Chapter 12.
First set - The Failure of a Revolution.
Berlin, 30th November, 2003
In the best of the situations, Duckie's room would have looked as if a storm had ruined it. But now it was worse.
-Well, somebody has been here, searching for the key, I guess -Käthe said, standing among the chaotic scene.
Duckie just sat down, with Little Bastard, his grinning cat, on his lap.
-At least you're still alive, my good... you bastard!!!!
-What?!?!?!
Käthe turned just to see Little Bastard running away while Duckie began something similar to a Zulu dance of war.
-What the heck are you doing? -asked a puzzled and amused Käthe.
-He has done it! The damned cat has f*&%*!!%&% on me!
The spreading spot on Duckie's trouser showed what Little Bastard had done.
-He loves you -began to tell Käthe, while looking at the pile of books nearer to her. Amazingly, not a single one were related to pornography. Impressive, she tought.
-What?! So he had to pee me! I'm glad that he doesn't hate me, then!
-He was afraid and hurried to you. He was so happy to see you that he had only that way to show you.
-A postcard would have been nicer -he grunted while looking at her, unable to believe a single word and considering to kill the cat. She moved then, leaning to take a book, and the vision of her body moving made Duckie forget about killing.
-My grandpa had a cat, and once he did it.
-Did your grandpa pee on his cat? What a... 'Ouch!
A book hit Duckie on his head, so he refrained himself about asking. At least for the next five seconds.
- He got frigthened and peeded over my grandpa when he came to rescue the cat. By the way, the key, please?
Duckie returned to the world with a grunt, and gave his back to Käthe, who was taken aback by the sudden action of his foolish boy. Then, when he was to ask for an explanation, he turned back, with the key on his hand.
-I'm not going to ask where you had it hidden.
First set - The Failure of a Revolution.
In a castle, 90 miles south of Berlin, August 12th, 1944
Even if the war was formally over, the castle was still holding some hundred of prisoners behind his walls, waiting to be sent home. They were being sent back, so no one had really any reason to escape. Thus, the secret gathering was quite odd in itself.
The two men were reaching for their spoons, when the door opened and the senior Syndicalist officer (SSO) entered the ward, followed by the ranking American officer. The American and the British dropped their utensils and quickly rose to attention.
-At ease -the SSO said-. May we have a few words with you, John? -he added, while shooking his head at being offering a cup of coffee. - We believed that you will end facing a firing squad when the Jerries will get you dead tired of your foolish attempts to scape -As John did not answered, the SSO went on-. We've got a message on the radio -John knew a radio was in the camp somewhere because BBC war news were known almost immediately after a broadcast- In short, we've been ordered to get you out of here, Captain. The war is over and there is no need, but we've been ordered. Why have we been told to spring you from this place?
- Did the message say? - The Yank reply.
- We thought you might have a clue, John.
- Search me -he answered, shooking his head. The SSO began to loose his temper and shoot at him:
- I suspect you do know, goddamn it! It's just not worth it anymore, with the war over. And now we get this message!
-There must've been more to the message -John said. The SSO looked at him closely as if trying to divine his thoughts.
- A Berlin address. Does that mean anything to you?
- Not a thing.
- Captain, why would they send you to Berlin, of all places? The idea is getting all of us out of Germany, instead of further into it. And why to do anything at all, with the war ended?
John just grinned widely.
-Can I go today?
He had a key to recover.
Wherever Kremmler walked, shadows followed in his wake. Flickering whispers were his constant companions from the invisible creatures that lurked just beyond sight and ghosted in his shadows.
In the dark room, amidst the darkness, he knelt and scratched old designs on the floor, copying them exactly from the diagrams of the books he had read: a star with sevent points that was orbited by in the center by a stylized skull. He made a cut on his flesh and let the blood drizzle into the flame of the candle that burned over the skull. Then he began to chanthing, his voice dark and guttural has he called upon the emissary. Despiste the brigtheness of the fire, the room darkened and Kremmler felt the temperature fall, a chill wind gusting from somehwere. It carried the dust of agest past, the ruin of empire and the smell of decay.
The shadows that accompanied them gibbered in fear, as they felt the arrival of something ancient and terrible. Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, although no light shone to cast them. A hissing began to be heard and then the fire went out and the spell was broken.
Kremmler blasted his fate and shoot an angry stare to the useless star. He needed the key.