The Kaiserine's Champion

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to stare?" Ludwig said, sounding more amused than irritated. We continued along the hallway until we reached a flight of stairs. Ludwig began climbing with all the grace of a waddling duck. For some reason I couldn't fathom, I experienced a wave of sympathy for Thenck's servant, trapped in his tiny body.

We stepped into a laboratory. Several tables contained complex scientific apparatusglass bottles connected by winding rubber tubes, unfamiliar machinery of unknown function that whirred and clicked and popped. A queer metallic smell filled the air but I couldn't quite place its origin. Amber light streamed into the room through several high, narrow windows, illuminating the far wall, which oddly enough was fitted with sets of chains and manacles like those I'd left behind in the city gaol. The plaster was broken and stained, suggesting that whoever had been kept here had clawed at the wall in agony. Was this a laboratory, a prison or a torture chamber? Perhaps all three. None of what I saw placed me at ease.

A rotund, cheerfully smiling gentleman came into the room through another door. He wore a black uniform with an officer's scarlet sash about his portly waist. The twin sawblades of the Imperial Medical Corps adorned his collar. His pale blue eyes peered at me through the thick lenses of his spectacles. He said, "Pray tell, who is this fine specimen, Ludwig?"
 
"Herr Thenck sent him, Doctor Schmidt," Ludwig said. "He's from the prison." He waved his little hand in front of his nose. "Which explains the smell."

Schmidt came to stand before me, apparently unaffected by how I looked or smelled. He studied me closely for a while and then, without asking permission, he prised my left eye wide open with his thumb and forefinger. I stood silently through this odd procedure, too surprised to object.

"Please unbutton your shirt," Schmidt said. I did so. He lifted a shuttered storm lantern from one of the tables and opened it. Its heat burned my neck. "Good, very good," he muttered under his breath. He closed the lantern and returned it to the table. I was about to button my shirt again when he said, "You were wounded in The War?"

He'd noticed the scar on my chest. "Yes. A Moskovian musket ball."

"It penetrated the lung?"

"Yes."

"You are very fortunate to be alive. A fraction to the left and the ball would have struck your heart. Do you have any difficulty in breathing?"
 
"Not now. Sometimes I have to sit down and rest after any strenuous exercise, however."

He nodded, but asked no other questions.

"Well, Herr Doctor? Was I right?" Otto Thenck said. He'd been watching from another doorway. He entered the laboratory and moved to join Schmidt.

"Indeed you were," Schmidt said. "The wounds show up clearly under the lamplight. But how did you know, Herr Thenck?"

Thenck didn't answer. Instead he asked me, "Do you remember how and when it happened?"

"I was wounded in Moskovia," I said, not at all sure what he was referring to.

Thenck looked at Schmidt, who said, "Once again we find that the victim remembers nothing of the incident. The filth are indeed skilful in masking their activities." He pursed his lips. "The elixir will restore his lost memories. I see no reason why we should not proceed at once."

"Neither do I," Thenck said. "Go ahead, Herr Doctor."

Lost memories? What in Hades' name were they talking about? Schmidt picked up a stoppered glass bottle. He held it up to the light and shook it experimentally. Then he uncorked the bottle and turned to face me again.