Cadaver & Queen Page 21

  Another, less scientific thought occurred: What if the borrowed flesh carried traces of its original soul?

  She shivered and began to back away from the kneeling man. She didn’t understand how or why, but this was Victor’s body, but not Victor. But then the man’s wide shoulders began to shake, and she realized that he was crying. You’re not a frightened girl, she told herself. You’re a doctor, and a scientist. Taking a deep breath, she made herself take a step forward. “What’s your name, sailor?”

  He shook his head, as if to clear it. “I don’t know. I think...it might’ve been Jack.”

  Whatever lingering doubts Lizzie had felt, the name made it official somehow. Made it real. This wasn’t Victor with amnesia. This was a different person. A murderer. But not an evil man—she’d stake her life on that. She put her hand under his chin, forcing him to look up at her. “I don’t think you’re going to hell, Jack. Not if you tried to help those people. But more people are going to get hurt if we don’t bring back Victor. Are you prepared to do that?”

  He took a breath that inflated his chest, then slowly got to his feet. “Yes.”

  “All right,” she began, and then they both stiffened as they heard the sound of footsteps.

  Shoving Lizzie behind him, the sailor sank into a fighter’s crouch. Someone called, “Byram?” and before Lizzie could call out, there was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, a moan of pain, and the loud whump of a body hitting the ground.

  The man on the ground groaned and rolled over, then gave an incredulous gasp. “Oh, my God.” It was Will, whose night vision was clearly much better than hers. “Victor?”

  30

  After the first shock of discovery, Will lurched to his feet and threw himself into his brother’s arms as though they were both still children. “They said you were dead!” He clung for a moment, while Jack stood stiffly, looking over Will’s back at Lizzie as if to say, Any advice? After a moment, Will pulled back, frowning a little as he took in his brother’s lack of response. “Victor?”

  Jack shook his head. “Sorry, mate, I’m...”

  “He has amnesia,” Lizzie interjected before he could say more. Discovering a resurrected brother was shock enough. No need to burden Will with the knowledge that a new personality had taken over Victor’s body. “He still doesn’t remember very much about the past.”

  “Oh, my God. But you know me?”

  “’Course I do,” said Jack.

  “Can you tell me anything? What have you been doing this past year? Mother and Father will be overjoyed!”

  “Of course,” said Lizzie, “and you must tell them as soon as possible, but right now, we should probably head back before we freeze.”

  Will turned to his brother, wordlessly waiting for him to show the way. Clearly, a lifetime of training had left him ready to follow his sibling’s lead, even if he’d just returned from the land of the dead.

  “Don’t look at me, mate.” Jack gave a little shrug. “She seems to ’ave all the answers.”

  Will frowned at that, but only for a moment. “All, right, then, Lizzie,” he said. “Seems you’re in charge. What’s the plan?”

  “Can you lead us back through the tunnels to our rooms?”

  Jack shook his head. “Sorry. I only know the way to the laboratory.”

  “We can’t go back there,” said Will. “What if Moulsdale and Grimbald are still there?”

  “Don’t worry. All we need to do is get back outside the way we came in.”

  “This is a disaster. They’ve probably caught Byram and your friend.”

  With no other plan at hand, they moved silently through the tunnels for what felt like a very long time.

  “These are the stairs,” Jack said eventually. “Wait here a moment.”

  Lizzie could just about make out Will’s face. He looked as though he might be in shock, and she reached out to find his hand and squeeze it. “We’ll be all right.”

  Jack came back down a moment later. “We can’t go out that way now. I just heard heard Grimbald tell Moulsdale to stand guard at the exit.”

  “What do we do now, Victor?” Will sounded scared and young.

  “I’ve got an idea. Follow me.”

  * * *

  They stepped out of the clammy darkness of the tunnels into what felt like a different world: a library with a Dutch-tiled fireplace and comfortable upholstered chairs and leather-bound books. It took her a moment to understand that they must be in Makepiece’s private quarters.

  “What if he comes back?”

  “They’re too busy chasing their tails out there. Give it a half hour, then we’ll try the exit again.” Jack ambled over to a liquor cabinet and lifted the top off a crystal container so he could sniff the amber liquid inside. “Perfect.” Pouring three shots, he handed the first to Will. “Liquid courage?”

  “Thanks.” Will tipped the glass back, emptying it, and then coughed.

  Lizzie took her shot glass and sipped more cautiously as she looked around. On the wall, there was a framed photograph of a wan-faced woman in an old-fashioned bustle dress, and a small oil painting of a cherubic blond child, aged three or four and holding a pug dog. That must be Makepiece’s daughter. Strange that he never mentioned her.

  “Bottoms up.” Jack knocked back the drink in one swallow, closed his eyes, then smacked his lips in apparent satisfaction. “Fancy another?” This said to Will, who was walking slowly around the room, as if taking inventory.

  “I probably shouldn’t.”

  “Go on with you.” Jack held out the drink.

  “Well...I suppose one more won’t hurt.”

  “How about you?” he said to Lizzie. “Wet your whistle?”

  “Still working on this one, thanks.” The taste was sweeter and richer than Aggie’s gin, and nicer, but it burned the same warm feeling down her throat.

  “Victor. Where does this lead to?”

  Lizzie turned and saw that Will had discovered a door behind one of the bookcases.

  Jack frowned and pressed the glass to his temples. “I’m not sure. I’ve been in there, I think, but I can’t quite recall...”

  Lizzie approached the door swiftly. “So let’s find out.” She turned the doorknob, hoping for a way out while expecting to see Makepiece’s bedroom, but instead, she was confronted by a huge metal contraption that resembled a small submarine, attached to a mechanical arm that pressed a bellows in and out. In this room, the library’s smell of leather and woodsmoke and brandy was replaced by carbolic acid and ozone.

  Will came up beside her. “What is that?”

  “Papa?” It was a girl’s voice, light, thin, breathless. “Is that you?”

  It was only as they moved farther into the room that they could see that the girl was lying inside the metal tube, her head emerging from an opening at the far end.

  31

  “Wh-who are you?” The girl’s eyes were enormous in her thin face. She could not turn her head to see them better—the enormous metal cylinder that concealed her body from the neck down prevented any movement—but a mirror positioned above her face gave her a little peripheral vision.

  “Easy, now,” said Will. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “Oh.” The girl appeared young, perhaps thirteen or so, but with only her face showing it was impossible to know for certain. Someone had braided her dark blond hair into a neat Dutch crown, but there were mauve shadows under her eyes, her skin had a consumptive’s pallor and her cheekbones were as painfully sharp as an old woman’s.

  “She’s already hurt,” said Jack, his voice rough. “Looks like someone’s starving her.”

  “I’m afraid I’m just not very robust.” The girl was staring at him. “Don’t I know you?”

  Jack looked uncomfortable, then smiled, instantly affable. “Of course. Just refresh my m
emory, that was when...?”

  “You attacked my father.”

  That threw him. “But how did you...?”

  “I was right there. When my father began the...the new treatments. It’s all right—I know you were trying to protect me.”

  Jack tapped his temple with one finger and then pointed it at her, grinning as if she’d tricked him with a riddle. “Oh! Right. That time. Yes.”

  The girl dragged in a deep breath, timed with the contraction of bellows. “But forgive me, I don’t recognize either of you.” The metal box had a pressure gauge, and suddenly Lizzie understood what it was being used for: the thing was like a metal lung, helping the girl breathe.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m Elizabeth Lavenza, and this is my friend Will. I work with—”

  “Oh, I know who you are! Father’s told me all about you. I’m Justine. I was so hoping we would meet, but he’s always worried I’m going to catch something.”

  Lizzie leaned away. “Oh, I didn’t even think. Of course, your lungs must be quite delicate.” So this was Makepiece’s daughter. Because he never spoke of the girl, Lizzie had assumed she must be intellectually impaired, but there was clearly nothing wrong with this girl’s mind.

  “Oh, please, don’t be frightened! I’m not that fragile. In fact, I don’t really need to be in here all day anymore.” She paused for breath. “I don’t suppose... Could you help me out?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Will, speaking directly to Lizzie. “But we need to get out of here before Makepiece gets back.”

  Far from looking upset at these revelations, Justine appeared fascinated, as if she had just been given a front seat at the theater. “Why are you avoiding my father?”

  “It’s complicated,” said Will, turning back to her. “We may have broken a few rules.”

  Jack snorted. “Not as many as her father.”

  “It’s about the queen, isn’t it?” Justine laughed, a quick, breathy sound. “Yes, my father confides in me. After all, whom could I tell his secrets to?”

  Will was shaking his head. “This is not good, Lizzie. We need to get out of here.”

  Justine sucked in a breath. “Take me with you.”

  Lizzie bit her lip. “Oh, Justine, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea...”

  “Of course,” said Jack, ignoring her. “How do we get you out of this contraption?”

  “Turn the...the handles.”

  On the end of the metal tube nearest her feet, there was a lever. Jack pressed down on it, and a hatch opened. “Got it.” He extracted her carefully, pulling off the cloth hood that covered her head before putting her arms around his neck so he could lift her. Her wasted legs were concealed by a lace-embroidered white lawn nightgown that seemed fit for a princess. “All right there?”

  She beamed up at him. “Perfectly.”

  “You must be out of your mind,” said Will. “She’s not a puppy that’s fallen down a well. What are we going to do, carry her down through the tunnels?”

  “A very good question, that.” Makepiece’s voice seemed to steal all the air in the room as he calmly stepped through the door. The bruises on his face were livid, his hair was tangled with leaves and twigs and his jacket was torn at the shoulder, but he appeared not to notice any of this. “Justine, have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “Papa, what happened? Your eye...”

  “Never mind me! I’m not the one suffocating myself just to prove a point! Now, put her back inside before she passes out.” Makepiece watched with a critical eye as Jack placed his daughter inside. “Not like that...support her head... Yes, fine.” He watched as Justine reluctantly released her grip on Jack’s hand, then resealed the hatch.

  Makepiece waited until the bellows started up again before speaking again. “A classic case of infantile paralysis, or Heine-Medin disease.” He moved around to adjust the support under Justine’s head. “Comfortable, my dear?”

  “F-fine, Papa.”

  “So,” said Lizzie, “the device...it’s essentially a negative pressure ventilator? To aid respiration?”

  “I like the term spiro...phore better,” Justine said, her eyes meeting Lizzie’s. As the bellows did the work her lungs could not, Justine’s pale cheeks grew rosier. The girl might look like an angelic invalid straight out of a Dickens novel, but within that frail body there was a spirited young woman, capable of humor and desire.

  “This is the reason why you’re so interested in regeneration,” Lizzie said to Makepiece as the realization hit her.

  “Yes, indeed. Given time, I believe we will find a way for patients like Justine to regrow a healthy pair of lungs, or even a pair of limbs.” Makepiece smiled at his daughter. “But like so much research, mine is taking too much time,” he added, no longer smiling. “And in the meanwhile, my child lives out her youth in this windowless dungeon.”

  “If I am a prisoner, Papa, it’s because you keep me that way.”

  “I know you’re lonely, child. But not for much longer. Miss Lavenza here showed me that there could be a quicker remedy for your condition.”

  “I did?”

  “I’ve watched you stimulate Victor’s brain. If we could just strengthen her mind before the procedure, then Justine could live out a full life as a healthy young girl.”

  “The procedure? You mean to turn her into a...a Bio-Mechanical?” Will’s voice broke on the last word.

  “You say that with such disgust,” said Makepiece. “But I see you’ve become reunited with your brother. Surely seeing Victor again has convinced you that not all Bio-Mechanicals are shambling hulks?”

  “You knew,” said Lizzie, shocked. “How long have you known about Victor?”

  “That our patient was Victor Frankenstein? Oh, no, you want to know how long I knew that he was special. Long before you did. I was following his progress for weeks before you encountered him in the laboratory. But he trusted you, and I wanted to encourage that. In truth, he made much greater progress with your gentle ministrations than he would have done with my more direct methods.”

  Makepiece didn’t have to specify what those direct methods would have been: Lizzie understood all too well that he would have used experimental drugs and surgeries to achieve his goals.

  “You’re both wrong,” said Will, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He looked older and harder all of a sudden, as though he had aged years in a matter of moments. “That thing may look like my brother, but it’s not Victor.”

  32

  Jack’s expression was affable, as though Will had said something mildly intriguing. He was standing in front of a small wooden washstand, and he trailed his hand casually over the blue Willow china jug and bowl, as if admiring the familiar pattern. “Who am I, then?”

  “I don’t know who you are or what you are,” he told Jack. “I only know that you’re riding around in my dead brother’s body like a filthy parasite.”

  Jack shook his head, smile still in place. His hand had closed over the handle of the jug. “Easy there, old son. No use throwing around the big words. They just go right over my head.”

  “God damn you, what have you done to Victor?”

  Without any warning, Will reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a pistol. In response, Jack raised his left arm and smashed the jug against a sharp table corner, instantly transforming the piece of pottery into a jagged weapon.

  “Will,” Lizzie said, wanting to put a hand on his arm but suddenly wary of her friend. “Why do you have a gun with you?”

  Will kept his eyes trained on Jack, who held the shattered jug as though it were a weapon he had used before. “Why do you think? You and Byram and Aggie were all acting as though this were some kind of daring escapade. I knew we were putting ourselves in real danger.” He smiled without humor and adjusted his grip on the pistol, which seemed too large for his slender hands. “
I just didn’t realize what kind of danger.”

  “Young man,” said Makepiece, “you’re the one putting us all in danger. If you fire a pistol in here, you could wind up harming my daughter.”

  “I’m not pointing the gun at her. Now, explain to me how the brother I thought I buried in the family crypt turns out to be one of your corpse walkers.”

  “I will not discuss anything with you while you hold that weapon.” Makepiece’s voice was shaking, either from fear or anger. “If you want answers, put the pistol down.”

  “That’s a nice looking firearm, by the way,” said Jack, all breezy affability. “Single action? Shoots .32s?”

  “It shoots bullets. Keep talking and I’ll demonstrate.” There was a sheen of sweat on Will’s forehead, and his face was flushed, almost feverish looking.

  “Listen to me,” Lizzie began, taking a step toward him. But he flinched, the gun jerking in his hand.

  “Don’t touch me!” There was a thready note of panic in his voice, and for a moment, the muzzle was pointed toward her.

  “Take a deep breath. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

  A nerve twitched in Will’s cheek. “I won’t regret it. I’d rather bury him again than have somebody else’s voice coming out of his mouth.” He pulled back the hammer on the pistol with an audible click.

  Makepiece was the first to break the silence. “You’d kill your own brother?”

  “That is not my brother. It may wear his face and body, but it’s not my brother.”

  Makepiece turned to Lizzie. “Is he insane?”

  At least I wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a clue. “There’s another personality...he calls himself Jack. It may seem incredible, but it appears the donor limb has retained a cellular memory of the person it belonged to before.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack frown as if he wanted to ask something, but she turned to face Will, trying to focus on his face and not the gun. “But Victor is in there, too, I swear he is. If you shoot Jack, you’ll be killing your brother, as well.”