Chapter XXX
THE LEOPARD'S SECRET
Viktor gaped at Romulus, who knelt by the roof's edge, shirtsleeve soaked with blood. Surely this was a nightmare. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
Ulfrik stared up at the full moon that illuminated the castle, smoke-chugging chimneys and all. "You knew he'd be in the forest tonight, didn't you?"
"We know a lot about your master," growled Romulus through clenched teeth, his head bowed. "His crimes, his experiments—it was all recorded in my father's journal—even how he betrayed his closest friend, Nocktayl, just like he'll do to you."
"Nocktayl," snorted Ulfrik. "He was weak—unfit to rule."
"The Leopard framed him in cold blood!" spat Romulus.
"Wrong. Nocktayl chose to sacrifice himself for the Leopard. Although one could argue that his mind was already wearing away."
"You didn't know him!"
"Wrong again. In fact, it was Nocktayl himself who recruited me to join the Leopard's coming kingdom. I was young but rising in rank when he was transferred to my prison."
"Prison?" said Charlotta. "Surely no criminals can become a captain."
Ulfrik blew out a smoke ring. "Ah, but I'm not a captain in the Russian Army, am I? I'm a captain in the Vorovskoy Mir, the Thieves' World—a commander of criminals."
Evenova looked up, wide-eyed. "But what about all the castle guards? If you command them, they would also be ..."
"Don't look so surprised. The Leopard has no wish to be monitored by servants of the empire—that's half the reason why he haunted this town for so long. It got the nobles to move away, letting him replace them with criminals of his choosing. And those of high rank join my force of Masqueraiders." Ulfrik nudged his beaked mask with his boot; the tile roof was so dewy that it slid down the slant and over the edge. He cursed.
Viktor watched the mask shatter on frozen river below, thinking over the past months. "That's why you could speak Fenya at the boxing match—you learned it in prison."
Smoke poured out of the Ulfrik's nostrils.
"The Leopard brought back that prisoner to fight," Viktor said. "An old adversary ... to cut ties to his past. Wait ... It was Nocktayl who died on the ice, wasn't it?"
"Eh, in a way, Nocktayl was there, but the man who died was Petya's son, that Dragonist fool, Rodya. Why do think he cried out for his father on the ice? It was because I told Rodya that I'd cut his father down. And once you die under torture, Petya's sacrifice will become utterly meaningless."
My parents told me about Petya's imprisoned son, Rodya, Viktor thought. And I knew the Leopard's policy to wipe out entire families. Why couldn't I put that together? What else have I missed?
"So they were Cards," Romulus said. "That's why Petya recognized me and my card. It's how he knew about Maksim and why he told us about the Silent Deal."
"Indeed," growled Ulfrik. "Even as Petya died, he sung that terrible Card tune the miners love to chant."
Aleksandr was right, thought Viktor. In the mines, my old friend heard the same song that hangs in the House of Cards: "Mighty clubs, clovers, arm and protect us ..."
Romulus looked terribly white, but still he spoke. "You said Nocktayl was at the boxing match. How can that be?"
Ulfrik's dark eyes mocked them spitefully. "You still don't know the Leopard's secret, do you? You had Maksim's journal right in front of you, and you were still too thick to put the pieces together. Maksim understood, of course, and he found the truth so terrible it led him to form a rebellion, though he kept the knowledge from his followers in fear that they might ... lose their nerve."
"What's the Leopard creating?" Romulus rasped.
"You fool. You wonder what the Leopard experiments on, but you fail to wonder why he and Nocktayl began those projects as partners. You fail to understand why they had the same goals, why even now, the Leopard works on Nocktayl's old experiments."
"The books ... the stones ... the plants and animals and stars—all the rooms in the castle are just expansions of what they studied as youths," Viktor said.
"Precisely," Ulfrik said. "And why do you suppose Master Molotov allows those experiments to go on in his castle even today? For that matter, why did Molotov, a young, relatively unknown man agree to buy Staryi at all? The Leopard had haunted Aryk for so long that the price was next to nothing, but who would purchase a castle whose owners were all murdered or driven mad? And why, after Molotov did buy the castle, was he never killed? What made him different?"
At first, Viktor wanted to say that Molotov was kept alive because he followed orders, but as he looked closer, he realized the truth went deeper. Something about Molotov's survival was too coincidental. It all fit together too perfectly, as if it had been planned ...
"Tell ... me ... the secret," gasped Romulus.
Ulfrik taunted him, enjoying the game. "Think for yourself, you less-than-dirt! Why do you think Molotov drafted the Silent Deal to keep peace between the people and the Leopard? And why, I wonder, would the Leopard hide the contract in Nocktayl's old bedroom?"
The girls seemed too worried over Romulus and his blood loss to dwell on Ulfrik's words, yet Viktor was buried in the past, searching the depths of the mystery. Bits and pieces of Maksim's Memoirs streamed through his mind:
"Nocktayl is an odd boy. Half the time he is quiet and fearful. The other half he is angry ... Nocktayl has begun to quote verses about the Trinity, but the way he whispers them makes me feel uneasy ... I cannot spar with Nocktayl—he is too skilled ... Nocktayl whispered that the Leopard had taught him how to control pain, how to lock it in different places in his head."
Viktor steadied himself as the phrases began to flash faster, building toward a truth: "Nocktayl took off his shirt—body is covered in dark scars and wounds—mood swings are worse than ever—state of mind is disturbing—catch him muttering to himself, debating over whether to trust Leo Pardus—transformation is self-evident—skin is bleached white—eyes sunken and black—mind under some great burden—Leopard's control over him has redoubled!"
Suddenly everything slowed as Viktor saw a light at the end of the tunnel and Maksim's great revelation echoed in his mind: "I have discovered the Leopard's secret ... Now I will avenge everyone who fell under the Leopard's power ... For my enemy murdered many souls to conquer Aryk, and Nocktayl was nothing but his shield, and now Master Molotov is nothing but his shadow, both sources through which he has exercised his wicked power. I will bring him down."
And at that moment, Viktor remembered the three words, the old Russian proverb speaking of the power of three, which Maksim had scrawled at the end of his diary, God loves trinity, and finally, he understood.
"I know," Viktor said, breaking the silence. His voice shook; his face twisted with fear. "I know why Maksim never saw the Leopard in the flesh. I know why Molotov stays hidden in his castle. I know what became of that boy, Nocktayl."
Ulfrik raised his eyebrows. "Go on then. Tell them the secret."
Viktor steeled his nerves and spoke the words that even he was afraid to realize—the truth: "Nocktayl ... the Leopard ... Molotov—the three are one. They're the same man."
It seemed the entire world went quiet. There was only Captain Ulfrik's sluggish, sarcastic applause as he clapped his revolving pistol against his hand.
"Impossible," Charlotta whispered.
"I don't believe it," said Evenova.
Romulus clenched his chest, shaking his head. "Nocktayl—was—imprisoned."
"You were at the boxing match," Ulfrik said. "Where do you think the Leopard learned to speak Fenya? Prison. Where do you think he recruited his army? Prison. Now why did Nocktayl create the Leopard at all? Why did he blame the Leopard for the murders on his uncle and aunt and so many others?"
Ulfrik bit his fuming cigar, again answering his own question: "I believe it was to transfer his guilt onto a different canvas, one that could bear marks, one that was unafraid to use unconventional means to accomplish great feats. See, with the Leopard, t
here is neither passion nor emotion; there is only reflex and control. That's what makes him an unmatchable fighter. It's the same reason he is able to study for weeks without sleep, willing himself to morph the limitations of the world we know. No criminal army is too large for him to control. No force can stop what he is creating. No prison in the world can hold him."
"Don't you know how insane this sounds?" Charlotta cried. "You're insane! He is too!"
"INGENIOUS, rather!" Ulfrik shouted. "With the Seven haunting Staryi Castle, by the time the Leopard broke free and returned as his final identity, Master Molotov, he bought his old town for a pittance, and his identities served as checks and balances that kept the serf population under control, all while his Seven were free to set up experiment sites that will one day be infamous for what they produce!"
Romulus' shoulders sagged under the weight of the knowledge. But a single question rested in his mind. "Who—are—the Seven?"
"They are the creators of the Leopard's Ghosts. But that is another story entirely..." Ulfrik's dark eyes shifted past them, staring into the distance at the boundary of the forest.
BANG!
His pistol shot into the sky as a signal, for at the edge of the forest, a hundred yards away, stood a tall figure in black: The Leopard. For a terrible moment, the two parties evaluated one another. Then the black figure dashed toward the castle gates at inhuman speed.
Under the moonlight, Ulfrik's face contorted with sick joy. "Yes, before he was ever taken in by Lord Luski, he had a true name—Nocktayl 'the Leopard' Molotov."
Viktor's head was on fire as a torrent of sequences burned through his brain: Nocktayl's drawings, experiments, conversations with himself, death lists, his sneaking into the forest alone, his older self delivering a death blow, gold teeth and tattoos, the Death Room, all the rooms!
Viktor clamped his eyes shut until he thought his skull might split. His hands tightened, tightened, tightened—one into a fist, the other clenching the dagger in his pocket. Ulfrik's dagger!
It flung through the air without Viktor remembering he had thrown it. He had seen Romulus hunt with throwing knives, how he spun them end over end at his prey, and now Viktor's blade did the same, soaring with deadly speed at its old owner.
Captain Ulfrik was fast. He sidestepped, and the dagger only sliced his shoulder. Yet his boot struck the hatch that his sword pinned down, and the tile was so wet that his legs slipped out from under him. Then he was sliding, sliding on his back down the slanted roof aiming right for the serfs!
Viktor and Charlotta dove to one side, Evenova the other, but Romulus was on his knees, caught in the middle and in no state to move. Ulfrik's giant mass crashed into him, a momentum too great to stop. Both snatched at the Fire Wire rope, but it slipped through their fingers; boy and man skidded off the roof, falling into the night sky.
Sprawled on his stomach, Viktor gazed at the place where his blood brother had just vanished. It couldn't be true. Romulus couldn't have fallen. Unwilling to meet the girls' gaze, he stared at the Fire Wire, which suddenly twitched!
Viktor crawled forward and touched the rope. Sure enough, it was taut. Please be Romulus. He peered over the edge into the darkness. Some twenty feet below, Ulfrik dangled from the Fire Wire, his bearded face illuminated by the cherry-red light of his cigar. But under his boots was another figure!
"Romulus!" Viktor shouted.
Evenova sprang to the edge, mopping her eyes. "You're alive! Romulus, climb!"
"He's busy," growled Ulfrik, aiming a kick at the boy's head.
"Don't hurt him!" shrieked Evenova.
Romulus groaned and slid another five feet down the rope. Ulfrik tried to climb, but he was in too much pain. Viktor's knife throw apparently had sliced tendons in his shoulder.
Viktor, Charlotta, and Evenova bowed at the edge of the roof, and all grabbed hold of the cloth rope. They strained and pulled with all their might, but their leverage was too little, and Ulfrik's and Romulus' weight was too great.
"There has to be another way," said Charlotta over Evenova's panicking.
Viktor shouted downward. "Romulus, can you climb?"
Despite an arm torn by a bullet, Romulus answered with a hoarse "Yes." Years spent in the forest had made him thin, strong, and resolute, Viktor knew. He could probably shimmy up with one hand.
"Ulfrik, listen to me," Viktor called with a cracking voice. "You have to let Romulus climb up first."
Out of the darkness came a wheezing cackle, the hopeless jeer of a man dangling to life by a thread—and not caring. "You must think I'm a fool! Trust you? Ha! How could I? I meant to kill you."
"We'll pull you up after! I swear!"
"YOU LIE!" Ulfrik slid farther down the rope, pushing down Romulus with him. "You'll cut the rope!"
Evenova had worked herself into a frenzied state. She clutched at the rope in between the sobs that shook her body, while Charlotta could do nothing but hug her best friend's waist to keep her from falling.
Venom coursed through Viktor's veins. This man should die, he thought. He deserves it. He tried to kill us! I could slice the rope now! It would be so easy ... But stronger even than his powerful anger was his love for his fellow man. And out of the depths of his soul, he wrenched up the decision he thought he would never, ever be prepared to make.
"Ulfrik, I forgive you!" he cried. "I choose to forgive you; just let us go. I swear. Let Romulus live. Don't you want to live?"
The pain in Viktor's voice broke the captain's mocking expression. The man glanced down at Romulus and at the ice below. A ragged breath filled his lungs. Then he looked up at Viktor and nodded, as if to agree to the plan. Yet as Ulfrik gazed up the rope, his head tilted and an eerie light shone in his eyes: Fear.
"This rope," he murmured. "This is the same rope you used in the Brassard alley. YOU MEAN TO LIGHT IT ON FIRE!"
Viktor and the girls' cries filled the air.
"YOU MEAN TO KILL ME!"
Romulus screamed for him to see reason.
"ALEA IACTA EST!"
With madness in his eyes, Ulfrik sealed his fate with a kiss as his pressed his cigar against the Fire Wire. The moment the embers touched the cloth, he and Romulus went weightless. A spliced frame was etched in Viktor's mind of the two figures hanging in space, like birds gliding, or leaves floating, while their shadows danced on the ice below.
White-hot flame shot up the Fire Wire; Viktor yanked the girls backward. The flash blinded his sight. Evenova's scream doused his hearing. It was over just as quickly.
Romulus isn't dead. He's the boy of the forest.
Every limb trembled as Viktor shifted to his knees.
He took down a bear. He saved my life.
Viktor crept toward the roof's edge.
He escaped the river as a baby. He could do it again.
Viktor looked down the side of the tower. A groan escaped his lips. A worse image, he had never seen.
The ice was cracked into a spiderweb of dark blood. In the center, Ulfrik lay face up, his eyes open and glassy, his limbs sprawled in unnatural positions; for under him and his flapping black cloak lay another body, one hidden but for the blond hair and thin, bloodied hands pressed flat against the ice that would soon give way and plunge the bodies into the dark water.
Tears streamed down Charlotta's and Evenova's cheeks as they awaited an answer.
"Don't look," Viktor whispered. "Don't look."
The rest of the night would forever remain a blur to Viktor. There were only vague sensations. Like the acrimonious taste in his mouth when they discovered the second roof hatch was indeed an escape route. Or like the self-loathing he felt as they raced down a hidden spiral staircase into a tunnel like the one they had seen earlier. And like the storm of remorse he felt upon exiting a hatch hidden in the forest floor, where he parted ways with the tormented girls who'd gone to death and back with him. He swore to them that the knowledge of their identities had died with Ulfrik. He swore he would deal with Dimovna. He would've
sworn anything if it meant he could finally be alone.
Viktor returned neither to his parents that night, nor to his burned house. He raced back to the Romulus' lonely Wolf Den, and there he collapsed on the floor, and for long hours, grappled with both his waking and sleeping nightmares.