The Bones of Ruin

by Sarah Raughley

  “That was a fun day of looting, wasn’t it?” Hawkins had said with a whimsical sigh of nostalgia. He looked to Max, but the expression of his friend was uncharacteristically grave. He knew as well as Iris did how dangerous this infiltration scheme would be. According to Benini’s loose tongue, the Crown’s aim was not only to research but to weaponize the supernatural.

  There was no telling what they’d find there. Iris wouldn’t let herself forget it as they walked down the wooden steps deeper and deeper beneath the Crystal Palace.

  Behind her she could feel the heat from Jinn on her right side, and Max to her left. The two shouldn’t have come. She hadn’t planned on them coming, but they’d insisted. The gas lamps affixed to the brick walls flickered with light. So much had happened between them. But she was grateful, at the very least. Grateful that they insisted.

  “Thank you,” she said in the temporary language Jacob had given them. It would last only a few more hours at the most. “Thank you for being here with me.” She didn’t want to admit the fear rising within her, but she was sure it was obvious.

  “I’d never let you do this alone,” answered Jinn. Max looked at the two of them but said nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, Iris could see Lucille’s lips curve into a sly smile. She must have thought the three of them were positively adorable.

  “Oi, shut it!” said one of the men a few steps below them, turning and sneering at them.

  Soon, they came to a set of iron doors. The sneering man opened it with a key, bringing them inside a dark cavern of corpses.

  The dirty clay walls, dimly lit with lamps, did not provide quite enough light for the men with rolled-up white sleeves, brown vests, and scalpels to work. The candles on the desks next to them helped them cut into their dead subjects lying on the wooden tables set up in two rows at each end of the room. A sudden pressure inside Iris’s skull tightened as the putrid smell of death slipped into her. The naked corpses were clean, but not the earthen floor beneath them or the buckets of organs carried to and fro. Adam was right. The Crown was far crueler than she could have ever imagined.

  The sight of one man, his body cut deep down the center, caused her to convulse into awful memories. Memories of knives…

  “Iris!” Jinn gripped her arm.

  “This’s the one Doctor Pratt’s been interested in, eh?” said a thick man with a brown mustache as he measured the skull of one corpse. “He went out but should be back soon. Why don’t you take these three to the Testing Chamber with all the other live ones?”

  The man who’d led them down to the Basement turned to Lucille. “There should be an empty preparation room you can store ’em in. I’ve got business. You can handle this on your own, right, James?”

  Lucille, whose false face had grown rather pale, coughed in the deepest voice she could muster and nodded resolutely, giving him a pat on the back.

  From the intelligence they’d gathered from Benini, they knew that the Basement was shaped almost like a giant keyhole, inside of which were four main chambers. They’d just visited the first: the Resurrection Chamber, affectionately called the Graveyard among the surgeons who made extra money by forming part of the Crown’s secret team of researchers. The next would be the Testing Chamber, where all manner of experiments were conducted upon living subjects. Farther back, the Research Chamber, colloquially referred to as the Factory. This was where the scientists would have taken the white crystal to study and tinker with. As for the last:

  “You’ll find the greatest secrets there,” Benini had told them. “The proof you want will be in the Grand Chamber—appropriately named, for it is the largest among them.”

  Underneath the high, flat ceiling of the Testing Chamber, dozens of rooms lined each side of the hallway. Benini had warned her that the Basement was labyrinthine—as expected for an underground hangar spanning the vast Crystal Palace. Aboveground, visitors could enjoy the spectacles of discovery and spoils of imperialism.

  But below:

  “Dear Lord,” mumbled Lucille.

  Wails. Iris heard wails coming from some of the closed wooden doors. For those doors left slightly open, she was able to peer through the gap. In one, a man lay on a metal table, his head hooked up to wires attached to a metal contraption hanging from the ceiling. The electrical current made him convulse down to his feet. Iris looked away the moment his mouth began frothing. In another, she saw two girls in a tank with shallow water brushing their heels as scientists surrounded them, measuring the temperature, watching their heavy eyelids flutter. A feeling of dread washed over Iris as she recognized their long locks of black hair.

  “The Sparrow twins,” Iris whispered. The doll-like girls who’d attacked them outside the British Museum. Even in this state, the two were holding hands. Squeezing.

  As researchers streamed in and out of rooms with bloody instruments and clipboards holding papers filled with numbers and scientific jargon, Jinn gripped her wrist.

  “Don’t make any hasty moves,” he said. She hadn’t realized she’d begun moving toward the twins. “We have to stay focused. We can’t afford to be trapped in a place like this.”

  Iris had known infiltrating the Basement would be dangerous even before Benini told them the details. But she wasn’t prepared for this—for this suffering and death.

  But she wasn’t alone. It comforted her while also fortifying her resolve. They came here with her. She had a responsibility to keep them safe and deliver what she’d promised: the truth.

  No matter how terrible it was.

  One of the researchers directed “James” to an empty room where the three captives were to wait before being transferred. It looked like a torture chamber from the Dark Ages. Bellerose would have been delighted. The iron candelabra. Walls made of clay and dark, misshapen bricks. Buckets of water upon a cushion of hay in the corners and small wooden tables filled with instruments. Very medieval.

  A researcher came in to tell James someone would relocate the specimens shortly.

  “And Miss… Uma Malakar?” Lucille said, coughing into her hand.

  “That odd woman’s still holed up in the Factory. I don’t like her attitude, but the wonders she’s brought us?” His blue eyes flashed with an eerie, macabre kind of excitement. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Bosch and his group will truly revolutionize the British Empire. At any rate, wait here a moment. Someone will be with you in ten minutes.”

  As soon as the door closed, Lucille’s smile collapsed. She let out a groan. “I’m not sure how long I can do this,” she said as she unfastened their ropes. “My faces don’t last very long.”

  Iris walked over to the central table and grasped the long white sheet crumpled on top. “Benini said there were double agents working in the Basement to spy on the Crown’s research developments on behalf of the Committee. John Temple did too once upon a time. There are at least a few in each chamber, some working as researchers, some as security patrollers. We’re champions. We need to find the Committee’s men and convince them we’re here on behalf of our Patron.”

  “I don’t need to tell you your plan is bafflingly dangerous.” Jinn crouched down by a water bucket in the corner, running his hand through his dark hair. “And Benini’s suggestion on how to get through this place seems so risky it borders on ludicrous.”

  “But you came with me anyway.” Iris shyly shifted on her feet as she added, “Crank.”

  Jinn bit his lip, taken aback, as the two looked at each other without saying a word.

  “Sounds like an adventure to me.” Max smirked, breaking the silence.

  Jinn cleared his throat. “Not to be rude, but hearing that from someone incapable of grasping the gravity of situations isn’t exactly comforting.”

  He clearly meant to be rude. Iris’s cheeks burned as she thought of what happened inside the brothel. And yet, even after everything, before they’d left Wilton’s Hall, Jinn had whispered this into her ear:

  “No matter what happened before or what h
appens next, I won’t let this go wrong. I’ll do everything you need me to. And I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He’d said it with an almost noncommittal air, and yet the gentleness with which he squeezed her hand spoke volumes—volumes of a language she had yet to fully understand.

  “Hey, I’m serious. We can do this, no matter how big the risk.” Max looked around at the others for affirmation. “Right, Lucy?”

  Lucille gaped. “Don’t dare lump me in with you. I’m terrified.” She was picking at James’s hair. “Ugh, it’s starting to itch. Oh, to be done with this ordeal so I can return to my former beauty.”

  Her exaggerated gestures while wearing a man’s face almost made Iris smile before she remembered it was the face of a man she’d burned alive.

  She gripped her own wrist, clamping down on its steadily rising pulse. All she wanted was resolution. Peace. For that they needed to find Malakar.

  After a deep sigh, she spotted a fire poker in the corner of the room. She didn’t want to imagine what “scientific purpose” it served in a place filled with human experimentation. But maybe it was better to picture the kind of horrors that could be awaiting her. She had to be prepared for anything.

  Their ten minutes were almost up. Lucille retied their hands, this time looser as Iris instructed. Soon a researcher opened the door and beckoned them forward.

  “Rooms 3A2 and 3B3 are prepared. We’ll be taking the two male specimens there. As for the female, a special room has been prepared for her.” The man gave an almost wicked grin. “We’ve sent word to Doctor Pratt. He’ll be quite happy to see her.”

  Iris flinched, but she kept herself composed. Gritting her teeth, she stared the man deep in the eyes and said: “The Enlightened.”

  “What?” The man tilted his head. “This one speaks English? But does she know what she’s saying?”

  Their first failure. No matter. Iris had anticipated this.

  The researcher walked with “James” down the halls, and whenever she spotted someone rushing by, either she, Max, or Jinn would say it: “The Enlightened.”

  But all she received were odd stares.

  “James, can’t we shut them up?” said the researcher, annoyed when all James did was cough and shrug.

  Around several corners and halls, they continued to speak those two words. At one point, Iris heard the researcher sigh and mumble, “Well, they’ll be shut up soon enough, won’t they?” With his slight figure, he didn’t seem the fighting type. Whining was his way of dealing with their constant eruptions. Lucky for them. It wasn’t time for them to raise a fuss—not yet.

  Eventually they reached the third section of the Testing Chamber.

  Damn Benini, thought Iris, the rope hot against her wrists. He’d made it seem like there were double agents littering the halls. If they didn’t find someone soon, they’d be separated.

  This hallway was more crowded than most. They were approaching Jinn’s room. This was her last chance.

  “The Enlightened!” she cried, her voice echoing down the halls, making everyone stop and stare at her. Researchers even poked their heads out through the doors of their rooms.

  It worked.

  As things started to settle and researchers returned to their work, one very short brown-haired man with chubby cheeks and a pair of burgundy suspenders slyly switched his trajectory, heading for them. He seemed interested in his notes as he approached and soon was walking with them. The moment he whispered to Iris, “Shall never die,” she knew she’d crossed the first hurdle.

  The Enlightened shall never die. The code phrase to identify the spies of the Committee.

  Together they walked into 3A2. This man, Mr. Jonas, dismissed the men inside, citing some excuse. He almost shoved James out the door, but Iris stopped him. “He’s one of us.”

  “Mr. James?” Mr. Jonas peered at him. “I had no idea.”

  When Lucille nodded, Mr. Jonas gave him a suspicious look but didn’t press.

  Iris lowered her voice. “We’re here on behalf of Lord Temple. We’re his champions. He’s sent us to find out the progress of Uma Malakar’s work.”

  The Committee knew Bosch cared only for his own business. But they let him do as he pleased. This way, they could steal Malakar’s work for the Crown when it was ready.

  “A progress report is due to the Committee in just under a month,” said the man.

  “He needs it now. We don’t know why,” Jinn insisted. “We work for him just as you work for the Committee. Otherwise, how could we be here?”

  From Mr. Jonas’s perspective it made sense. There was no way anyone was supposed to know about this place, least of all the Committee’s personal entertainers.

  Mr. Jonas nodded. “She’s in the Factory. I’ll lead you four to her.”

  Around another few corners and finally through a set of iron double doors, Mr. Jonas led them into a spacious room that looked like an actual factory. There were so many wires hanging down from ceiling rods, attached to rows of wheels. But what they were spinning wasn’t gold.

  The white crystal… Iris felt a shiver deep in her flesh. Crystal shards rolled over the wheels like sheets of chain mail. How they’d even managed to break it down and re-shape the ore was beyond her. There were boxes of gears and nails by the far-left wall in front of a row of strange metal tubes. Iris was surprised by how many plain-dressed women were inside, working the wheels, and men sweeping the floors of white dust round the long clay columns. Mr. Jonas took them to the front of the room, where there was no machinery but sacks filled with unknown substances piled next to a wooden door on the left. He knocked politely and walked inside.

  “Miss Malakar. The servants of one of Bosch’s colleagues are here to see you.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say servants—” Max started, only to be nudged in the ribs by Lucille.

  “Bosch’s colleague, you say.”

  A few men Iris had seen accompany Uma at the train station stood quietly at the end of the room. The woman set down her magnifying glass on a table filled with shattered rocks of white crystal and, sweeping her blue sari to the side, turned to them. Mr. Jonas left them alone, shutting the door behind him just as Uma’s brown eyes locked onto Iris.

  “You.” She picked up her monocle from the table, cleared off a bit of white dust, and peered through it at Iris. “Aren’t you that beggar I spared?”

  “That was a misunderstanding,” Iris said, gulping nervously. She looked behind her to make sure Jonas was really gone. “We didn’t tell Mr. Jonas, but we’re actually Mr. Bosch’s champions,” she lied.

  “Oh, that silly tournament.” Uma raised a pierced eyebrow. “Are you now?”

  “He doesn’t want anyone to know we’re here on his orders,” Iris elaborated. Approaching Malakar as Bosch’s agents, pretending to be on his side. Iris hoped to the heavens it would work. “I’ve been sent to fetch the journal that belonged to Lord Temple’s father. Mr. Bosch needs it.”

  Uma slanted her neck. “Does he now?”

  The woman barely ever blinked. Her gaze was uncompromising. It didn’t seem like Benini or even Adam knew that Uma had the journal. How in the world did Bosch retrieve it without any of them knowing? The members of the Enlightenment Committee were playing a dangerous game among themselves. Iris couldn’t afford to make the wrong move.

  But what if Uma already knew the identity of Bosch’s real champions? Iris’s pulse raced at the sudden thought. She stayed calm, readying another excuse before Uma shrugged, pulled out the black leather-bound journal from her brown pouch, and held it out. Everyone stared, bewildered.

  “Take it,” she said with another shrug.

  Iris hesitated. Was it a trap? She couldn’t be sure. But she couldn’t pass this up. As her hands were still tied, she beckoned for Lucille to go ahead. Tiptoeing closer, Lucille snatched the journal as if from the jaws of a lion. But when she opened the book…

  “What are these?” Iris leaned over, baffled, as Lucille flipped t
hrough quickly.

  Symbols. Shapes. Letters and numbers out of sync and order.

  “It’s a code, of course. You really think Temple would leave his research unguarded?” Uma gave her a mocking, piteous look.

  There was, at least, one symbol Iris recognized as Lucille flipped through the journal. A picture, rather. A picture of a key she recognized.

  It was small. Two rings overlapping. A crown upon its head. A sun and its shadow.

  Jinn, Max, and Lucille knew it too as they peered at the page together. It was the same shape as the skeleton keys from the first round.

  “The Moon Skeleton,” Uma told them, brushing a loose strand of black hair from her face as she approached them. “An ancient artifact excavated from Lake Victoria decades ago. It’s lost to us now. And what a shame, because there’s one thing John Temple’s work makes clear: without the Moon Skeleton, we can’t operate the Helios. Finding his journal was hard enough. But wherever Temple is now, I imagine he’s not giving up that Skeleton so easily.”

  Wherever Temple is now? Did she… did she and Bosch know that Adam’s father was alive? Iris searched the woman’s unknowable eyes.

  Uma stopped in front of her. “But now that you’re here, Iris, perhaps we can rectify that.”

  Iris’s muscles seized as Uma snatched back John Temple’s journal and flipped through the pages. “Miss Iris. Doctor Pratt said you’d be coming,” Uma said casually. “That it was only a matter of time. But to think it was the beggar girl all along.” She laughed at the happenstance of it all, shaking her head. “John’s work details the experiments conducted on you in grim detail, at least from what I’ve decoded so far. I’m actually quite sorry you had to go through that,” Uma added, her voice softening a little, and in that moment, even in Iris’s stunned state, that softness felt genuine. “Such a pretty girl. The description of you fits perfectly.”

  Experiments. Iris closed her eyes and could feel the knives cutting into her.

  “Gorton Zoo.”

  Uma’s words stopped Iris cold. The woman flipped the book shut, tapping the black cover. “On that horrible day, after your rampage, you were subdued and taken to Cambridge University. Pratt was a budding scientist then, but given the description of what he did to you, he was as ruthless then as he is now.” She narrowed her eyes. “I hate men like him. Unfortunately, I have to work with filth every so often. My job is what it is. And to be honest, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.” Her eyes widened, glinting sharply like glass. “Curious about you… about the truth of your monstrosity…”