Unseemly Science (22 page)

Humility is the birthright of the common man, whereas the
king
knows himself all-powerful. Thus he
sees not
the dag
ger that strikes him down.

From Revolution

Pushing the trolley into the oval tunnel, I felt the wheels drop into grooves in the ice. I’d not noticed them before. Suddenly it was easier to push and I was away around the curve. I wondered how many times they had moved bodies between the freezer and the dormitory to wear such a track.

As I worked I began to sweat. The burning sensation that had passed through me was now all but gone. Tinker and Farthing had been given the full dose of the drug and perhaps other drugs to follow. I feared what would happen when I got them outside and their bodies started to warm.

It grew darker towards the end of the oval tunnel. I tried to remember which direction I’d turned to enter it. The fog was starting to clear from my mind. I decided to try left. Within a few paces I was walking in blackness. I patted down my clothes, only to remember that my possessions had been taken. There would be no candle or matches to light the way and I had lost my father’s pistol.

My encounters with the guide and Keppler could only have taken a few minutes. If Foxley and the other men were still in the tunnels, they would soon discover my escape. I leant my weight into the trolley and pushed harder. There were no more wheel tracks to run along and I was pushing blind. I drifted into the left hand wall and then into the right, each time jarring my weary muscles.

My eyes were stretched wide open, as if that would help me to see. And then, when I did start to see, hallucinations began leaping in front of me. I saw writhing snakes with the faces of people. And then they weren’t hallucinations anymore, but my own shadow cast over the ceiling of the tunnel. At first I thought daylight must be reaching me from outside. But the shadow was ahead, which meant the light was coming towards me from behind.

“How far did you think you were going to get?”

The voice belonged to Erasmus Foxley.

I turned and had to shield my eyes from the approaching lamp. I sensed several people behind it, but couldn’t see to count. Panicked, I tried to push on faster. But the light grew as they closed the distance. At last I stopped and turned to face them.

“Take her,” said Foxley.

The lantern shifted to one side and a man emerged. He stepped around behind me and took a grip on my arm.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“Back to the Kingdom,” he said.

“No,” said Foxley. “There’s been a change of plan.”

“But the reward…”

“You’ll be compensated.”

“We were promised four hundred.”

“Bring her,” Foxley ordered. “And you… bring that.”

A second man emerged from behind the light and started manoeuvring the trolley.

I felt a shove in my back but resisted. “Do they know what you’ve done?”

“Just bring her!”

“Do they know the trouble they’re in?”

Another shove between my shoulders, stronger this time. I stumbled to my knees. The doctor started walking back the way we’d come.

“What does she mean?” the man behind me asked. “What trouble?”

“Didn’t you see the bodies?” I asked.

“She means the morgue,” said Foxley.

“Did you see them hanging there?”

“Hanging?”

“From meat hooks in the ceiling.”

“Shut her up,” Foxley snapped. “She’s just trying to unnerve you.”

I felt my hand pulled up behind my back.

“Do you know who–…”

But my arm was pulled higher and I could not speak for pain.

“Shut up!”

“What does she mean?” This was the other one speaking – the one pushing the trolley.

“You’re in trouble,” I managed to say before my arm was yanked upwards again.

“I want to know what she means!”

Foxley wheeled to face us. “You want your money? That’s what you’ll get. And a bonus. I’ll pay another hundred guineas on top to each of you. Now, put your hand over her mouth.”

The man did as he was told. His palm pressed down on my face. I bit him. Hard. He yelled and released me.

“He’s killing people,” I gasped.

The bounty hunter lunged at me. I jinked away from him and leapt towards the one pushing the trolley, who grabbed me by the shoulders.

“What people?” he demanded.

“The niece of the Minister of Patents.”

“She’s lying!” shouted Foxley. “The Minister of Patents doesn’t have a niece.”

“She’ll be hanging from a meat hook. They cut off her finger to send to her parents.”

The other bounty hunter grabbed my arm and pulled me off my feet. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from me. Then he was kneeling by my head, trying to stuff a rag into my mouth.

“It’s all lies,” said Foxley.

“You can check!” I managed to say before my mouth was full of cloth.

“Can we do that?” asked the other one. “Can we check?”

When the doctor answered, his words were measured. “There is someone with a missing finger. But she’s someone else. This story is concocted. She’s trying to unnerve you. Be a man!”

“I want to hear what she has to say.”

There was a scuffle and the pressure was suddenly released from my mouth. I spat out the cloth.

“The man on the trolley – d’you know who he is?”

“It’s one of her friends,” said Foxley. “We caught him hiding outside.”

“He’s is an agent of the Patent Office.”

One of the bounty hunters swore.

“No,” said the doctor. “That’s impossible!”

But there was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. The other men must have picked it up too. I felt a shifting of their postures away from me, away from the trolley on which Farthing’s body lay.

“She’s lying!”

“Then let’s check,” said the one who’d been pushing the trolley. “If he’s one of them, he’ll have the mark on his skin.”

“That’s a myth,” said Foxley.

The man gripped Farthing’s gown and ripped the cloth away. I scrambled to my feet. There was no mark on his chest.

“You see,” said Foxley. “Nothing!”

Then the man heaved Farthing over onto his side and pulled the gown away from his back. On the bare shoulder, a symbol had been tattooed. The letters ‘O’ and ‘I’ superimposed.

ɸ

He released Farthing, who slumped back down onto the trolley.

“Is he dead?”

“Not dead yet,” I said. “But we need to get him out.”

The man turned to Foxley. “You can keep your money.”

I believe the bounty hunters would have left at that moment. Perhaps they would never have spoken about it again. But the doctor, seeing the risk, dipped into the deep pocket of his coat and produced a pistol.

Immediately they stepped away from each other then moved towards him, one on either side of the passage. The final dash was so quick I couldn’t clearly see what happened. They were on him. There was a struggle. The gun fired. The doctor fell.

I was on my feet with the sound of the shot was still ringing in my ears. “Help me get the trolley out and I’ll never say what you did.”

They didn’t even need to look at each other to agree. I picked up the lantern then noticed the pistol on the floor next to Foxley’s body. A leaping hare was inlaid on the stock in turquoise. It was my father’s gun.

There was a windowless carriage waiting outside the ice factory. Doubtless they’d intended to use it to transport me back to the border. But all thought of the reward had now gone. When they looked at me it was with pleading eyes, hoping I would fulfil my part of the bargain.

I knelt on the floor of the carriage, rubbing Tinker’s arms and legs, trying to re-kindle warmth and circulation, not knowing if he would wake. Not knowing if there would be anything human left in him. Next to him on the floor lay Farthing. And on the seat, within my reach, rested the gun, loaded with borrowed powder and shot. If either of them woke as a drooling monster, the right thing would be to end their half-death. If I could. Keppler had said I was not a killer. I hoped I’d not have to find out whether he was right.

The boy’s arm twitched. I put my head to his chest and listened again. The flutter I had heard before was now a heartbeat. I rubbed his skin more vigorously.

“Wake-up! Come back. Please.”

There was a groan, but not from Tinker. Farthing’s hand was clawing at the thin gown. I grabbed the gun and pulled back the flint.

He coughed and retched. There was spit running from the corner of his mouth. He turned onto his side, one arm flailing.

“Say something!”

Tinker shifted. I scrambled backwards onto the seat, taking aim at Farthing’s chest.

“Speak damn it!”

Tinker sat up abruptly. He lurched towards me, groaning, his hands clutching at my coat. I pointed the gun at him. He opened his eyes. They were yellowed, un-seeing.

“I’m sorry,” I said, putting my finger on the trigger.

Then Farthing gasped. “Elizabeth…”

I snatched the gun away, my hand shaking.

“Say something more!”

Farthing held his hands in front of him and turned them, examining each side. “Where am I?”

Tinker blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his vision. “I’m hungry,” he said.

All else that followed seemed grey and distant. The bounty hunters had found clothes for Tinker and Farthing. I didn’t ask where they had got them. Soon the boy and the man were able to sit on the carriage seats. We set off in the direction of Upper Wharf Street. Farthing was overtaken by a bout of shivering so powerful that I feared it was a seizure. But it soon passed. Their minds cleared fast after that.

The coach pulled up beside the warehouse and I remembered those other poor creatures I had encountered on my first visit – their minds corrupted by the experiments of Erasmus Foxley.

The carriage door was opened by one of the bounty hunters. The housemistress stood behind him, a lamp in her hand. She peered in anxiously, her eyes flicking from person to person.

“Get the boy inside,” I said. “I’ll explain later.”

They helped Tinker out, supporting him on both sides.

“Elizabeth…” Farthing reached a hand towards me.

I batted it away. “What were you doing? You said the Patent Office couldn’t be involved!”

“These things… I can’t explain.”

“And do you know what happened in those ice tunnels? Living people used for experiments as if they were dead bodies! Yet the Patent Office can’t be involved because it’s medical research!”

“Elizabeth...” he tried again to touch me.

“You know I hate the Patent Office! And with all my being!”

There was a second in which we held each other’s eyes. I do not know what happened, but something passed between us. The same feeling gripped my chest that I’d felt in the tea shop. “Why? Why did you put yourself in such danger?” The words welled from deep within me. They were a cry of pain.

He seemed about to answer, but another shivering fit seized him. He crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest, as if trying to control the tremors. He keeled over onto his side. I felt the sudden impulse to hold him. The feeling was so strong that to stop myself, I had to brace against the corner of the carriage. Gradually the shivering passed and he was able to right himself.

“I... saved you once,” he said, catching his breath. “You remember? Now you’ve saved me. We’re even. I’ll close your case at the Patent Office. You never have to see me or think of me again.”

It felt as if an icicle had been plunged into my heart.

I did not turn to watch the carriage go but I heard the clatter of its wheels. The sound repeated in my mind long after it was gone. I could still hear it as I lay that night in bed, trying to let sleep swallow me.

War and science have ever been the bullwhips of
change
. But with the drafting of this Great Accord we have abolished both. Thus may we at last set sail into the Long Quiet, which is the end of history.

From Revolution

Having fulfilled my part of the bargain, I sat in the secret room behind the bookcase and delivered my report. The woman I had known as Mrs Raike sat opposite. Devoid of her disguise, she wore no wedding ring. Foxley believed the Minister of Patents had no niece. It had not made sense to me at me at the time. But now I understood she was unmarried. Her greatest secret had been her daughter. Her tragedy would be to grieve in secret also.

Antonia had been in deep freeze for over a month. Like all the other victims in the ice dormitory, she might be woken but her mind would be gone. It was news worse than death. Yet, whenever I tried to soften my account, Antonia’s mother saw through the evasion and challenged me to be faithful. Thus I revealed the full horror of Erasmus Foxley’s lair. Certain episodes I was made
to
repeat in greater detail. Through all this she sat still and upright, as if made of porcelain.

“I don’t think the owners of the ice factory were part of the plot,” I said. “But some of the workers may have been. You’ll need to call the constabulary.” I handed her the papers I’d taken from the frozen body. “This is evidence. You’ll need to move quick
ly
, before they clean the place up.”

When I’d finished my report, she thanked me. But a touch might have broken her.

“What’ll you do?” I asked, meaning what would she do about Antonia.

Instead of answering
my intended question
, she said: “I will talk to my brother – about the extradition treaty. He’ll do what he can.”

I was taken by carriage to a magnificent house set in parkland beyond the sprawl of the city. The usual rules of Republican architecture did not apply, a footman told me, because it dated from before the Revolutionary War.

I was led through a series of halls and state rooms to a study big enough to contain the wharf keeper’s cottage in its entirety and still have space to walk around the outside. A huge oil painting of Ned Ludd hung above the marble fireplace. The glass fronts on the book cabinets were closed and the only object on the desk was a carriage clock.

Ten minutes ticked past before the Minister of Patents, Councillor Wallace Jones, entered the room. He looked so much like his sister that I found myself blinking to clear my vision. My eyes flicked involuntarily to his neck.

“We meet at last,” he said. As he spoke, his Adam’s apple shuttled up and down.

He gestured for me to sit.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll be anxious to know the results of our efforts. I wish there was a simpler explanation to give. Please bear with me.

“There are factions within the Council. Any proposed change in legislation, however innocuous, is pounced upon by one group or another. Each faction will try to add unrelated amendments to their own benefit. If you’ve never been in politics it’s hard to understand.”

“I was brought up in a travelling show,” I said. “We called it horse trading.”

“Quite so,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed. Then in your terms – one side would wish to buy your horse and the other side wouldn’t. Some enjoy giving the Kingdom a poke in the eye. They are champing to sign your amendment. Others moan about trade implications and would block it.”

“You’re coming around to telling me you haven’t been able to help,.” I said.

“Not quite. The long and the short of it is, they wouldn’t take the amendment. Not in the same bill. But a law banning the retrospective application of the extradition treaty will be waved through exactly one week later. It means you’ll need to remain in hiding for that week. Then – with the second law passed – you’ll be free to remain in the Republic for as long as you wish.”

I remembered what his sister had implied about a lack of ability. “This was your idea?”

“It was indeed mine. Or rather, my private secretary’s.”

“The second law is certain?”

“I have assurances cast in iron.”

I stared into the fireplace. The legal manoeuvring he described was ingenious. It was a lawyer’s trick. By timing things just so, all the interned Kingdom exiles would be sent back across the border as soon as the first law was signed. By the time the amendment was passed a week later it would be too late for any of them to appeal. The Republic would be rid of them and the Kingdom would have reclaimed its criminals. All but one. How neat it was, I thought. How face-saving.

I thought back to the internment camp. I flexed my ankle, remembering how the iron had cut into my flesh.

“I have a friend among the exiles,” I said.

“A friend?”

“Her name is Tulip Slater. I’d like her saved also.”

“This friend – what did she run from? What was her crime?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yet you wish her saved?”

“By whatever means.”

In the days that followed, my time was divided between the study, a bedroom with a huge four-poster and the formal gardens, which I took to walking in whenever the house grew oppressive.

Servants brought food and every morning I found the newspapers had been laid out on the desk. In these I read about the end of Erasmus Foxley’s empire. Three doctors were arrested and charged with bodysnatching, as were five workers from the ice factory.

The report of Foxley’s death did not emerge until the third day. He had been murdered like all the others, the papers said. At first, I wondered why they were suppressing the truth. But some shadows are not seemly to dispel. There could be no way back for those piteous ones frozen in the ice dormitory. Murder is an offence against the law and against the world. Yet I found myself hoping that someone would end the lives of those poor souls for mercy’s sake.

On the sixth day, an entire page was devoted to funeral notices for the victims and I knew that it had been done. I began reading but couldn’t finish. Instead, I turned my gaze to the windows and watched the rain falling gently on the gardens. The rhododendron bushes were in full flower, branches bowed low under the weight of blossom.

At
half past three
in the afternoon with the chimes of the clock still ringing, the door opened and I turned, as ever hoping to see the Minister or his footman carrying news. But in walked the unmistakable figure of Yan Romero, solicitor, resplendent in green corduroy, with a waistcoat so purple that it put the flowers to shame. He lifted his top hat, placed his other hand on his rounded stomach and bowed.

“I am at your service,” he said.

“You!”

“No other.”

“Why are you here?”

“Your benefactor – aren’t you moving in lofty circles these days – he was searching for help in saving a woman, Tulip Slater, from imminent extradition. Thus, I am here. And humbly at your service.”

I’d seen two faces of this lawyer – mercurial salesman and brutal opponent. Here was a third to add to the collection.

“Humbly?” I asked.

“Indubitably,” he said.

“You’re being paid then?”

“Handsomely.”

“The newspapers haven’t mentioned the treaty. When is it due?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Then you should be at the internment camp!”

“It’s not so easy. Yet it may be achieved. The principle is this – we lodge some spurious appeal against her extradition. It cannot win. But neither can it be ignored. Thus, they must hold a hearing. But in that time the second law will have been signed – and your friend still on this side of the border.”

“Then do it!” I cried.

“But our appeal – it must have grounds. Enough to force a judge to take consideration. We cannot say she was born in the Republic – there’s a birth certificate to prove otherwise. Thus we must claim some failure of process. If she was perhaps arrested without proper caution…”

“I wasn’t there to see.”

“Or if her treatment was degrading.”

“We were chained.”

“You were prisoners. Chains are part of the uniform, so to speak.”

“At first they didn’t feed us.”

“But they did eventually.”

“And they gave us no light. They–…”

“No light?” he cut in. “That will do. Indeed that’s perfect. With no light one cannot prepare a legal defence. There are precedents. But we need a witness. Could you testify to this effect?”

“I can’t go to the camp,” I said. “They’d send me across the border with the rest of them.”

“No, no, no,” he said with a trill. “For the same appeal can be lodged both ways. You each testify for the other.”

I examined his face, animated now with anticipation. To win a case against the Republic – he would be the toast of the London lawyers for years to come.

“What guarantee do I have?”

“You have the law, Miss Barnabus. The law shall be your guarantee. Even the governments of our nations must bow down before it.”

I had never before travelled by private airship. We took off from a mooring pole at the back of the mansion. The pilot shook our hands as we climbed aboard. Romero and I were the only passengers. The carriage was small, there being but four seats behind the pilot. The envelope above us was narrow. And though there was but one propeller, we accelerated more rapidly than I would have thought possible. Within minutes we had reached our flying altitude and the landscape was slipping past beneath us.

Romero leaned back with his hands behind his head. He was in his element – riding high at the expense of the Republic, flying in luxury to take on a different arm of the same government. He had been commissioned to save Tulip. I trusted him that far and no further.

I watched him exploring the walnut cabinets in front of his seat. One contained cut- glass decanters. He poured himself a brandy. His nostrils flared as he swirled the glass.

“Republicans, eh?. Behind closed doors they’re no different from us.” Then he threw back his drink in one, his eyes fixed on mine as he swallowed. “You’re most loyal to your friend,” he said.

“I’m in her debt.”

“Honour among thieves?”

“We’re not thieves.”

“True,” he said. “You’re merely an absconder and she... do you even know her story?” He must have seen that I didn’t. “Ah – you should choose your friends with care, Elizabeth. Tulip Slater is notorious. She killed her own father, accusing him after the event of unbearable provocation and sundry abuses. But him not being alive to answer, it was she who would stand trial. Except that she ran. A court case awaits her. She would hang, no doubt, if it was put to the test. The public are hungry for every detail that would emerge.”

The airship came down at the Anstey Terminus, drifting to a stop behind the main hangars in an area I’d not seen before. The
m
inister must have sent a pigeon ahead because a steam car was waiting for us, luxurious as the airship had been. The interior walls and ceiling were upholstered in grey velvet.

I was closing the door, but Romero put out a hand to stop me. A cadaverous man whose jacket was too short for his arms had been loitering close by. He ducked low as he climbed into the carriage. Once he had folded himself into his seat, Romero offered an introduction:

“Elizabeth Barnabus. William Carlton.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“I’m to be witness,” said the man.

“I thought that was my job.”

“It’s complicated,” said Romero.

With the door closed, the boom and hiss of the engine was suddenly quiet. I watched the countryside slipping past, remembering my escape along the same road. The place where I had lain hidden next to the hedge seemed quite different in daylight. I craned my neck to keep it in view after we passed.

“Don’t tell me you’ve seen something interesting in this god-awful place?” Romero said.

“How much money have you made since crossing the border?” I asked.

“Five hundred and eighteen guineas.”

The witness, William Carlton, squirmed with embarrassment. Whatever his role was to be, he was a Republican sure enough.

“Is that sufficient for you?” I asked.

Romero didn’t catch the disgust in my voice.

“No amount is enough. But I might yet earn some more. You have to look on the bright side, eh?”

I felt myself tensing up as the car turned onto a narrow lane and I caught a first glimpse of green painted huts through the trees. Then we rolled into the clearing, just as I had done in the black Maria a lifetime ago.

“Leave the talking to me,” said Romero.

The constables wanted to put me in leg irons but Romero waved them away. Nevertheless they followed closely. The young constable was there – the one who had put the iron on my ankle and thus allowed me to escape. There was such hatred in his eyes that I found I couldn’t look at him.

We were escorted to the same hut in which I had met John Farthing. Tulip was waiting there, a constable standing on each side of her. Her expression of bewilderment crumbled to dismay as she saw me.

“It’s going to be all right,” I said.

Romero reached into his jacket pocket and produced a document. This he unfolded with a flourish. The thick paper crackled.

“I am today lodging this appeal against the detention of Tulip Slater pending deportation on the grounds of ill treatment, namely the deprivation of the means of illumination and thus the means of preparing her legal defence. The full argument is laid out here...” He passed the paper to the senior constable. “In accordance with the relevant statutes, detailed therein, I demand a hearing before a judge. A sworn affidavit by Elizabeth Barnabus is presented as evidence in appendix A. She being here to sign as witness.”

He then retrieved the papers and flattened them on the wooden wall of the hut. I took the fountain pen he offered and signed where he’d marked a cross.

The senior
c
onstable’s face twisted into an expression of impotent fury. “She’s to be deported,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

“Alas, that will be impossible,” said Romero, with no attempt at sincerity.

The senior
c
onstable clicked his fingers and pointed at me. “We’ll have this one then.”

“Not so hasty,” said Romero, reaching inside his jacket once more and flourishing a second document. He unfolded the thick paper and read. “This is Elizabeth Barnabus, fugitive, scheduled for deportation tomorrow.”

I saw his expression change as he spoke the words. He’d been smug before. Now he positively gloated. “I hereby present her into your custody as witnessed by the public notary William Carlton.”

I’d feared betrayal but not been able to see how it might come.

He flattened the papers on the wall as before. I watched the cadaverous man sign and date the document.

“We appeal,” I said, already knowing it would not work. “There was no light for me either.”

“You have case documents?” asked the senior constable, on whose face a smile was now beginning to grow.

“Alas no,” said Romero. “That was never part of my commission. As ever, the devil hides in the detail. The Minister of Patents paid me to obtain the release of Tulip Slater. This I’ve done. He never mentioned your name.”

“But you said–…”

“You should have commissioned me from the start. I remember your words. A piano has been dropped from an airship and I was to tell you which way to jump. It was really very good. I may use it, myself. The piano has now landed. You’ll go back where you belong and I’ll receive my reward.”

He wafted the papers to let the ink dry then began refolding them.

No one had noticed as I dropped a hand into the pocket of my coat. But they heard the click as I pulled back the hammer. And they saw the pistol as I pressed it into the back of Romero’s head. He froze mid-movement.

Three more pistols clicked. The constables took aim in my direction.

“Don’t let her shoot me!” Romero cried.

“Put down the gun, Miss Barnabus.”

“I
will
shoot,” I said.

“If you must,” said the senior constable, without regret. I’d chosen the wrong head to aim at.

“No!” shrieked Romero.

I didn’t see the moment when Tulip sprang. But I heard the thud as the body of one of the constables fell. Suddenly everyone was moving at once. There was Tulip, kneeling by the felled man, his blood spreading across the floor, a knife protruding from his thigh. She had his gun and was aiming at the senior constable. If someone pulled a trigger, all the guns would fire.

“Run, Elizabeth!” she cried.

For a moment I hesitated. She seemed to read my thoughts. “I was never going back. The knife was meant for me.”

“You can still come with me!”

“No. Let me do this thing. It’s what I want.”

The last I saw, she was holding the gun in a double-handed grip and her face was serene. Then I’d closed the door and was marching back to the steam-car that had brought us. The driver jumped out when he saw me.

“The others won’t be joining us,” I said.

“Very good, Miss. Where to?”