2 The Castle on the Lake
Already in the middle of such a weird, screwed-up op, Natasha was hardly surprised by the images in the basin of water in her room. The youth with the dark hair, pale skin, and mischievous eyes appeared when she was about to strip off and wash, exhausted after the strangest day she ever had on a job. After Alexei's death she considered herself immune to another's admiration; she had been surprised to find how pleasant it still was to see the stars in the boy's eyes. He put the first smile on her lips since she began the operation in Latveria, but of course the unknown youth couldn't save her. Natasha had learned long ago she could rely on one person; her own quick wits and fierce determination were her main weapons – as well as a .38 Special. After several misfires she had ditched the Russian Nagant revolver and moved to the Smith and Wesson.
She finished washing her face and dried off quickly on an exquisitely stitched towel, gray with age and stiff with too many times through the wash, promising herself a real bath later in the chipped tub at the end of the hall. The lake outside the castle looked completely pure; from her window Natasha could see the stones and fallen trees in its depths. Across from where she stood was a tiny island with a knot of willows in its center. Her plan was to do her job and win enough freedom to go and swim in the depths of the lake and reach the tiny islet, unless she managed to finish the op first. In that case the entire castle and island could go to hell.
The clothes were hanging in the closet; she found a dress tied at the waist, kimono fashion. It was beautifully made with embroidered stars and wheeling moons, but the edges were frayed and permanently stained, just like the towel. In fact, everything inside the castle was beautiful and decayed, both at once, just like the shirt she wore. The owner's family must have fallen on hard times after centuries of amassing wealth. And his identity? She had no idea – apparently he was away on a trip and wouldn't return for some time.
It would have been very simple to walk out of her room, find an open widow, and escape. She could have done it in a heartbeat – except for one reason. One thing stood between her and freedom, and it seemed an impasse. Natasha closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. She would find the answer eventually, but at the moment it seemed she was stuck with a case she couldn't crack.
The door to her tiny chamber opened suddenly, and 13, the dark-skinned girl who slept in the room next to hers, stuck her head in. "New girl!" 13 shouted. "Get your ass dressed and come down. The guests are about to arrive."
"I'm ready." Natasha followed 13 down the hall to a rickety lift, one that worked with a series of ropes and pulleys. Together they had to haul the counterweights up to get the thing moving; once it was in motion Natasha watched for their destination. When it came in sight she nudged 13, and work in tandem they slowed the descent. It was a pain in the butt; she would have much preferred using the stairs – if there were any. Apparently the ancient lifts were the only way to move between floors.
On the ground Natasha and 13 joined a long line of other workers, all dressed in varying versions of the uniform. Breathtaking stitch-work bloomed on gowns and jackets in the shape of koi, irises, monkeys, and waves. The sight was incredible until you noticed the rips, stains, and holes in the ornate clothes.
The ground floor of the castle was a long arched hall, lined with mighty standards and ancient armor on either side. The standards were, like Natasha's dress, tattered and gray with smoke from years of candles and fires. Everything inside the long room was grand and oversized, except for one tiny stone statue of what looked like a robed figure in a little niche. The thing was worn down with age; its face had been obliterated by time. Natasha was about to ask what it represented, but it was already too late. The huge doors at the end of the room opened to reveal a small band of arrivals.
Instantly the workers broke into applause. One man produced a flute and started to play music; the tune sounded vaguely medieval. A woman in a kimono blazing with sunflowers started to juggle; another produced a pair of stilts and walked forward to greet the arrivals.
And what a very strange group they were. The first was a man with clothes befitting a prince; his high collar and gold cloak suited his condescending expression. At least, one eye looked cold and proud; the other was replaced by what looked like a camera lens or the sight of a high-powered rifle. It clicked and zoomed in as he looked around the hall. "Prince Zorba Fortunov," 13 muttered in Natasha's ear. "Do whatever he tells you to do – and quickly. He will not hesitate to call for the lash or scourge you himself with his Sight. Still, I've heard he's an easy lay and enjoys pleasuring his partners with his tongue."
Natasha filed his name away as the Prince strode through the hall, followed by a blue – creature. There was no other word for it. He had long, pointed ears, fangs, and the bottom half of his humanoid body was entirely mechanical. The thing rolled along on tracks like a tank. "Who the hell is that?" she asked.
"Otto Kronsteig – one of the chief scientists here in Latveria. Now he has arrived there will be a great deal of work for the Spiders in the dungeons."
About to ask for more information about the Spiders – what the fuck were they, and why were they in the castle? – Natasha was interrupted by the final arrival. She seemed normal enough and beautiful with it, a woman with long, black hair and regal nose. Her lush lips and dark eyes could have appeared on the cover of any fashion magazine. "And what about her?"
"Lucia von Bardas. A cyborg." 13 didn't give any other information about her, and the trio was close enough to make the crowd of workers stand back as the guests stalked through their midst. When they disappeared through another set of doors – the mirror image of the entrance into the castle - the workers dispersed like a crowd of ants. Each one seemed to know exactly where to go.
"What do we do now?" Natasha followed 13 closely. As soon as she got an idea of how the castle was physically and socially structured she could strike out on her own, discover how to complete the mission and secure her freedom.
"Rooms. Baths. Meals, and later the dance. I'm on bath detail – you might as well come with me and learn the ropes." As she spoke 13 moved to a side corridor leading to a maze of halls and doors. "The Spiders will tell us if we have to prepare a bath for any of the guests."
Curious, Natasha opened one door. The room within was a miniature version of a desert, with sand stretching for miles around an oasis in the shape of an ancient well. It was the first place she had seen inside the castle that seemed fresh and luxurious.
"It's an illusion," 13 murmured in her ear. "Each room has a different place or theme. There's the star bath, the river room, a tar beach…"
"That doesn't sound too appetizing."
"Look at the company. Lucia von Bardas needs special treatment during her sessions – she can't just dive into an ocean or wade into a stream. Her circuits and wires mustn't get wet."
"I suppose it's the same with the others."
"Yes. Dr. Kronsteig is obvious – we handle him just about the same as Lucia – and we even have to modify things for Prince Zorba."
Natasha nodded; she had already processed the information. It seemed the baths were the most important part of the castle, and a group of prisoners were used as workers. "When will they ask for our services?"
13 shrugged. "Could happen tonight before or after the dance. Who knows? But it won't be you, not until you sign the contract."
"Oh." Natasha would happily sign any contract, although she would also break it just as quickly. Once she obtained video of the place and smuggled it out they could whistle for her share of the work.
13 walked through a few more baths. She seemed to be checking supplies: soap, shampoo, various complicated-looking machines… Natasha assumed they were for the cyborgs. However, things got darker when they entered the next room: several slender instruments hung from heavy electrical cords looped back against the wall. One looked like a probe, another was a tiny drill; in the center trays of medical instruments flanked a hospital bed.
She kept her face calm, expressionless. "What's this all about?"
"What do you think? Kronsteig's into torture. Sometime's he's a top, sometimes a bottom. Just try not to catch his eye or you could be the next one in here."
God, what had she gotten herself into? For a moment she considered blasting out through the front doors, swimming the moat, and not looking back.
But there was a reason she couldn't do that, and it languished in the dark with the Spiders.
The afternoon was spent in the kitchens rolling pastry and bread dough. Because of the sheer volume of food needed for the castle it was backbreaking work; by the time they were finished 13 sank into a chair, and even the cook was rubbing the small of her back. Once the meals were rolled out on huge steam carts, Natasha slipped out and stole to the lift. Instead of returning to her floor for a rest, she looked around and took the device down to the cellar.
There a series of lanterns hung, ready for use. She lit one and, lifting it overhead, crept down to the one chamber: a huge room lined with fires burning in large hearths. The Spiders scuttled back and forth between a desk in the center and the fires. One Spider at the desk handed out slips of paper; once the creatures got an assignment they took it to the fire or to any number of vacuum tubes around the room where some of the messages were sucked up in twist-top containers.
They were strange-looking things with long legs and arms poking out from round centers. A face in the center showed two mournful eyes, glancing around the room and winking in the red light from the fires.
Natasha didn't know how long she stood there, watching the Spiders move back and forth. It was impossible to tell them apart; they all looked identical.
But she knew they weren't.
Back in her room Natasha undressed. Her hair was sticky with sweat, and she filled the bowl on her washstand from the jug to dunk her head under for a little relief. And there he was – the dark-haired youth she had seen before; when their eyes met on the surface of the water, his grew dark with lust as he took in her nudity and his jaw dropped. "Natasha," he said in a reverent tone.
"Listen, kid – it's been one hell of a day." Heedless of her naked breasts, she put her fists on her hips. "I need to wash off and clear my head – get my thoughts in order."
"Yes, yes," he said in a dazed tone. As pale as he was, she detected a blush creeping up his neck. "I am – it is just you are so beautiful. You are the loveliest lady I have ever seen."
"Thanks, but you really need to get the hell out of my water bowl now." A thought struck her, and she tilted her head sideways. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Loki. My name is Loki." The red in his skin darkened; he seemed to be having trouble breathing.
"Oh. Well – wait, you mean like the Norse God? I never heard of anyone with that name before. Huh. Cool. How about that."
His face split in a wide grin. "That is me. I am the Trickster named Loki, and soon I will become a god."
Oh, for crying out loud. She had no time to waste on megalomaniacs who believed they belonged in a pantheon somewhere lounging in togas and shit. "Okay, kid, whatever floats your boat. And if you excuse me, I'm going to wash now." Natasha dunked her sponge into the water, lifted the dripping object, and lathered bubbles over her chest and bare belly. The water was lukewarm, but it felt divine.
"Natasha!" He repeated her name in a strangled voice. "Gods, do you know what you are doing to me?"
"Well, you just have to put up with it if you won't get out of my damn washstand," she said. After the weird new arrivals, a torture bath chamber, and the Spiders downstairs, Natasha was exhausted and in no mood to deal with youngsters from another dimension crushing on her.
The veins on his neck bulged and 'Loki' threw his head back with a cry. She was pretty certain he had just climaxed, but where it actually happened – within another dimension or alternate universe – she had no idea.
Hope you enjoyed the show - bye bye now. Finished with her makeshift bath, Natasha opened her window and flung the soapy window out; if only she could be certain she was rid of Loki as well. Just as she was pulling a shirt over her head, 13 popped her head in the door again. "Visitor," the girl said, and stood to one side.
Lucia von Bardas strode in, wearing cashmere and pearls over exquisitely tailored pants; in the crook of her arm she carried a leather portfolio. "Your contract," the cyborg said by way of explanation. "Sign here." When no one moved, Lucia made a shooing motion to 13; the girl instantly disappeared. "Go on," she insisted.
Natasha shrugged. She doubted any paper offered by a cyborg in a strange castle could be strictly legal – and even if it were, what did she care? Once the op was finished and the Spiders taken care of, she would be out of there without a look back. Taking the fountain pen, she scrawled the name she was using: Natasha Petrovitch.
"Good." Lucia pointed at the signature; a faint rushing noise came from her hand as the ink was sucked off the page. The agent blinked as she watched. What the hell was the woman doing?
"Now, tell me your name once more?" The cyborg replaced the cap on the pen and put it inside the leather portfolio.
The agent shook her head. She had no clue what she was called, nor why she was there in the first place. Everything was gone. Her entire past was a blank.
The dark beauty with the pen looked satisfied. "Perfect. From now on you will answer to Five. When I say, '5, fill the baths,' you will do so. Is that understood?"
Standing in the tiny chamber, 5 nodded. She understood.
"What is your name?"
"5," the agent said. "My name is 5."