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A QUESTION OF GREED AND DEATH

Jakub Hoza


The cellar reeked of mold and something else. There was a strange metallic smell in the stale air. Like a coin rolled on a tongue.

A light bulb hanging from a cord hung perfectly still, bringing a figure sitting in a solid oak chair out of the darkness. In other circumstances it might have been considered a royal throne, if it weren’t for the fact that the thin young man in the chair had his hands and feet bound with thick leather cuffs and a gag in his mouth, around which saliva was leaking. It mingled with the tears running down his cheeks to his chin. A casual observer might have noticed dark stains on the unpainted wood. They might also notice the bloody scales lying on the floor. The fingernails that were now painfully missing from the tied man’s left hand.

Certainly not a picture one would expect to see in a basement under an old jewelry store and a second-hand shop merged into one. The tied man didn’t expect it either, which was the very reason why he was now in this situation.

He was not alone in the cellar. His companions, however, were hiding in the shadows for now. One of the standing figures placed the pliers on the workbench with a clack. Another took a drag from a cigarette. The red eye glowed briefly.

The smoker moved closer to the light. He was a medium-sized man in a tartan-patterned flannel shirt and a black padded vest. Black hair was slicked back from a low forehead and a slightly receding chin gave him a sleazy expression. The impression was deepened by a grin out of the corner of his mouth as he stubbed out the cigarette on the tied man’s forearm. A cry of pain escaped from beneath the gag.

“Well, well, boy. No need to scream. That doesn’t help, you know,” said the figure deepest in the shadows.

The person stepped out of the gloom. He was an old man with sparse gray hair combed over the bald spot on the top of his head. His cheeks hung like a bulldog’s and he wore small reading glasses on his nose. He looked like someone’s kind uncle. However, he was only saving the kind uncle façade for the customers in the shop upstairs. Down here, he had nothing but coldness in his eyes.

“Take his gag out. I think he’s ready to talk.”

Sleazy loosened the strap holding the gag and pulled it out of the tied man’s mouth. Finally, for good measure, he added a punch to the back of the head. The tied man spurted bloody spit on his pants.

“Oh come on, Yevgeny, don’t be rude to our guest!” Uncle threatened him with his finger. “In case he might be reluctant to have a friendly conversation, the soldering iron is already hot.”

Yevgeny and the other minions laughed dutifully.

“Now, now, boy, tell me where you found this.”

Gold glittered in Uncle’s outstretched hand.

* * *

He sat huddled between two gorillas in the back seat of a big black BMW. He cradled his bandaged left hand in his arms and tried hard not to whimper in terror. He knew full well that his injured fingers had been bandaged just so he wouldn’t stain the leather seats.

“That ring you brought me is a real miracle,” Uncle turned to him from the passenger seat. “Fifteenth century, if I’m not mistaken. Gold and emerald. Beautiful work,” he murmured with satisfaction.

The young man, his hair falling into his eyes, mumbled something.

“What did you say? Don’t be shy. You’re among friends here.”

The young man straightened up.

“I told you the historical value of that jewel is incalculable,” he blurted out, though his voice was trembling.

Uncle nodded his head in agreement.

“Who should know but a fourth-year archaeology student? That’s why I was quite a surprised when you tried to offer it to me so clumsily. Well, you’ve learned that greed doesn’t pay off.”

The student fell silent. Slowly he was beginning to realize that he himself was likely to become an object of study for future generations of archaeologists.

Although their journey from Týnec nad Sázavou took only ten minutes, the sun was already setting behind the horizon. How long have I been in that cellar? he thought.

In the fire of the setting sun, the ruins of castle Kostelec nad Sázavou, for several centuries known only as Ruined Kostelec, appeared on a high rocky promontory behind a river bend.

The asphalt road ended just after a turn off the road that continued on to Kamenice. An old unpaved road led up to the castle. From the wheels of a powerful car climbing up the slope, small stones flew out of the clay ground. After about two-thirds of the climb, the wheels turned one last time, the car stopped and the driver pressed the electronic brake button. The engine fell silent, the doors opened.

The young archaeologist was the second-to-last to step out when Yevgeny pushed him out the door. He grazed his knee and elbow on the rocks in the road when he landed. Then he apparently whimpered too long, because Uncle hit him in the back with a walking stick.

“No stalling,” he urged him jovially. “You’ll lead the way. And don’t try to run. I may not be able to walk very fast anymore, but Lojzik over there would send a little bee after you. He’s got a hive full of them.”

The aforementioned Lojzik, with a camouflage cap on his shaved head and a redneck moustache, showed him a dark 9mm CZ 75.

The student hurriedly stepped forward. With an injured knee, he dragged himself painfully up the slope. The drift soon ended and they headed further to the right. The darkness grew faster among the trees. He had to be careful where he was stepping. Fallen leaves rustled under their feet, the occasional twig snapped. Behind him he heard quickened breathing, the occasional few words, and Uncle’s complaints that he was too old for such shenanigans.

He flinched as something creaked above them. But it was only the branches in the treetops.

In a short time the moat of the castle appeared before them. Beech trees with smooth greenish bark grew all around. The ground, overgrown with thick roots, was almost leafless. Like a naked corpse in the morgue, exposed to the eyes of the visitors.

They reached the foot of a simple wooden bridge with no supporting pillars. It may have had railings for safety reasons, but otherwise it was meant to resemble the original drawbridge as closely as possible.

On their side of the moat, it rested on a low part of the original foundation. On the opposite side, it led to a much better-preserved remnant of the castle tower with a passage through which the castle was formerly entered. The foundations of the tower rose more than seven feet high from the partially buried moat, and two walls, ten feet high, on the side of the passage have been preserved from the tower itself.

The moat was now barely twenty feet deep and its walls were only gently sloped. Still, the student’s stomach heaved at the sight of it and he had to grasp the railing for a moment. That was all he was allowed, for his friend Yevgeny made it clear to him with another hit that unnecessary breaks would not be tolerated.

They climbed up the gentle slope to the top of the rocky promontory on which the castle stood. The gloom, meanwhile, grew so thick that the student was almost startled when the walls of the main building of the castle appeared before them. It was the only one of the buildings that still had all four walls rising two stories high.

They bypassed the castle palace from the right, and came to a not very large courtyard. Opposite them was a wall with a large hole in it, with a building on their left and a corner remnant of one of the square guard towers on their right. Around the corner of the building grew a tree, the roots of which slithered like great snakes through the courtyard.

Approximately in the middle of the courtyard was a fire pit dug by campers and filled with charred wood. Next to the fire pit lay a whitewashed sitting log.

“Which way in?” Uncle asked. “We are not here to roast marshmallows and sing kumbaya.”

The minions exchanged grins behind the student’s back.

“This way,” the student pointed and stepped inside through one of the holes in the palace wall.

He led them to another hole that at the bottom of one of the outer walls of the building. A chill seemed to emanate from within.

“Don’t tell me you found it here. So many others have searched that basement. They’ve dug and dug, and all they’ve found was some old junk,” Uncle pointed out ominously.

“It was there. I swear,” the student persuaded them.

“Flashlights!” Uncle shouted. “Yevgeny goes first, our lucky finder second and then the rest of us.”

Cones of light cut the darkness beneath their feet and one by one they began to lower themselves through the hole.

“I’m surprised they didn’t shut this place down long ago. After all, someone could get hurt in here,” Uncle groaned as the soil dug under his manicured fingernails.

Soon they were all five feet deeper. The lowest point of the ceiling vault was about eight inches above their heads. The cellar was on the slope which adjoined the west wall of the castle. Although the vault of split stone above them looked untouched except for a coating of cobwebs, none of the current visitors to the underground could shake the feeling that it was bound to collapse on them at any moment. The cellar itself was not very large. It was rectangular in plan, approximately fifteen feet by twenty.

Uncle tapped his wand on the floor. Generations of archaeologists and other (amateur, for a change) grave diggers had carried out the dirt and rubble that the cellar had originally been filled with. In doing so, they uncovered the original cellar floor, which had been smothered to a hardness rivaling a concrete slab.

“So, dear boy, where’s our treasure?” Uncle looked around in the lights crisscrossing the space.

“But you won’t kill me then, will you? You promised.”

“No, of course not,” Uncle nodded without hesitation.

The student licked his lips.

“And could I get a cut of it? Of the treasure, I mean. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“Ah, my boy, you see? Greed gets everyone in the end. You needn’t worry. You’ll get exactly the share you deserve.”

In the dark, the mobsters didn’t have to hide their amused smiles. “Here it is.”

The student reached one of the far corners of the dungeon. There he knelt down and pointed to one of the larger stones set into the wall.

“You’ll have to scrape up a chunk of the floor to get it out,” he explained.

It was easy to do now, even with a mutilated hand, but the first time he had to use a pickaxe.

“When I was here on my practice digs, I noticed that there was no mortar in the joints around the stone. I mean, you can’t see it properly anywhere because it has weathered and fell out over time, but there weren’t even any remnants of it. I had to wait until the work was finished and hope no one else noticed.” As he spoke, a discoverer’s excitement began to creep into his speech.

When, with a grunt, he finally managed to pull the stone out, the eager torchlight revealed a niche that held gold coins and jewels.

“How much is there?” Uncle asked.

His voice sounded a little strangled, while a number the size of the budget of the Prague magistrate ran through his mind.

“I don’t know. I wanted to buy proper equipment and make it the discovery of the century.”

Uncle sighed.

“It’s damp in here. A few more minutes and my knuckles will ache.”

He nodded to the driver.

“Get out. You’ll help me up. Meanwhile, Yevgeny and Lojzik will help our benefactor here take out the whole stash. But before that, search the place thoroughly. It would be a shame to overlook anything. Then we’ll close it all up.”

At those words a chill ran down the student’s back from neck to tailbone.

* * *

Uncle and Chauffeur reached the bridge, where the old mobster leaned against the railing. Chauffeur took out a cigarette and lit it.

“It’s unbelievable anyway,” Uncle shook his head. “What is the world coming to? How can the young be so stupid? A college boy, and he brings me a treasure like that.”

Chauffeur shrugged.

“I’d say it’s natural selection. How are we going to do it? Bury him here in the basement?”

“Oh, please. What if someone finds him by accident? We don’t want the cops snooping around. Some of them aren’t that incompetent. They might figure it out. Besides, you saw that floor yourself. It’d take forever to dig a proper hole for a dead body. It’s all stone.”

He paused for a moment, wondering if he should light up too. Only his pulmonologist insisted that he should cut down on smoking. Significantly.

“In the forest above Čakovice, there are a lot of old tank trenches left after the military exercises from the commie era. They’re six feet deep. One corpse can disappear there like nothing. It’s five minutes by car and the nearest state cops are in Kamenice.”

Chauffeur nodded and rubbed his hands, cigarette in the corner of his mouth. When it was completely dark, it got noticeably colder. He didn’t like it here. Something about this place was grating on his nerves like a sharp pick on the strings of a flamenco guitar.

Looking towards the ruins of the palace, he noticed that in the moonlight, wisps of mist began to creep through the ruins.

The sooner they were done with it, the better.

* * *

It took about twenty minutes before the entire treasure was taken out of its hiding place and divided into three bags because of its weight. Then they examined the stones in the walls of the cellar for another ten minutes, but found no other hiding place. They returned the stone to its original place, raked up the soil and smothered it.

“Now?” Lojzik turned to Yevgeny.

He just shook his head.

“You want to pull him out of this cellar? We’ll do it outside.”

“If I shoot him here, they won’t hear the shots in the village.”

“That’s a good point,” Yevgeny scratched his head. “Then we’ll just strangle him outside. It’s clean and noiseless.”

The subject of their conversation, who had been listening to it with growing horror, ran like a hare to the entrance of the cellar.

However, as he caught the edge of the hole to pull himself out, a heavy boot landed on his right hand. A metal boot, belonging to a leg covered with plate armor.

He screamed at the top of his lungs. Compared to this, the interrogation in Uncle’s basement was nothing. The tread crushed his fingers and wrist bones. He looked up at the dark figure towering over him. Something about it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t see it properly because of the tears in his eyes.

He didn’t get the time to investigate further. A sharp broad blade came down from above. It plunged deep into his open mouth, severing his spine and coming out between his shoulder blades. A bloody flood ran down his back. The leg lifted and the student collapsed back in the cellar.

A hulking figure clad in dingy plate armor stepped into the light cones of flashlights in front of the shocked mobsters with a heavy thump and a screech of steel. In one hand it held a broad, straight sword. A chill spread through the cellar, as if it had suddenly begun to freeze.

The cones of light, along with the sights of weapons, climbed up the medieval armor until they reached his head. Then the mobsters started screaming and shooting.

* * *

At the first yell, Uncle frowned in annoyance.

“Can’t they do it quietly? I’ll take their bonuses for this.”

After another roar, the frown disappeared from his face. Although the sound from the basement was muffled, he recognized the screams of pure terror. Then the gunfire joined in.

“Get us out of here! Quick!” Uncle shouted.

Without regard for his wand, he ran as fast as he could to the car. Chauffeur followed him after a brief hesitation. Behind them, a roar echoed into the gunfire. High-pitched, like a pig being killed. It died down only when they slammed the car door shut behind them and started the car.

Down the slope by the castle, Chauffeur backed out at suicidal speed, skidded the car around and was already hurtling through the curves towards Týnec nad Sázavou.

They reached the residence on the outskirts of the town in a few moments. It wasn’t big; in any metropolis it would be considered a family house. The gate automatically slid aside and Chauffeur parked the car in front of the house. His breathing was rapid. He couldn’t breathe properly the whole way.

He and Uncle entered the house together. He quickly switched the security system on and then helped his boss up the stairs to the first floor study. There, he sat his shaken boss down in a chair. Uncle, who used to inspire terror just by looking at you, now looked like a miserable old man.

“Pour me . . . pour us a drink,” Uncle grunted, pointing to the minibar and refrigerator standing in the corner.

Chauffeur obediently walked over to the bar. He first pulled out a cut glass and then a bottle of eighteen-year-old whiskey. He didn’t skimp on the amount poured. He brought one to the old man.

“What are we going to do? We should have helped them, not run away!” he growled angrily.

“What would you have done?” his boss said quietly. “They fired two magazines and they got them anyway . . . and took their time. Two more guns wouldn’t have done anything.”

“But . . . ”

“Tomorrow we’ll get the rest of the guys together, get some real guns, and go out there and take a look. But during the daytime!”

He pulled a heavy gold ring from his pocket and turned it in his fingers. He suspected it was all that was left of his treasure.

* * *

Just as the first bottle of whisky was disrespectfully emptied, the bedroom door was pushed open. They both startled. Uncle spilled the rest of the glass in his lap, while Chauffeur’s cut glass slipped from his hand and landed safely on the carpet.

A young black-haired woman walked in. That she was a woman was obvious, as she was dressed only in her underwear. Very black, very lacy and very revealing.

“Is something wrong, honey?” she asked nervously.

They stared at her like she was a ghost.

“When you didn’t come in for a long time, I fell asleep in bed. If we’re not doing anything tonight, I’ll call for a ride.”

Chauffeur had a hard time swallowing his saliva. Only the boss could afford such a luxurious whore.

“Piss off, you stupid bitch!” growled Uncle.

“Listen, you old . . . ”

She paused and exhaled slowly. Just business, no emotions.

“So you’re obviously not in the mood for our usual fun today. I see. With your permission, then, I’ll get dressed and call for a ride. Let me know when you’re interested in another appointment.”

With that, she turned and strode back to the bedroom. She swayed as she walked, so much that Uncle almost changed his mind. Chauffeur had to bend a little to hide his erection.

Within three minutes, the bedroom door opened again. She came out in a smart suit from Louis Vuitton’s latest collection, a Gucci bag slung over her shoulder.

“Show her out!” Uncle ordered without looking at her. This evening was not going at all as he planned. To hell with the student and the trouble he brought along with that ring.

“Hey, how about a quickie with me? If you’ll give me a discount. At least you wouldn’t come up empty,” suggested Chauffeur, while they were having a cigarette together outside.

“Screw yourself,” she sneered.

“You’re pretty cheeky,” he frowned.

“Don’t try to pull rank on me, boy. You think your pathetic bunch of third-rate mobsters is going to impress anyone? Try to touch me against my will, and you’ll wish someone had just put a bullet through your forehead. So shut up.”

He licked his lips. And he spat. He reminded himself who was pimping her. The silence dragged uncomfortably. The cigarettes were getting shorter.

“It’s getting cold,” she said, looking around worriedly.

A dog barked briefly at the neighbors. Then it whimpered and fell silent.

“This is strange,” Chauffeur remarked in a low voice. Steam curdled at his mouth. “Once that damned mutt starts, it can’t be silenced.”

The streetlights flickered on and off. Heavy footsteps hit the asphalt. They creaked and rattled. And they were getting closer.

A large shadow appeared at the gate to the property. Tortured metal groaned, a crack of solid steel echoed, loud almost like a gunshot. The gate opened with a creak. Something inhuman entered the yard. Something like the personification of darkness.

Two cigarette butts hit the ground.

* * *

The police, who were summoned by screams from worried neighbors, found in the house, in addition to a destroyed door, broken furniture and a lot of blood, the self-proclaimed head of local organized crime. Without his head, but in several pieces.

Hiding in the bushes was a young woman, scared out of her wits, who had apparently given up her sanity in the course of the events and was shouting utter nonsense. After some deliberation, she was taken to an asylum in Říčany.

The investigation was not rushed. The police quickly came to the conclusion that it was a case of settling scores within organized crime factions. No one found the gold ring with the emerald or Chauffeur. No one was looking for them.

A day passed and night fell. The light of the waxing moon reflected off the grey stones of the crumbling walls and illuminated the grassy plain in the corner of the outer wall. An old brown blanket was spread out on the ground. Beside it was a blue glowing insect trap. A lighted torch lay nearby.

Two figures were grappling with each other in front of the blanket. Or so it seemed. One of them was a young man who seemed to be about nineteen, with curly greasy hair and clearly overweight. His belly button stuck out of his unbuttoned leather jacket. A girl about the same age with a mane of blonde hair was slender and more than a head shorter. Her glossy black jacket was lying at their feet, and Curly eagerly resumed the work he had begun.

“Don’t worry. There’s no one here,” he whispered hoarsely as he fumbled his hand under her shirt.

She squeaked and tried to push his hands away, while he tried to undo the hooks of her bra.

“Stop it, you don’t even have a rubber with you!” she protested.

“You’re on the pill.”

The hooks finally gave up any attempts at holding out, and his hands got to work with the eagerness of a milkmaid in the morning. The T-shirt went over her head to end up on a blackthorn bush by the castle wall.

“I didn’t expect it to go this far today, you asshole,” she tried again, but the blanket spread out on the ground convicted her of lying.

There was a creak of metal somewhere behind them.

“Someone’s here!”

“We’re alone here,” Curly replied absently.

He was busy unbuttoning her jeans at that moment. He couldn’t see properly in the dark. He squatted down to do it.

“I’m cold and done!” she declared angrily.

“Why can’t I unbutton it!”

There was a squeaky footfall.

The button finally came loose and she felt her jeans and panties being pulled down over her butt.

“Well, finally,” he grunted in satisfaction.

And while he was looking between her legs, a large figure emerged from the darkness in front of her eyes. She screamed. There wasn’t much more either of them could do.

* * *

The following morning, the city cops vomited all over the scene. They added their contribution to the fund already set up by campers, the lucky finders of the nighttime massacre.

The state police was called and after a detailed examination of the scene found more bodies in the basement of the ruined castle. The state cops were much more resilient and professional. They didn’t vomit and they carefully photographed everything. When the forensics specialists put together the individual body puzzles, they calculated the exact number of victims. Only the heads were nowhere to be found.

Rumors of a serial killer on the loose began to spread in Týnec nad Sázavou and the surrounding villages. They started calling him the Head Hunter.

* * *

Two days later, a new Land Rover Defender pulled up outside a pub in Týnec. It aroused some interest among the passers-by, because cars like that didn’t usually park there. A strange group got out of the car and headed into the pub.

Although it was around midday, the pub was almost empty. It was an old watering hole, the kind one could come across in any small town. Apparently the owner had imagined that all he needed to do to modernize it was to knock out a chunk of wall, add large windows facing the street, and repaint the inside. The old dark chairs and solid wood tables successfully thwarted his plan.

The first to walk through the door was a man who, judging by the look of him, must have been nearing sixty. Yet there was nothing soft about him. He was slightly taller than average height, his athletic build standing out thanks to a perfectly tailored dark grey suit. An ascetically thin and elongated face was covered with deep wrinkles that would befit a man at least ten years older. The usual cheerful fans of wrinkles around his eyes, however, were absent from his face. The blue, extremely cold eyes would probably not bear such a thing in their vicinity.

He was carrying a large sports bag in his left hand. It didn’t really fit his appearance. He looked more like the kind of businessman who plays golf. Not the kind of guy who frequents the gym. And then there were the shoes. Heavy, over-the-ankle track shoes didn’t count as dress shoes.

The second one to enter was a woman, or rather a girl, who looked barely eighteen. She was slender, dressed in ripped jeans and a lightweight knee-length dress in pastel colors and with nature motifs. They were cinched at the waist with a belt of braided leather straps. She wore brown suede boots and carried an Indian-style purse with fringe over her shoulder.

Hazel eyes peeked suspiciously from beneath bangs of dark blonde wavy hair, set in a pixie-soft face. She clutched a lighter in her right hand. A good old Zippo made of polished steel.

The last to enter was thirty-something man with broad shoulders in camouflage pants tucked into tall army boots. His khaki jacket was unbuttoned and on his black T-shirt was a picture of a white bunny with teeth like a piranha and a chainsaw in its bloody paws.

His head was almost shaved, except for a short brush of dark hair on the top of it. But his massive, almost black beard could comfortably house an entire colony of bees. He ran a practiced gaze over the whole place before letting the door close.

One might say that the group of three was so diverse that it would be fit only for the beginning of a joke. A stockbroker, a hippie and a soldier walk into a bar . . . 

They found a round table for five in the lounge, with a reservation sign. The grey-haired man carefully placed his bag next to the chair. The soldier leaned his elbows on the table. The girl clicked her lighter a few times. She was opening and closing the cover again and again.

A lanky young waiter, who might have been in his early twenties, rushed up to the table. From beneath his greasy manga hairstyle, he peered discreetly at the girl.

“Please, there’s a reservation at this table for the mayor and his entourage. You must sit elsewhere.”

“That’s all right. We’re his entourage,” the gray-haired man replied calmly without looking at him. He had a faint accent that was not easy to place.

“Really?” the young man said doubtfully.

“Yeah,” the soldier grunted. “So, how about you quit snooping around and give us three beers instead?”

“Wine for me,” the girl corrected him softly.

“Sure, sweetheart,” the soldier nodded hastily. “Two beers and wine, then. Red. The best you’ve got here. Is that right?”

The girl nodded almost imperceptibly, and the waiter hastily cleared his throat.

The ordered drinks landed in front of them in no time.

The grey-haired man barely sipped on his, as did the girl, who then nodded her head again. The soldier, on the other hand, took a big gulp and drained over half the pint in one go.

“That helped. It gets pretty hot in the fall.”

The bag on the ground shuddered.

“I want a beer too,” came a squeaky voice from the luggage.

Without batting an eye, the gray-haired man tugged at the zipper of his bag, picked up his nearly intact pint, and carefully placed it in the luggage. Immediately there was a loud sipping sound.

“I don’t know, boss,” the soldier echoed while shaking his head. “Besides it being against regulations, it doesn’t seem very hygienic to me.”

“You know where you can put said regs?” replied the man coldly, without moving a single wrinkle.

“Yeah.”

“And do you know where my results are?”

“Yeah. All the way on the top of the board,” the soldier admitted. “But I still don’t know why we are carrying it with us.”

“Because I’m used to him, and maybe the SRS will finally grant him an exemption. He might be more useful than you’d know.”

The bag shuddered again. There was an incredibly loud burp.

“Not bad, but it needs some ink,” the bag squeaked.

The soldier put his head in his hands.

The gray-haired man pulled a bottle of ink from his coat and placed it in his bag. There was the sound of a cork being pulled out, then a clunk as something in the bag hungrily added ink to the beer.

“This is really too much. Why didn’t I stay in Afghanistan? There was much better company there. Just Taliban and mountain demons.”

The grey-haired man raised an eyebrow. By about a millimeter.

“Because they declared you mentally unstable and locked you up in the Bohnice asylum? Pavilion twenty-four for particularly serious cases. At least that’s what I read in your file.”

The soldier folded his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, you remember it well. And so do I.”

He shuddered. The girl, who had been silent until then, put her hand on his forearm.

“Burn?” she asked timidly.

She clicked the lighter again.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he forced a smile at her.

Another burp came from the luggage.

“I want a hot dog.”

The soldier looked around to see a menu on one of the adjacent tables. No chance. He leaned over the bag.

“This is a beer pub. They don’t have hot dogs here. Maybe some pickled cheese.”

“Yuck!” came from the bag in a heartfelt voice.

“I’d like a hot dog, too,” said the girl.

The gray-haired man took a breath.

At that moment the waiter arrived with a new pint. With a puzzled look, he searched the table for the missing empty one. Then he noticed the movement of the bag on the floor.

“Look, you can’t have a dog in here. Not even in the bag.”

The gray-haired man turned slowly toward him. The soldier caught little of his gaze, but a chill ran down his spine anyway. He remembered what they said about the boss. About what he did before he started working for Fantom.

The waiter froze like a mouse under a snake’s gaze.

“That’s not a dog. And we want four hot dogs.”

“Four?” the waiter repeated, uncomprehendingly.

“You bet!” came a squeak from the bag.

The waiter jumped.

“Well . . . we don’t have hot dogs,” he stammered.

The girl straightened in her chair and held out her lighter menacingly.

“I’m not getting my hot dog?!” she growled softly.

The waiter crouched down and looked like he was going to cry.

“We want four hot dogs,” the gray-haired man repeated. “Three with mustard and one with ketchup.”

“I want one with ketchup tonight, too,” the bag specified.

“So two with mustard and two with ketchup.”

“They’ll be here any minute, gentlemen and lady,” was all the waiter could muster before staggering dazedly off in the direction of the kitchen.

* * *

Just as they were wiping mustard and ketchup off their lips, the door to the pub creaked open. A clean-shaven man with square Armani glasses and a lightweight bag of by same brand came rushing to their table. To go with it, probably to be trendy, he wore light blue jeans. On his feet were a pair of half-boots and on the opposite pole of his body ruled an artistically disheveled nest of brown hair. He looked exactly like one of those young progressive bankers from the commercials. And he was just as credible.

“Here I am,” he informed the seated company of the obvious, wiping his sweaty face with a recycled paper handkerchief. You could tell by the big green mark.

“I got held up at the new water treatment plant. We are having a little trouble after launch. They claim we supplied them with poor quality filter sand. It’s like my cousin doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Can we cut to the chase?” the gray-haired one interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” the official immediately shifted gears and put on a professional smile. “I’m Bořislav Rachota, the mayor,” he added, as if expecting to be applauded.

“I know. We spoke on the phone,” the gray-haired man informed him without much interest.

The mayor stopped puffing like a cooing pigeon.

“Yes, yes. So you’re Petar Krstič?”

“Petar will do.”

“And your partners?”

“This is Lydie,” he nodded his head to the girl, who clicked her lighter in response.

“And you can call me Gunny,” the soldier entered the conversation.

“Gunny?!” The mayor wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“An old nickname. I’m used to it,” the bearded man grinned.

The gray-haired man sighed.

“Our names aren’t important. What’s important is what we have to do.”

“Umm, sure,” the mayor agreed. “Look, this whole situation could put me in a bad light. I’d leave it to the police, even though they seem clueless, but . . . How can I put this? We have, well, we had, a seer in town. I always thought she was a charlatan, but others swore by her. Including many members of the council. And then she suddenly declares that evil has awakened here, picks up and leaves . . . Ouch!”

He waved his hands so vehemently that he hit his elbow on the table. While rubbing his bruised arm, he continued.

“And she had a well-established business here. I tried calling her to tell her not to panic, and she . . . well, let’s just say she was brusque with me. Right after that I got a call from some secret service I’ve never heard of in my life, saying they’re going to send someone and I’m supposed to keep a lid on it, or else . . . But whatever.”

Petar tapped his fingers on the table.

“If I understand it correctly, your psychic wasn’t the first to express suspicions that supernatural forces were responsible for the deaths.”

“Yes, the witness. She must be some kind of a prostitute,” the mayor winced as he saw them looking at him.

“And you put her in a nuthouse!” Gunny snapped.

“She’s in an institution where she’ll get the best possible care,” the mayor stammered out.

“I’m not familiar with the Říčany nuthouse, but the local hospital is known as a death sentence for patients with anything more serious than an inflamed splinter in their thumb.”

“That’s enough. Besides, someone other than the mayor probably had her locked up there,” Petar settled him down. “We can deal with this later. For now, we need to examine the crime scene.”

The mayor licked his lips.

“Well, Mr. Burghauf’s villa is sealed by the state police, and I’d need . . . You understand, I need you to be as discreet as possible. Otherwise . . . Otherwise, I’m told they’ll order an audit.”

The bag wobbled. Petar nudged it with his foot.

“What’s that?!” Mayor’s eyes bugged out.

“Special equipment,” the gray-haired man reassured him. “But to get back to the point. Actually, we’re far more interested in the other crime scene. The castle.”

“You think it’s all about the castle? I’ve issued orders that it’s off-limits . . . To think of such a massacre happening there again . . . It would destroy me!”

He was suddenly pale as a wall under the tan from the solarium.

“Then we shouldn’t waste any more time,” Petar remarked unmoved. “Are you here by car?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Very well. Let’s go.”

As one they rose from the table. The soldier brazenly brushed off the approaching waiter, saying the bill was going on the mayor’s tab. No one objected.

* * *

As they climbed up the hill to the ruins, the sun warmed them through the leaves. Gunny didn’t miss the furrows dug by the car’s wheels. As far as he knew, visitors usually parked beside the road below the castle. Considering the quality of the road, he wasn’t surprised. Someone hadn’t been paying attention to their car for the sake of convenience. It wasn’t hard to guess who it might have been.

Soon they were standing by the bridge over the castle moat. They didn’t have to wait for the panting mayor, who trailed behind them. They knew the way from photographs and maps. Petar walked purposefully in the lead. Gunny walked a little to the side, taking in his surroundings. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard. He knew how surprises in his line of work usually ended. Lydie, on the other hand, occasionally jumped with an excited expression, and even twirled around a few times.

The mayor looked at her with utter disgust as he rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch a breath.

They crossed the bridge and continued on to the courtyard. There were still large dark patches on it.

“Is it safe?” The mayor, who had arrived behind them, looked around in alarm, as only now had some disturbing thoughts come to him.

“All the attacks happened at night. There’s already a pattern,” the grey-haired man remarked calmly. “Besides, our instruments aren’t detecting anything yet.”

He patted the side of the sports bag he’d carried all the way to the castle.

“You bet!” came a low mutter from the bag.

“What?” The mayor looked puzzled.

“Nothing. Just noise,” Petar replied. “So what do you think?”

The question was clearly not directed at the mayor.

The soldier was looking closely at the spots on the ground, crossing the courtyard and the patch behind him. Finally, he glanced at a stain he found on one of the walls of the crumbled tower, a good five meters away.

“If there were only two dead here, they ended up totally FUBAR,” he pursed his lips and shook his head slightly.

“What?” the mayor didn’t understand.

“A special military term. Whoever did it was fast. They didn’t have time to do anything. Not even to run. I’d like to see pictures of the bodies. Under different circumstances, I’d think they stepped on an anti-personnel mine.”

Petar turned to the mayor.

“Are there crime scene photos available?”

“I can’t just request the file. But maybe one of my guys, I mean from our city police, took some pictures on his cell phone.”

“Okay. Where’s the basement?”

They crawled through the opening inside the dilapidated building and soon they were standing in front of the black hole.

“You don’t expect me to go in there, do you?” the mayor asked.

“No,” confirmed the gray-haired man.

“You can cover us from above, so we won’t be surprised from there,” Gunny winked at the politician.

The mayor began to look around in alarm.

“Do you think anyone could really . . . ”

But by then the soldier had disappeared in the hole.

“Clear!” came from below.

Petar climbed down without a word, then reached for the bag he had left at the edge of the hole earlier.

“Excuse me,” came a quiet voice behind the mayor.

He jumped in fright, and turned to find himself staring into Lydie’s hazel eyes.

He paled and his stomach clenched in fear. Once, when he visited the zoo in Prague, he looked into the eyes of a tiger, who was looking at him through the glass. He knew at once from that look that the big cat was contemplating what he might taste like.

Despite the girl’s shy appearance, her gaze was unbearably similar.

He quickly shuffled aside, fumbling desperately for his pack of cigarettes. He completely forgot that he had quit smoking years ago.

* * *

Lydie softly hopped down and wrinkled her nose. She was standing right in the middle of a large brown spot.

“We have a different opinion of what’s clear,” she muttered.

“That’s just a phrase, sweetheart,” Gunny winked at her over his shoulder.

He had a flashlight in one hand, a large-caliber pistol in the other.

“It’s even worse up here than upstairs. Terrible mess for only three bodies. They tried to shoot, a lot. You can still smell the cordite in the air.”

“Yes,” Petar nodded. “The shells were picked up by the cops, but I’d say they were also shooting for their lives. And it didn’t do them any good.”

“Why don’t we actually request the file from the SRS?” Gunny asked.

“Because, according to Alexandra, the SRS sent out new forms for the release of a live police file. She estimates that it will take at least two days to fill them out . . . ”

“Damned bureaucrats.”

At that moment, the bag in his hand fluttered and the zipper opened from the inside.

“It’s here,” the thin voice said with absolute certainty. “There’s a focal point in this basement. I feel like my balls are going to freeze. We’d better get out of here. And fast.”

The bag closed again.

“Burn?” Lydie suggested, clicking her lighter to confirm her words.

“We know too little yet,” the gray-haired one dismissed. “Now get out!”

They scrambled upstairs.

“So what did you find out?” The mayor wondered.

“You’ve got a wraith here,” Petar informed him unenthusiastically.

The mayor had to lean against the wall.

“Sure, what else. This can only happen to me.”

“Not at all,” the soldier grinned at him. “It happens more often than you’d think, it just doesn’t make the front page.”

“What kind of wraith?” the mayor asked weakly.

“That’s what we need to find out.” Petar scratched his chin. “What did the witness say?”

“She was babbling something about a monster. I don’t know the details. And I can’t just ask the police.”

“So we’ll have to talk to the witness. Would you be so kind and arrange a visit?”

“Are you kidding me?! I said to be discreet!”

“Then tell them you found her family,” Petar suggested. “If you push a little, they’ll bite, even though they might not like it.”

“All right,” the mayor slumped his shoulders.

“Well, why don’t you try calling them right now?” the soldier suggested with a friendly smile that would probably make even a Kodiak bear run away.

The mayor stepped aside along the wall. He pulled out his smartphone from his pocket.

The gray-haired man opened his bag.

“You can talk now.”

“There’s something haunting this place that cares a lot about it. But why now? Someone was doing something in the basement and disturbed it. I’d bet an ear on that.”

“So it’s some kind of a guardian. We need to find out more. Ordinary firearms don’t seem to be working.”

The others, including the bag, nodded in agreement.

* * *

He hated it. He walked down the green and white painted hallway. The old-fashioned fluorescent lights shone above his head.

I can’t take it, thought Radek Trhavý, who was used to being called Gunny by his old unit. By the unit of which he was the only one left alive. He remembered pavilion twenty-four and the therapeutic methods the white coats used there.

So I’m back in a damn asylum, he groaned in his mind. Although they had a big sign over the entrance saying it was the “Sanatorium” in Říčany, he was not fooled by flowers and happy animals. Inside, it looked just like in Bohnice.

The walls were pressing against him, the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed irregularly.

I can’t take it!

He felt a gentle touch on his forearm. He lowered his gaze and saw that Lydie was stroking his arm. It was like she was reading his mind. When he looked her in the eyes, he could clearly see the fear in them. She was feeling the same way he did. Gunny felt ashamed.

“Thanks.”

She just smiled at him.

“This is it,” Petar echoed in front of them. “Room twenty-seven. I’d better go see her myself first.”

“Thanks, boss, I mean, uncle,” Gunny corrected himself.

He mentally cursed himself as he saw the older, stocky nurse who had accompanied them frown at him.

Petar shot him one more cold look and then disappeared behind the door, followed by the nurse.

* * *

The grey-haired man saw the witness as soon as he entered the room. She was dressed in hospital clothes and sitting on the bed. Her gaze was fixed on the opposite wall. About thirty centimeters to the side from a picture of flowers.

He walked slowly over to her and then sat down on the bed a short distance from her.

“Tereza? Tereza, can you hear me?”

A silly phrase, but he couldn’t think of anything better.

Slowly, as if powered by clockwork, she turned to him. He noticed she was completely glassy-eyed.

“There was a monster. It was killing people,” she informed him in an urgent, shaky voice.

“What kind of a monster was it? What did it look like?”

“There was a monster. It was killing people.”

The nurse, standing discreetly in the corner of the room, cleared her throat.

“She keeps saying the same thing over and over.”

He turned to the nurse. He was furious. Maybe the SRS bastards were doing this to him on purpose.

“What did you dope her with?” he said calmly.

He rarely showed emotion.

“The usual calming stuff.”

“Sure.”

This time a little anger seemed to seep into his voice.

“You didn’t see the condition she was brought in. We’ll gradually reduce the dose, but that’s not for me to decide.”

He stood up.

“Thanks for nothing.”

* * *

Two orderlies were walking down the empty corridor. They were talking quietly on the way. One of them was thin but sinewy. The other was taller and must have weighed at least three hundred pounds. He looked more like something from the animal kingdom. The only thing missing was oinking. Their conversation had just reached the height of professionalism.

“Did you see that chick in twenty-seven? The tits and the ass. Real fancy bitch.”

“We could try it tonight. Just a little raise of the meds. And then . . . ”

They heard a click.

It was only then that they noticed the girl leaning against the wall of the hallway just beside the tall cabinet, watching them from under her bangs.

Skinny frowned at her.

“Why are you staring at us?”

Across the way, the door to the restroom opened. A dangerous-looking man in army clothes stepped out. With one glance, he scanned the scene before him.

“Is there a problem, sis?”

Piggy raised his hands in front of him.

“No problem. She just surprised us a little,” Skinny snapped.

They hurried down the hallway at a quickened pace.

Lydie pushed off the wall and looked seriously in Gunny’s eyes.

“We have work to do here,” she said firmly.

* * *

Skinny and Piggy were indulging in a smoke break in their favorite hiding place. A small asphalt plaza, originally intended for waste containers, was located on a slope below one of the large buildings of the sanatorium.

On one side it was covered with thuyas so overgrown that it looked like a triffid attack was impending. On the other, a slope covered with a tangle of unkempt scrub. There were two waist-high massive concrete planters in front of the prickly wall, but there was still enough room for them.

“So the plan is clear,” summed up Skinny. “We’ll up the meds a little, she’s already off enough, and then we’ll do whatever we want with her for the night.”

Piggy blinked with an absent look and a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know. Last time I was scared for three months that someone would figure it out.”

Skinny put his hands on his hips.

“It’ll be all right. Just use a rubber, and no biting. Hey, are you even listening to me?”

High soles of raw rubber squeaked on the asphalt. They both twitched. They looked up to see the soldier who had surprised them in the hallway earlier approaching. They immediately became nervous.

“Could I have a cigarette with you? Always better with company,” he asked with a smile.

They looked at each other and then back at the soldier. Skinny shrugged his shoulders.

“Why don’t you have one with your sister? She’s a lot prettier than us.”

“She doesn’t really smoke. That lighter’s just kind of a bad habit.”

“Well, yeah.”

The soldier smiled again.

“Now, gentlemen, do you have a smoke to spare too? I’m kind of out of them.”

Piggy held up the box, indicating that he can have some.

“Very well. Now, a lighter, I suppose you’ll have one too?”

The orderlies frowned in unison.

“What, that’s some bullshit . . . You don’t smoke!”

The soldier looked around quickly. Then he smiled. Really ugly this time.

“A brilliant deduction. Guess it’s time I confessed. You see, I just don’t like orderlies who abuse patients.”

* * *

The head nurse found those two more than an hour later. They were both unconscious and naked. Skinny was draped over one of the concrete planters with his ass thrust skyward. On top of him, in a copulatory position, lay Piggy.

The head nurse had seen a lot in her career, but the sight of Piggy’s hairy cheeks was forever burned into her memory.

She only set out to look for them so late, because an event had occurred in the sanatorium that completely overshadowed this episode. Two cars had suddenly caught fire in the staff parking lot. They were burning with a bright white flame and the firefighters called in were unable to extinguish them for a long time. Coincidentally, they belonged to the beaten orderlies.

* * *

Lydie and Gunny headed towards the car where the boss was waiting. They both looked like cats who had just licked clean an unguarded bowl of cream.

“Please, Lydie,” the soldier began. “You’ve worked with the boss before, but I haven’t. I can’t get through to him. I don’t know what to expect. And it’s gnawing at me. I’ve only heard some rumors about him, but . . . I don’t know what to believe.”

The girl looked up at him.

“He doesn’t talk much about himself, and certainly not about the war in the Balkans. Only once, at a celebration after a successful mission. In Yugoslavia, he was getting orders directly from Ratko Mladić.”

Gunny swallowed.

“Well, shit. Was he there? In Srebrenica?”

“No, he had another mission. To find and kill Hashim Thaçi.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. A real bastard. He made a lucrative business out of the war. He dealt in drugs and prisoner organs.”

Lydie nodded.

“When Thaçi became the Prime Minister of Kosovo after the war, the boss couldn’t accept it. He left the army and Serbia and started working for the Balkan mafia as a hitman. Maybe he was hoping someone from the competition would put a bounty on Thaçi’s head.”

“That’s some resume,” Gunny nodded his head grimly.

“What about you and the war?”

He grinned bitterly.

“When I encountered something unnatural in the war and was the only one of my unit to survive, they put me in an asylum.”

“Would you go back to the army if you could?”

“No,” he shook his head decisively.

He paused. Lydie walked a few more steps before she, too, stopped. She looked at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but in the empty space. It was as if he was looking hundreds of miles away.

“I’ve seen too much hypocrisy. Too many lies. I’ve held lists of terrorists and war criminals, and then I’ve seen pictures of them shaking hands with American congressmen. I’ve seen Raqqa. There was an IS base in that city, but also a lot of civilians. I saw what was left of that city. Just a few skeletal buildings and rubble. No one could count the dead. I saw villagers killed by drone strikes. Just a small mistake. One raghead like another. Too much hypocrisy. Too many lies.”

She tried to smile at him, startled.

“You and the boss are more alike than you’d think. There’s one thing you should know. The boss comes across as cold and unapproachable, but you can count on him.”

“Good to know,” the soldier nodded. “That was the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“And probably ever will,” she said quietly, digging her hand into her pocket.

By the time they reached the car, she had the lighter back in her hand.

Gunny walked around the car and sat in the passenger seat. Lydie sat in the back, next to the bag, from which a snoozing sound came.

Petar turned to them.

“Done?”

“To the complete satisfaction of all concerned,” the soldier confirmed.

The girl just nodded and flicked her lighter.

At that moment, fire sirens sounded.

“I guess we’d better get going,” Petar stated and started the engine.

* * *

They stopped in front of the house where the godfather of the local (modest) branch of the mafia lost his life. They got out of the car and looked at the property in front of them. The broken and twisted gate was wrapped in police tape. Seals were visible on the door to the house, even from a distance.

“What are we looking for here, boss?” Gunny asked, leaning comfortably against the hood.

“Something the cops missed. It doesn’t fit. If the monster is the guardian of the castle, why did it make its way to town?”

The sound of a zipper opening came from the car.

“Because they took something from the place that our monster wanted back,” a voice squeaked from the back seat. “He’s gonna be one greedy son of a bitch.”

Gunny sighed and peeled himself away from the car.

“You want me to go in there alone? It’ll probably be faster.”

“You may,” Petar nodded.

“Not that I mind, but do you really believe I won’t miss something?”

The gray-haired man looked him squarely in the eye.

“Yes. I’m well aware that you are smart, even though you like to pretend otherwise. And the fact that you used to be an MP. You’re no stranger to investigation.”

The soldier grinned.

“What the hell, boss, I might start blushing. So take it easy for now.”

With that, he left. A moment later he could be seen swinging easily over the wall on the side of the property that was farther away from the surrounding houses.

He walked across the lawn to the front of the garage. Halfway through his stride he stopped and looked underfoot. He knelt down and picked up something small from the ground. With his other hand he picked up something else. He examined both objects carefully.

Finally, he straightened up and walked to the door. After tearing open the seals without much interest, he continued inside. The door swung on one hinge behind him and remained hanging askew.

After nearly a quarter of an hour he came out. He put the door back in place. He looked around, then walked around the building and out of their sight. Ten minutes passed before he walked along the outside of the fence back to their car. He pulled the surgical gloves off his hands. He crumpled them up and stuck them in his pocket.

“Well?” the boss asked.

“The godfather was killed upstairs. It was a real massacre again. There was the smell of spilled booze and shards on the floor. So I’d say the local godfather was there when that thing massacred his people in the castle, and needed to calm his nerves a bit. The place was trashed, but I did find something. There was a dent in the furniture and the floor he butchered him. A heavy weapon with a long blade. A machete or a sword. Something like that. Not an axe. It had a thinner and longer blade.”

Petar stroked his chin.

“Interesting. What else?”

“I found two cigarette butts outside in the cracks of the pavement. Only one had traces of lipstick. There’s a gate in the back garden. It doesn’t make sense for the capo to run upstairs. That would put him at a dead end. There was someone else here. Someone who survived.”

“I agree,” the grey-haired man confirmed. “Good work.”

“What now?” Lydia, who had been silent until now, asked.

“Now we’re going to grab something to eat,” came from the car.

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Petar raised an eyebrow. “We’ll have a late lunch. I heard about a small pub in the village of Kostelec where the meals are excellent. Besides, I think we have a decent idea of what kind of monster it is, but we need to be sure.”

They got in the car.

“In the meantime, I’ll call the mayor. I’m sure he’ll be glad to lend us a helping hand again. Or rather both.”

Gunny chuckled, but it was nothing compared to the unrestrained laugh that came from the bag.

* * *

The asphalt snake of a road twisted through the forest in serpentine curves. The Defender crossed the creek on a not-so-trustworthy bridge and parked in front of a dilapidated and apparently long-abandoned garage.

They got out and crossed back over the bridge, where a city police car was waiting at the curb. Clumps of ferns grew on the banks of the creek. Rainbow trout darted in the clear water. Gunny’ hands twitched as if he was holding a fishing rod. It was a very nice place.

The cops who had stopped on the side of the road didn’t even bother to get out of the car, only rolled down the window.

“So that was it?” Petar asked. “The old sawmill two turns back?”

“Yeah. It belongs to one of the old bugger’s known cronies. Not a soul on the addresses in town. They must be holed up there.”

The gray-haired man nodded.

“That would fit. There was smoke coming from the chimney. How many are there?”

“How should I know? Three to five. And to be clear, we’re leaving.”

“We were never here at all,” added the older cop behind the wheel. “And watch out, they’re really nasty bastards.”

“All right. We’ll work something out with them,” Petar shrugged.

“Sure, birds of a feather flock together,” grinned Gunny.

The cops scowled at them for their insolence out of habit, and when they found that no one, including Lydie, was impressed, they hastily left.

The Hunters returned to the car. On the bridge, the soldier paused for a moment, watching the fish in the water.

“Damn, this would be great fishing spot. Except for the mosquitoes,” he added as he swatted one of them off his neck with a slap.

He sighed and continued past the bridge.

Petar was just talking through the open door with his bag.

“I need recon, and as soon as possible. Will you do that for me, Drinkin’?”

“Aye, o mighty satrap,” came from within.

Then the door on the other side of the car opened, closed again with a slam, and the ferns on the bank of the stream moved.

“Drinkin’? How did he get such a name?” Gunny turned up his nose.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Petar replied dryly.

* * *

Lydie was throwing pebbles in the water under the bridge, while Gunny frowned at her for unnecessarily scaring the fish. Just then, as if a completely localized gust of wind swept through the greenery, the car door slammed.

“Report,” Petar ordered through the open car door on his side.

“Did I join the army?” Drinkin’ complained.

“Please.”

“That’s better. There are three guys in that shack. They’re armed with pistols. I saw a hunting rifle propped up in the corner. They mostly hang out in the kitchen downstairs. One of them’s cooking goulash. Not bad. Anyway, you can see they’re as nervous as ferrets in a milk can.”

“If there are three of them, it’s evenly matched,” Gunny scratched his chin.

“Count again,” came from the car. “There’s four of us and they are heavily outnumbered.”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Petar restrained him. “Remember, we need them alive. All of them. Apparently only one of them was a witness, and we don’t know which one.”

“Well, I suppose you have a plan,” the soldier suggested.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Drinkin’, how long before you can get us there without being spotted right away?”

“About a quarter of an hour.”

“Good.”

Petar paused in thought.

“Can I ask you a question, Drinkin’?” Gunny said.

“Yeah, they say we live in a free country. Haha.”

“Why is your name Drinkin’?”

“I got it because I like to drink. Often and a lot.”

The announcement was followed by a short burst of laughter.

“And while we’re at it, I’d like a Russian squid. That mission made me thirsty.”

“Maybe later, you’ll have to make do with this for now,” Petar replied, shoving a bottle of ink in his hand in the car. “And don’t spill,” the gray-haired man added, but by then guttural sounds were coming from inside the car.

“Can someone tell me what a Russian squid is?” Gunny asked with a slightly confused expression.

“Two ounces of vodka and one small bottle of black ink,” Lydie said quietly.

“Ugh, that sounds disgusting.”

“Don’t criticize until you’ve tried it,” the thin little voice squeaked.

Gunny pulled up his pants.

“The wise person recognizes that some experiences are less embraceable than others.”

A chuckle came from the car.

“That’s what Master Splinter of the Ninja Turtles said.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Petar sighed.

“If you’re done, it’s time to discuss strategy.”

“Yes, boss!” came the chorus.

“That’s better.”

* * *

The stew on the stove in the corner of the kitchen smelled so good that Chauffer’s salivary glands spontaneously went to work, even though he had no thought of eating. How on earth could it all have gone so terribly wrong? He had only managed to escape because he had took off in time and knew exactly which way to run.

He reached out his hand to take a card from the deck. His hand was shaking so badly that he was only able to take it between his fingers on the third try.

His companions, with faces so hard one could sharpen knives on it, looked at each other. The looks did not bode well, but he did not care. He had encountered something beyond anything he could imagine. Just like the darkness he was met with. He had killed, tortured, or at least stood by and watched the torture, but now he faced true evil. And he was afraid. He was terrified that the monster would come for him too.

So now he sat in an old two-story sawmill built on the bank of a stream. The white paint inside was slowly peeling off, as was the yellow one outside. He didn’t smell the mildew only because the bubbling stew was currently overshadowing it.

He placed his cards on the rickety table. He was giving up. This wasn’t worth it.

“How about you finally tell us what’s going on? The old man’s been taken down. Okay. But by who?” one of the guys demanded.

“Was it the Popovice crew? I never trusted those swine,” the other added.

The only difference between him and his partner was that he had blond hair instead of brown.

“I told you I don’t know who they were!”

He wasn’t stupid enough to tell them what he’d actually seen that night.

“Well, it’s obvious it must have been rough. That girl broke down. But you’re no ordinary whore. Get a grip, man!” Blondie scowled at him.

“If we don’t find out who’s trying to break up our crew, we’re dead. We have to take the initiative,” growled Brown.

“Screw you!” Chauffeur growled between his teeth.

“Hey, you . . . ”

“And you too! You weren’t there. You didn’t see it.”

“We didn’t see what? Just spit it out already,” Blondie said with a clear threat of violence in his voice.

“Shut up!”

Brown leaned across the table.

“You piece of shit . . . ”

“Shut up, both of you! Can’t you hear that?”

They fell silent. From the outside they heard the sound of a car engine running and wheels clanking on the bridge over the creek. Then the gravel on the road in front of the sawmill rattled. The engine stopped.

By this time all three of them were at the kitchen window, looking out.

Ten yards in front of the sawmill, a luxury green Defender pulled up. The driver’s door opened and a gray-haired man dressed in a long coat stepped out of the car. He walked calmly about two yards away from the car. He looked the sawmill over thoughtfully. To the mobsters inside, he seemed to be looking right into their faces through the dusty glass.

Gun slides clicked, fingers turned off the safeties. Too late.

From under his coat, the man produced a matt semi-automatic shotgun. In one motion, he shouldered it and fired.

The first shot ripped long splinters from the front door.

The man took aim at their window.

“Shit!” Brown yelled.

At the last second, they managed to take cover behind the stone walls.

A second shot blasted a large circular hole in the glass of the window. The rest of the glass immediately began to crumble. The shattering of glass on the floor seemed louder than the shots.

Another shot. A shower of buckshot flew through the kitchen, ending the suffering of a Jesus on the cross.

The gunfire, which continued to devastate the kitchen and split the window frames into splinters, quickly erased any thoughts of returning fire from their minds.

However, it had a rejuvenating effect on Chauffeur.

“Take the rifle and get up in the attic. Get him from the dormer!” he ordered Blondie.

The latter merely nodded, and on all fours went to do as ordered.

“You take the back door! Go around the timber! I’ll try to pin him down.”

He didn’t watch to see if Brown was following his order. He stayed safely crouched behind the wall. That bastard was firing shot after shot. He couldn’t even stick the tip of his nose out.

He heard the stamp of feet on the rickety wooden stairs leading from the hall to the attic. Then came the creak of the back door. The room reeked of scorch as stew oozed from the perforated pot onto the stove.

They’ll get the bastard. He’s got to run out of ammo at some point.

The firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun.

All right, Chauffeur thought. The shots came from the same place and distance. So he knew exactly where to shoot.

With the gun pointed in front of him, he peeked out the lower right corner of the window.

Something with the force of a vice gripped his gun hand and pulled him out like a blackbird pulls an earthworm from the dirt. He felt a stab of pain as one of the shards in the frame cut into his side.

Then he was lying outside under the window, gasping for air.

“I’d leave the trigger alone if I were you,” a voice as warm as an iceberg said behind him.

When he finally managed to focus, he found that the gun was still in his hand, but the grip that was breaking his wrist kept it pointed at his own chest.

“Why don’t you give me the gun before you harm yourself?”

He nodded dazedly and loosened his grip. Good thing his finger wasn’t directly on the trigger guard. The shooting course had paid off.

But how had it happened? He was at least ten yards away. The guy couldn’t have gotten to the house that fast.

As he turned his head toward the car, understanding began to creep into his shaken brain.

A girl in a flowered dress stood by the car. She had a slight smile on her face and was holding the exact same shotgun as the man who had opened fire.

“Let’s talk,” the gray-haired man announced, then pulled Chauffeur to his feet with no apparent effort.

The girl took a dancing step toward them.

Still shaken, Chauffeur could only manage another nod.

* * *

In the entrance hall of the house, they met a bearded, army-style man who was carrying a limp Brown over his shoulder.

Chauffeur’s vanquisher took a cursory glance at the kitchen. In a second, he assessed the extent of the devastation and directed his captive to the room across the hall that served as the living room. There, he made him sit down on one of the chairs, to which he secured him with plastic handcuffs.

Brown ended up the same way. He was then brought to consciousness by routine slapping.

Chauffeur watched it all in a kind of a haze, as if was only holding consciousness between his fingertips. Still, he couldn’t help wondering where Blondie was. It was slowly working its way through his brain. Maybe he could still get them all out of this. If he seized the opportunity . . . 

Just as his train of thought reached the home station, heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs.

Why so loud?! He can’t surprise them like that!

Soon, Blondie entered through the massive wooden door frame. His hands were empty and his face was twisted with sheer terror. He moved awkwardly and with extreme caution.

The reason was obvious. Drunks have monkeys sitting around their necks. He had something else there.

The creature looked like a little man about one foot tall. It had long bat ears, a massive hooked nose and big eyes with yellow irises. They were currently squinting in an expression that could be described as darkly insidious. It was wearing a tiny dark blue jumpsuit with black stripes and Adidas written on it. A Barbie doll had probably found a naked, bound and very traumatized Ken in her pink sports car one fine day.

The creature had its legs wrapped around Blondie’s neck. Its right hand held tightly on the earlobe of its vehicle, while its left hand held a shiny razor, pressed under Blondie’s jaw.

“Sit down, shithead!” the tiny mahout instructed Blondie.

Blondie obediently sat down on the vacant chair. The soldier tied his hands to it.

A blur flashed through the room. The tiny man reappeared, perched on the edge of the tabletop, where he was happily tapping his feet.

“What the hell is that?!” Blondie groaned, unable to take his eyes off the little man. His voice was hysterically breaking.

The remaining mobsters watched the gremlin silently, but with wide eyes.

“Something that’s probably going to play the clumsy barber soon if you don’t stop asking stupid questions,” the little man squeaked, stroking his razor menacingly.

“Oh come on, Drinkin’, we don’t do that anymore,” Petar said with slight reproach in his voice.

“If he pisses me off any longer, we’ll take a little excursion back to the old days together.”

Petar gave the mobsters a serious look.

“Now, youngsters, I’ll ask the questions and you’ll answer. Or I’ll leave you alone with Mr. Drinkin’ here.”

The captives swallowed drily in unison.

“So, one of you witnessed the attack on your boss and probably also the one in the castle. Which one of you was it?”

“Me,” Chauffeur sputtered.

“Okay. I’m interested in what attacked you.”

“I . . . Look . . . ,” he began. “Couldn’t you treat my side first? It’s still bleeding.”

Gunny walked over to his chair, squatted down, and squinted critically at his blood-soaked clothes. With a swift movement, he ripped the fabric open, revealing the shard wound.

“It’s already closing. You’ll be fine. You should get it stitched up, but that’s not on the agenda right now.”

He paused, as if something had just occurred to him.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he blurted out and hurriedly left the room.

He returned a moment later with a mess tin. He scooped up a spoonful of stew and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and licked his lips.

“It’s really good. You weren’t kidding,” he nodded approvingly at the little man.

Drinkin’ gave him a thumbs-up—followed by his middle finger.

“I thought you said you were full at lunch,” Lydie frowned slightly.

“I was,” Gunny shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean I am going to refuse more food, when there’s an opportunity.”

“Ahem,” Petar cleared his throat ostentatiously. “How about we get back to the subject of our conversation? What did you see? And you may notice I’m asking what, not who.”

Chauffeur glanced briefly at his two companions.

“You won’t believe me. No one will believe me!” He groaned.

Drinkin’ chuckled.

“What are you talking about, idiot? Look at me. I’m pretty incredible myself. The Incredible Drinkin’, that sounds good. I’m just not muscular and green enough.”

Chauffeur’s jaw quivered as if he was fighting with himself.

“It was a goddamn headless knight!” he finally blurted out.

Blondie shook his head. Brown rolled his eyes.

“Are you sure?” Petar jerked his chin.

“Fuck no! Seeing a huge guy wearing armor, with a huge sword and no head, I guess I have plenty of opportunities to be wrong!”

Petar shot a glance toward the little man.

“Yeah, we guess it right,” Drinkin’ nodded.

With his nose and ears, it was a fairly obvious gesture.

“Do you know why he was after you?” the gray-haired man asked.

Chauffeur averted his eyes.

“No,” he said quietly.

“But you do know,” Drinkin’ shouted. “You do know, you’re just trying to screw us.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are, you’re trying to screw us. Come on, be a man. Admit it.”

“No.”

The man twirled the razor in his fingers.

“You know how many liars I’ve had under this razor? What’s the price of getting you to talk? An ear? A nose? Or something situated much lower?”

Chauffeur seemed to sink into himself in his chair.

“Well, all right! All right! There’s treasure hidden in the castle dungeon. When we ran away, the boss still had a gold ring with a big stone.”

“See?” Petar remarked good-naturedly. “You must be relieved now. You might as well have said so. You’re not stupid enough to want to get the cursed treasure for yourself, are you? You’d end up just like your boss.”

Chauffeur shook his head slowly. But his expression clearly indicated that he was only now beginning to realize the possible consequences of stealing the treasure.

“What are you going to do with us?” Brown said with an effort.

Lydie tugged on the grey-haired man’s sleeve. Brown froze. For some reason, the frail girl frightened him, perhaps even more than the gremlin with a razor.

“Burn?” she asked timidly.

She wore the exact same expression as a child begging for a toy she’d just seen on a store shelf.

“I hope that won’t be necessary,” the gray-haired one replied.

She lowered her head in disappointment and stepped aside.

The mobsters began to breathe again.

“Him,” Petar nodded his head to Chauffeur sitting in the middle.

The soldier drew his knife.

With a serious expression, he walked up to the prisoner, but then quickly walked around his chair and cut his cuffs.

With a hiss of pain, Chauffeur slowly straightened up, rubbing his bruised wrists as he did so.

“Come on, boy,” the gray-haired man patted him on the shoulder.

* * *

They walked slowly to the car.

“What happens now?” Chauffeur asked uncertainly.

“That will be up to you,” Petar looked at him seriously.

“Are you just going to let me go?”

The soldier behind him chuckled.

“And what did you expect? That we’d hire you?”

“We don’t hire losers like you,” Drinkin’ squeaked by his right leg.

The gray-haired man raised a disapproving eyebrow.

“Enough jokes, I’ve got a few words for the young man.”

They stopped beside the car. Lydie sat in the back. Gunny walked around the car and opened the passenger door. But he continued to watch Chauffeur over the hood. By this time, Drinkin’ was in his bag in the back seat.

“We’re going to leave now. And I’m sure I’ll never see you again. If I do, you know what will happen,” Petar said.

He opened the car door and got in the driver’s seat. He was about to close the door, but paused with his hand on the handle.

“Like I said, it’s entirely up to you. But don’t ever talk about this. Ever. If I were you, I’d quickly change town, name, and maybe even your occupation. As I see it, there’s not much prospect for you in the present one. It’s also up to you how you arrange things with your associates. Frankly, they don’t strike me as people with much understanding.”

He closed the door and started the car. Gunny grinned mockingly at Chauffeur some more and then disappeared inside the car as well.

Chauffeur watched the departing car thoughtfully. He remembered that in the kitchen, in one of the cupboard drawers, there were a lot of sharp knives. He can do away with those two quickly.

* * *

They stayed in a guesthouse on the outskirts of Týnec. They ordered dinner to be brought up to their rooms and met for the meal in Petar’s suite. The advantage was that they were able to strengthen their relationships through teambuilding. The downside was that they were having dinner with Drinkin’.

When he finished the announced Russian squid after an ink-stained pork tomahawk, Gunny couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why do you keep drinking all that ink?”

The little man scratched his back and focused on him, slightly tipsy.

“You figured out I’m a gremlin, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m a print gremlin. In the service since the invention of the printing press.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’re haunting a printing press right now,” remarked Gunny dryly.

Drinkin’ took a sip, burped, and replied.

“In the year two thousand and two, I met Petar here in a print shop. He was there on business, because besides books they also printed counterfeit bills. I was teasing him a bit, as was in my job description, and he caught me. Nobody had done it before him. But we quickly found common ground . . . I’ve been working with him ever since. I was sick of the gremlin job anyway.”

“Holy shit,” was all Gunny could muster.

Lydie, sitting on the rug by the bed, smiled brightly like the sun. The story amused her.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” the boss ordered.

“Sure,” nodded Drinkin’. “The Kostelec nad Sázavou castle was founded as a royal castle, but I’ll be damned if I know which monarch was responsible. What matters to us is that in the year fourteen hundred and fifty it belong to the bandit knight Kuneš Rozkoš of Dubé. He robbed everyone on one of the important trade routes so vehemently that King Wenceslas sent one of his most reliable noblemen, Zdeněk Konopištský of Šternberk, to deal with him. He besieged and eventually conquered the castle. Kuneš and his sons tried to break the siege, but they were captured and Konopištský had Kuneš and his sons executed in the castle courtyard. They were beheaded. But only after Kuneš had to watch the deaths of the surviving castle staff and the rest of his family. Pretty cruel even by medieval standards.

“What’s interesting: even though Konopištský claimed the castle for himself, the treasures found were less than anyone would have expected from a bandit like Kuneš. Just seventeen years later, Kostelec was besieged and conquered by the armies of King George of Poděbrady. And that was the end for the castle.”

Gunny stared at the gremlin, mouth wide open. Drinkin’ grinned.

“What are you looking at? I’m a print gremlin. You’d never believe how much I’ve read in hundreds of years. Plus, I have a photographic memory when it comes to texts.”

Petar sighed.

“Drinkin’ . . . ”

“Oh, well,” the gremlin rolled his eyes. “I also have a tablet in my bag and the internet is like my second home. But all I said was true.”

The soldier just shook his head.

“But still . . . a headless knight? Really? I thought that here in Czechia we only had that Templar in Prague,” the soldier mused.

“Bollocks!” grinned the gremlin. “In Zlín, for example, there was a headless knight named Miloš, who rode in a fiery chariot and chopped off the heads of passers-by with a falchion.”

“Was?”

Petar cleared his throat before speaking.

“Exactly. They tried all sorts of things on him, and finally they hit him with anti-tank missiles three nights in a row. Devil knows if it wiped him out for good, but he hasn’t shown up for a couple of years. Anyway, they’re pretty tough bastards.”

The soldier mused.

“From what I remember, with that Templar, all you supposedly have to do is stab him through the heart with his own sword, right?”

Drinkin’ giggled until he fell off the dresser.

Petar smiled slightly.

“Have you ever tried stabbing someone in armor? That Templar wears a cuirass. Two millimeters of hardened steel between two layers of rawhide. Not to mention the ringmail and quilting underneath. Besides, they’re superhumanly strong, so try taking his sword,” he added.

“Okay, so what do we do about this one?”

“There may be a grain of truth in that rumor,” squeaked Drinkin’, who had recovered in the meantime. “I think there’s a power that resides in the heart area that brings him to life. When I get near it, I shall know for certain.”

“That’s going to be a close call,” remarked Gunny.

Petar shrugged.

“Gremlins can move unseen and they’re fast. But yes, it’s risky. The knight could still sense him, the way one magical being can sense another.”

He tapped his fingers on the tabletop.

“We can’t underestimate this. We have all day tomorrow to prepare and we’ll take him out at night.”

“Burn?” Lydie suggested.

Petar smiled for real for the first time.

* * *

“What do you think?”

Petar and Gunny looked across the moat at the ruins of the castle. They’d been crawling through it for almost two hours before that. Except for the dungeons; no one wanted to go there. Only Drinkin’ had been bribed with two bottles of ink, and after less than two minutes underground he could confirm the existence of the treasure. But he took nothing from it.

Gunny scratched his beard and grinned unhappily.

“It’s a shitty place for a cover fire. Theoretically, I could climb the opposite hill, but it’s too overgrown, not to mention the rest of the castle tower would cover almost the entire courtyard anyway. The only reasonable firing position is right here.”

He kicked the wall that was the base of the bridge with his foot. Lydie swept past and began scattering gray powder from her sack across the bridge.

“We need to draw him out to over there,” Gunny pointed across the bridge, to the plaza below the castle palace. “I’ll get him there. I’ll take Dragunov, and I’ll shoot through the steel plate with it. Just get him there.”

“We’ll need a decoy, and that’ll be me. If it goes well, maybe I can take him down myself,” Petar said.

“Really? What do you want to use?”

“This.”

Petar showed him a small Israeli Uzi submachine gun.

“A fine toy for close-range live fire,” the soldier acknowledged. “But against an armored and superhumanly durable target, no chance.”

“I have special ammo. A Czech specialty. There’s a hardened steel needle embedded in the soft core of the bullet. The core itself splashes against the armor, but the needle continues on. It goes through bulletproof glass like nothing.”

“Okay, that’s cool.”

“Besides, the ammo was blessed by one of the last priests of the Lord of pure faith.”

“You mean that bum from Rytířská Street in Prague?”

“That’s the one.”

“Good choice,” Gunny nodded.

They both watched Lydie setting something up at the foot of the bridge, chanting merrily as she did so.

“I like watching her when she’s happy,” the soldier said thoughtfully.

“So do I,” admitted Petar. “And if something goes wrong, she may be our last hope.”

* * *

The sun had set half an hour ago, the shadows in the castle courtyard began to merge into a solid darkness. They were disturbed only by the warm light of a campfire in the middle of the courtyard.

Petar, wearing more practical outdoor clothes for once, was sitting on a shiny log. He seemed lost in thought. He tapped the communicator in his ear twice, turning it off.

“Drinkin’?” he said quietly.

“I’m here, boss,” a voice from the bushes to his right assured him.

“Sometimes I wonder . . . I’m not sure if I’m not getting too old for this. I wonder if I should have one last blast and then end it.”

“No, mate,” the gremlin appeared right in front of him and looked him seriously in the eye. “What kind of stupid bullcrap is that? What would you like to do? Go take out Thaçi regardless of getting killed afterwards? No way, my brother. You’ve got a lot to repay. For everything you’ve done. Rest assured, I’ll see to it that your accounts are in order before you have to answer for your sins.”

Petar sighed.

“My biggest regret of all is dragging you into this mess.”

Drinkin’ gave a short laugh. A sad one.

“I wouldn’t get dragged into anything I didn’t want to get into myself. You’re still a kid compared to me, mate.”

This time Petar laughed. A few pounds of the weight on his shoulders disappeared.

“The old man here is philosophizing about the perspective of someone who is immortal.”

“Nobody is immortal. Not even me.” The gremlin shook his head. “Once people stop printing on paper, I’ll cease to exist.”

“That won’t happen for a long time, I hope.”

Drinkin’ scratched himself behind his ear.

“I’d toast to that if I had something to drink. But I’ll tell you anyway; they’re starting to piss me off with those e-books.”

With that, the gremlin disappeared from sight.

Petar switched the radio back on.

“Finally,” came Gunny in his ear, sourly. “I just wanted to make sure you two noticed it’s getting colder. Yeah, and the fog has started creeping in the moat, too. The artillery is over and out.”

“Thank you,” Petar replied, looking around.

The advantage of good outdoor clothing was that it could insulate him from even light frost. At the same time, however, it limited his perception of changes in ambient temperature. In any case, he could already feel the cold on the tip of his nose. A tendril of mist slithered over his boot like a snake. Fog and frost localized in a small area. A physical nonsense, impossible without a good dose of reality-warping magic.

He stood up and dusted off his pants. He put his hand on the stock of his gun.

“Well, come on! Let’s get started,” he said into the darkness.

As if on cue, heavy footsteps sounded through the courtyard.

The figure entering the warm firelight was clad in full plate armor. Though the light of the dancing flames tinted everything around it orange, the glint of steel dyed the figure blue, a shade similar to ice inside a glacier. Steam rose from the joints of the armor.

There was nothing above the broad shoulders, covered in steel plates, and the top of the cuirass. Yet Petar felt as if he could see a face clearly before him. Stark, as if cut from stone, with a moustache with drooping ends. Eyes filled with cruelty.

Petar had seen much in war and his later life, but there was never such concentrated rage.

He spat. Kuneš paused. Perhaps he wanted to let the fear work. Perhaps he was not used to such a reaction.

“Yeah, you are a big asshole,” Petar smirked. “Let’s see if you have a heart.”

The hand with the Uzi flew up. His index finger squeezed the trigger and held it. In the sound of gunfire refracted off the crumbling walls, everything else faded away.

The chest plate sparked. The gunshots were joined by a sound similar to that of hammering nails into a full can.

The shots stopped.

The steel needles had gouged a hole in Kuneš’s heart area that a man’s fist could fit through. Thick, black blood flowed from the hole. The spine glistened white in the depths.

“Oh shit!” came the uncharacteristically clipped voice of the gremlin. “I never would have believed he could be so imbued with power.”

Flesh wriggled in the hole like worms. It was beginning to patch itself up. Slowly, the hole in the armor was also disappearing.

“Looks like it,” Petar muttered between his teeth. “We’ll have to toughen up.”

* * *

“Copy,” confirmed Gunny over the radio.

He hastily put down the sniper rifle and fumbled for the incomparably larger weapon he had ready next to him. The end of the barrel of the anti-material rifle was fitted with a muzzle brake, making it resemble the end of a cannon.

He grunted slightly as he placed the weapon in firing position. After all, thirty five pounds are thirty five pounds.

“That’ll be expensive. I wonder if they’ll compensate us for the ammo,” he muttered under his beard.

Lydie, standing a few feet away, was opening and closing the lighter in rapid succession.

* * *

Kuneš stepped forward. His armored boot stomped out the campfire. The flames were extinguished.

Petar raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Lights!” he ordered.

With a soft click, the spotlights they had mounted at strategic points during the day flared to life.

The headless knight turned his torso as if looking around in surprise. Then, however, he turned back to Petar. He twisted the broad blade of the sword in his lowered hand so that it flashed.

“Now what?” Petar asked, uninterested. “Will it be like the story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight?”

The sword flashed in a luminous arc at exactly neck height. But Petar was no longer there. He crouched down and rolled under the blade. This brought him to the knight’s left side. From his kneeling position, he planted a long shot into Kuneš’s knee.

Not that the knight particularly minded., Petar jumped away at the last moment before an upward swing could cut him in two.

Kuneš stepped forward and his leg almost buckled under him. The tangle of metal and black flesh had not yet had time to regenerate.

Petar took off along the wall of the main building. This was going to require a bigger caliber. The 12.7 of the Gunny’s Zastava M93 Black Arrow anti-material rifle seemed sufficient to him.

Drinkin’ suddenly appeared on the wall to his right. He grabbed Petar’s sleeve and, while holding onto the wall with his other hand with all his strength, yanked him back.

It was at the last moment. Another figure in armor, who had just emerged from around the corner, swung his arm. The barbed ball of a flail flew through the place where Petar would have run if Drinkin’ hadn’t stopped him. It practically crushed one of the stones in the wall. Fragments flew around like shrapnel. One of them grazed Petar’s face.

“Boss, we are in deep shit!” yelled the gremlin. “That’s one of Kuneš’ sons they executed with him!”

From the other side, Kuneš himself came within blade range. The sword blade whistled again.

Petar rushed through the nearest hole into the castle building. He needed to buy them time. Drinkin’, who was anxiously watching the progress of the other headless knight, could not dodge in time.

“Ouch!” the gremlin yelled and disappeared.

A bloody tip of his long ear hit the ground.

* * *

“What the fuck is going on?!” growled Gunny, who was lying down, watching the ruin from the foot of the bridge through the sights of his rifle.

He almost fired at a figure that had squeezed through a narrow hole at the base of one of the outer walls of the palace. It was Petar, hurrying into the open space in front of the bridge.

“Oh, hello,” the soldier muttered as he took aim at the knight with the flail, who had come around the side of the building and was just entering his field of vision.

“Where did you come from all of a sudden? Whatever, it’s time to say goodbye.”

The gunshot was so loud that it deafened Lydie standing nearby. The rifle twitched as if trying to tear off Gunny’s shoulder, but he was used to that.

Kuneš’s son ended up much worse. The bullet had actually ripped his shoulder off, along with a quarter of his rib cage. The arm came crashing to the ground with a muffled thud and a splash of black tissue. Or rather, the rest of the arm had.

The headless knight walked on. Without hesitation, he headed towards Petar, who raised his Uzi defiantly.

“Just a scratch?” Gunny grinned.

He planted the second blow in the knight’s pelvis. The knight’s legs flew sideways like bowling pins, his torso and remaining arm falling with a sickening splash to the root-ridden ground.

The legs were wriggling like snakes. A fragment of the blown-off arm struggled to reach the torso. To no use.

“Wait a minute,” Gunny twisted his lip thoughtfully. “Didn’t Kuneš have more sons?”

“Behind you!” Lydie yelled.

The soldier immediately rose to his knees and turned. A flash of steel flew toward him.

Instinctively he raised his rifle in front of him.

The impact shook his entire skeleton, which tried to jump out of his body. The heavy rifle flew out of his hands.

He staggered backwards, and a rock on the edge of the moat loosened under his foot. Then he just rolled down. All he could do was protect his head.

At the bottom of the moat, he scrambled shakily to his feet. He heard a stamping sound, and looking up at the bridge, he saw Lydie running halfway across. She leaned against the railing and looked down at him.

“Watch out, he’s coming for you!” he shouted at her.

Kuneš’s son number two had just reached the bridge. His armor gleamed and he was swinging his sword in anticipation.

“That one is mine. You go help the boss!” she told him in a voice that didn’t allow any objections.

Gunny turned toward the inner slope of the moat and began to climb up the jutting tree roots.

“I just hope the whole Kuneš family and their matron and little brats don’t arrive too,” he grumbled.

* * *

Lydie stood motionless in the middle of the bridge. A massive, headless knight was approaching. His feet raked the grey powder that covered the bridge.

Finally, he stopped about seven feet in front of her and bent his torso as if to see what was crunching under his feet. Then he straightened up again and refocused on the girl. In the face of her determination, he suddenly looked somewhat uncertain.

“You shall not pass!” she shouted, flicking her lighter at him.

This time a flame actually shot out of it. And fire erupted all around.

The magnesium powder ignited under the knight’s feet. The white flame, at five and a half thousand degrees, rose a good eight feet high. It melted both flesh and the metal of the armor.

The headless knight, though staggering, clumsily advanced a step. The girl furrowed her brows in concentration. The flames shot higher, igniting another pile of magnesium directly beneath the knight.

Orange tongues of fire from the burning wood began to crawl under the bridge. Still, the headless knight raised his sword arm.

The girl swung her left arm violently. The tongue of fire cracked like a whip and wrapped itself around the knight’s arm. In one heartbeat, it burned through the elbow of the sword-holding arm. The burnt sword arm twisted and disappeared under the bridge.

The figure in front of the girl dropped to all fours. Within three seconds, all that was left of him was a melted puddle.

Lydie turned and walked unhurriedly to the end of the bridge and then between the remaining walls of the bridge gate.

The fire spread rapidly behind her. Unchecked, the flames whipped to such a height that they threatened to burn the treetops. Leaves twisted by the heat fell around like rain.

The girl turned around. She stretched out her hand. The bridge crackled and collapsed into the moat.

* * *

Meanwhile, Kuneš pushed Petar up against the wall of the building. The old hitman needed all his speed and experience to dodge the slashes of the knight’s sword. His shots only slowed the monster down.

He misjudged the distance and slammed his back into the wall.

Kuneš readied himself for an angled slash. He swung his arm down. Petar could only crouch.

But the sword didn’t land. Surprised, Kuneš raised his hand. Someone had cut a tendon on the inside of his plate glove, just above the cuff.

Above him, in the niche of the wall, Drinkin’ grinned. In one hand he held his razor, in the other the sword of the headless knight.

“That’s for my ear, you bastard!” he bellowed at Kuneš.

Up the gentle slope ran Gunny.

“The sword—throw it to me!”

The gremlin huffed, and with noticeable effort, threw the sword in an arc towards the approaching soldier. Gunny ducked with a curse. The spinning sword slammed into the ground where it remained stuck.

“Why didn’t you catch it?” Drinkin’ chuckled.

“Because I’m not completely stupid and I’m not going to get my fingers chopped off!” Gunny said, grabbing the hilt.

Petar seized the opportunity, squeezed past Kuneš and shot through his legs with a long shot. The headless knight sank to his knees.

“Just like an execution,” gasped the approaching soldier.

At that moment, something occurred to him. Maybe it was stupid, but he trusted his intuition.

He waved the sword just above the armor. In the place where Kuneš used to have his neck when he had been alive.

The headless knight fell lifeless to the ground. Steam stopped rising from the armor’s joints. The unnatural chill that had radiated from his body vanished.

The Hunters gathered around the motionless body.

“How did you know where to hit him?” Petar asked.

His almost unnatural calm was gone. His expression was stunned.

“I don’t even know.” Gunny looked thoughtful. “I thought I could almost see his head. And the way he was kneeling, it seemed like a good idea.”

“And it was,” Drinkin’ nodded.

He was seeing the former soldier in a very different light now.

“What next?” Lydie asked.

“We’ll take good pictures and collect samples so the SRS won’t give us a hard time about the bounty. Then we’ll throw them in the fire and you burn them to ashes. Just in case,” Petar decided.

“Have fun. But without me,” growled Drinkin’, rubbing his cut ear. “I’ve had enough for today.”

* * *

As they said, so they did. Finally, they stood on the outside of the moat, looking down at the burning remnants of the bridge.

“Have you completely lost your minds!?” a desperate cry cut through the night.

The mayor was crawling up the slope on all fours to join them, leaves stuck to his hands, his glasses sliding off his nose.

When he scrambled up to them, he finally straightened up. His face was as red as a scalded slaughterhouse pig.

“You call this discreet!?!?” he yelled. “Do you have any idea what the heritage commissioner will do to me? All the work they’ve done over the years is gone!”

He stared in horror at the burning ruins of the wooden bridge at the bottom of the moat.

“Did you have to destroy that damned bridge too!?”

“That’s the best way to burn them,” Lydie replied quietly.

“Well, it’ll be better if there aren’t too many tourists around anyway,” the soldier replied.

“I’d still recommend planting a grate at the entrance to the underground. So it doesn’t happen again,” Petar added.

The mayor stared at them in mute shock for a moment, then raised his hands to the heavens and roared inarticulately.

That seemed to calm him down a little. He began to pace back and forth, measuring them menacingly. Finally he stopped in front of them, hands on his hips.

“Now listen to me very carefully! The heritage authority, the civic associations, the forest service, the fire department. These will all be interested in what happened. And do you know that there is a military base not far from here in Lešany? So the army will take notice too! “

He took a deep breath and then let the air out slowly, like his therapist had taught him.

“You’ll work out some agreement with the SRS,” Petar remarked calmly.

“If you think you’re going to pin this colossal mess on me, forget it! I’m not just going to take the blame.”

“Yeah? How much would you bet on that, mate?” a voice said beside his knee.

The mayor’s eyes dimmed for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching on its own accord. When he finally dared to lower his gaze, he saw Drinkin’ with a bandaged ear, who had just begun to piss on his leg. Then his consciousness finally gave up and he collapsed to the ground.

“Do you think he’ll try to dig up the treasure?” Lydie wondered.

“Only if he’s totally stupid. Which, of course, is possible. He’s a politician,” added Drinkin’, unusually serious.

“I suppose it’s a question of greed and death,” Petar shrugged.

The soldier eyed the prone man with interest.

“To be honest, I don’t like politicians either,” he said thoughtfully.

* * *

Drinkin’, sitting behind his desk, leaned back comfortably in his custom-made office chair. He folded the newspaper and carefully placed it next to a large glass filled with dark blue liquid, from which a straw and a colorful cocktail umbrella protruded.

The newspaper was the Týnec věstník, and there was a big headline on the front page: THE MAYOR WAS RUNNING NAKED IN THE WOODS! IS HE AN EXHIBITIONIST? IS HE THE ARSONIST WHO SET THE CASTLE BRIDGE ON FIRE?

The gremlin looked delightfully at the stack of forms that loomed before him like a true mountain of bureaucracy. Alexandra from Fantom’s office claimed that the new SRS forms were more complicated than ever. He was looking forward to taking a closer look at them. Life is like a box of chocolates and he’s picking out the best bits.


JAKUB HOZA (* 1978)


A martial arts expert and fencing enthusiast who has been involved in these hobbies for more than thirty years; he applies his knowledge and experience not only to improving his physical appearance of a tough guy who is not to be trifled with, but also to writing fight scenes. Interestingly enough, Jakub’s real-world job is in the IT industry, which is not exactly brimming with physical, adrenaline-pumping action. Given that, he enjoys it all the more in his vivid imagination.

Jakub’s beginnings as a writer are also linked to literary competitions; in 2011, his short story The Hell Hole (Díra do pekel) caught the attention of publisher Egon Čierny so much that three years later Hoza was able to debut with his fantasy novel Theatre Macabre (Theatre macabre, Klub Julese Vernea, 2014). The gritty action story featured his favorite Nathaniel Darnsworn for the first time. A loose sequel, Shackles of Destiny (Okovy osudu, Klub Julese Vernea, 2017), was published three years later, and he returned to Nathaniel for the last time with the aptly named book Like Death Itself (Jako sama smrt, Mystery Press, 2022). In the interim, the author has focused on a new hero—Scarecrow, a former state assassin who is not to be provoked (like Hoza himself). Scarecrow’s first novel, Through the Fire (Projít ohněm, Klub Julese Vernea, 2020), is a gritty splatterpunk action novel set in the near future, which the author enhanced with a prequel called To Hell and Back (Do pekla a zpět, Mystery Press, 2021). The last book so far with Scarecrow is called Scorched Earth (Spálená zem, Mystery Press, 2023) and he’s certainly not done with this hero yet. And it’s Scarecrow who brought his creator to the MHF project in a way that just couldn’t be ignored.



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