Kiss Of The Butterfly Part 14

THE LAZAREVIC STAKE.

Novi Sad: 5-7 May 1992 Tuesday morning dawned loudly. The clamor of refugee children in the corridor woke Steven well before his alarm went off and his head swam in a sleep-deprived haze. At nine o'clock he met a groggy Stojadinovic in the town center. 'I'm an inveterate night owl,' the professor yawned drowsily, his puffy eyes hiding behind sungla.s.ses, fedora pulled tightly on his head, as though he wanted to draw the curtains and go back to sleep.

'Did you ever find anything further about the redemption of vampires?' Stojadinovic asked sleepily.

'No. Nothing yet,' Steven replied.

'Tell me if you do. It's an interesting concept.'

A blue city transit bus took them the short ride across the Varadin Bridge to Wa.s.serstadt. They walked uphill past the monastery church of St. George, through a long brick-lined tunnel under the clock tower and out onto the top of the upper fortress to the old barracks, now the city archive, where Stojadinovic introduced Steven to the director, an old cla.s.smate of his. After a courtesy cup of Turkish coffee, the director took them to the archive's catalogues and excused himself.

'Let's start with the years immediately before and after the appearance of the 4th Grenadier Company at the Kalemegdan,' suggested Stojadinovic excitedly. 'I'll begin with 1733 and work backwards, and you begin with 1730 and work forwards.' Steven nodded in agreement, every bit as excited as Stojadinovic.

Steven ordered the Petrovaradin commander's Tagesbuch logbook and occupied one table, Stojadinovic at a different table. As Steven turned the pages of the large leather-bound folio, he could see it consisted of hand-written daily entries on yellowed parchment by the fortress commander, Marquise von Herrenhof, whose meticulous hand had recorded events largely in German, with occasional notations in Latin: construction contracts with local guilds, artisans and tradesmen, contracts for supplying food for the garrison, notes of troop movements and parades, visiting dignitaries, and decorations for distinguished service. Miscellaneous doc.u.ments, such as instructions from the Imperial court in Vienna, had been pasted to blank pages. It was a dry bureaucratic doc.u.ment.

Steven turned each fragile page with a ruler, careful not to damage the brittle binding. He read of daily life in the fortress: how much food, wine and beer the troops consumed; fights between the garrison's Hungarian Hussars, the Petrovaradin Regiment and the irregular Serbian Hajduk detachment; merchants cheating on deliveries; tavern-keepers overcharging the troops; an outbreak of syphilis; complaints about drunken soldiers. Steven quickly lost himself in the minutiae of 18th century fortress life and forgot entirely about the 4th Imperial Grenadier Company's elusive commander Captain von Zlatinow.

'Have you found anything?' Stojadinovic's voice abruptly pulled Steven back to the twentieth century.

'No, not yet.'

'I think I've found something...keep reading...I must find some other doc.u.ments,' Stojadinovic turned and walked out of the room towards the catalogues.

Steven returned to von Herrenhof's Tagesbuch, spending less time on trivia and more in search of von Zlatinow's Grenadiers. And then he came across a journal entry for Thursday, September 10th, 1730, at the end of which the author had written: Arrival today of the IV Kaiserlich Grenadier Kompanie via flotilla from Vienna. The boats unloaded substantial quant.i.ties of sealed crates. It is a reinforced unit, the men are large, all are veterans and in good health, and have new equipment and uniforms. They are under the command of Captain Marcus von Zlatinow, a Venetian mercenary. He presented me with a most confidential doc.u.ment written in the Kaiser's own hand, the contents of which I am forbidden to discuss. Suffice it to say that His Imperial Majesty the Kaiser has given von Zlatinow carte blanche to act in His name: Von Zlatinow given highest military rank in the border regions. All fortress commanders, officers and civilian administrators are to follow his orders on pain of death. He is answerable only to the Kaiser. He will undertake a special construction project in Hornwerk. He will also undertake special expeditions into the newly conquered lands. von Zlatinow deposited twenty four large crates of gold bars with me for safekeeping, for which I issued a receipt to him for the Societas Draconis and stored them in the fortress treasury. Each crate can be lifted only by eight men. IV Grenadiers billeted in the Long Barracks separate from the other troops; von Zlatinow and Lieutenant Lazarewitsch billeted in Officers' Quarters.

Steven stared in shocked disbelief. He had finally found von Zlatinow. No wonder Count von Meyerling in Belgrade was so upset; ordered about by a mere captain with a letter from the Kaiser granting enormous authority. And the gold...probably worth a fortune by today's standards, all of it belonging to the Order of the Dragon, which meant that not only was the Order alive and functioning more than 300 years after its founding, but was operating with the blessing of the Kaiser. Obviously von Zlatinow was a.s.sociated with the Order, and judging from circ.u.mstantial evidence, von Zlatinow's mission seemed to be hunting vampires. Steven rested his chin on the palms of his hands and stared at the wall, trying to put together the pieces of this rapidly expanding puzzle. Did this mean the Order had some connection with fighting vampires? But why would this Kaiser and his predecessors devote such significant resources to hunt a mythical creature? he asked himself.

He turned his attention to the September 11th entry from von Herrenhof to the fortress quartermaster to disburse supplies to the 4th Grenadiers from the fortress stores, and to write contracts for procurement of fresh supplies. Nothing unusual there: vegetables and meat, bread, flour, beer and wine, new beds, mattresses and bedding.

The entry for Sunday, September 13th, made only one mention of the 4th Grenadiers. Von Herrenhof had written cryptically: "the entire Kompanie attend ma.s.s together at the Church of St. George," as though worth noting. Reflecting on this, Steven recalled his discussions with Professor Nagy in Budapest and the professor's words came rus.h.i.+ng back to him suddenly: 'why is it called after the Dragon...why not the Order of St. George...especially since the members of the Order wore the cross of St. George at all times...after all, the Dragon represents the evil one, Satan...why name your order after your adversary...they were formed to fight against the serpent himself, Satan.' If Nagy was correct, then it made sense for vampire hunters to have St. George as their patron saint. After all, he slew an allegorical Satan in the form of a dragon. Steven's head spun with the possibilities.

In an entry dated three days later, Steven found another pa.s.sage: I have discovered that von Zlatinow met in secret with the master of the masons' guild and signed a contract. He has also reached a secret agreement with a master locksmith. Work is to be carried out at the Hornwerk. My officers and I have been forbidden from observing or noting the location of the works under penalty of death or from discussing it with the soldiers. The regular garrison is forbidden from entering the Hornwerk until the works are completed, and the IV Grenadiers now stand guard duty there. This is most unusual and completely out of keeping with all protocol. I have written a letter of protest to the Hofburg and dispatched it by express rider. Von Zlatinow has also requested that we procure three wagonloads of Hawthorne wood.

Steven devoured every word. So von Zlatinow was constructing something in secret underneath the fortress in the Hornwerk that required brick masons and a locksmith, a secret room or pa.s.sage perhaps. But for what purpose?

Von Herrenhof next mentioned the 4th Grenadiers on September 25th: Today the wagons of Hawthorne wood arrived. The Grenadiers began sharpening them into long stakes. The fortress blacksmith has been ordered to attach the stakes to pikes with iron bands.

The arrival of the Hawthorne wood excited Steven. According to all the folk tales, only a Hawthorne wood stake could kill a vampire, and here the entire company was making long stakes. Clearly von Zlatinow and his troops planned to slay vampires.

There were no further mentions of the 4th Grenadiers or von Zlatinow until October 7th, when the commander's entry showed a change of att.i.tude: IV Kaiserlich Grenadier Kompanie has drilled regularly every day since arrival and they march and fire superbly, even over rough ground. Never have I seen tighter ranks and lines or a better formed square, and all without the aid of a drummer. They respond rapidly to Lieutenant Lazarewitsch's commands and do not hesitate in the least. Von Zlatinow commands as befitting a man of n.o.ble birth and sets a superb example to the men, not hesitating to step in and demonstrate how things should be done. They are of superior quality with the extremely high discipline and morale one expects from the German soldier, a sharp contrast to my undisciplined Magyars and Serbs. When off duty they do not mingle with the Serbs or Magyars and avoid public drunkenness and quarrels. They are truly a credit to his Majesty. I have written to the Hofburg requesting Imperial Grenadiers be a.s.signed to the permanent garrison.

"Lieutenant Lazarewitsch." Could that be one of Katarina's ancestors? Steven was busily scribbling notes in his notebook, when a hand on his shoulder caused him to jump and yelp from fright. Others in the reading room looked at him with annoyance, and he turned to find Stojadinovic standing over him, smiling broadly.

'Come outside, we must talk,' he whispered softly. 'You may leave your materials here. No one will touch them.'

They found a table at the fortress' terrace and ordered drinks, enjoying the view over the Danube and Novi Sad. They basked in the pleasant spring weather and squinted in the bright sun, oblivious to the tremendous human suffering going on in neighboring Bosnia and Croatia.

'Well, I must say that this day has turned out to be one of the most interesting days of my academic life,' Stojadinovic said. 'I have found doc.u.ments that raise more questions than they answer, and in the process I may have found the answer to a puzzle that has long vexed me. But first, tell me how your work is going.'

Steven excitedly related everything he had found, and then went on to add his thoughts regarding the Order of the Dragon and the Hawthorne stakes. 'Forgive me if I sound ridiculous, but do you think it's possible vampires might once have existed?' he asked Stojadinovic.

'Of course not, don't be silly. But obviously at one time superst.i.tion was quite strong, and there can be little doubt that what you have discovered and what I have come across indicates that people were at one time quite afraid of vampirism, much as you in America had your Salem witch trials. Whether this is related to people's fear of death, the lack of faith in an afterlife, or perhaps superst.i.tion, I cannot say. But we now have evidence that an Austrian emperor spent significant resources on hunting vampires. Given this, we cannot dismiss the existence of something that the popular imagination referred to as vampires. But the existence of actual vampires? Nonsense! I somehow doubt that those folk-vampires actually had any sort of special powers, or that they went around biting people on the neck.'

'Hmmm, yes,' Steven responded. 'But there's one thing I don't understand. Why does von Herrenhof say that von Zlatinow is a Venetian? Von Zlatinow isn't a Venetian or Italian name at all. In fact, it sounds eastern European, almost Slavic.'

'You are correct. But at that time it was not uncommon for people of different nationalities to enter into the service of the Kaiser. It is possible that von Zlatinow is a Germanized version of an Italian name, perhaps di Zlotinni or something similar. But let me share with you what I have found,' Stojadinovic said excitedly. 'As I read the Tagesbuch for 1733 I discovered that several pages had been torn out from the months of January and February, and judging by the aging of the paper, they were removed contemporaneously, not later. I can therefore only suspect that someone had decided to censor Von Herrenhof's Tagesbuch.'

'That could have been von Zlatinow,' Steven said.

'Yes, it could have been. From what you say he certainly had the authority to do so. In any event, I came across no mention of the 4th Grenadiers after February 1733. What I did find was a minor legal dispute in late March 1733 between a local master locksmith and the fortress quartermaster, who refused to pay the locksmith. I requested the archival doc.u.ments from the local magistrate's office and found the particulars of the case. The quartermaster claimed there was no record a contract had been made, and that the locksmith had no evidence he had ever been in the fortress, much less installed a custom-made lock. The locksmith then presented a diagram of the locking mechanism as evidence, and stated that he had installed it in the Hornwerk, but that he himself was unable to say exactly where, as he had been led there blindfolded. The court proceedings came to a sudden halt following the intervention of Captain von Zlatinow and the quartermaster immediately paid the locksmith.'

'Wow. So what happened?

'I don't know. I have been able to find nothing further.' Stojadinovic then smiled broadly and looked Steven directly in the eyes. 'However, the magistrate kept the sketch of the lock and I know where it is.' He acted extremely satisfied with himself. 'In fact, it may provide the answer to what happened to my tour group in 1983.'

'Really? How is that?'

'I've seen the lock many times in the Labyrinth, but never knew it was a lock. It's perfectly camouflaged. If you didn't know better, you'd never think to open it. We shall see it when we go there.'

The next morning Steven was waiting at the Petrovaradin archive when they opened the doors. He ordered more of the fortress commander's logbooks from the period before 1730, but found that he was doing little more than turning pages and trying to somehow distract his thoughts from Katarina and Vesna. After a while he gave up and walked across the bridge to the drab socialist-era lobby of Novi Sad's main post office and sought a booth. Vesna answered after the ninth ring. 'Ciao, how are you?' he asked cheerfully.

'Crazy and unforgettable,' she purred groggily into the phone. 'Ummmm. It's lovely waking up to your voice.' And then she fell silent and he could hear her breathing faintly. Alone in the musty atmosphere of the heavily insulated telephone booth, Steven felt a strong intimacy.

'Did I wake you?' he asked.

'A little...it's wonderful to hear you,' she whispered back. 'Wake me any time you wish.'

Steven told her about Stojadinovic's offer to take them through the Labyrinth the following Sat.u.r.day.

'That's super,' she said, still half asleep. 'I'll tell Tamara and Bear. What time should we be there?'

'Around 4:30 in the afternoon. Is that okay?'

'Why so late?'

'I don't know. That's what Stojadinovic said. Is it a problem?'

'I suppose it'll be okay. Don't make any plans for that Sat.u.r.day night. We'll all go out together. I can't wait.'

'Say h.e.l.lo to Tamara and Bear from me. Oh, Professor Stojadinovic said to wear boots and old clothes.'

'So I should leave the Gucci and Armani at home, huh?'

'You'd look great in a flour sack,' he said.

'Yeah, but wait until you see me all muddy and sweaty.'

'You'll probably be even more beautiful.' He kicked himself for saying that, not wanting to encourage her, yet feeling a strong physical attraction.

'Do you really mean that?'

'Yeah.'

'Stefan?'

'Yes?'

'I miss you.'

He didn't answer, fearful of giving her false hope, but his breathing deepened and became louder.

'I hear you breathing.'

'Yeah,' he rasped, thinking back to Bear's advice in the Chapel of Peace.

'And?'

'Yeah, it seems kind of strange without you. Let's talk when you get here.'

'I can't wait to see you. Think of me.'

'I'll see you then on Sat.u.r.day. Ciao.'

'Ciao.'

He hung up the receiver, stood in the booth for a while, savoring the sound of her voice, and then finally opened the door and walked out, the tobacco air of the lobby refres.h.i.+ng after the booth's mustiness.

He paid for the call, and then made another one, to Danko Niedermeier at the bookstore in Sremski Karlovci. The phone rang interminably, and Steven was ready to hang up after the twelfth ring, when Niedermeier finally picked up.

'Ah, how very nice to hear from you,' Niedermeier spoke rapidly. 'And how did you like your visit to Karlovci?'

'It was very nice, thank you. We visited the Chapel of Peace as you suggested.'

'Ah, that is good, very good.'

'I wanted to see if you discovered anything about the Djordjevic book.'

'Ah, yes, the books. Well, I spoke with the publisher and he still has copies left. I have ordered sufficient for your students.' He spoke so rapidly that Steven could barely follow him. 'The boxes will arrive next Wednesday morning.'

'But I was talking about the Djordjevic...' The line went dead.

Steven clutched the receiver, troubled. Obviously Niedermeier felt he couldn't speak freely about the book. Steven left the phone booth and walked around the corner onto Jewish Street. Lost in thought he wandered through the shade of the large overhanging branches that made this busy boulevard feel timeless and deserted, past the enormous old synagogue.

'First Gordana the librarian, now Niedermeier...everyone's afraid of that book...' He muttered under his breath, unaware that he was attracting stares as pa.s.sersby looked at the crazy young man talking out loud in a foreign tongue. 'Am I becoming paranoid?' He stopped and turned around suddenly to see if he was being followed, but it seemed that there were only other pedestrians on the street, pa.s.sing innocently.

He watched the other pa.s.sengers as he hopped a city bus to the main bus station, trying to see if anyone was following. From the bus station he caught the next bus to Sremski Karlovci, and arrived slightly before noon.

Steven walked across the main square, which even now in the middle of a weekday looked quiet and deserted, and sat on a bench in the shade of the large Chestnut trees standing sentinel before the Cathedral of St. Nikola. The lion heads on the four-sided fountain stared indifferently at him as water trickled from the rusty pipes in their mouths. Wind blew dust from the square's potholed asphalt into Steven's eyes, making him blink, as he again looked around to see if anyone had followed him. He saw only a few old women and men in black on the benches, and young men sitting idly in the cafe across the square: he recognized no one from the bus.

And then a loud screech of brakes and the sound of powerful motors revving attracted his attention to two black Mercedes four-wheel drive SUVs with tinted black windows that raced down the street from the hill in back of the Karlovci Gymnasium, sending pedestrians and other cars fleeing from their path. They tore across the sleepy square, the front seats occupied by shaven heads wearing sungla.s.ses and dark clothing. Both bore the distinctive blue police license plates.

He stood and walked rapidly up the hill whence the black SUVs had come and found the bookshop, its door standing slightly ajar. Steven suddenly felt his foreboding turn to fear as he pushed the door open all the way and entered, to be greeted by a scene of chaos. Stepping carefully over scattered books, torn posters and fallen shelves towards the back room, he found Niedermeier sitting in a corner on the bare wooden floor, holding a handkerchief to his face. Noticing Steven he removed the handkerchief and winced slightly: a trickle of blood ran from his nose and the lenses of his gla.s.ses were cracked.

Steven stooped to help him: 'Are you okay? What happened?' But he already knew.

'Could you please go in back to the bathroom and fetch me some toilet paper?' Niedermeier asked in a barely audible whisper. Steven did so and handed it to the beaten proprietor, who wiped the blood from his nose. 'Wine...I keep it up by the register...under the floor to the right of the desk.'

Steven lifted a loose floorboard near where the desk had stood and exposed a cache of wine bottles and gla.s.ses tucked away among books and papers. He took an already-opened bottle with a cork in its neck and a gla.s.s and returned to find Niedermeier still sitting, holding his head in his hands, the veins showing blue through the skin. He poured Niedermeier a gla.s.s of Bermet and handed it to him. Niedermeier ignored the gla.s.s and took the bottle.

'You're causing a lot of trouble, young gentleman,' Niedermeier whispered from behind the handkerchief. 'You and that accursed Djordjevic book. Let us drink to Tihomir Djordjevic and his elusive book,' he smiled a pained yet determined smile, raised the bottle and clinked it against Steven's gla.s.s, then drank deeply.

Steven stood, feeling guilty, wanting to help, but uncertain what to do. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt,' he stammered rapidly. 'I didn't know you'd have trouble because of it.'

'Uh. Yes. Well, trouble I have...they carry police badges but they are nothing more than thugs and criminals. We law-abiding citizens need police to protect us from the police,' the wine bottle trembled in his hand. 'Go lock the front door, please,' he gestured and Steven did so.

'And my pipe: can you find my pipe?' Steven walked through the litter of the shop and finally found the pipe, tobacco pouch and a.s.sorted tools for it scattered on the floor. He brought them to Niedermeier who, with shaking hands, slowly filled the bowl with tobacco and tamped it down, then lit it and took several deep puffs, which calmed him.

As he sipped his wine, Niedermeier began to speak. 'I have been on the trail of the book since you were here. Really it is not that difficult a matter for me: there has never been a book I could not find.' He was becoming slightly boastful again. 'But as I activated old contacts funny things began to happen. Many refused to talk to me, especially the ones in Belgrade. They had been warned about giving the book to anybody.'

'I did, however, locate a copy in Pirot,' he said, referring to the city in eastern Serbia. 'It is far from Belgrade and sometimes news and official instructions arrive there much slower.' He now had a slight grin on his face. 'My friend snuck it out of the archive and photocopied it. He will send it by bus this evening and it should arrive sometime tomorrow. You can come for it on Friday morning. I will have to charge you substantially more, of course, to cover the transportation costs, long distance telephone costs and damage to the shop.'

'That's no problem. The Balkan Ethnographic Trust will pay for the damages,' Steven spoke confidently to comfort Niedermeier, even though he was unsure whether BET would actually pay.

'When you called our friends from State Security were here asking why I was looking for the book and who I was getting it for...evidently someone told them I was looking for it. Do not worry, they didn't ask about you. I told them nothing, of course, but they were not satisfied and will probably return. It is no longer safe to call me on this telephone.'

'Young gentleman, I have no idea what is in this book of yours,' Niedermeier stared directly in Steven's eyes, 'but if it is important enough to cause the DB to rough up an old bookseller in the middle of a war, then it must contain extremely valuable information. What is this legend of twelve mighty vampires? I have never heard of it before.'

'I have absolutely no idea,' Steven responded returning Niedermeier's gaze with openness, hoping to allay any suspicion he might harbor, 'but it makes me wonder what's going on. In Djordjevic's other article Vampires and other beings in our folk beliefs and traditions he stated that vampires like to socialize, but are only able to do so in groups of twelve or less. The more research I conduct into vampires the more I'm convinced that they may have once actually existed in some form or another. I know that sounds silly, but I can't think of any other explanation for the recurring nature and commonalities of the phenomenon.'

'Oh nonsense, don't be silly!' Niedermeier exhaled a cloud of rich maple-scented smoke. 'There are no such things as vampires. There must be some other reason the DB is interested. I dislike it when the strong use force against the weak. It makes me want to fight back all the more. We will get the book and fight back against them. Come by on Friday morning and I will give you the book. By then I will have read it and uncovered its terrifying secrets.'

Back in Novi Sad, Steven returned to the post office and called Dusan, who wasn't home, but the grandmother answered the telephone and told him Katarina had called the previous evening and asked that he call back as soon as possible. Looking at his watch he saw it was almost five o'clock, which with the nine hour time difference would make it morning in California. It took several attempts for the operator to get a line, but finally he succeeded and Katarina picked up on the first ring.

'Stefan, how good to hear from you,' she spoke in English. Her Serbian accent was less p.r.o.nounced. 'I can't talk long or I'll be late for cla.s.s. Marko is in Europe conducting research and he asked me to tell you he'll be in Budapest next week. He'll be staying at the Gellert Hotel. He said it's important you meet him to review your research.'

'Okay. Your mother said to say h.e.l.lo. I saw her last night.'