“Don’t think you’re anything special. You’re just an ugly bunch of failed experiments. My family throw away better things than you in our laboratories every day. How many of you do I have to kill, before you get the message? Know your place.”
And that was when I hit him in the face with the punch bowl. It was a good throw. The heavy glass bowl shattered over his head, and the industrial strength alcohol filled his eyes, blinding him. He cried out with shock and pain, and let go of the Bride so he could claw at his face with both hands. I knew I shouldn’t have intervened, but there’s some shit I just won’t put up with. I was looking around for more things to throw, when the French windows suddenly blew open and there, silhouetted against the night, was a tall dark shape. All of Frankenstein’s creations turned to look, and then as one they fell back, opening up an aisle between the newcomer and the Immortal. I nodded slowly, smiling. I’d been wondering when he’d show up. The Immortal cleared the last of the noxious punch from his eyes, and glared at the man in the French windows. The newcomer advanced slowly on the Immortal, with a calm, elegant bearing. He was wrapped in a long black cloak that swept about him like batwings, and wore an old-fashioned top hat. From his pale face, he was barely my age, but his eyes were very old and very cold, and he was smiling a most unpleasant smile.
“Get away from my Bride,” he said, in a cool and really quite disturbing voice. “Or you’ll be resting in pieces before you know it.”
The Immortal looked at him incredulously. “Who the hell are you?”
“Ah, that’s the question, isn’t it? Sometimes I think one thing, sometimes I think another. But unfortunately for you, right now I’m Springheel Jack.”
The Immortal lashed out at him with a bone-spurred hand, and Springheel Jack jumped lightly into the air, high enough to trail his fingertips across the ceiling. The Immortal lurched forward and almost fell on his face, as his blow whipped through the air where Jack had been only a moment before. He stepped quickly back, and Jack dropped lightly to the floor again. But now he had two brightly shining straight razors, one in each hand. He smiled mockingly at the Immortal, and then jumped right over him. He somersaulted over his enemy’s head, landed elegantly behind him, his legs absorbing the impact as though it was nothing, and then he spun round and hamstrung both the Immortal’s legs at once. Blood spurted thickly, and the Immortal cried out in agony; and then he collapsed to the floor as his legs failed him, both leg muscles sliced completely through. Springheel Jack looked down at him, thrashing helplessly on the bloody floor, and then stepped elegantly forward to stand before his Bride.
“You all right, love?”
She caressed her throat briefly, but her smiled never wavered. “All the better for seeing you, my sweet.”
“I know you,” the Immortal said harshly, from the floor. “We all know you. We keep killing you, and you keep coming back!”
“It’s a gift,” said Springheel Jack. He grabbed the Immortal’s head and jerked it back to expose the throat. A straight razor pressed against the taut skin, and a thin runnel of blood trickled down, as the steel edge nicked the skin.
“Say good night, Gracie,” said Jack.
“No!” said the Bride. Springheel Jack ˚ looked at her.
“No?” he said, politely.
“I’m not in a mood to be merciful,” said the Bride.
Springheel Jack considered this, and then nodded. He hit the Immortal a vicious blow on the top of the head with his elbow, and the Immortal slumped unconscious to the floor. Jack stood up, and took his Bride in his arms. They embraced, laughing, and then she crushed him to him. And since she was a good foot taller than he was, his face disappeared into her cleavage. He didn’t seem to mind. She finally released him, still laughing, and he smiled happily around him. The straight razors were gone from his hands. He looked down at the unconscious form at his feet.
“Who is he, anyway?”
“An Immortal,” I said. “Shaman Bond, at your service.”
“Ah,” said Springheel Jack. “The Bride has spoken of you, in a quite annoyingly approving way. If I weren’t so secure, I might be jealous. But I’m not. Thanks for throwing the bowl.”
“Least I could do,” I said.
“Yes,” said Jack. “That’s what I thought. Still, an Immortal, you say? One of those terribly up themselves long-lived creeps, from the real Castle Frankenstein, up the road?”
“They think we don’t know,” sniffed the Bride. “Of course we know! We all remember where we were born.”
Springheel Jack considered me carefully. “What do you know of Immortals, Shaman?”
“I’m just here to do a favour for a friend,” I said. “You know how it is . . .”
“Of course,” said the Bride. “If there’s anything . . .”
“I’ll let you know,” I said.
“And if you should by any chance find a way into the Castle . . .”
“I’ll let you know.”
I bowed to them all politely, and headed for the open French windows. Just in case the receptionist was listening at the door and wondering why it had all gone quiet. I was just stepping out into the dark of the evening when I heard the Bride say, “An Immortal, who claims to be our superior? I think not. I think . . . we’ll make him one of us. Jack, fetch me my scalpels!”
Some monsters are scarier than others.
I moved quickly across the cobbled yard, putting some distance between me and the Hotel. I looked up the long narrow road that led to the real Castle Frankenstein, but it was hidden from view behind the rising hill. I had to wonder if perhaps Rafe had got some kind of warning off, before we grabbed him. In which case, they knew I was coming. Was that why the Immortal had been sent down to the Hotel? But there is caution, which is useful, and paranoia, which is mostly not. Not everything is about me. I was here to do a job, and it was time I got on with it. I started up the road. There was still no sign of any passing traffic. The evening had gone dark, and the last of the light was going out of the day. A storm was gathering.
Perfect atmosphere, for an assault on Castle Frankenstein.
I walked up the middle of the road, pacing myself. It was a fair walk to the Castle, and I didn’t want to miss anything interesting along the way. There were no streetlights, no markings on the road, and as the Hotel vanished behind a curve in the road, it felt like I was walking back into the Past, into a more primitive time, where the peasants in the small village I’d left behind me had reason to be afraid when the lightning flared, and strange lights shone at Castle Frankenstein.
There were no more signs of civilisation, just the rising hill and the darkening sky, and the road winding away before me. It wasn’t even much of a road. A nearly full moon rode high on the sky, just enough to see by. I would have liked to use my torc, to call up some golden glasses to see through, but I didn’t dare, this close to the Castle. The torc could hide itself, but my armour would stand out like a beacon in the dark. It wasn’t as though there was much to see, anyway. It was all black basaltic rock and shifting scree, rising up increasingly on the one side, and the dull sounds of the River Rhine far below, on the other. No life, no vegetation, not even the usual hardy shrubs. And then, not nearly far enough off, I heard the sudden howling of a wolf. At least, I hoped it was a wolf. In this kind of territory, you never knew. I checked my Colt Repeater was secure in its holster, so I could be sure I had access to silver bullets.