Kiss Of The Butterfly Part 6

'This sucks. I'm leaving,' Steven shouted at Dusan, who smiled vacantly.

Steven fought his way across the room, up the stairs and into the refres.h.i.+ng chill of the winter night. His lungs burned with pain as he sucked in the cold and his head spun from the noise, beer and poisoned air. He sat down on the steps outside INFERNO, holding his face with his hands, trying to regain his senses as vomit lapped at the back of his throat.

The sound of retching turned his attention to a thin blonde girl bending over a dark haired girl who was crouching and vomiting on the sidewalk. She stopped vomiting, coughed several more times, and struggled to her feet, a.s.sisted by her friend, then turned to Steven and spat sarcastically: 'Aren't vampires enough for you? Do you also get your thrills watching people get sick?' She was absolutely beautiful in a fallen angel sort of way and Steven realized he had seen the two before, at Professor Ljubovic's place.

'I'm Tamara,' the blonde approached Steven apologetically. 'This is Vesna...she's sick.' The dark-haired fallen angel smiled wanly. 'It's really bad down there. I don't know why we keep going back, but we do.'

'Yeah, it's pretty bad,' he agreed. 'I'm going to get a sandwich. Are you hungry?'

'Whenever you get sick like this you need to eat,' Tamara urged Vesna.

'Come with me, then. My treat,' Steven said.

They went to an all night sandwich shop, then headed slowly towards the Square of the Republic. As they walked Tamara placed her hand tenderly around Vesna's arm and snuggled up to her.

'Your presentation really was excellent,' said Tamara, between bites of bread, cheese, ham and lettuce.

'I didn't like it... it didn't make me feel good,' Vesna said, food spurting from her mouth.

'But it was good,' rejoined Tamara. 'You looked at something that everyone thinks is a joke and showed how integral it is to our culture. I can't wait to hear more.'

'I'm glad you liked it. I think my next presentation will be even better,' Steven said. 'At first I thought vampires weren't a serious topic, but it's turned out to be quite interesting.'

'You've found a real gold mine. Everything you've discovered is original and completely unknown,' Tamara gushed. 'It's what every graduate student dreams of. You could base your entire academic career on vampires. I wish I could find such a good topic for my dissertation.'

'Well, I got lucky on this one,' Steven said.

'And you got lucky b.u.mping into us tonight,' Tamara teased.

Steven looked at Vesna's face, pale, drawn slightly sickly looking, and realized that there was something in her eyes that he found attractive.

'I still think it's terrible,' Vesna said. 'There's nothing good about it. There are too many unpleasant things happening and we don't need more. Don't you sometimes think that there just might be vampires? What about all these mutilated bodies floating down the rivers and everything on television? Something horrible is going on in Croatia, and n.o.body will speak honestly about it. I feel as if evil has swallowed our country and there's nothing we can do, as if vampires are running the country. What if Milosevic is a vampire? What if all the generals are vampires? What if all of Milosevic's cronies are vampires? What if the paramilitary formations are vampires? What if Croatia's President, Franjo Tudjman, is a vampire? What if the DB are vampires,' she said, referring to the secret police.

'What if you're a vampire?' Tamara shot back: 'the way you're drinking Stefan's blood right now you're the vampire.'

'She's not drinking my blood,' Steven said.

'I didn't mean it literally. That's our expression for when someone is nagging someone else,' answered Tamara.

'I still don't like it,' Vesna continued. 'There's blood everywhere...in the rivers, the newspapers, the television, and here on the streets. Did you hear about the body they found last week in the Botanical Garden that was missing its kidneys? Or about the girl's body they found under the Brankov Bridge without any blood in it? I think there are real vampires and that they're having the biggest feast of their lives, and no one notices because of the war. If I were a vampire I'd be enjoying all this chaos and would do nothing but eat, because no one would ever find out...they'd just blame it on the war.'

Steven smiled at her, silently. He liked her fire.

'Vesna, enough. Stop it,' Tamara ordered.

At the Square of the Republic, Vesna and Tamara gave him their telephone numbers and suggested they meet for coffee. 'And if you're not doing anything next Sat.u.r.day, then perhaps we can go out to a place where we won't get sick,' Tamara said.

'Ladies, it will be my pleasure,' Steven said, bowing in an exaggerated fas.h.i.+on.

'But leave the vampires at home,' Vesna cautioned.

'Okay, okay,' Steven laughed. 'No vampires...at least, not this time.'

The girls drove off in a taxi leaving Steven alone in front of the National Theater. He walked slowly across the street towards the trolleybus stop and thought about Vesna's outburst. 'She's right,' he thought to himself. 'If I were a vampire this'd be the perfect time to feed. There's war, lawlessness, the complete disintegration of society, economic disruption, ethnic cleansing, lots of dead bodies, complete and utter chaos. It would be a vampire's paradise.'

'I'm living in a vampire's paradise,' he suddenly spoke out loud in English to n.o.body in particular, causing the other person waiting at the bus stop to stare at him.

A derelict red trolleybus with one working headlight and a loud air compressor crawled towards the bus-stop, driven by a pale, middle-aged ghoul. Steven climbed aboard and sat at the back of the nearly deserted bus. 'A vampire's paradise,' he thought once more. The thought made him giggle softly to himself. The more he thought about it the more he giggled, until finally other pa.s.sengers began to turn and look at him, but saw just one more drunk coming home from a night out on the town.

He began singing softly to himself: We are people, Gypsies d.a.m.ned by Fate.

Someone around us always Comes and threatens us...

Balkans, Balkans, My Balkans, Be powerful and stay well.

Balkans, Balkans, My Balkans, Be powerful and stay well.

When he got home he removed his smoke-drenched clothing and cast it aside. Then, for the first time since he'd arrived, he felt the need to bow his head and seek out G.o.d in prayer.

Interlude III: Vienna: Tuesday, 12 May 1733 The gaily attired Watch Commander of the Imperial Household Guard escorted the Captain, stepping carefully to avoid dirtying the trousers of his dress uniform, his pace slowed by knee-high riding boots. 'My Captain, much has happened since you left', the Watch Commander said.

'Did I see horses stabled in the Maximillian Palace?' the Captain asked in astonishment, glancing over his shoulder. 'So much has changed.'

'Those are the Lipizzaners for the Riding School,' the Watch Commander gestured, 'which they say will be finished soon, but the contractors...thieves, the lot of them.'

The Captain nodded knowingly.

'Since you left they completed the new wing of the palace...it's to be the Reichskanzlei.' The Watch Commander gestured at a large building pierced by gateways. He led him to an archway in the Leopold Wing, past some guards who snapped to attention, up a flight of stairs, and down a corridor.

'Vienna grows because we've secured the southern marches,' the Captain smiled. 'Each year we push the Turks further south.'

The Watch Commander nodded affirmatively. 'And here in Vienna everyone is building...new palaces are sprouting like mushrooms. Have you seen what our old general Prince Eugene of Savoy has built for himself, his Belvedere? Do you remember the prizes we took from Damad Ali Pasha's army at Tekije? Well, I've invested mine in two new apartment houses just outside the old city walls, so now I have a hefty income.'

'Yes, and a waistline to match,' the Captain laughed good-naturedly.

'Well, my Brigitta is a wonderful cook, and palace life is not as harsh as the military frontier. All I have to do is keep from getting too drunk and make certain I don't fall off my horse when someone's watching,' he laughed. 'But what about you? You haven't aged a day since you led us against the Janissaries eighteen years ago. How do you keep the pace of a front line soldier? I must insist you come to dinner. Brigitta will put some meat on your bones.'

'Frontier life is healthier than city life. The air's fresh, the food's good and there are fewer impure vapors to pollute the body's humors. I'll accept your invitation with pleasure, if His Majesty permits.'

'Yes, well, here we are.' The Watch Commander stopped at a richly inlaid wooden door, music seeping from behind. 'Be quiet when you enter. He dislikes interruptions.' He pushed gently on the bra.s.s k.n.o.b and opened the door, permitting the Captain to slip through.

The Captain squinted at the bright light of the high-ceilinged hall, its windows thrown open to the spring air. The late morning sun glistened off the richly inlaid parquet floor as the light danced from tall, narrow mirrors, their ornate gold-leaf frames set in rich red velvet wallpaper with stylized Pomegranates. Through the windows he saw the ma.s.sive Burgthor, the city wall and the new suburbs spreading outward towards the Linienwall. He sniffed: the air smelled of wood polish and snuff.

In the center of the hall a robust, bewigged man with an expanding belly exuberantly directed a small string ensemble from an ornately decorated harpsichord. Charles VI's droopy eyes took pleasure in each note, his long nose and protruding Habsburg chin bobbing with the tempo. The Emperor squinted at the sheet music as the minuet danced enthusiastically towards its climax. Catching sight of the Captain from the corner of his eye, he jerked his head, lost his concentration and missed several chords.

'd.a.m.n it,' he shouted, and the ensemble stumbled to a halt in mid bar. He stood and faced the Captain, who removed his three-cornered hat and bowed deeply.

'Your Majesty,' he said.

Charles squinted at him, nearsightedly. 'Is it really you?'

'At your command, Majesty.'

'Out, out! Everybody out. Out at once,' the Emperor shouted and clapped his hands at the musicians. 'Leave us alone.' They hurriedly fled the room as an anxious courtier barged in. 'Out, We said! Out! We will be left alone! At once!' The courtier fled, leaving the Emperor alone with the Captain.

'Pray forgive me, your Majesty, for the interruption.'

The Emperor looked at him, then advanced and gave him a hearty handshake. 'My dear Venetian friend, how good to see you.'

'The pleasure is mine, your Grace.'

'And you have succeeded?'

'I trust so, Sire.'

'Excellent. Excellent.....' the Emperor trailed off into silence. The Captain waited respectfully. 'Now, tell me about the project.'

'All was done as you instructed. You have received my dispatches, yes? As you know, it took us some time to select the proper men for the task and then to train them. After a year of preparation we began the hunt in 1729.'

'And? Did you find them? How many did you get?'

'We have cleansed Your Majesty's lands as far south as Skopje. We killed all those we encountered, except for those deemed most powerful. We have interred eleven of them in a tomb most secret and impenetrable, as you did command.'

'Eleven? I thought you told me there were twelve.'

'There are, but we can't find the twelfth, the Vlach. He has gone to ground and may never reappear, or perhaps been killed. We heard rumors that he was last seen near Srebrenica in Bosnia, so we scoured the area, but to no avail.'

'And the men?'

'They have embarked for England. From thence they journey to the New World.'

'That is good. Yes, yes, quite good,' the Emperor looked out the window at the growing city.

A silence followed.

'Majesty', the Captain looked him directly in the eyes. 'I have always been your faithful servant and done your bidding. No other has served you as have I. My loyalty and faithfulness are not to be doubted.'

The Emperor nodded in agreement.

'Sire, I fear it may be folly to leave the eleven there. Please, you need only give the order and I shall finish them.'

'Was it not your idea to inter them? Were you not the one who suggested we find another way to deal with them, to help them repent of their sins and find redemption?'

'Yes, Majesty. But alas, we have not yet discovered a means, and when I think of them entombed alive if they are indeed alive alone in eternal darkness, tormented by their sins, my soul shudders in horror. And what if they should escape?'

'I feel your initial impulse was right and just: we must find a way to save these lost souls. If we can redeem them from the devil's grasp, we will be doing the Lord's will.'

'But Majesty, if they...'

'Please,' he fixed his gaze firmly on the Captain. 'As your brother in the Order I implore you and as your Emperor I command you. Promise me.'

The Captain knelt on one knee and kissed the Emperor's extended hand. 'My Lord, it will be as you say.'

'And the funds for the Order?'

The Captain rose to his feet. 'I placed some with the Jews the Rothschilds both here and in Paris, some with the Fuggers in Augsburg, some with Dutch merchants and the Honourable East India Company in London. The remainder I have secreted in bullion, coins and precious stone as you commanded. The Order will not perish for want of funds.'

The Emperor hit several keys on the harpsichord, the notes echoing dully across the empty hall, then looked directly at the Captain. 'You must supervise the funds carefully and make certain the Order can sustain itself. The Adversary is not defeated. There will be future struggles. You understand this, do you not? Without the funds, our struggle against the Evil One cannot continue. Evil will be present as long as the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve walk this earth in sin and mortality. As G.o.d's anointed Emperor, it is my duty to continue the fight until our Savior comes again in His Glory. I shall not be found wanting.'

'Yes, Majesty.'

'What about the one who escaped?'

'I shall maintain vigilant watch, Majesty. My spies are active throughout the land. I have a reinforced company of Grenzer, mostly Serbs and Vlachs, who are garrisoned at Grosswardein, but we use Belgrade as a forward post.'

'And you, do you not wish to return to Venice? Have you not had enough of this life?'

'Venice's sun and islands are now distant. It is no longer mine, Majesty. Perhaps, someday...but not now. My service to the Order continues. Until when, I know not.'

'My dear Venetian friend, be watchful, for the Dragon is Evil. Like unto our Savior, no man knoweth the hour or day of his coming...he cometh like a thief in the night to steal away the souls of Man. I am the anointed Arm of the Lord, and you are the sword that I wield. Justice and the Word of the Lord shall prevail. You shall see to this, will you not?'

'I serve none but thee, Majesty. I have served the Order long and will continue in faithful service all my days, as G.o.d sees fit to grant me strength of limb and clarity of mind. O how merciful is G.o.d, Just and Faithful.'

CHAPTER FOUR.

A MISSING LIBRARIAN.

Belgrade: April 1992 April in Belgrade is an enchanted month. Spring elbows winter aside for lovers. Warm weather draws couples to the leafy streets and parks as fresh winds cleanse the coal smoke and automobile exhaust from the air with a promise of summer. This particular April, sunlight and pa.s.sion blinded the eyes of lovers to the city's decay and signs of war.

In parks throughout the city along the Danube and Sava quays, at Usce and Ada every bench was taken by grappling couples, oblivious to pa.s.sersby. Gra.s.s sprouted, leaves burst onto recently-barren branches, and flowers appeared in gardens. Tables and chairs sprouted from the concrete and asphalt in front of Belgrade's cafes and restaurants, even though the weather was still brisk and often chilly. Yet darkness weighed heavily over these bright spring days.

Steven sat in the Aristotle cafe near the Philosophy Faculty with Vesna, Tamara and the bearded Rasputin look-alike he had met at Professor Ljubovic's, whom everyone deservedly called "Bear". A brisk breeze made them s.h.i.+ver, even though they wore heavy coats. So too did the topic of conversation, the new war in Bosnia.