The Bavarian Gate By John Dalmas

After staring for a moment, she took his sleeve and stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.

Macurdy held a finger to his lips and glanced toward the guard again. The man was looking toward them, frowning. He’d noticed the door open, then close, but seemingly nothing else. Berta’s eyes followed Macurdy’s, and she froze, but the guard turned away.

Macurdy nodded reassurance, and they started down the corridor hand in hand, Berta’s aura and sweaty palm reflecting extreme nervousness. The guard at the farther ell never even glanced their way.

“To the cellar, you said,” Macurdy whispered.

She nodded. They walked down the staircase–the foyer guard was almost asleep on his feet and from the foyer into the cellar stairway, and down. The cellar corridor was more poorly lit than those on the other floors, and they saw no sign of guards.

“Which way?” Macurdy whispered.

Berta had recovered from her fright. “Beneath the north wing, I suppose,” she whispered back. “It’s a room the guards use when they smuggle in girls from town. They call it the `party room.’ I don’t think they use it during the week. They have no way to bring girls then.”

Starting north from the stairs, they tried doors. Most were unlocked, the rooms empty. Macurdy could have opened those that were locked-their lever locks would be easy–but it wasn’t the time for that. Then, beneath the north wing, he opened a door to a large room with a hodge-podge of furnishings. The thin light from the corridor showed sofas, a love seat, chairs, and on the floor, several large mattresses pushed together.

There were even paintings on two walls. Macurdy decided that furnishings must be stored in some of the rooms, and the guardsmen had plundered them. They stepped inside, and he tried the light switch; a table lamp turned on, and he closed the door behind them. On the inside, the door had a 5 x 10 cm oak bar that pivoted on a lag screw, and screwed to the door frame was a hand-carved wooden bracket. Macurdy seated the bar.

They examined the room more closely. At one side stood a table, with cards, bottle opener, and a box that held a bottle of brandy, two of schnapps, and several liters of beer. By one wall were two sets of large laundry tubs; over their rims hung several military-issue towels.

Berta put a hand on his arm, and they kissed, lingeringly, then passionately, his hands stroking the small of her back. Within a minute they’d begun undressing each other, and within another were naked on a mattress, fondling, kissing. Soon Berta was on her back, knees drawn high, Macurdy on top, rocking slowly. When they’d finished, they lay tangled for a bit, then cleaned up, and opening two bottles of warm beer, sat naked together on the love seat, drinking and touching.

“Why do you think the cellar is off limits?” he asked. “Could there be valuables stored here?”

“I don’t know. At first I wondered if there were people locked up down here, but I’m sure there aren’t. There are plenty of prison and labor camps for that.”

She changed the subject. “Where did you learn to make yourself invisible? That’s a valuable talent.”

“From my first wife.” It wasn’t strictly true, but close enough. “Do you ever think of escaping this place and going to Switzerland?”

“Sometimes. But while I’m here, I’d like to see what this place is about. Perhaps learn new skills; something to help me make a living.”

She made a face. “I just want to be away from here. The Swiss know how to live: peacefully and democratically! I could get clients from doctors there, help their patients recover from surgeries.” She shrugged. “Many I could heal without surgery, but doctors don’t like that, so I compromise.”

She cocked an eye at Macurdy. “What would you do, if you were in Switzerland? A man who can make himself invisible could surely find people he’d be willing to rob.”

“In a decent country like Switzerland, I wouldn’t care to be a robber. I’ve been a healer, too, though I don’t have the experience you have.”