The Complete Stories, Vol. 1: Final Reckonings

  Grunert chuckled. "Cool heads, eh?"

  " Wonderful heads," purred the voice inside Otto Krantz, but his lips remained closed.

  "Yes," continued the Inspector. "One runs across all types in line of duty. Queer fish. Take these two specimens, for example."

  "I'm going to," whispered the inner voice.

  Grunert could not hear it as he went on. "What do you suppose these two have been doing?" he inquired. "You'll never guess, so I'll tell you. They just signed the confession, in case you don't believe me."

  "What?" asked Otto Krantz, knowing it was expected of him.

  "Practicing sorcery against the Reich — can you imagine such a thing in this day and age? Sticking pins in images of our Fuehrer

  Grunert scowled reflectively. "Their block leader got wind of it last month. Sounded fantastic, but he checked them just as a matter of routine. Everyone in the neighborhood seemed to know they were queer ones — selling love philtres, telling fortunes, and all that.

  "But when the block leader dropped in to pay them a visit — all very pleasant, not in an official capacity or anything—this swine of a magician and his unnatural offspring put an ice pick into his throat!"

  The two prisoners did not stir. Inspector Grunert nodded at Krantz and tapped his head significantly. "You see how it is," he shrugged. "They could get the camp or a firing squad. But I decided the sorcery charge was the one to press. Make it high treason, I said. Herr Goebbels is always looking for a story — and here is a good example to set before those who work secretly against the Fuehrer."

  He rose and confronted the silent, unblinking pair. "Cool as cucumbers, aren't they? But they cursed enough when we had them brought in, I can tell you! A few days here and they signed the confessions without a murmur.

  "Crazy fanatics! Trying to kill men by sticking pins in photographs and dolls. Why, it's barbaric!"

  A laugh crawled up out of Joachim Fulger's white throat. The voice that followed it was curiously disturbing.

  "Do you hear, Eva, my child? We are barbaric, says this barbarian in his murderer's uniform! He sits here in his torture chamber and explains our barbarism to the brutal savage whose axe will shear our heads from our necks tomorrow morning."

  Again, the laughter.

  Otto Krantz watched it well out of the white throat. The axe would bite there — so —

  The girl's voice came now. "We are sorcerers, too, by his standards. But our magic is cleaner than the spells of these madmen with their chanting slogans, their howling worship of ancient gods. Our crime is that we have fought evil with evil, and apparently we have lost.

  "But the day will come. Those who take the sword must perish by the sword; those that take whips shall die beneath them, and those who wield the axe will lie beneath it."

  The words moved Krantz until he remembered she was possessed; a witch, a lunatic. But she was beautiful. That long white throat — he'd strike it there —

  "Let them rave," Grunert chuckled. "But you wanted to see me about something, Krantz?"

  "It does not matter. Some other time," muttered the Headsman.

  "Very well." Grunert faced the prisoners. "You will meet Krantz again tomorrow morning. Perhaps then he can match your sharp tongues with something sharper. Eh, Otto?"

  "Yes," Krantz whispered. He couldn't tear his eyes from them. The long white hair, the long red hair. The slim necks. The greenish glow of their eyes. Creatures from another world, a world of dreams. And tomorrow they would become his dreams. His to possess. Symbols of the power of the axe. These were the heads he wanted. . . .

  Abruptly, Otto Krantz turned and stumbled out of the room. He had remembered a duty to perform. A most important duty. He had to get back to his room and begin.

  It wasn't until he busied himself at the vital task that Krantz permitted himself to feel the thrill of anticipation again. But then it could no longer be held back, and Otto Krantz grinned in glee as he sat in the darkness of his room and delicately sharpened the headsman's axe.

  2

  "You want I should let you have the heads from those two bodies and bury the corpses secretly? Nein!"

  Fritz the scavenger shook his head in bewildered but emphatic denial.

  "But nobody has registered to claim the bodies. No one will know if you quicklime them with the heads or not," Krantz wheedled.

  "I cannot do this thing," Fritz grumbled.

  Otto Krantz smiled.

  "Fifty marks in it for you," he whispered. Fritz blinked. But still he shook his head.

  "I can get you extra butter rations," Krantz murmured. "I will talk to the District Leader tomorrow."

  Fritz sighed. "I would do it for you without pay," he said. "But I cannot. You see, the Fulgers are not going to be beheaded after all."

  "What?" Krantz reacted with a shocked grimace. "But the Inspector himself told me — "

  Fritz shrugged. "I have just come from Headquarters. It was decided to drop the sorcery charge as foolish. The murder charge was upheld. They will die early in the morning, before a firing squad. Shot, not beheaded."

  Then and only then did Otto Krantz realize how much the possession of those two heads meant to him.

  He had come away from his room in the middle of the night, carrying his axe in its velvet case. He had scurried through the streets, his official evening dress gaining him free passage from any SS troopers encountered on the way. He had hurried here to the little room beneath the cell blocks where Fritz the scavenger dwelt. And all the while he had been hugging the thought of what was to come, gloating over the attainment of his goal. Now the opportunity had slipped away.

  With it, something slipped in Otto Krantz 's brain. He could feel it, the usurpation of his consciousness by that single pulsing urge. He couldn't define the sensation. He knew only one thing—he must get those heads.

  They hung before him in midair, those mocking twin faces. One with long white curls, one with red. They were laughing at his confusion, his dismay, his defeat.

  His defeat? Never.

  Krantz thought fast, spoke rapidly.

  "It is still true that no one has claimed the bodies?"

  "Yes, that is so."

  "Then after the Fulgers are shot, you will still take them to the lime vats?"

  "I suppose."

  "Who has signed the papers for execution?"

  "No one, of course. You remember. Inspector Grunert always does that when he arrives, first thing in the morning."

  Krantz rubbed his hands. "So no orders have actually been issued yet. No firing squad is appointed, no time has been set?"

  "That is true."

  "Very well, then. Fritz, I offer a hundred marks to you for the heads."

  "But there will be no heads, I tell you — they'll be shot."

  Krantz smiled. "No they won't! I'm taking the Fulgers out to the yard right now. I'll get the job over with before the official ceremony begins at dawn."

  "But the orders — "

  "Who will know? I'll tell Grunert I picked up the order along with the rest at his office and took the liberty of assigning a squad to do the job, just to save him the trouble. He'll sign the order afterwards and forget about it. He'll never bother to ask who did the shooting, and since the bodies are unclaimed, you can cart them away."

  "The risk, they'll see you do it — "

  "No one will see. I shall bring them here myself."

  "Here, to my room?"

  "I'll tidy it up again for you, my fastidious friend."

  "No, I won't permit it. We'll be caught!"

  " Fritz!".

  Krantz's voice was very soft when he uttered the name. But his face was hard. His hands, his butcher's hands, were harder as they closed about the throat of the old scavenger.

  Fritz fell back, choking. "Yes — yes — but hurry. It's nearly dawn now."

  Krantz hurried.

  He picked up the necessary papers in the Inspectors office. He raced down the silent, night-lined halls to the cell block
s, located a blinking guard, and bawled orders to the surprised fellow in convincing tones.

  "Where's the escort?" the guard protested.

  "Upstairs, waiting," snapped Krantz.

  "You're going to take them up alone?"

  "You saw the orders. Get the Fulgers for me. At once, dummkopf!"

  Befuddled, the guard led him to the cell.

  " Raus!"

  The Fulgers were waiting. Yes, they were waiting, and their green eyes gleamed in the murky dawn.

  There was no trouble. They preceded Krantz up the stairs without a word. The Headsman followed, slamming the outer door in the guard's face.

  "This way," said Otto Krantz. He indicated a door.

  Fulger and his daughter obeyed. The outer halls were deserted and Krantz, with a pounding heart, knew that they would reach Fritz's quarters without being seen.

  They did.

  Fritz had everything in readiness. He'd hauled out an extra block of ice, and the axe was imbedded deeply therein, to keep the edge sharp. He had set up the official block as well. The basket and sawdust were waiting. It was all done in the proper regulation manner, just as it would be outside. He handed Otto Krantz the Headsman's mask.

  Krantz donned it.

  Joachim and Eva Fulger stood against the wall of the little room under the cell blocks and stared. The old man turned to Krantz.

  "But the court decreed that we be shot," he murmured. "Why the axe? And why here, inside? Where are the guards, where are the officials — "

  The bony fingers of Otto Krantz raked across his mouth.

  "Silence!"

  Eva's expression did not change. She merely opened her mouth a trifle and screamed.

  Krantz stopped that. Her curls helped. Twisted expertly about her throat, they muffled further outcry.

  Fritz had the old man kneeling now. He kicked the block into place.

  Krantz drew the axe from the ice.

  There was a deathly silence in the little room.

  A deathly silence. . . .

  "I warn you," murmured Joachim Fulger. "As ye sow, so shall ye reap." Krantz had a sharp retort for that. The axe —

  3

  The nightmare was over. Cleaning the room, hiding the bodies until they were ready for the lime, getting the burlap sack — Fritz tended to all that.

  Otto Krantz appeared in the courtyard promptly at dawn, ready for his official duties. Grunert was there, and some others. The seven victims were led out. Krantz labored.

  It was all a red blur. He plodded through his task mechanically now, as he had in the slaughterhouse long ago. The significance was gone from the moment. Sheep bleated, sheep died.

  He could hardly wait to get home. . . .

  Grunert casually inquired about the Fulgers, after the executions were over. Krantz mentioned taking the liberty of arranging for the firing squad on his own authority, then quite indifferently presented the order for signing. Grunert shrugged, signed without reading, and sent it along with the rest for the official files.

  It was over, then.

  Fritz had his hundred marks in a wallet.

  And Otto Krantz — he had his sack. He hugged it to his breast as he sped through the streets toward home. No need to stop for food or drink today. There was a substitute for food and drink in the sack — for here were dreams come true.

  Krantz ran the last few blocks, his feet moving in rhythm with his pulsing heart.

  When he locked himself in the room, he was almost afraid to look, for a moment.

  Suppose they had changed! But they had not changed.

  White-haired Joachim and auburn-tressed Eva stared up at him with glowing green eyes. Their faces were set in grimaces of undying hate.

  And Krantz stared, stared as Perseus stared into the countenance of Medusa.

  He gazed at their Gorgonic grinning and laughed aloud. Someone seeing him right now might think him mad, he reflected. But he was not mad. Not he, Otto Krantz, Official Headsman of the Third Reich. No madman could have been as clever, as cunning, as crafty as he.

  These two had been mad. Mad, with their babbling of sorcery and witchcraft. They had not even had the sense to be afraid of death. They had mocked him, ridiculed him, called him a crude barbarian.

  Well, perhaps he was a barbarian. A headhunter, maybe. Like those Indians in South America—Jivaros, weren't they? That's what he was, a headhunter!

  Krantz laughed.

  They had mocked him, so now he mocked them. He talked to the heads for a long time. He flung their words in their teeth. 'Those that live by the axe shall perish beneath it," they had said. And, "as ye sow, so shall ye reap."

  Krantz told them what he thought of that. He told them a great deal. After a while he no longer realized that he was talking to the dead. The heads seemed to nod and shake in answer to his words. The grins expanded sardonically.

  They were laughing at him again!

  Krantz grew angry. He shouted at the heads. He shouted so loudly that at first he didn't hear the knocking on his door.

  Then, when it rose to thunderous crescendo, he turned.

  With a start, he realized it was already dusk. Where had the day gone to?

  The knocking persisted.

  Krantz got out the burlap bag, filled it, and shoved it under his bed. Then he answered the door, straightening his collar and striving to control the trembling of his lips.

  " Lieber Gott, let me in!"

  It was Fritz, the scavenger. He stood quivering in the doorway until Otto Krantz dragged him across the threshold by the scruff of the neck. "What is it?"

  "The Fulgers — their bodies have been claimed by a relative. A cousin, I think. He comes tonight to take them for burial."

  "No, he can't do that!"

  "But he is, he has received permission. And we shall be found out, and it will mean the axe for us."

  Krantz managed to control his voice. He thought fast, frantically. Desperation blossomed into inspiration.

  "Where are the bodies now?" he whispered.

  "I have them out at the lime pits, behind the walls — near the old quarry."

  "And this cousin of the Fulgers will not come for them until late tonight?"

  "That is right. He has received permission to bring a hearse and two coffins."

  Otto Krantz smiled. "Good. We shall be all right, then. This cousin of the Fulgers will not examine the bodies too closely, I think. He will not even bother to search for bullet wounds."

  "But they are headless — "

  "Exactly." A smile crept over Krantz's face. Even in the twilight Fritz could see that smile, and he shuddered. "What is it you will do?"

  "Do you remember the last words of Joachim Fulger?" Krantz whispered. "Yes. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. That's from the Bible, isn't it?"

  "Exactly." Krantz grinned. 'The old fool meant it as a warning. Instead, it will be our salvation."

  "But I don't see — "

  "Never mind. Go at once to the shop down the street. Purchase five yards of strong catgut and a surgical needle. I will meet you at the lime pits tonight at eight. I'll bring the sack with me. Now do you understand?"

  Fritz understood. He was still shuddering as Krantz pushed him out into the hall toward the stairs.

  4

  It was a grisly ordeal. They worked in darkness, lest a light betray their presence to SS troopers on guard in the pits beyond.

  They crouched in the little shed in utter blackness and groped their way about the business in silence. Fortunately, there was no trouble in locating the bodies. Fritz had carefully set them aside for immediate interment.

  The rest was up to Krantz. He was no surgeon, but his fingers held a skill born of utter desperation. If he bungled the task, his life was forfeit, and he knew it. He strung the catgut and sewed.

  The needle rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell in darkness as Otto Krantz pursued his fanciwork.

  And then it was done — done amidst the shuddering whimpers that rose from
Fritz's frantic throat.

  But Krantz held his nerve to the last. It was he who added the final touch—binding the high collars about the two white throats and carefully patting the prison shirts into place beneath. His sense of touch served him well in this last gesture of precaution. At last he sighed, signifying that the task was complete.

  Fritz wanted to bolt for it then. Krantz whispered that he must wait, must hide by the wall across the way from the shed, until they saw the cousin actually come and take the bodies away. Then and only then would he be certain of their safety.

  So they waited, waited until midnight in the darkness. What phantasms it held for Fritz, Otto Krantz could not say. But as he stared into the night he saw the grinning faces of Joachim and Eva Fulger hanging bodiless in midair, their eyes alive with undying mockery.

  Krantz pressed his eyelids together, but the faces remained, their leering mouths twisted as though in an effort to speak from beyond the barrier of death.

  What were they trying to tell him?

  Krantz didn't know. He didn't want to know. The hands which had wielded the surgical needle so expertly now hung limply at his sides as he waited.

  Then the hearse came. The cousin, escorted by a guard, went into the little shed. Two mortician's assistants brought the coffins. Krantz held his breath as they disappeared inside the shed.

  They were not inside long. Soon they reappeared, carrying the closed coffins. They did not speak, there was no sign of agitation. The coffins were placed inside the hearse and the car drove away.

  It was then that Krantz broke and ran, sobbing, from the scene.

  He was safe. Everything was over, and he was safe. The heads were back on their bodies.

  He got to his room somehow. Perhaps he might snatch a few hours of sleep before dawn. Then he must get up and return to duty as though nothing had happened. But now, to sleep —

  But Otto Krantz did not sleep.

  The heads were back on their bodies, yet they would not go away. They were waiting for Krantz in his room. He saw them hanging in the shadows, even when he turned on the lights.

  They hung there — the head of the old man with the long white hair, and the head of the girl with her flaming curls — and they laughed at Krantz. They laughed at him.