Hoch, Edward D. - [SS] The Vorpal [v1.0].htm

THE VORPAL

by Edward D. Hoch

It is almost a year since EQMM lost one of thegreatest mystery short story writers of all time, Edward D. Hoch. We have beenpublishing an assortment of remaining new Hoch stories and Hoch reprints sincehis death, in order to complete another full year in the unbroken streak ofpublication hes had in this magazine since 1973. Fan Steve Steinbock suggestedthis story as a good way to conclude Ed Hochs 36-year streak. There will beperiodic Hoch reprints in future.

Winterluck had been living withVon Baden for some five years before he ever raised the subject of theHeidelberg killing. It was on a mild April dayone of the first pleasant daysof springand they were strolling around the big yard as they so often did whenthe weather was good. Overhead, the sky was blue with promise, and already thefirst small buds were clustering on branches.

The German spring is a wonderfultime, Winterluck said that morning.

Spring is always wonderful, VonBaden said. I remember only one bad springin forty-five, when it meant theAllies would begin their final drive along the western front. That year, Icursed the birds as they sang in the trees, and wished I could hold back theblossoms with my hands. But the snow melted, and the tanks rumbled on.

They would have come in anyevent, Winterluck said. Hitler was finished. We were all finished. He staredfor a time at the distant trees. It was like some great tragedy byShakespeare, though I suppose the other side didnt see it that way.

Von Baden nodded his balding head,and the light caught the curving scar on his left cheek. Perhaps Hitler was asort of Hamlet, at least to us. Perhaps he should have died by a poisonedsword.

Winterluck was still staring atthe trees. That reminds me of the Heidelberg thing. Remember it?

How could I forget? I was there.

Cassan was a sort of Hamlet, andhe was struck down by a poisoned sword.

But Von Baden shook his head. Toborrow from our late enemies the English, he was much more a Jabberwock, struckdown by a vorpal blade.

How did it happen? Winterluckasked. I never heard the full details.

Very few people did. The crimeifcrime it washappened at a time when young Cassan was the most hated, andfeared, student in all of Heidelberg. No one very much wanted to see the boywho killed him punished. In those days, such things were easy to hush up, andafter all, Cassan was not the first to die in the dueling clubs of Heidelberg.Or the last.

But some said he was murdered, killedby a poisoned sword. At least that was the talk at the time.

That was the talk, yes. VonBadens eyes clouded, as if he were trying to remember the exact feeling ofthat day. It was such a long time ago, a lifetime ago. The world has seen somuch violence since, I wonder if what happened there could still have anyimportance.

It was important to Cassan. Itwas the end of his life.

Yes, yes, Von Baden agreed,scratching the smooth skin of his aging head. It was surely important toCassan.

* * * *

In that time, when Germany wasonly just recovering from one war, and the figure of Adolf Hitler was knownonly to the jailers of Landsberg and a handful of followers, Heidelberg wasstill the university town with its singing students and beer-drinking frolic.Von Baden had entered the university in 1921, the same year that JosephGoebbels was receiving his Ph.D. at the age of twenty-four. He did not knowGoebbels then, and was not to meet him until much later.

For Von Baden, HeidelbergUniversity was a dream realized. Away from the confines of a strict home forthe first time, he plunged into the daily student life and joined almost atonce one of the five dueling clubs that were the center of university sociallife. At the beginning, and during all of his freshman year, he thought verylittle about the actual fact of dueling, the main reason for the clubsexistence. He had seen the scarred faces about the campus and in the classroom,of course, and he was often present at the semiweekly matches in the largewhitewashed apartment on the second floor of the public house. But to him itremained a thing apart, not nearly so important as the annual election of abeer king among the dueling corps.

Since first-year members of thefive clubs were not obliged to fight, it was not until his second year at theuniversity that the pressure to take part in the bloody spectacles becameintense. Von Baden was a member of the White Corps, and its president that yearwas Cassan, a sulking bully who proudly wore his silken ribbon awarded afterthree duels. Hed fought thirty times the previous year, more than any otherstudent, and the presidency of the White Corps had come to him by acclamation.He was a wizard with the blade, and once during a particularly brutal duel hedsliced off the tip of an opponents nose. Many people hated Rudolf Cassan, butmore people feared him.

It was the affair over Eva, thesensuous barmaid at the Three Crowns, that finally brought matters to a head.Generally, the members of the White Corps ignored the other four clubs and keptto themselves on their beer-drinking excursions. Even if the only seats in thetavern were at a table occupied by a few red-capped youths, the White Corpswould not join them, preferring to go instead to another of the beer gardens orrathskellers that dotted the area.

But this night the white-cappedCassan happened into the Three Crowns just as Eva was going off duty. Hed beenseeing a good deal of her during the preceding months, even spending a weekendwith her on a raft trip down the Neckar. No one doubted that Eva was a girl ofloose virtue, but oddly enough she seemed the only one capable of bringing outthe tender, human side of Cassans nature. When he was with her, he was almosta different person. And this night, as he walked into the crowded, smokyconfines of the tavern, he saw that Eva was sitting at a table with members ofthe Red Corps, laughing and drinking, with her arm actually around GunnerMackers waist. Macker was a top athlete and excellent swordsman himself, andthered been bad blood before between him and Cassan.

Von Baden was with Cassan as heentered the Three Crowns, and the president was just telling him of his dutiesas a second-year man. You must fight, boy, because that is our only purpose.We did not take you into our ranks so you could merely amuse yourself at beerparties and wenching.

I will fight, Von Baden managedto say, hating the smooth, dominant figure Cassan made as he walked among thecrowded tables. But when Im ready.

Cassan smiled over his shoulder. Youwill fight next week, boy. Be ready. It is time you tasted blood. Your own, ifnecessary.

Not so soon!

I am your president. You fightwhen I order you to or you leave the corps in disgrace. But then, before he couldadd anything, he saw Eva at the table with Macker. He left Von Baden standingthere as he fought his way to the Red Corps group.

Macker glanced up at him with adisdainful smirk and deliberately placed his hand on Evas breast. Well,Cassan, you arrived a bit late this night!

The president of the White Corpsstood his ground while the flush crept up his neck. What is this, Eva? heasked.

The girl was embarrassed. Shebrushed Mackers hand away and stood up. Nothing. It is nothing, Rudolf. I waswaiting for you.

At the table Macker gave a snort. Shewaits for the first one in pants. Its all the same to her.

Cassans palm shot out and slappedthe youth across the face. Mackers skin went white, with only the red of theblow to mark his cheek. You will feel those words, Cassan said, his voicebarely a whisper.

Through it all, Macker hadremained seated. Now he rose slowly to his feet. We have never met with theswords, Cassan. Perhaps the time has come.

But Cassans answer was to spit onthe floor at the others feet. I would not soil my blade with you. And thenhe turned, and spoke the terrifying words. Young Von Baden here will upholdthe honor of the White Corps. Tuesday night.

To Von Baden, the words were likethe voice of doom. He stared at Macker, who only laughed. This runt! I willslice his nose off and then come after you!

You think so? The newest memberof the White Corps could take you, Macker. That will be the ultimateindignitywhen you grovel in defeat before this boy. Then he turned, without aword to Eva, and stalked out. Von Baden followed, aware that every eye in theroom was upon him: Aware that Tuesday was only three nights away.

* * * *

All of Sunday was spent in swordpractice, and Von Baden felt his padded body pummeled and pulled by the blows.They practiced with canes, and with the riding whips that many of the studentscarried. And on Monday, they brought out the swords themselves: long, uglyweapons with blunt points but sharpened edges, the blades some half-inch inwidth, the hilts a pure white to match the caps of the young men. Von Badenlooked, hefted the weapon, and was horrified. Watching these spectacles twice aweek was one thing, but to actually fight in one himself, to feel therazor-sharp blows raining down on his face and scalp, that was something else.He knew too well the bandaged faces of the combatants, the lifelong scars anddisfigurements that battle brought.

But there was no way out withoutdisgrace.

Pondering it, he even consideredinforming the authorities. Though the members of the five corps were allowed tokeep swords, the dueling itself was strictly forbidden by German law.Unfortunately, Von Baden knew as well as anyone that the law was never enforced.The police would only laugh at his call, and do nothing.

So Tuesday came, and thetwenty-odd members of each corps gathered in the upstairs room where the duelwould take place. Some sipped wine or played cards while they waited for theevenings first duel to take place. Von Baden and Macker were scheduled tofight first, and he found himself led to another room to be dressed for battle.His eyes were protected by iron goggles, with leather straps that also servedto hold his ears flat against his head. His neck was wound with thickwrappings, and layers of padding covered his arms, body, and legs. At the end,only his goggled face and head were free of the padded black suit.

Several fellows helped him walk tothe center of the big room with his sword, while the spectators clustered atthe far end. Two helmeted seconds had taken up their positions, swords ready tointerrupt the contest if blood was drawn or a weapon broken. An umpire andtimekeeper also stood by, along with a gray-haired doctor with a tray ofointment and bandages. The duel would last fifteen minutes, with time out forinjuries and the likein all, usually twenty minutes or more.

Von Baden stood facing Macker, thebeads of sweat standing out on his face above the muffling neckpiece. Then, standingnear the doorway behind the spectators, the girl Eva suddenly appeared, muffledherself in a coat that did nothing to disguise her appearance. By tradition,the duels were for men only, but he knew it was not the first time a girl hadwatched them. And he knew that Rudolf Cassan had seen her too. The superiorexpression with which he had viewed the proceedings thus far seemed to dissolvelike a smashed mirror when he spotted her.

He hesitated only an instant, andthen some twinge of remaining pride forced him to step forward, between the twowould-be combatants. Get out of that suit, Von Baden, he snapped. I willfight Macker myself.

There came a gasp from the secondsand spectators alike, but already Cassan had taken the sword from Von Badens limpfingers. Three young men from the White Corps hurried forward to remove theblack padding from one and place it on the other, and through it all RudolfCassan stood his ground staring into the face of Gunner Mackera face nowsuddenly white with the unexpectedness of this new challenge.

Many of the spectators eyes nowturned toward Eva, as if weighing the physical attributes that made such a duela necessity. Von Baden, freed of the encumbering padding, almost expected herto leave now that she was so suddenly the obvious center of attention. But shestood her ground, apparently determined to see the thing through.

Finally, after endless minutes ofadjustment, Cassan was ready to fight. The seconds gave the signal, the umpirespoke a word, and instantly both padded young men sprang forward, raining blowson each other with a fury Von Baden had rarely seen before. Each was aiming forthe face and head, but both were skilled swordsmen. After thirty seconds offurious clanging, the swords had only met each other. Then, as Macker blocked aparticularly deadly swing by Cassan, the White presidents blade broke near itstip, nicking Cassans hairline as it sailed off. The seconds immediately raisedtheir own swords to interrupt the contest, and the doctor hurried forward.

Its nothing, Cassan insisted asthe wound was touched up. A scratch. His blade has yet to find my flesh.

The timekeeper started hiscounting once more, and Cassan struck back with a new sword, raining blows withrenewed fury. This time it was Macker who took the cut, a decided hit fromCassans blade that loosened a flap of his cheek. Again the seconds intervenedand the doctor stepped forward. Cassan allowed himself a faint smile. He wasgetting the upper hand, and he was still unmarked by Mackers sword.

Von Baden, forgotten, had joinedthe spectators at the far end of the bare room. He stood near Eva, watching herexpression, trying without success to decide which of them was her specialfavorite. He wondered if it would all end like some medieval romance, with thewinner riding off with her into the dawn. Or would her heart more likely go outto the loser?

With the next volley of blows, itbegan to seem for the first time that the contest might end in a draw. Firstboth men dropped their swords simultaneouslyto the displeasure of theonlookersand then Macker recovered to bring his blade up from below to nickCassans jaw. The doctor stepped in once more.

And now a strange thing began tohappen. Cassan, the champion, the best swordsman in all Heidelberg, began tofalter. His swings were wild, his defenses nonexistent. Macker, smiling insomething close to triumph, landed two more cuts in quick succession. Cassansface was covered with blood that even the doctors firm hand could not stop.One of the Red Corps called for the fight to end, but he was booed down. Theyhad come to see blood and they were seeing it. They might even witness thefirst defeat of the hated Cassan.

Macker quickly followed up hisadvantage. He hammered away at Cassans head, bringing new blood, and now VonBaden saw the White Corps president stagger and grab for support. The secondsrushed in but they were too late. He toppled sideways, the sword flying fromhis hand, and was still on the floor.

The doctor bent over him as theothers crowded around. Only Macker edged away, triumphant but uncertain. Theduels did not usually finish like this. How is he, Doctor? someone asked.

Von Baden was still watching Evasexpressionless face when he heard the reply. The doctor looked up and saidsimply, Hes dead.

* * * *

Winterluck and Von Baden hadcontinued their walk about the yard while the balding man told his story. Hehad not thought of those far-off events in years, not since long before the warthat had made such killing so commonplace. Now, as he finished, the memorysharpened in his mind. It might have happened yesterday, instead of thatlong-ago time of youth.

I heard stories, Winterlucksaid. Some claimed that Macker killed him with a poisoned sword, that this wasthe only way it could have happened.

Yes, Von Baden acknowledged. Iheard the stories too. In truth, poor Cassan was poisoned. The autopsyproved it. But by that time, it was too late to check Mackers sword. For therest of his college days, though, he lived in disgrace, under a cloud ofsuspicion. Eva left him, refused even to speak to him. A few years later he waskilled by a train, and some called it suicide.

That would pretty much confirm hisguilt, Winterluck said.

Van Baden fingered the scar on hischeek. On the contrary, old friend, it confirmed his innocence. A man whowould poison the blade of his sword would hardly lose much sleep over itafterward. Poisoning is a careful crime. It takes a great deal of thought andpremeditation. And of course, the best evidence for his innocence: until thelast moment, he thought he was fighting me, not Cassan. After Cassan stepped into take my place, Macker never left the center of the room. He had no chancethen to poison the blade.

Then who did? Could the swordshave become switched when they were dropped somehow?

No, no. The hilts were differentcolors, remember, to match the corps color.

But... Winterluck puzzled, noone could have poisoned Mackers sword once Cassan entered the duel. There musthave been fifty pairs of eyes on them both! Certainly Eva couldnt have doneit. And certainly no one would have wanted to poison you!

No, Von Baden agreed. No onewould have wanted to poison me.

Then who?

Von Baden smiled. There remainsonly one possibility.

You know?

Ive known for years.

Of course! I should have realizedit! The doctor! He applied the poison while he was swabbing the wounds onCassans face!

A good ending for a detectivestory, old friend, but hardly for real life. The doctor would have no motive.

He was really Evas father,avenging his daughters honor!

And now Von Baden laughed aloud. Youwould make a wonderful writer! Im sure the doctor could have chosen a farsafer and less spectacular method of murder, had that been his desire. Or atthe very least, a slower-acting poison.

Then where are we left?

With the truth, Von Baden said. Thetruth. He fingered the scar again. As you can see, I did fight after all,later on. I fought bravely and well, both for the White Corps and for Hitler. Icollected my medals, and my ribbons.

Tell me, Winterluck said.

Sometimes fear can be a terrible,twisted thing. Men will kill for love, or revenge, or in anger, but I sometimesthink that fear is the greatest motive for murder. After all, wasnt it fear ofa sort that drove us to kill the Jews?

And?

I was afraid to fight Macker, hesaid, looking away. Afraid for my life, or my face, or my honor. Afraid.Terrified! I coated the blade of my sword with poison from the chemistry lab,to kill Macker, or at least sicken him and let me win the duel. But then Cassanfought with my sword, and when it broke a piece flew back to nick his scalp.And kill him.

My God!

A foolish thing, a senselessthing. As I said, a vorpal blade.

They had reached the farthestpoint of the prison yard, and now the uniformed guard was motioning them back.The exercise period was over, and they must return to their cells. It issomething of a paradox, I suppose, Von Baden observed as they walked slowlyback. We are caged here because they call us war criminals, and yet I killedthis first man because I feared to fight. Was I perhaps a peace criminal inthose days?

But the guard separated them atthe entrance and the question went unanswered.

ELLERY QUEEN'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE. Vol. 133, Nos. 3 & 4, Whole Nos. 811 & 812, March-April 2009.txt