Fatal Lies by Frank Tallis (english love story books txt) 📕

times became nothing more than a random selection of pitches. Occasionally something recognizable would emerge—a fragment of Strauss or Lanner, but no more than a musical paring, flotsam on a wash of watery strumming. No one seemed to mind, and indeed, after a while, Liebermann began to find the abstract ambient qualities of the zither player's improvisations quite pleasing.

Liebermann stared into the pallid opalescent mixture in his glass. He took a deep breath and asked:

“What happened… that day, on the Prater?”

“Ah,” Trezska replied. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.”

“You had what? A premonition?”

She sighed. “You are a doctor… a man of science. You do not believe in such things, I am sure.”

“I…” Liebermann was conscious of his own deceit but could not stop himself. “I have an open mind.”

Trezska did not look convinced.

“There are many respectable scientific societies,” Liebermann continued, “that take a serious interest in paranormal phenomena. Even Professor Freud, the most ardent of skeptics, has demonstrated a certain willingness to entertain the idea of mind-to-mind communication—telepathy.”

Trezska's features softened, indicating that she had decided to give her companion the benefit of the doubt.

“Yes, I do get strong feelings sometimes. It is supposed to be in my blood… my mother's side.”

“Second sight?”

“Whatever you want to call it.”

Liebermann's expression became troubled. “But could it not be that… we were walking in an open space and, rather foolishly, chose to stand under the tallest tree. This, of course, would be the tree most likely to attract lightning. If we had discussed our situation, we might have concluded that we were in danger.” Liebermann sipped his absinthe. “Now, could a similar process have taken place in your unconscious mind? You were not aware of the process but experienced only its product or consequence—namely, fear. Comparable dissociative processes operate in dreams and serve to disguise their meaning.”

Trezska playfully tapped Liebermann's cheek. “Why must you try to explain everything?”

“It is generally better to understand things… than not.”

Trezska selected a pink sugared almond from the bowl and pressed it between her lips. As she sucked the icing from the nut, she pouted. This repetitive and subtle movement aroused in Liebermann a desperate desire to kiss her again.

“According to my mother,” said Trezska, “her side of the family are related to the house of Báthory.”

Liebermann's expression became blank.

“You've never heard of Erzsébet Báthory?” Trezska continued. “The vampire countess?”

“What?” Liebermann laughed.

“She was a Transylvanian noblewoman. Legend has it that she first killed and then bathed in the blood of nearly a thousand young maidens—simply to preserve her beauty.”

Trezska produced a faint, ambiguous smile. Liebermann could not determine whether she was being serious or joking. He began to feel distinctly odd: woozy, detached. His vision blurred and he moved his head backward and forward to regain his focus.

“Are you all right?” Trezska asked.

The strange jangling of the zither sounded peculiarly loud—a concatenation of gongs and bells.

“I fear,” said Liebermann, “that Dr. Magnan's speculations concerning the effects of absinthe on the brain may be correct.” His speech was slurring. “Indeed, I would hazard a guess that the active chemical ingredients have just reached my cerebellum and my paracerebellar nuclei, with predictable consequences.”

“Perhaps I should take you home?” said Trezska.

He felt her hand unlock from his, and the heat of her palm on his thigh.

“Yes,” Liebermann replied. “Perhaps you should.”

46

IT WAS THE DEAD of night. A thick mist had descended into the valley, and the four boys had to consult a compass to find their way. They assiduously avoided footpaths, and as a result their progress was slow. The ground was muddy and treacherous—an adhesive mulch that made each step effortful. Boggy hollows were brimming with ice-cold filthy water that filled their boots and soaked their trousers. Sometimes the trees would grow closer together, and the spaces between would become congested with prickly leafless bushes. Then the boys were unable to move forward, and had to retrace their steps and find some other way.

Wolf led the group. He carried a paraffin lamp, the light of which barely mitigated the darkness. Freitag followed, carrying a shovel, and straggling behind, striving to keep up, were Drexler and Steininger, each grasping the corners of a large, sagging jute sack.

Suddenly, Wolf raised his arm. The others stopped.

“What is it?” whispered Freitag.

Wolf beat the air with his hand, a burst of quick downward movements indicating that the others should be quiet.

The boys froze, and listened intently. Wolf lowered the wick of his lamp, and attempted to peer through the opaque veils of turbid brume. Something scampered away, and Wolf sighed with relief. He consulted the compass again and pointed slightly to the left.

“Wolf,” said Steininger. “Wolf, I can't go on.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“It's too heavy. Let's do it here.… There's no need to go any farther, surely.”

“Freitag, you take over.”

“No, Wolf, I'm exhausted. Drexler can carry it on his own—it's all his fault.”

“It is not my fault!” said Drexler angrily. “If you hadn't insisted on playing your stupid games!”

“I said keep your voices down!” said Wolf.

“Really, Wolf,” said Steininger, dropping his end of the sack. It landed with a dull thud. “We've been walking for hours. We don't need to go any farther.”

“And we have to get back, remember,” said Freitag.

“And what about our uniforms?” said Steininger. “We can't arrive for drill practice looking like this! We'll need time to get them cleaned up.”

“I'll wake Stojakovic,” said Wolf.

“No,” said Drexler. “We can't involve anybody else! Not tonight.”

Wolf paced around the circle of trees in which they were standing. He then tested the ground with his foot, kicking up some turf.

“It's not too hard,” he said.

“Then let's get started,” said Steininger, snatching Freitag's shovel and driving its pointed blade into the earth.

Drexler leaned against the nearest trunk and rested his forehead on his coat sleeve. His moment of repose was at once disturbed when he opened his eyes and observed in the contours of the bark a peculiar arrangement of knots, whorls, and ridges that suggested the lineaments of a