much else I could do,

sitting there chained to the wall. He laughed again, turned away, and made to step into the corridor—then

snapped to attention, his expression changing from amusement to outright fear in the space of a single

heartbeat.

I'd heard the footsteps approaching and assumed it must be one of my gaolers, but apparently not. An

oil lantern came into view, held by a tall, well-dressed noble with dark eyes, a hooked nose, and lips that

looked as though they'd never smiled. He wore his arrogance like an impenetrable cloak. His cold,

unblinking gaze studied every inch of the cell before coming to settle upon me. A shiver ran up my spine

unbidden, though I'd no idea why.

"So, this is the swordsman,” he said. “You have him in chains, I see."

"Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “Extremely dangerous, sir. Killed six of the Duke's Wardens single-handed,

he did, and put another three in the infirmary. The doctor says they'll be out of action for weeks. Duke

Wilhelm is—"

"I know what Duke Wilhelm is,” my visitor said softly, and the chill in his voice did not go unnoticed. He

nudged my foot with the polished toe of his boot. “So, what have you to say for yourself, you

scoundrel?"

I had nothing to say, to him or any other passing aristo who thought it might be amusing to drop in and

taunt me before I died, so I kept my mouth shut.

"Cat got your tongue, mmm? Sergeant, I want to talk to this rogue in private. Close the door on your

way out."

"But, sir—"

"He's chained to the wall, Sergeant,” the tall man said wearily. “I think I'll be safe enough, don't you?"

The sergeant frowned, but did as he was told. The door clicked shut behind him. At that moment the

hammering stopped, as if the two events were somehow related.

"It sounds like they're ready for you,” my nameless visitor said. “In which case I'd best make this short,

lest we're interrupted before we conclude our business."

Curiosity made me ask, “What business? Who are you, and what do you want of me?"

Ignoring my questions, he said, “It isn't every day I get to meet a swordsman of your caliber. Six

Wardens dead and another three wounded, eh? Remarkable.” He took a silk handkerchief from his

sleeve and dropped it onto my lap. I hesitated to touch it, but he nodded, so I picked it up and used it to

wipe my face. When I offered to return it he shook his head. “Why don't you tell me what happened last

night?” he said.

"I think you already know."

"They say you picked a fight with the Duke's men."

"The Duke's ruffians, you mean.” I couldn't keep the anger and resentment from my voice. “They're the

ones who swaggered into the tavern and picked a fight, not me."

"They picked on you?"

I hesitated before answering. “No. A young lad, sitting quietly in a corner with his girl, doing noone any

harm."

"A friend of yours, was he? Your brother? A cousin?"

I shook my head again, and my visitor chuckled darkly. “Let me guess what happened,” he said. “The

Duke's Wardens decided they wanted the girl for themselves, and pretended to take insult at something

the boy said or did. Am I right?"

"Close enough,” I said, wondering how he knew so much.

"And so you decided to interfere, decided to help a stranger you didn't even know.” He gave another

humorless chuckle. “I shouldn't imagine the Wardens took kindly to your interfering in their business?"

They most certainly hadn't. They'd overpowered me through sheer weight of numbers and forced me

outside, into the dark alleyway behind the tavern. Instead of arresting me, as I'd expected, their drunken

fool of a corporal had drawn his sword and tried to cut me in two. I'd avoided his clumsy attack and run

him headlong into the wall, relieving him of his blade in the process. His men came at me then, roaring

with blood-lust, demanding vengeance. I'd wounded when I could, killed only when they gave me no

other choice. But, outnumbered as I was, they would have butchered me for certain if a squad of Noseys

hadn't chanced by and dragged me to safety. Before I'd a chance to thank them for saving my life, they'd

beaten me unconscious with their wooden clubs. The lumps on the back of my head still throbbed

painfully.

"The Duke's Wardens are indeed ruffians,” the noble said. “But they are also excellent swordsmen. They

are trained by the Duke's swordmaster, Schwertkampfer, who is no slouch with the blade. Yet you

managed to kill six of them. You're either very good, or you're the luckiest man alive. Which is it?"

"Perhaps a little of both,” I suggested modestly.

"A good answer. It may be that I have a use for someone who possesses such luck, and knows how to

use a sword."

"I don't quite follow you,” I said, but a tiny flame of hope sparked within my breast.

"Tomorrow, as you may know, is the Kaiserine's birthday. It's a very special occasion, and special

entertainment is arranged. I'm looking for someone to put into the Arena. You may be that man."

The Arena! Professional fighters battled in the Arena for the entertainment of the Kaiserine and the

Empire's aristos. If they won, they received riches and anything else they might desire. Losing, on the

other hand, often earned mutilation or worse.

"What exactly are you offering?” I asked.

"Your freedom, a large bag of silver and a fast horse to take you out of the city. Assuming, of course..."

He left the rest unsaid. Assuming, of course, that I lived. The Arena was far different from the crowded

alley behind the tavern where drunken soldiers had tripped over each other and botched their attacks. I'd

be matched against the toughest killers in the Empire. Then again, what was the alternative? A rope, a

trapdoor and a quick end, if I was lucky. If I wasn't lucky, I might dangle there for hours, dying a very

unpleasant death. My bowels turned liquid at the very thought.

"I'm your man, if you can get me out of this,” I said, not bothering to mention that I'd be running for the

hills at the first opportunity.

"Very sensible. I like that.” He rapped on the door. The sergeant opened it at once and examined me

closely, as if making sure I hadn't escaped. I rattled my chains to set his mind at rest.

"Sergeant, release this man,” my visitor said. “I'm going to send someone up to collect him. Make sure

he's ready by the time they arrive."

The sergeant protested. “With respect, sir, he's the Duke's prisoner. He killed the Duke's Wardens."

The nobleman shook his head. “You're wrong, Sergeant, he is my prisoner. He was arrested and

brought here by my Constables, not the Duke's Wardens, who displayed remarkable incompetence by

failing to kill him, wouldn't you agree?"

Realization struck me like a lightning bolt.The Noseys were his men. I'd been talking to none other than

Otto Thenck, Head of the Ministry of State Security and the most feared man in the Empire.

The tired old joke about the Secret Police sprang to mind unbidden. A man limps into his local tavern

and collapses over the bar. His face is swollen and his teeth have been kicked out, but he buys drinks for

everyone and tells them he's celebrating. Why? they ask. “The Secret Police paid me a visit tonight,” he

explains, “but they got the wrong address. They wanted the fellow who lives next door.” And everyone

gets drunk, because they all know it's better to have your teeth kicked out by mistake than taken down

into the dark cellars beneath Ministry headquarters, never to be seen again.

Only it wasn't really a joke, it was a true story, and the man responsible for such casual, fear-inspiring

brutality stood before me.

"But what will I tell the Duke, sir?” the sergeant said, a pleading note in his voice. “He's bound to ask."

"You have prisoners in the other cells, haven't you?"

The sergeant scratched his head, plainly puzzled. “Yes, sir. Petty thieves for the most part. A pair of

smugglers, a husband who cut off his unfaithful wife's ears, a forger—"

"A forger!” Thenck's scowl made the sergeant flinch. “When was he arrested?"

"Yesterday, sir. Caught passing wooden coins painted silver. Not too clever, sir. It's fifty lashes for him,

then a lengthy spell in prison."

"I disagree. Inept as he is, his is the worst crime of all, for he was attempting to undermine the economy

of the Empire. I'll respect assassins and even spies, but never forgers. Let me tell you what you will do,

Sergeant. You will go to the forger's cell. There, you will bind his arms and legs securely, then gag him

and put a hood over his head. When the Duke's men come looking for this prisoner"—he pointed at

me—"you will give them the forger instead. Do you understand?"

His tone carried a distinct element of threat, hinting that failure to comply would bring swift and

unwelcome retribution. The sergeant swallowed hard. So did I. “Yes, sir,” he said weakly.

Thenck nodded, satisfied, and without another word he left the cell and went back down the corridor.

The sergeant sighed with relief. “It seems you have friends in high places, lad,” he said quietly. “You

know who that was? Otto Thenck! The Magician! You know why they call him that? Because he makes

people disappear.” He laughed. “Maybe you've escaped the noose, but there are worse deaths than

hanging, mark my words. That's something else for you to think about, eh?” He found the key on his ring

that unlocked the iron manacles around my wrists and ankles, thus releasing me.

"Thanks,” I said, driving my fist into his face as I rose, sending him sprawling. He cried out and rolled

onto his back, trying to get up, but my boot quickly put paid to that idea. He howled and rolled in the

night soil, clutching his crotch with both hands.

Having extracted some measure of revenge for my ill-treatment, I turned to the doorway. All thoughts of

fleeing the prison and losing myself in the alleyways and backstreets of High Sazburg dissipated abruptly

as I discovered two men standing there, watching me. They wore long black cloaks, tricorn hats, and

scarves that covered their faces so that only their eyes were visible. Both carried flintlock pistols, cocked

and pointed at my belly. They looked more like highwaymen than anything else, but I didn't need a

soothsayer to tell me they were Otto Thenck's Noseys in civilian garb, come to fetch me for their

master's pleasure.

I felt no great need to say fond farewell to the sergeant. Without a word spoken, the two men escorted

me upstairs, along a narrow corridor and outside into a high-walled courtyard. We'd passed noone else

en route. A coach drawn by matching black stallions waited in the courtyard. The highwaymen gestured

with their pistols, and I reluctantly climbed inside. The door slammed shut behind me and the coach

immediately set off. There were no handles on the inside of the door, and no windows, either—the coach

was a miniature prison on wheels.

The coach slowly made its way through the winding city streets, shaking and rattling over cobblestones

and brickwork. Several times during the journey, the driver opened his peep hole and looked down at

me, as if satisfying himself that I wasn't up to any mischief. Like the highwaymen, he wore a scarf over his

face so I could only see his eyes. I wondered at this need for disguise, but I had other things to worry

about, not the least of which was Otto Thenck, the Magician; so I thought no more of the driver, trying

instead to imagine what must lie ahead.

A short time later, the coach stopped. The door clicked open and I surmised that the driver possessed a

mechanism which allowed him to control the door locks from above. Very clever. I climbed out and

looked up at him, expecting to receive further instructions, but he said nothing. Instead he jiggled his reins

and the coach moved off again, leaving me behind.

I found myself standing alone before a dark, gloomy building made of plain brick. Steps led up to the

front door and the tall windows on either side were closed and shuttered. It occurred to me that my path

to freedom now lay open—all I had to do was run. And I might have, but at that moment a group of

Wardens turned the corner at the end of the street and began walking in my direction. Their appearance

made my mind up for me. I climbed the steps, rapped on the wood and waited for an answer. Distant

footsteps came closer, then a spy-hole opened and a suspicious eyeball peered out at me.

"What do you want?” a muffled voice demanded.

"Otto Thenck sent me,” I said, watching the Wardens, who were bound to question my appearance if

not my smell. Or would they? After all, I was outside the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security

and might have authorized business there, for all they knew. But I didn't dare take that chance. If any of

them recognized me...

Heavy bolts were drawn back at last and the door swung open. A dwarf who'd had to stand on a

wooden stool to reach the spy-hole scowled up at me. He wore a black uniform with silver buttons and

epaulettes, high riding boots and a curved cavalry sword that trailed on the stained wood floor because

of his lack of altitude. His squashed face was wrinkled and lined, and his dark curly hair had turned white

around the edges.

"And who might you be?” he asked.

"I said, Thenck sent me. Let me inside, quickly."

"He didn't tell me to expect any visitors. Go away."

He tried to shut the door but I stopped it with my foot and grabbed him by the front of his jacket, pulling

him up so his boots kicked air. The Wardens were less than a hundred paces away. I wanted to be

safely inside before they reached the doorway.

"Listen, Stumpy, I told you, Thenck sent me. This is where he lives, isn't it? So you'll let me inside, unless

you want me to bash your face in."

The dwarf rolled his eyes, inviting me to look behind him. I did, and saw two soldiers armed with

muskets at the other end of the entrance hall. They had me in their sights. The Tirpitz musket is the

deadliest piece of weaponry ever developed by the Kaiserine's clever scientists, and rarely misses at

ranges under two hundred paces. I put the dwarf down gently and brushed the front of his jacket to iron

out the creases.

"Thank you,” he said, grinning.

"Don't mention it,” I said through clenched teeth.

Then he looked me up and down, his nose wrinkling in distaste at my sweet bouquet. He snapped his

fingers in sudden realization. “You wouldn't be from the prison, would you?"

"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 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 skillful 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 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 Fräulein 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 the military infirmary, 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 Fräulein 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 ofthem 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?"

"I have the counter-elixir ready,” Schmidt said, as if waiting for Thenck's cue.

"I want it now,” I said.

"Quite impossible,” Thenck said. “It is necessary for my plans that the vampyre's gift stays with you until

the Arena contest ends."

"Damn you, you should have asked—!"

Thenck shrugged. “To what end? Do you wish to die in the Arena? Of course not. Had we explained

everything first then you would eventually have said yes anyway, but we could afford no delay, since we

had no idea when the vampyre's gift would leave you. What's done is done, for the good of all. You must

accept it, Herr Manfred. The alternative must surely be obvious?"

Rather than make me think rationally and strive to prolong my life, Thenck's unsubtle threat only served

to anger me. A low growl began somewhere deep in my throat and I decided there and then to end this

charade and take my chances against the guards’ muskets. A burning pressure built up within my skull

and my teeth throbbed. I took a half-step forward, intending to show Thenck exactly what I thought of

him and his damned plans.

A sharp pain on the back of my head made me turn around. Ludwig had climbed up onto a chair behind

me and struck me with a wooden club. I only had enough time to say, “You little—!” before the

laboratory floor reared up and slapped me hard.

* * * *

I awoke to find myself in another room, lying on a soft bed with clean sheets. An oil lantern cast its soft

light upon the face of the girl who sat in the chair beside the bed, reading a book. She was a pretty young

thing, with clear blue eyes and plaited blonde hair. She reminded me of the girl I'd left behind when I'd

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Derek Paterson - The Kaiserine's Champion

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