Chapter 3

A/N: I don't own Shadow Hearts or Koudelka; and my heart-felt thanks to AriesCelestial for suggesting this story – she's a peach! If you're not confused yet, be patient – you will be. Credit for Koudelka script goes to Darkannex at his homepage of Its one of the few Koudelka fan pages out there so check it out. This chapter is rated "R" for sexual content.

Convincing old Roger Bacon to build a time machine was not that easy. After hearing Yuri's story, garbled and disjointed that it was, he insisted that the young man accompany him to the monastery to retrieve what books and research he could, ransacking both the old musty library and Patrick Heyworth's mansion. He also wanted to hear Yuri's description of his 'house'.

"From what you say," the old man said, directing Yuri to pick up a pile of books he had salvaged from Patrick's burnt quarters, "my house sounds like an observatory. I recall seeing a Persian depiction of such a thing, oh that had to be nearly two centuries ago. Well, if what you say is true, then we must build this domicile in order to house this wonderful machine I have yet to build."

"Roger," Yuri groaned under the weight of the books he was lugging down the hill, "I don't want to hurry you, but—"

"No - no, Yuri, we have all the time in the world," the elder said as he bent to pick up an oddly shaped book, one shaped like a human skull.

"But Alice..." Yuri breathed, pausing in his descent of the hill. 'Alice is in danger. If I'm not there to save her; if Koudelka doesn't talk to me... that damned voice is what got me to save her! Koudelka, god she's dead too ... no, no of course she's not dead. We made love, just over there,' he turned to look back up the hill to the remaining gate, hanging on one hinge, Yuri having used Seraphic Radiance to open the gate – with a mere flick of his finger; Roger had wanted to see this God from the East and Yuri had obliged. "We made love and I told her how much I loved her, and we... we had Hal and Katie and... noooo." Yuri dropped the books on the dirt at his feet and fell to his knees, his face screwed up in pain.

"Ooooh, Alice - I remember ... Alice... no, don't let me forget. We've got to fix it. Roger! We've got to fix..."

Roger was coming down the hill, book in hand, and he paused to frown at the kneeling Yuri. "You've dropped the books, Yuri. Fix what? You're not making sense young man."

Yuri scrambled to his feet, lurching over to Roger and took him by his brown robes. "You've got to get the machine to work. It worked before. You can make it work. I have to get back. I've got to!"

"All right all right," Roger said, brushing off Yuri's tight grip and wondering, in a small portion of his mind, what was happening to this young man; he seemed to vacillate between stability and near madness. "I had in mind such a thing; I had the plans in my head. Just give me time."

"Ohhhahh," Yuri moaned, "I don't think time is on my side."

"Nonsense, young man; if what you say is true, then it has already happened; and nothing you do will change that for now." Roger sighed, his eyes looking up into the cloudy sky. "Let me see, let me see, what will I need to do this..."

Yuri didn't see it that way, but with a sigh, did as Roger Bacon suggested. And months passed. Koudelka had died as the sun rose on November 1st and by Midsummer Yuri had finished the first two rooms of Roger's new house. It wasn't the greatest job of carpentry or stonework he had ever done as he was neither carpenter nor mason, but it gave them shelter from the storms that lashed the Welsh coast and got them out of Nemeton and away from the ghosts. Roger had stacked the books in one room and began planning his great machine, a machine to measure time itself, and while Roger planned, Yuri fretted. In the late hours, he would climb up to Nemeton and wander the ruins. He still had Sacnoth and the remaining Listel that James had offered and he worked off his frustration on the denizens of Nemeton and its basement. He also spent time sulking.

Yuri found it difficult to keep his mind on helping Roger when his thoughts kept returning to Alice and Koudelka. He would see Koudelka, her body draped in black lace, with seduction oozing from her every pore, looking at him from their bed, her body willing and able to take him at his most forceful. He could feel her warm flesh next to his, their breath mingling and the sweet perfume of her sex nearly brought him to tears. Then he would shake his head, look around the ruins of the monastery, and sob into his hands, Alice's name like a prayer on his lips, his heart wrenching in his chest.

"Oh God, Alice, no..." he sobbed and tried to bring his mind around to their life together, their time together. He closed his eyes, reshaping the memories of their wedding; Alice in her white gown, all delicate lace and looking so beautiful his heart nearly stopped; and the crazy reception where Zhuzhen had drunk too much wine, eaten too much cake, and ended up serenading one of the church ladies. Luckily the woman had no idea he was singing a bawdy song, and Yuri had been beside himself watching as Keith, the valiant and ever polite lord of Blue Castle, trying in vain to pull Zhuzhen into a side room to sober up. And laughter. Laughter had always been a part of their relationship, him, and Alice. He remembered her giggles at his stupid jokes, his attempts at being a delicate eater at the table. He laughed softly, a smile coming to replace his pain as he recalled those times his mother-in-law had been frustrated at his table manners.

And they had loved each other so much! He held Alice in his arms every chance he had, touching just to feel her tender skin beneath his battle roughened fingers. She didn't mind, pushing him away when it got to be too much. But she seldom protested his fondling of her in their bedroom, his hands covering her perky breasts, caressing their softness and kissing her with lips that hungered for her even now. Their bodies meshed together, like fingers in gloves, and that first time, on their wedding night, Yuri and Alice came together in blood and pain and rose together to heights that Yuri strove to repeat every time he made love to her. Her kisses were so sweet, so soft – like rose petals. Yuri buried his face in his hands and let the tears come, ragged prayers to a god he didn't know falling from his lips.

By Midwinter the preliminary machine was built, a monster of wood and metal and ceramic with wires draped everywhere and Yuri, on a makeshift treadmill was building up the power. Bacon was beside himself with joy, wondering why he hadn't built such a marvel before, while Yuri just wished he'd hurry up with it. January 1st found him running on the treadmill and Bacon setting a pot of water on the platform.

"What's with the water Rog?" he asked, his breath still coming easily as he ran.

"Oh, just to set the timing mechanism. I've set the device to send the pot forward by a few minutes," Roger answered, even as he spun a dial on the wood and metal control console.

"Forward? But we're tryin' to go back!" Yuri called.

"Well yes," Roger said and flipped a switch. Energy from the storage batteries around the platform arced onto the pot and it vanished with a pop of smoke. "But to know if it worked, one must go forward Yuri; we will catch up to the pot and know it worked. If we were to go back, why, we could very well meet ourselves and then, oh my, all hell would break loose!"

Yuri thought hell had already broken loose for he had gone back and killed Koudelka. His soul screamed at him, telling him to get the old man to hurry up or strangle him in the process! But Yuri ignored it, knowing his mind was more like Swiss cheese right now ... he often found himself trying to think of Alice, forgetting who she was for a moment, and then dwelling on Koudelka. Too often, it was Koudelka. Alice was like an angel, illusive, ethereal and, he feared, beyond his reach.

'If that old man doesn't get this thing working... whoa!' he thought and then jumped when the pot suddenly materialized on the platform. "Roger!"

Roger left the console and approached the platform, his knobby knees bent to bring him closer while Yuri jumped past him, picking up the pot, and holding it in his hands like it was a newly discovered treasure.

"You did it Roger, you did it!" he exclaimed, a look of hope in his eyes for the first time in over a year.

"Let us not be too hasty, Yuri. Let us try it again. Wouldn't want to send you back in time and have you turned into a baby now, would we?"

Yuri stared down at the diminutive monk and laughed.

"No," he said. "Who'd change my napkins?"

Roger took the pot from Yuri's hands, his own crackling laughter a counterpoint to Yuri's hearty chuckle. "I never dreamed I'd build such a marvelous device; and here is the young man who helped me do it," he muttered softly. "And he says we know each other; I am doubly blessed."

Yuri stepped down from the platform and went back to the treadmill, his mind already picturing how he'd prevent Koudelka's death and then, conquering the monsters of the monastery, he would sweep her off her feet and make ardent love to her willing young body.

That night Yuri had his supper on the cliff overlooking the sea; the wind still whipped like a madman and the surf was a crashing thunder beneath him, but he didn't care. He was closer and closer to getting back to fix things and that was all that mattered. Wrapped in his trench coat, and eating his meat pie, he looked up at the moon, her silver face a mere sliver hidden by scudding black and grey clouds. He thought back to all the times he'd looked up at the moon, and let the memories take him away. There was that time in China, when he and Lihua were making snow angels and laughing like children. He had to be about five then and they, his mom, dad, and he, had just arrived from Japan. The little girl Lihua had been his first friend and, once the fights for dominance in the children's circles had ceased, he became friends with the rest of her family as well. In the little village outside of Jilin there was about a dozen children so Yuri hadn't been alone all the time. But that night he and Lihua had escaped the warmth of their homes to climb the hill that overlooked the river at the back of his house, the hill with the oak tree and, flat on their backs, made the snow angels. Laughing heartily the two laid there in the snow until her older brother came looking for her. Yuri had stayed in the snow for a little while, looking up at the nearly full moon as she grinned down at him.

And then there was the moon in 1913 when he had run like an idiot to catch the train. He had nearly overslept, mostly because that damned voice had harangued him for hours the night before, giving him such a headache that he'd drunk way too much rice beer and then hadn't awakened until the voice had brought him up with tears in his eyes, yelling for him to get on the train. Much as that had annoyed him, he'd enjoyed the confrontation with the warlock, and had especially enjoyed his time with ... he blinked.

'Now what was her name... the pretty blonde?' he thought. His mind scoured through the memories until he grabbed it. 'Oh yeah, Alice. Pretty thing. She died in Shanghai...'

Suddenly he felt strange in his own mind, like he'd missed something. Yuri grabbed his head, eyes closed tight and concentrated. He forced the memories of that day in Shanghai to come forward: the fight in the tower against Dehuai - he'd gotten injured and Zhuzhen had healed him – the pain of the healing as bad as the injury itself and he complained bitterly at the old adept, and then he'd pulled Alice's body from the Spirit Machine, a devilish device for sucking the life-force from her... she was dead, her lifeless features grey in death... no – she was nearly dead and that damned voice had ... had what? He shook his head again and got up from the grassy cliff. He turned back toward Roger's house with a tight feeling in his chest as he recited his mantra, the mantra he'd repeated hourly since he came here:

"I've got to get back. I – I've got to get back. I've got to fix it."

The next morning Roger agreed to try sending him back. He told Yuri he would prefer to do more tests, but the young fighter – sitting on the platform with his head in his hands, insisted.

"I – I can't remember things Rog. I – I'm forgetting."

"Forgetting what?" the old monk asked as he set about adjusting the machine.

"I can't remember… Alice. She's dead but I married her; and I had kids with Koudelka and man I really wanna do it again 'cuz I miss her too… I can't make sense of my life anymore. Am I the guy who came from China to save the world? Or did I die in Shanghai? Or was that Alice?" his voice trailed off and Roger turned concerned eyes onto his young assistant. Over the last months Yuri had exhibited longer and longer periods of deep depression and near insanity, flinging himself recklessly at monsters in the monastery or running like a deranged madman through the swaying grass of the nearby fields. Something beyond the death of Koudelka was driving him – something to do with China and his old student, Simon. Roger would have dearly loved to keep the youth with him, to be the father he said he never had – but now, watching him fight back tears, the elder monk didn't have the heart to put it off any longer.

"Perhaps it is better to try," he said at last, "than to not try and let you continue to suffer." He turned to the console and flipped a switch. "I want you to get on the treadmill Yuri. We'll build up a battery charge and then, when I say, you can run to the platform and… well, God be with you," Roger said.

Yuri nodded, donning his coat, his heart lightening a little for the first time in months as he began running on the treadmill. Each step brought the battery closer to full charge; each step brought Yuri closer to returning to the past to fix what he messed up.

'Oh god please let me get it right this time. I gotta save Koudelka and… and… the pretty blonde… Oh god I'm such an idiot,' his thoughts matched the pace of the treadmill until Roger called out his name. Then Yuri ran for the platform, his thoughts on the monastery – on Koudelka – and saving her life. And as the energy coruscated around him, he saw Roger waving and offering a prayer for success and then darkness took him and he spun out of the observatory and into…

Yuri landed with a thud in a darkened room, the dust rising from his heavy landing. He had no sooner blinked the dust from his eyes when a blood-curdling scream brought him to his feet, fists raised. Across the dark and dusty room a monster had just killed a man, the blood of the victim spattered over the brown wood of the floor and when the monster turned, its werewolf face was distorted with the effort of biting into the man's head like an apple. Yuri didn't think about it, but leapt to action, his gloved fists enough to wreck havoc. He jumped within the creature's reach, slamming a hard right fist and then a left into the monster's face, pitching aside the human head to bounce along the floor before settling beside some barrels. Yuri followed the punches with a swift set of kicks from both the left and right before offering a finishing blow with the right, his fist cocked back like a piston and exploding into the monster's gut, sending blood and entrails sliding across the floor. The monster died even as Yuri extricated his fist.

Shaking blood from his hand, Yuri searched for and found the head of the dead man. He picked it up and saw the giant bite that obliterated the face, then tossed the head into the debris near the barrels again and went to the body. Slumped against the door, the headless corpse proved that of a young man, with an athletic build, and with a pack lying next to him. Yuri picked up the pack and walked over to a stack of crates across the small attic room. He dumped the contents on the crate and investigated; a small cache of coins, a passport showing a blond haired man in his early twenties and a meager supply of bread and cheese; a small box of ammunition and... Yuri looked around and spotted the gun by the corpse's hand – a small handgun. Yuri was returning for the weapon when a scrabbling sound on the roof caught his attention. Suddenly the upper window was kicked in by an attractive foot and a young lady jumped down, first to the rafters and then to the dusty floor. She stood up and Yuri couldn't help but notice she was very beautiful. She stood a head smaller than he, dark blonde hair with auburn highlights; she was dressed in a very skimpy blue-black skirt, a bustier of black lace, black stockings, and boots. He knew her instantly and felt his body responding to her presence and he smiled.

'Gosh, I never knew she was so young, and she's ... she's so beautiful,' he thought, 'I wonder if she'd mind...'

"Hey there beautiful," he said grinning. "Nice of you to drop in."

The woman started and stepped back, scanning the dusty room, one hand sliding surreptitiously behind her to pull a dagger from her pack.

"Who are you?" she asked and her voice dripped suspicion. Then she spotted the corpse by the door. "A murderer?"

Yuri shook his head, lifting his hands to show them free of weapons though one glove still bore the telltales of blood.

"Nope, just an adventurer - monster got him, an' I got the monster," he said and indicated the werewolf's remains and then the corpse with a nod. "His name's Edward - his stuff's on the crate over there. And my name's Yuri."

"Koudelka," she said briefly and went to the crate to check the belongings of the dead man. "Edward Plunkett of America. Well, he won't need this," she said and shoved all the items back into the pack and tossed it to Yuri. "So, you're a treasure hunter, like him?" she asked.

Yuri slung the backpack on and then bent to pull Edward's body out of the way, laying it in the shadows behind the barrels along with his head.

"Well, sort of; mostly just wandering around. I just got here but the monster got Eddie before I could do anything; too bad for him," Yuri said, and he swallowed a brief chuckle. "Say, maybe we can work together. If there's monsters here ... I'm a pretty good hand at fighting and stuff."

Koudelka turned suspicious eyes onto the young man; he was definitely a vagabond, dressed as he was, and a fighter – his leather clothing showed signs of battle fatigue; he also might have killed the American but that didn't matter. He might come in handy. She nodded once.

"All right; but I'm only going to say this once, so don't forget – if you want to get out of here alive, I suggest you stick very close. Got it?"

"Sure, but what makes you think I could get killed?" Yuri said, handing her the pistol and pulling open the door behind him.

"Call it a feeling. This is no place for people like you."

Yuri turned as Koudelka followed him out the door. "People like me?"

"Careless adventurers."

"So, why are you here then?"

Koudelka stopped as they left the storeroom and looked up at Yuri. "I'm a medium – and I heard a voice calling me from this place."

'Elaine?' Yuri thought but didn't speak.

"Let's go."

They stepped through the door from the upper storeroom and into a small chamber piled high with moldering hay; a few burlap bags were mixed in with the debris and their contents oozed in blackened heaps onto the floor. To their right a bronze door stood, its ornate surface dingy and nearly black. Yuri went to the door and pushed, but it was securely locked. Refusing to give in, he pushed again and again and finally gave it a good kick, but could not make the huge door move.

"Never mind; we'll check back later," Koudelka said. "Let's go this way," and she opened a small wooden door that led them to a thruway. To their right a ladder climbed up to the attic and Yuri bounded up the stairs and climbed the ladder before Koudelka could protest. A minute later she heard his shout of triumph and he descended quickly waiving a piece of old paper.

"It's a map of this old place," he said, hanging down from the ladder. 'But it seems to be missing a lot of stuff.' He thought back over the map he had left with old Roger – the one showing the underground passages. Before he climbed back down the stairs he found a discarded box of bullets and he tossed those to Koudelka.

"You're quite the explorer type," Koudelka said, stuffing the cartridges into her pack and opening the next door, this one to her left.

"Yup and a damned good scavenger too; a survival trait," Yuri said and followed her through the door. It led to a lit hallway, one corridor running straight to another door and to his right, a stairwell. Koudelka hesitated then took a few steps down the left hand hall, its wall cracked and peeling and paused at a painting hung on the wall; it was an unremarkable sea painting and showed a steamship mired on the rocks. Yuri followed and looked at the painting and snorted.

"What a load of shit," he said and flicked a finger at the painting. "I draw better than that." Touching the picture frame set it to swinging on its nail and Koudelka gasped.

"There's something here," she said ignoring Yuri's comment and caught the painting, shoving it to one side to reveal a small cubbyhole with a long, wicked-looking dagger resting in it. "Ah, here you can use this," she said and took out the dagger, letting the painting swing back into place. Yuri took the dagger and made a few practice lunges with it.

"Well it's been a while since I used one of these, but I'll get the hang of it I guess," he said.

Koudelka turned back down the corridor and took the stairs to the first floor. "What kind of weapons do you usually use?" she asked.

"Oh, claws mostly; or knuckles. I use my fists and my feet. I haven't used a knife since I was a kid and a thief. Fists are better; they can't be taken away by a bigger fighter."

Koudelka did not respond but instead lead the way to the first floor. The ground level hallway was dim with no interior lighting and as they rounded the last stair, they were met face to face with the largest cockroaches Yuri had ever seen.

"Ah damn," he groaned, "bugs. I hate bugs!" Dagger in hand he did not wait for a reply from Koudelka before wading into the pair of cockroaches. These were as large as a big dog but they were hard and Yuri's dagger skidded off the tough blackish-brown shells.

"Here, let me," Koudelka said and Yuri moved back. Koudelka raised the pistol, holding it with two hands, and began to fire, each report echoing in the silent hallway. After the fifth shot, the cockroach suddenly jerked and rolled over, dead. Yuri then took on the other one, sliding to his knees as he ran at it and slid nearly half way under the bug and, slicing through its throat and belly, sent it shivering into death.

"Not bad," Koudelka said and indicated the hallway.

Yuri looked down the long dark hall and spotted a door at the end. But before he could wander off, Koudelka indicated another door, set off to the side. There was a small brass plate in the door, as if announcing the room's usage, but it was rubbed out.

"Let's try in here, shall we?" she said and opened the door.

To their surprise it led into a warm apartment, a dining table set in front by the door, held plates and cutlery and, when they entered, an older woman came out of the right hand shadows by the cupboard. She wore an old dress, its creases deep from wear and age and her round face was less than friendly. She had small beady eyes that reminded Yuri of a ferret and he instantly disliked the old harridan.

"Oh, we have guests," she said and indicated the table. "Please, sit down. I'll get my husband." She turned and walked to the back of the apartment and Koudelka watched her with sharp eyes. After a few minutes the husband appeared, walking slowly with bent legs, obviously feeling his age. He had once been a big man, with broad shoulders that still showed beneath his thin grey sweater, but now his muscles were less pronounced; he smiled at Yuri and Koudelka from behind a grizzled graying beard and sat at the table.

"Welcome to Nemeton Monastery. My name is Ogden and you've already met my wife, Bessy. It's not often we get visitors," he said and his voice was gravely.

Yuri pulled out a chair and sat at the table. "We weren't expecting anyone to be here," he said. "You live here?"

"Yes, we're the caretakers here," Odgen said. "How unusual that you two have decided to come to our rural district; there's really nothing interesting here," and he waived airily at the monastery in general. "Please sit down."

Bessy, who had been fusing at the fireplace, returned with a large iron pot which she set on the table. "It has gotten so cold outside. We weren't expecting any visitors so that the soup is all we have. Please, have as much as you want," she offered and her voice, by contrast, was warm and welcoming.

Yuri grinned, rubbing his hands together, and helped himself to a bowl of soup. "Thanks! Smells great an' I am hungry," he said and proceeded to stuff his mouth.

Bessy turned to Koudelka, a potholder still in her hand. "Wouldn't you like some dear? Don't you like potato soup?"

"No, no I'm all right. Thank you," Koudelka said, but she too pulled out a chair and sat down, half of her mind on the couple and half on Yuri, gobbling food like a pig next to her.

"Are you sure? We've got some more bread," she went to a cupboard beside the far wall and opened it, pulling out a large loaf of bread, which she set on the table. "There's plenty more," she said.

"Oh, great!" Yuri said around the bread and soup in his mouth and reached across to break off another piece. Koudelka stared at him. "What?" he muttered. "I'm hungry."

Koudelka remained speechless for a full minute before turning back to he older woman. "Thank you for your hospitality," she said. "Are you really the only ones living here?"

Ogden took out a pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it, tamping it down carefully before responding. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it was pretty foggy, so I couldn't tell for sure… but this place looked like an old church. It seems a bit big for just the two of you."

Ogden struck a match and lit the tobacco, drawing on the pipe and sending white smoke curling to the dark ceiling. "You're right," he said, his voice taking on an almost singsong tone, as if reciting from memory or telling a story. "In the ninth century, a saint from Ireland by the name of Daniel Scotius built a place of worship here to appease monsters and evil spirits. That was how the Nemeton Monastery started… or so I heard," he said.

"Monsters? Is that right…" Koudelka said softly and her eyes shifted quickly to Yuri who was sopping up the last of his soup with the bread.

"We've been taking care of the monastery for a number of years now but, from about six months ago, monsters have been appearing," Ogden continued.

"We see them more and more every night," offered Bessy, who had joined them at the table, her beady eyes moving from Koudelka to Yuri and back. Yuri had finally finished his soup and was tearing off pieces of bread and eating them.

"Thanks for the soup. But, aren't you afraid the monsters might attack or something?" he asked.

The old man snorted and set his pipe down on the table. "I used to be a sailor! I'm not afraid of any monsters!" he said and his voice was full of confidence. "But that doesn't mean I'm not careful," he added.

"We'll be careful too, thank you. And thank you for the meal," Koudelka said rising from the table.

Yuri stood quickly to follow. "Uh, yeah, thanks for the food. It was good," he said with a nod and trailed Koudelka from the apartment. He wanted to ask her questions, his mind buzzing with the conversation at the table but Koudelka held up her hand calling for silence. Instead, they walked down the corridor to the far door and entered. The room turned out to be a kitchen and they climbed a small stair to reach the main floor. The stairwell was lined with barrels of dry goods and the kitchen fireplace was alive with a warm and crackling fire.

"Just what was that about?" Yuri asked. "And you wasted all that food – we should have asked for take-out." He said stopping at a large woodblock table. He had followed her up the stairs and pushed past her to investigate the room. It proved empty with only the large block table on one side, another counter across the room and barrels along one wall.

Koudelka shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, well if it weren't poisoned, then I would have had some."

Yuri picked up an old knife from the table and put it in the backpack before it dawned on him what Koudelka had just said.

"Poisoned? What are you on about – the food was fine, and I was starved!" he said watching her cross the room to the fireplace and begin warming her hands.

"It was poisoned," she said, "just a little. I smelled some poisonous plant. You'll be feeling it shortly."

Yuri blinked, thinking he heard a note of amusement in her voice before frowning and casting his eyes about the kitchen for some kind of antidote; instead he found a wedge of cheese and a small loaf of bread. These he put in the pack as well. He had wandered over next to the counter and found another door opening to a side storage area.

"Hey look here," and he descended another small set of stairs. The room was filled with broken junk, and some containers with labels he couldn't read. But in the middle of the storage room, he found an air vent leading down. It was small and covered with a grate, but when he looked down, he saw a green glow that reminded him of the pool in the basement of the monastery – the one just before getting to the final doors where they had faced Albert.

"There's another area below," he said, looking up at Koudelka. She had followed him in and scoured the room, finding some discarded plants that she put in her pack with a smile.

"We'll need these I'm sure," she said.

"What is it?"

"Antidotes," and her smile became a grin. "How are you feeling?"

Yuri wiped sweat from his brow and shrugged. "Okay I guess – a bit hot. Why is it so hot in here?"

"It's not hot; it's October, and you're sick. I can tell you how it's going to be," she said with an almost feral grin. "In a few minutes you won't even be able to move, and without this antidote, you'll die," she said and, with a little shake of her head, Koudelka climbed the stairs back up to the kitchen.

Yuri watched her, surprised. 'Well if that don't ... she's got a mean streak. I like that,' he thought and followed her back to the kitchen, each step taking him longer than he thought it should. By the time he made the kitchen he was panting, sweat now pouring from him and he collapsed to his knees at the table.

"Kou-koudelka, help me," he moaned even as he slid unconscious to the floor.