The Vengeance of Rome
- Автор: Муркок Майкл
- Серия: Between The Wars #4
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Vengeance of Rome». Краткое содержание книги:
I relaxed a little. True, he had little to gain and might well lose his own reputation if he handed the film over to the police. I began to explain how I had been blackmailed into making the film, how I had been a prisoner in Egypt, close to death. But for a fluke I would never have escaped. There were others in Munich, I said, who could vouch for all of this.
He seemed sympathetic, as usual. ‘We are all forced to compromise ourselves at some stage in our lives. We learn humility from such experiences.’
Kitty came back into the room. She was carrying a large, leather-bound scrapbook of the kind used for press cuttings. ‘My inheritance,’ she said. She handed it to Prince Freddy. She made no attempt to explain the book, nor did Prince Freddy. We all understood what it contained. ‘Humility’ Prince Freddy carried the book behind another curtain, leaving me with Kitty. She shrugged. She seemed almost as out of focus as the film we had been watching. I did not need to relearn that particular humiliation, but it appeared I was to have no choice.
At that moment I remember feeling an odd, inner chill, a profound suspicion that Kitty and Prince Freddy had conspired to kill her mother! It is simply not possible for a man of my kind to imagine the levels of infamy such people will go to and what delight they take in trapping others in their webs! For all my experience of the world I remain an innocent. Mrs Cornelius says as much.
I was to pay a price, however, for Prince Freddy’s discretion. The new government was blocking many of his old ways of making a living, therefore he must find new ways. He had had some experience with film-making in the past. He had regular customers, many in the party hierarchy here in Munich. He would let me wear a mask — a good one — and Kitty would be my only female partner. It was not much to pay, he said wide-eyed, for his silence. Another man might have asked far more.
I was in an appalling position. If I refused, he would release the film to the press who would be only too glad of the story. It would be big news across the Continent. If I accepted his offer, I compounded my situation and would be drawn in deeper and deeper. Yet I had no choice. How I wished Ernst Röhm were with me. I knew exactly how he would have responded. Prince Freddy would by now be on the carpet with a broken neck. But as it was, he had me in his power.
We filmed the thing at Prince Freddy’s place in a day and a night. The camera was locked away, the actors paid and Prince Freddy congratulated me on my performance. He was honoured to work with a pro, he said. With deep dread I knew this would not be the only time he would call on me to perform. My hubris had led me to this, just as it had led to my captivity and torment in Egypt. I could not bear to go through all that again. I considered suicide.
Early in the morning after the filming I returned to my apartment. This time it was immediately obvious my rooms had been searched. The intrusion was less expert than before. Was more than one agency taking an interest in me? At least I had trusted my instincts and kept most of my valuable things in Corneliusstrasse. As soon as possible I would make sure they were safe. Who was following me? Had my association with Prince Freddy been noted by the powers that be? Was he also a spy? My stomach turned over at the thought. I went instantly to my store of cocaine and found it untampered with. I took a massive dose, and slowly my confidence returned. My most sensible plan was to register this break-in with the authorities. That way it would be clear I had no fear of them. Then I must get in touch with Göring and solicit his help. Surely Mrs Cornelius could be prevailed upon to help, considering my potential danger? Putzi still to some degree had the Air Marshal’s ear. He would certainly help me. I made myself some coffee, showered and dressed in my best, most conservative clothes, ready to report what I suspected.
Just as I was knotting my tie, I heard a knock at the front door. I hoped it was Mrs Cornelius or even Putzi Hanfstaengl. I had decided to tell them everything, even about Prince Freddy’s blackmail. In my circumstances it was just as well to throw oneself wholly on the mercy of one’s friends.
I opened the door, a word of greeting on my lips. But instead of a friend I found two uniformed policemen saluting me politely. They seemed a little surprised to see me smiling. One had a typical round Bavarian face, nurtured on good beer. The other was taller, an amiable wolf.
‘Thank goodness,’ I said. ‘Just the chaps I want to see.’
A little baffled by my reaction, they asked if I had noticed any intruders in the building. I was immediately relieved. Obviously I had not been singled out. Other residents had reported the same problems.
Yes, I said, I was pretty sure I had been burgled but had no idea what might be missing. Murmuring politely, the policemen came into the apartment, glanced around, and then asked me if I would mind returning with them to make a short statement at the Ettstrasse police headquarters. They were deference itself. They had already taken this liberty with some of my neighbours. It would only be a matter of minutes. They could talk to me here, but the stenographer at the station could take down the details.
I told them there was little more I could offer. I had not noticed anything missing. Was their suspect some sort of pervert who merely enjoyed entering other people’s apartments? They were a trifle insistent. They said how extremely sorry they were. These things had to be reported at the station. Those were the rules. The gesture on my part would simplify their overloaded work schedule. They promised I would be back in time for lunch. Perhaps I could also bring my identification papers, which would be formally needed?
At length I could only acquiesce. I asked for a few moments and went to the bathroom. I splashed some water on my face, took another quick, deep sniff of restorative, put a little extra in my secret pocket, should I need it on the way home, replaced the packet in the usual hole under the sink, found my papers and returned to my living room where the policemen awaited me. I still had no suspicion of what was to come.
FORTY
You say there is nothing to fear from the East? I say you are searching in the wrong places. Look to Australia or China or South-East Asia, not to Russia or her empire, who will always be European, for it is Christendom herself that Russia defends, just as her free Cossacks ensured her boundaries for centuries. For it is written that the borders were drawn upon the world by God’s own finger tracing them as He traced the mosaics of our history.
For a while I forgot these things. I forgot them in Odessa.
Things I had forgotten in Odessa: I had forgotten so much in Odessa. I gave up the memory of my simple, lustful wanton life, my Golden Age. This was not what I had planned. But in my despair I began to remember again. I have no memory, no memory of that other. Routines are performed, but I forget their origins. My rituals sustain me. I breathed the roses of forgetfulness in that ancient isle, the sweet isle of sanctuary. Believe me, I am not compromising you. Have you ever heard me complain? Nobody wants to know what happened. That’s show business, says Brady the child-killer. Is there some primitive sense they have that by killing us they empower themselves? There are more terrible ideas than this, I suppose. But they behave like film stars, these secret service interrogators, these prison guards. Salachti. I read what I could in the camps but most of what they gave me was not exactly designed to stimulate the mind but rather to reduce it. There are teachers who take great joy in passing on wisdom. But we must not forget the other kind of teacher, who loves to repress knowledge, to leave us more ignorant and brutal than themselves. Guilty or not, few deserved to be the props for the showmanship of illiterates or sadists.