‘Oh, by Jupiter!’ he whispered as realisation dawned. ‘Oh, my good Lord! What have I done?’
The booming of the great balance had now taken on a different, arrhythmic note. Under its deep, masculine voice, Begg thought he could hear the thin screams of the Nazis. The gulf surrounding the not-dead men apparently boiled with blood and black smoke.
‘We would have mastered creation and moulded it in our desired image until the end of time,’ wept Hitler. Begg did not care that he now lowered his hands and buried his face in them. ‘Klosterheim! That was what you promised me!’
‘Like you, my friend, I have made many promises in my long career.’ Klosterheim’s toneless voice betrayed no emotion. ‘And like you, Colonel Hitler, I have broken many promises. I helped you and your followers because it suited me. Now you have failed me. It no longer suits me. Your actions brought my enemies to me and we have reached this pass. Only the blood and souls of your colleagues will compensate for your clumsiness.’ He turned to the metatemporal detective. ‘My master has his initial sacrifices, thanks to you, Sir Seaton. Now he will come to my aid, as he said he would…’
Begg could not disguise his own self-disgust. He was about to speak when a new voice, light and mocking, sounded from out of the scarlet mist behind them. He recognised the voice at once.
‘Oh, do not count on Lord Arioch turning up just yet, Herr Klosterheim.’ The newcomer’s tone held mockery, amusement, a kind of courage which could belong, Begg knew, only to one man. He looked in surprise back down the road which had brought them here. Strolling towards them, swinging his cane, for all the world as if he were still the insouciant flâneur of the Arcades de l’Opéra, wearing full evening dress, including a silk-lined cape and a silk hat, which emphasised the bone whiteness of his skin, the glittering crimson of his eyes, was Monsieur Zenith. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ He lifted his top hat. ‘Mrs Persson. This is not quite the scene I imagined I would find. Where, for instance, are Herr Hitler’s friends?’
’I fear they have become at least a potential blood-offering to whatever demon of Chaos Johannes Klosterheim obeys,’ replied Begg in chastened tones. ‘I believe I have made the greatest mistake of my life. Can it possibly be reversed, cousin?’
Still the elegant boulevardier, Zenith paused and selected one of his opium cigarettes from his slender, silver case. He lit it with an equally elegant silver Dunhill. ‘I must be truthful with you. Sir Seaton. I am not sure. Theoretically, if Chaos or Law achieves total ascendancy, then Time stops. Like those fellows down there, we shall be frozen forever at the moment before our deaths. Scarcely a palatable fate.’
’Indeed.’ Begg looked about him and then down again at the great balance below. ‘What is this gem they said you’d steal?’
’It is already stolen.’ Zenith smiled almost to himself ‘That is what brought me here. I possessed it before the ship ever left Jerusalem. Their perception of time remains, as ever, very crude. The gem emits both light and vibrations and acts as a kind of compass. Madame Persson understood this. It was what we discussed before the situation grew less controllable. My object remains the Da Vinci in the Louvre, which I expected to possess by now. They have absolutely no right to it, you know. I had not reckoned, however, on Herr Klosterheim’s involvement. The rules of this game seem significantly changed. I had underestimated its nature. Madame Persson suggested..
‘I regret that I misled you a little, old friend.’ Mrs Persson still stood close to the expressionless Klosterheim. ‘Self-interest demands a fresh strategy. A new reality.’
‘The Nazis continue to be useful,’ said Klosterheim. ‘Whether their souls go to Chaos or their bodies serve my cause, it matters not. Like all women, Mrs Persson understands where her loyalties are best placed.’
‘Great heavens, man! Does life have no value to you?’ Taffy Sinclair broke away from his fellow investigators and strode towards the cadaverous creature. ‘How on earth can you allow such infamy?’
Klosterheim’s dreadful laughter whispered into the void. ‘You speak to one who has defied both God and Lucifer and now stands ready to control the nature of reality itself. I am not the first to try. But I shall be the first to succeed.’
‘Such confidence is reassuring in these uncertain times.’ Zenith seemed almost amused. ‘I envy you, Herr Klosterheim. When do you expect my lord Arioch?’
’He will come imminently. He promised.’ Klosterheim turned those hollow eyes on the albino. ’He shares my impatience and my ambition.’
’Some would say he is already with us.’ Monsieur Zenith motioned with his sword stick. Klosterheim’s eyes followed it, as if he thought Zenith pointed out the powerful Chaos Lord. He saw nothing but the Balance below and four bodies suspended above one of the cups, an instant from being absorbed into the cause of Entropy.
Behind Begg. Commissaire Lapointe was forcing Hitler to his feet and handcuffing him. ‘It is my duty, gentlemen, to get this fellow back to the authorities in Berlin. As to the rest of the matter, I fear it is far beyond my competence. So if you will permit me…’ He began to push the whimpering insurgent colonel ahead of him, followed by his wounded assistant, whose expression was one of regret and embarrassment. ‘Duty demands,’ murmured Bardot.
‘Of course,’ agreed Begg. ‘I have no objection. Were the situation a little less complicated, I would be with you. Can you find your own way back?’
‘I hope so. With good fortune, we will meet again to in Paris very shortly.’
‘You may count on it, Commissaire.’ Monsieur Zenith bowed and again raised his hat. ‘I will take the most conscientious care of your colleague.’
Herr Klosterheim however would have none of this. ‘I cannot permit any of you to leave. Not now. Your souls are the price of my success.’ When Bardot’s pistol was again turned to aim at his chest he let out a laugh that was almost humorous. ‘Oh, fire away, my dear policeman. Have you any idea how many times I have been killed by the likes of you? Your lives are mine, just as those others belong to me. They are already promised to my patron…’
‘My dear Klosterheim,’ drawled Zenith, ‘are you truly so ignorant of the change in your situation that you believe you can threaten these good officers and stop them performing their duty? I believe the clinical term for your condition is ‘denial’. You no longer possess any power to speak of.’ And, smiling, he pressed a silver stud in his ebony cane and swiftly withdrew the slender blade.
Sinclair had expected to see polished silver steel. He gasped as instead he saw that the sword in Zenith’s hand was actually darker than the ebony which had contained it and along its slim, vibrating length writhed bloody scarlet characters, the runes of some long-forgotten lexicon. He turned, questioning Begg, and to his astonishment he saw his colleague laughing, the Webley held so loosely in his hand it threatened to fall into the void.
‘Aha!’ exclaimed Begg, almost in delight. ‘Here is your sought-for demonic aid, my dear Klosterheim! What a jest! What a jest!’ And he stepped back as his cousin advanced, the thrumming blade, which seemed to cry with its own voice, held before him, advancing on Klosterheim who looked from Mrs Persson to Zenith, to the sword, and was bewildered at last.
’Mrs Persson, you assured me…’
’I told you that the black broadsword you call Stormbringer was no longer in Monsieur Zenith’s possession. I said nothing of any other blade, bearing similar characteristics, which he finds convenient to carry in a more modern form under a different name.’ The English adventuress was grinning like a lioness who had just made a kill. ’You must know, Herr Klosterheim, that just as the wielder of the sword takes many guises, so does the sword itself. And even that creature which inhabits the sword has more than one identity!’