In class he continued to improve. He developed the ability to make visualized movement smooth and realistic, like a movie in three dimensions. When he'd learned to create images he could hear, smell, and feel-images that seemed entirely real- he learned to judge their weight by mentally hefting the images! That phase went quickly, and apparently well enough to satisfy Nargosz, for he graduated to another classroom, joining Schurz and Manfred. How, he wondered, had the Voitar decided he was ready? Seemingly they read neither minds nor auras. The only explanation he could think of was not very convincing, but perhaps-while they might not read thoughts-perhaps they saw and otherwise perceived his created images.
In his new classroom, the Voitu in charge-a gangling giant named Horszath-had them create images of monsters large and small, in three dimensions and fine detail. Monsters that stank. Monsters ugly, dangerous, indestructible and as frightening as possible. Preferably terrifying.
It seemed to him that all of this could have only one purpose: He and the others were to create such monsters in reality, monsters as real as Kurqosz's hawk-bat, only more frightening. But a mental image couldn't move around and kill people. At least not en masse. And it seemed to Macurdy that even if they succeeded, all the monsters they might make would be less dangerous than a battery of flak-wagons from the Krupp Works. Certainly far less dangerous than a panzer battalion.
And harder to create. Macurdy found himself unable to get the essence of raw horror that Horszath wanted. Which saved him from having to fake failure, for he had no intention of producing what Horszath wanted.
On his way to the rec room, one evening after supper, Macurdy met Berta in the corridor. "Kurt," she murmured, "I have learned why the cellar is forbidden us. If you'd like, I will tell you tonight. Privately somewhere."
That evening he browsed Der Sturmer awhile-it reminded him what the war was about-then played two games of solitaire and went to bed early, trusting e arrival of the others to waken him. After lights out he lay there until the auras around him indicated sleep. Then he cloaked himself and crouched by the door. After the first hall patrol passed, he went to the latrine, relieved himself, checked auras again, and left. When he scratched at the women's door, Berta was prompt and saucy. He let himself appear nervous, whispering "I am in serious trouble if Schurz discovers I've snuck out again." Then they slipped quietly to the cellar without incident.
This time there was no schnapps or brandy there, only beer. Macurdy wondered aloud whether there'd been any discussion among the blackbacks over who had been into the goods.
But he set his concern aside when Berta wrapped her arms around his neck and began eating his face. This time there was more foreplay, and after sex, he suggested they skip the beer, to avoid advertising that the place was being used during the week.
Berta laughed. "Let them think it was Robert and I, or Reinholdt and I." Macurdy looked surprised. "That's how I learned what I have learned," she said. "I came down here with Robert while Reinholdt was the foyer guard. The next night was Reini's turn. That also allowed me to ask each of them the same questions, to see if they gave the same answers."
She smirked. "Neither of them is the man you are, Kurt, in any respect. But when someone has a deep thirst and there is no beer, water will do. They told me why the cellar is forbidden us: Dynamite is stored in two of the rooms. In this wing! Enough to level the building and leave a hole in its place. They said it was brought here for the Voitar a year ago, but neither of them knows why."
She fingered his nipple, then they kissed, and she began to fondle him. "Do not be jealous, dear Kurt. Next to you they are boys. You are the man. And I do not plan to come here again with them." They were sitting on the sofa, and now she pushed him down, straddling him. "I learned something else, too. The Voitar have women from time to time." She leaned over him, her hard-rippled breasts brushing his chest, and kissed him again.
"Women?" he said. "The Voitar?"
"That is more interesting than dynamite, is it not? There were three Jewesses last summer, or six if you believe Robert. They were brought here from a labor camp. Then, supposedly, the Voitar had them taken to the top of der Hexenkamm, where they were raped and sacrificed to the Devil at the full moon."
She slid down onto Macurdy's thighs and began kissing his chest, then paused.
"Two months later, or maybe only one, it was two German girls-Robert said two nuns-and a gypsy. And last Sunday night, they both told me, it was a German woman, tall and blond, a real aristocrat according to Reini, the sort of woman that might marry a general or a Reichsminister " She grinned. "Maybe der Kronprinz is screwing her this minute, having his fun before the moon is full. Although cooped in this rock pile, I don't know what phase the moon is in." She chuckled, her voice husky. "Have you seen the Voitar's ears? They remind me of goats, and you know what goats can do in their season." She slid down further, and purred: "But I prefer a German man with meat on his bones. And between his legs!"
When they'd finished, they cleaned up and went back to their rooms. Before going to bed, Macurdy went to the window and parted the heavy curtains. The clouds were broken, scattered. Through the gaps he saw stars but no moonlight.
He knew the story about the explosives was true, or mostly true. The explosive wasn't dynamite, but that was a detail. The story about the women might also be true, he supposed.
But sacrifices on the Witches' Ridge? How would the guardsmen know that?
He decided it was time to snoop the south wing. Tomorrow night.
Then, on an impulse and despite the risk, he slipped into the corridor again, to the rec room, and looked at the calendar. It was past midnight, a new day so to speak, and below its date was the symbol not of the full moon, but of its exact opposite, the new moon.
Nonetheless it gave him chill bumps.
The next evening he slipped into the corridor and went to the sorcerers' wing. On his own floor, the second. Third floor main was where classes were held, and he assumed that third floor south was where the Voitar were quartered. He'd never seen or heard of them being on any other floor. Nor was he prepared to snoop their living space. He was more interested in the other south-wing floors. If they lived on third, what use, if any, did they make of the first and second?
As always, the ell was guarded. Beyond it no bulb burned. The only light encroached from the main corridor.
Barefoot as usual in his nocturnal trips, Macurdy slipped past the sentry, wondering if the Voitar had an alarm system. It seemed to him they did; he could feel an energy. In the dimness three meters past the ell, he perceived a faint rose field, like barely visible pink cellophane blocking the corridor. He might well have missed it, had he not been looking for something like it.
Stopping, he examined it, and as he looked, it became more visible, emanating from what seemed to be a gray line in the ceiling, as vague as the screen itself.
How to get past? How might the sorcerers do it? On an impulse, he told it mentally to move aside-and it retreated upward into the gray line! Tentatively he walked through, then stopped and looked back. The screen was in place again, faint as before. The sentry, who faced away, had noticed nothing.
Macurdy went on, pausing to listen at doors; there was no sound. Nor any light beneath them, except for the door at the end of the hall, which seemed to be an exit. Cautiously he turned its heavy handle and pushed. It opened soundlessly into the cylindrical tower that rose above the building's roof, with a helical stairwell lit only by a weak bulb at each landing.