He must be exhausted to be thinking this way—these people had saved him from trial and execution, and blocked the opportunity to declaim his work before the world. He’d done nothing wrong! They gave him a job, useful work, and actively conspired to keep him from publishing, doling out the material in dribs and drabs. The pallid bitch was scared of him. She took his reports and edited them, kept her superiors from seeing his brilliance, his importance to the project.

He’d kill her. Slowly. Strap her down and work on her, bottom to top. The Master would see to it!

Herr Doktor Hoven turned and looked up at the glowing red eyes in the darkness. Eyes like blood, eyes like crematorium fires. He smiled at the Master, and although he couldn’t see the Master’s face, he was sure the Master returned the smile.

It would be the winter of 1461 all over again, yes, starting with this facility. And what the Master didn’t use…

What the Master didn’t use would be Herr Doktor Hoven’s. Down to the last finger.