Part 2: Lady Doom
We were in Victor's aircraft, heading toward New York and the Latverian embassy there, as Victor had said that although home was only three hours away at maximum speed, it had been a stressful day, speeds such as that were very unforgiving, and he was not about to take any chances with our lives. By that he meant that he was tired, and small wonder, as it was about seven in the morning in Latveria, and he had not slept during the time I was missing.
I had no problem with the idea of a stop-over in New York, and said so. We were proceeding at a more moderate speed.
As I watched the clouds ripple past underneath us, something struck me, and I asked him, "When you offered me your hand, after you brought me back to life, was that—Were you proposing to me then?"
"Yes." he said, with amusement.
"I had no idea you meant it in that sense. It went completely over my head."
"Somewhat to my consternation." he agreed.
I came to slowly afterward, not cold in the least, but as I drifted back to consciousness, I became aware of all these annoyances that were bothering me. For example, something was pinching my index finger, something else was sticking me in the arm, persistently and painfully and yet another something was stuck up my nose.
Several things seemed to be wrong with my neck. Plus, there was a feeling from below my waist that reminded me of a physical exam, but which wasn't quite the same. That was getting a little too personal for me. All of these little irritating things built up on me until I had to open my eyes and see what was going on.
I knew I had to be in one of the parts of the castle dedicated to science immediately upon seeing the ceiling, because it was flat, white and utilitarian. The other ceilings in the castle were much more decorative.
I raised my head and looked around. I was in the infirmary, and that meant I must have succeeded. Victor, or Doom as he was to me then, was back. I had told the med staff what I was hoping to achieve by drowning myself, and given them strict instructions that under no circumstances was anyone but Doom to initiate my resuscitation. I didn't want to be brought back too soon—imagine if I had evaporated in the act of handing him the Amulet!
It wasn't a cheerful, convalescent invalid's room, with flowers and cards. It was a room of a patient who might never smell flowers or read messages of hope and love. Anyone not familiar with magical theory would have questioned the lines drawn on the walls and the floor, and wondered at the guttered candle stubs in the corners. I recognized the colors and sigils for healing. Bringing me back must have been complicated…
The 'GYN exam' feeling seemed to be a catheter. I had an IV in my arm, which was the stabbing pain, and oxygen tubes up my nose. The pinching in my index finger was some device for summoning a nurse, who looked very surprised to see me conscious.
"You're awake? Or—are you?" she asked. "Can you tell me who and where you are?"
"I'm Joviana Florescu, and this should be Castle Doom." I croaked. "Can I have a glass of water?"
"Of course! This is wonderful, we didn't know how much of you we were going to get back…" She raised the head of the bed and gave me the water I asked for. "I've got to alert the Master now. He left orders that no matter what the hour, if—I mean, when, you regained consciousness, he was to be summoned immediately. It might take him a while to get here, if he comes. It's the middle of the night, and he was awake for over forty hours straight."
She left me for a moment, and I tried to gather up the memories of my time in the Netherworld, which was like fishing for minnows in a creek with only my hands for a net—all I could do was glimpse images and vainly try to corner slippery silver thoughts.
I put a hand to my neck, and got it tangled in something while my fingers explored the bandages that covered my jugular. What had happened to my neck? For that matter, what was I tangled in? I looked at it.
It was a chain that I recognized from a case in the castle museum up on the third level, a part of the regalia of the Knighthood of the Order of the Dragon. It was a high honor to be made a Knight of the Order, one not given to noble or royal blood alone, but for some distinguished service performed, a brave and selfless deed.
It was an old, old piece, from the fifteenth century, its twisted enameled links set with carbuncles and pearls, forming symbols of virtue, and the pendant of the Dragon was a work of art, the dragon's body made of an enormous baroque pearl, a lumpy but elongated shape that did suggest a body and tapering tail.
Only one person could have or would have taken this from its display case and put it around my neck. Doom had knighted me while I was not aware of it. I was sorry I had missed that. It wasn't exactly a selfless deed I had performed, and I had been sure I would survive it, so I felt a little odd about the knighthood—but wow! I was a knight! My inner six-year-old, who had spent as much time as possible running around in the woods and pretending I was Robin Hood, was doing cartwheels.
The nurse returned with a doctor and another nurse, who proceeded to run some tests to see if they could detect any obvious brain damage. The IV was removed, as was the catheter, which made me a much happier woman. The oxygen tubes and the bandages stayed, but the call button found a new location on the side of the bed. The two newcomers then retired.
"What happened?" I asked my original nurse.
"Well, you were submerged for about twenty minutes when the Master reappeared in the Great Hall, just where he was before it all happened. I didn't see it myself—I was on call in the corridor by the courtyard, waiting to resuscitate you. The problem was, not everyone had faith—there were three or four of the high officials who were stripping the place."
"He'd only been gone a few hours!" I protested.
"Uh-huh. Well, the Master headed for the courtyard, and you, but he took the shortcut through the art gallery, where Von Gretznau had taken three paintings off the wall already, and was arguing with Kosciusko over the ownership of the one Matisse."
"Oh, dear." That could not have been good.
"He shouted "Loyalty followed me down to Hell itself, and what does treachery do in my absence? Vultures!' and threw Kosciusko in one direction through the archway into the next gallery room, and Von Gretznau in the other, down the stairs."
"And?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"Von Gretznau was dead by the time he reached the bottom landing. Kosciusko had internal injuries, but the Master said anyone who gave him assistance was guilty of aiding a traitor, and everyone with any medical background was busy with you, anyway… He died yesterday."
That was something I could never allow myself to forget, or to overlook—the violence in him, and the viciousness. Victor was the law in Latveria, and he was well within his rights when he—disciplined his people, but just because it was legal did not mean that it was right.
The nurse was continuing. "Then he was out to the courtyard, and Boris reversed the winch's motor immediately. When you were hauled out of the well, you looked dead. You looked as if you belonged on a slab. You were blue, and in that little time it took to get you indoors, the ends of your hair had icicles frozen on them. It was a bitterly cold night."
"I remember."
"We got to work on you right away. The Master not only directed the treatment, he did much of it himself. You noticed the bandages on your throat? We had to get your core body temperature up to normal as fast as possible, so a big vein had to be opened, a tube inserted, and your blood run out of your body, through a warmer, and then back into you again. He wouldn't let anyone else wield the scalpel, and he really did a beautiful job."
"That's good…What about my mother? Does she know?" Galina Florescu was the mother my heart had always cried out for.
"She's in one of the castle's guest suites. She's been broken up over this."
"Oh, no…"
"You mustn't worry about her. Now that we know you're going to be all right, she'll be just fine."
"How long was I out?"
"Twenty-three minutes spent submerged, and fifty-four hours since then." The voice came not from the nurse, but from the doorway, and it was male. Doom entered the room. "She is stable?" he asked the woman.
"Yes. She's recovering well."
"Good. Leave us." She shut the door behind her.
"Only twenty-three minutes. It seemed like hours." I marveled.
"Time is elastic in the Netherworld. You now have the unique distinction of having died in my service, and being alive to talk about it. You chose a very precise, not to mention trusting, form of death."
"I stacked the odds in my favor as much as I could. I remembered a boy who fell into a flooded mine hole in February, in the town where I grew up. He was successfully resuscitated after forty-five minutes. It took me less than half an hour's research on line to confirm that drowning in extremely cold water was the method of death that offered the greatest chance of recovery. The shock of immersion in such cold water drives oxygen-rich blood to the brain and the heart, and the younger the person, the colder and purer the water, the better the chances are."
"What prompted you to gorge yourself on chocolates beforehand?"
That was the fun part of the whole thing. I had stuffed the better part of a pound of Weinrich and Boettcher's, (the chocolatiers down in Doomstadt), best examples of confectionary heaven into my mouth in preparation for my trip down the well. Usually I only permitted myself one or two, remembering that I had a weight problem before and could easily do so again. But when you are preparing to die…
"One word that kept coming up in the available literature was hypoglycemia, very low blood sugar, as part of the attendant symptoms. Of course you know what hypoglycemia is, I'm babbling. Forgive me."
"You are forgiven."
"When we were last in Washington, there was an interesting article in the Post about these frogs that live in Maryland bogs. They freeze solid during the winter—completely solid. When the weather warms up, they thaw out and hop away, without any ill effects whatsoever. Just before the freeze, their blood chemistry alters itself, in preparation. Their blood sugar levels soar, almost as if they suddenly became diabetic. It protects their internal organs from damage. I didn't think it would work for me exactly the way it works for them, but I thought it was worth a try—especially in connection with the hypoglycemia reported in human victims."
"I see. Another of your insights. A combination of the logical and the intuitive. It will bear further study; you may have provided the crucial breakthrough in making cryogenics truly feasible. You appear to have suffered no brain damage—none, at any rate, that I can ascertain while conversing with you."
"Thanks to you. If I was rude to you while I was dead, I apologize—and that may be the oddest statement I have ever been called on to make in my entire life."
"Rude? No. You were not rude. You showed only a forgivable impatience under the circumstances. I take it that your memories of what went on are imperfect?"
"To put it mildly, yes. Did I miss a lot?"
"That remains to be seen. Your actions and your assistance spared me a great deal of time and trouble, for which I thank you. Ultimately the result would have been the same, but the help you provided was, is, appreciated."
"You're welcome." I said.
"For the sentiments which prompted that aid, I likewise offer you my thanks—and more. I am aware that I am not an easy man to like on what I might call the personal level." He was removing the metal gauntlets that completed his armor as he spoke.
"I did not set out to become what I am in order to be liked. The things I must do to achieve my goals sometimes preclude it all together. That you should like me with no other incentive than the continued pleasure of my company—moves me. In token of which, I offer you my hand. Will you take it?" He extended it toward me.
"Of course." It was warm and solid, his skin lightly calloused, the grip firm but gentle.
At the time, I had thought it a gesture of friendship, of regard and respect, and never imagined that it was the ultimate of such gestures.
"Oh, no! What did you think of it at the time?" I laughed in self-deprecation.
"I recalled that you did not fully remember what had happened in Hades, and realized that your mind did not know the truth your soul revealed. There is no lying after death, no concealment, no dissembling, and no artifice."
"What happened?" I asked. "Did I say that I loved you?"
"Did you say that you loved me?" he repeated. "Not in so many words, and had it only been that, I would have shrugged it off. Half the women in Latveria are 'in love' with me, or what they imagine me to be, and it means nothing."
"Will you tell me what I said?" I asked. "I'm dying to know."
"Yes, I will. But not today."
"Youterrible man." I scolded him, "Will it be soon, though?"
"Very soon."
With that I had to be content, for he would not divulge another word.
A/N: Thank you, GothikStrawberry! I'll do my best to keep the interaction sparking!
Amokitty, thanks for the glowing and thoughtful review. The revelations will start trickling in soon...