The Dragon in the Sword (33 page)

“If you feel ready,” I said.

He uttered a faint laugh. “Of course. My mind’s somewhat disturbed by recent events, that’s all.”

And so we stepped into the corridor. We made a peculiar sight, Alisaard in her ivory armour, myself in the heavy leather of a marsh warrior and von Bek in his imitation twentieth-century costume. We proceeded cautiously until we reached the turn in the passage. The place seemed deserted, yet plainly was in use, judging by the lights. I peered up at the nearest bulb. They were of an unfamiliar pattern to me, yet clearly operated according to the usual principle.

We were so engrossed in exploring this corridor that we were too late to look for cover when one of the doors opened and a man stepped out. We stood there, ready to challenge him as best we could. Although there was a faint imprecision to his form, he seemed solid enough. The sight of his costume was, moreover, enough to shock me, and as for von Bek, the man gasped aloud.

We were face to face with a staff officer of the Nazi SS! He was engrossed in some papers he carried, but when he looked up it was to stare full in our faces. We said nothing. He frowned, stared again, visibly shuddered and then, muttering to himself, turned away. As he walked in the opposite direction he rubbed his eyes.

Alisaard chuckled. “There is some advantage to our situation,” she said.

“Why didn’t he speak to us?” von Bek asked.

“We are shadows in this world. I have heard of such things frequently, but never experienced it. We have only partial substance here.” She laughed again. “We are what the Eldren have always been called in the Six Realms. We are ghosts, my friends! That man believed himself to be suffering from a hallucination!”

“Will everyone here think the same?” von Bek asked nervously. For a ghost, he was sweating badly. He, better than I, knew the implications of being caught by these brutes.

“We can hope so, I suppose,” she said. But she could not be sure. “Sight of that man has terrified you, Count von Bek! It is he who should have been afraid of you!”

“I can understand something of this,” I told her. “And I believe Sepiriz may have found a way to keep his pledge to Count von Bek whilst also having his own purposes served. You said you thought you recognised this place, von Bek. Now do you recall where you may have seen it before?”

He bowed his head, rubbing at his face with his hands. He apologised for his condition, then straightened his back, nodding. “Yes. A few years ago. A distant cousin brought me here. He was an ardent Nazi and wished to impress me with what he claimed to be the resurrection of ancient German culture. We are in the so-called hidden vaults of the great castle at Nuremberg. We are at the very centre of what the Nazis consider their spiritual stronghold. Of course it would be impossible for an outsider to come here now, but then their numbers were fewer, they were less respectable, they had less power. These vaults are said to be as old as the first Gothic builders, who were here before the Romans. They lie under the main hillside on which the castle is built and were excavated in fairly recent times. When I came here there was much talk of their discovery of the ‘foundations’ of the true Germany. But I was used to that kind of nonsense by then. I found the place disturbing largely because of the value my Nazi relative placed on it. Very soon after I had visited it, I heard, it was forbidden for anyone but the highest of the Nazi hierarchy to come here. Why, I do not know. There were the usual rumours, of Hitler’s black magic rites and all that, but I didn’t believe them. My theory was that a secret military installation of some kind was being built here. In those days it was still necessary for the Nazis to pretend to be honouring the Armistice agreements.”

“But Sepiriz said the hare would lead us to a cup,” I said in some bafflement. “What sort of cup are we expected to find in Nuremberg?”

“I am sure we shall discover that in good time.” Alisaard had become impatient with this talk. “Let us continue. Remember that much still depends on us. We have the fate of the Six Realms in our hands.”

Von Bek looked about him. “I remember that there was a main vault. A kind of ceremonial chamber which my cousin seemed to believe had some kind of near-mystical importance. He called it the hub of the Germanic spirit. Some such nonsense. I must admit I was almost as bored as I was sickened by his talk. But perhaps that is what we should look for?”

“Do you remember the way?” I asked him.

He considered for a moment and then pointed. “It is where we were going. That door at the far end. I’m fairly sure that it opens onto the main chamber.”

We followed him now. Two other Nazis passed us, but only one saw us, out of the corner of his eye, and again it was plain he did not trust his vision. If this time was contemporary to von Bek’s I could imagine that most of these people were short of sleep and had become fairly used to hallucinations of one kind or another. Indeed, if I had been a member of the SS, I too would probably have been seeing all kinds of ghosts.

Von Bek paused outside a door which was evidently of recent workmanship, though in the Romanesque pattern of much of the rest. “I think this is the chamber I mentioned,” he said. He hesitated. “Shall I open it?”

Taking our silence for assent, he reached towards the large iron ring and tried to turn it. It refused to move. He put his shoulder to the oak of the door and pushed. He shook his head. “It’s locked. I suspect there are modern locks on the other side. It hardly gives.”

“Could it be that since our substance is, as it were, somewhat diffuse on this plane, we cannot exert enough force on the door?” I asked Alisaard.

She had only a little knowledge of the phenomenon. She suggested that all we could do would be to wait to see how others opened the door. “There could be a trick to it.”

Accordingly, we drew ourselves in to a nearby alcove and, hidden in the shadows, watched as various Nazi officers came and went in the corridor. There were no armed soldiers here, which led us to suppose that the Nazis felt themselves secure at this level.

We had waited perhaps an hour and were growing impatient with this plan, when a tall grey-haired man in black-and-silver robes which resembled the uniform of the SS turned the bend in the corridor and advanced towards us. He looked like some kind of officiating priest, for he carried a small box in his hand. Pausing at the door to the chamber, he opened the box and produced a key which he inserted into the lock. This was turned. We heard various tumblers moving. The door swung open. A musty scent came from the chamber beyond.

Immediately we followed quietly behind the grey-haired man. Plainly he was preparing the chamber for some rite, just as a priest might prepare the church. He lit tapers and with these he ignited large candles. The stones of the vault were certainly ancient. The roof was supported by dozens of arches so that it was impossible to tell its actual dimensions. The flames sent shadows flickering everywhere. It was not difficult for us to hide. When the officiary had completed his task he left the chamber, closing and locking the door behind him.

Now we were free to explore. We realised that the place had been designed fairly recently as a temple of some kind. At the far end was an altar. On the wall behind the altar was the black, red and white of the Nazi hooked cross, surrounded by insignia of equal barbarity, versions of ancient Teutonic symbols. Upon the altar itself was a stylised silver tree and beside it the figure of a rampant bull in solid gold.

“This is the stuff which some Nazis wished to put into our churches,” whispered von Bek. “Pagan objects of worship which they claim are the symbols of a true German religion. They are almost as anti-Christian as they are anti-Semitic. It is as if they hate every system of thought which in any way questions their own mish-mash of pseudo-philosophy and mystical claptrap!” He stared at the altar in disgust. “They are the worst kind of nihilists. They cannot even see that they destroy everything and create nothing. Their invention is as empty as any inventions of Chaos I have seen. It has no true history, no concrete substance, no depth, no quality of intellect. It is merely a negation, a brutal denial of all Germany’s virtues.” Again he was close to tears. Alisaard took his hand. She knew little of what he spoke, but she felt deeply for him.

“Try to consider our purpose here,” she murmured. “For your own sake, my dear.”

It was the first time I had heard her use such a term. And the stabbing jealousy came again. Oh, how I longed for the consolation of such a woman, someone so close to being my own Ermizhad that I might easily have pretended it was she. But I was able to gather my senses once more. I remembered the madness which had come over me such a short time ago. I was in constant danger from such delusions.

Von Bek was grateful for her concern and her reminder of his purpose here. “A cup—the Grail—is frequently part of this cult’s paraphernalia,” he said. “But I cannot see it anywhere.”

“The Grail? Weren’t you telling me, when we first met, that your family has some connection with the Holy Grail?”

“A legend, that’s all. Some of my ancestors were said to have seen it. Others were said to have held it in trust. But the story became too fanciful, I think. One legend even said that we held it in trust not for God but for Satan! I read all this when I was seeking a means of discovering what I thought were old passages to lead me secretly out of Bek without the Nazis realising. That was how I came upon the maps and books relating to the Middle Marches…” He stopped as we heard a sound from the corridor. Swiftly we withdrew into the dark shadows of one of the arches.

The door opened once more, sending a shaft of electric light into the gloom. Three figures now stood there. None was particularly tall and we could not see their faces because of the high, stiffened collars which framed their heads. The cloaks looked like those worn by certain orders of warrior-priests, such as the Knights Templar, and indeed these men carried great broadswords in their gauntleted hands while under their arms were heavy iron helmets which looked as if they had been forged in the Dark Ages. There was a look of barbaric strength about the three figures which was entirely the result of their chosen costume. As they moved forward towards the altar, closing the door behind them and bolting it, I saw that one was very thin and walked with a limp; another was rotund and wheezed a little as he made his way beneath the arches while the other moved with a peculiar, artificial stiffness, his shoulders set back in the manner of a short man who wished to appear taller than he was. I put out my hand to hold von Bek’s arm. He was trembling. I was not surprised.

There could be very little doubt that we were in the presence of three of the twentieth century’s arch-villains. The three men were Goebbels, Göring and Hitler, and everything I had ever read about their bizarre mystical beliefs, their faith in supernatural portents, their willingness to accept the strangest and most unlikely notions, was here proven at last.

Believing themselves unobserved, they began to chant lines from Goethe. In their mouths I felt the words were defiled and horribly abused. As with so many other romantic notions, they perverted the German poet’s ideas to their own miserable purpose. They might as easily have chanted the incantations of a Black Mass or defiled a synagogue with their filth, the effect was somehow the same.

Allen Gewalten

Zum Trutz sich erhalten
,

Nimmer sich beugen
,

Kräftig sich zeigen
,

Rufet die Arme

Der Götter hierbei.

“All powers are granted to souls undaunted, when self-reliant, firm and defiant, then shall the gods be helpful to thee!”

They abused these words as they abused all words, all the finest ideas and feelings of the German people, turning them into tools to build their own pathetically inadequate ideology. I would not have been surprised to find the ghost of Goethe standing beside me, ready to take revenge on those who so badly misused his work.

Now Goebbels stepped forward to light two huge red candles on either side of the altar.

I could sense von Bek beside me, barely restraining himself from lunging at these creatures. In silence, I held him back. We had to wait. We had to see what would be revealed to us. Sepiriz had wanted us to come here. He had sent the hare to lead us here. We must wait for the ritual to proceed.

I was astonished how banal their own words were. Full of entreaties to ancient gods, to Wotan and the spirits of Oak and Iron and Fire. The light from the candles illuminated their faces—Goebbels, a mask of twisted ratlike glee, like a bad schoolboy relishing his own wickedness; Göring, plump and serious, plainly believing everything he said and, moreover, evidently drunk or drugged into near-oblivion; and Adolf Hitler, Chancellor of the Third Reich, his eyes dark mirrors, his pale face full of an unwholesome luminosity, willing all this to become reality as, no doubt, he sought to will the rest of the world into acceptance of his hideous insanity.

It was a powerful scene and one which I hope never to witness again. This was human perversity which had little to do with even the worst examples found amongst the followers of Chaos. This was so much closer to my own experience, my own time, that I could sympathise with von Bek who struggled with himself like a chained dog who seeks only to kill, who had seen at first hand the horrors this trio had brought to his nation, whose whole original purpose in linking his fate with mine was concerned with destroying them, of saving his world from their evil.

I looked at Alisaard. Even she sensed the ugly power of these creatures.

“Let the powers of our ancient tribal gods, the gods who lent strength to the conquerors of Rome, be granted to our Germany in these, the hours of her destiny, the hours of decision.” This was Goebbels, plainly not really believing what he was saying, but well aware that both Hitler and Göring were by no means as incredulous. “Let us be granted the mystical might of the great gods of the Old World, filling us with that dark, natural energy which defeated the enfeebled followers of the Judaeo-Christian would-be conquerors of our ancient land. Let our blood, which is the pure, undiluted blood of those fearless ancestors, flow again through our veins with the same sweet thrill it knew in the days before our honest, guiltless forebears were corrupted by alien, oriental religions. Let Germany know a return to her full, untrammelled selfhood!”