“Oh yes, lovely woman, your mother.”
“You know my mother?” I touched my throat, where my charms used to be.
“Oh yes. But no, not really. I’ve not actually met her.” He busied himself with a small gas burner and teapot. “Saw a woman brought up to this floor. Her name was Kohl. I peeked in on her once to make sure she was all right. She was quite drugged but lovely, simply lovely.” He studied me momentarily. “I do see the resemblance, yes, yes I do. Now where was I, and where are my manners? My name is Hanover Gentry, expert on poisons. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He smiled, his teeth tiny nubs in his mouth. “Would you care for some tea?”
“I . . . I’d love some. Thank you, Mr. Gentry.” I watched him flurry about. “But please, can you tell me where my mother is?”
“Have a seat, have a seat, please.” He took my hand and walked me over to a wooden table. I sat on the long bench at its side. “You must be tired from the climb, yes? Such a distance. You’re a curious one, yes you are.”
“Mr. Gentry, please, I have to know where my mother is.”
He looked at the floor, shuffling his feet. “Well now.” He put a hand on the side of his mouth, as if someone might overhear, and whispered, “You do know she’s insane, do you not? Completely barmy, mad as a hatter. Sees things in her head. She’s in the padded cell down the hall, poor thing. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, truly I am.”
“She is not mad,” I insisted.
He lifted his eyebrows and looked at me as if I was being foolish. I hastily changed the subject; perhaps I could draw out more information another way. “Mr. Gentry, what is that thing, with the eye?”
He brightened. I noticed his bristly beard looked as if he’d hacked at it with a knife and no mirror, and he wore the same prison clothing as me.
“Why that”—he pointed at the giant reel of tubing—“that is my own invention. I call her Sally, Slithering Sally. She’s a beauty, eh?” He smiled, puffing up his chest. “They had her fabricated at a big foundry in Brooklyn.”
Could he mean the Works? Does my strange connection to this place never end?
Gentry rattled on. “There are a hundred tiny mirrors inside. Bit hard to handle, but Sally sees all, she does. I designed her to see into the pits of this place when it was flooding. Toxic down there it was, yes sirree.”
“You mean the prison—the Tombs?” I asked, eyeing Sally, whose copper segments had aged to verdigris green.
“Oh yes, yes indeedy.” He tapped his head. “Built back in 1838. It was my job to make sure the toxins didn’t kill the prisoners before they were hanged. I had them install shafts to vent the toxic air. Tsk, tsk, built it on a swampy bog, they did. Used to be the slaughterhouse dumping grounds. She’s been slowly sinking since the day they set the cornerstone in place. I’m surprised the damp walls don’t weep pig’s blood, truly I am.”
A twitchy quiver ran up my back. “What a horrid thought.”
“Yes indeedy. Tea’s ready.” The kettle whistled, and he poured two steaming cups. I accepted one and held the cup in my hands to warm them.
“If you helped build the prison, why are you a prisoner yourself? Or are you? I just assumed from your clothing . . .” I certainly did not want to offend him.
“You assume correctly, my dear. A long story, it is, but suffice it to say I poisoned my supervisor. Had a bit of a temper as a young-un, I did.” Mr. Gentry climbed up onto a metal stool. “Would’ve been the first one in the gallows, yes I would, but they gave me a reprieve as long as I continued to run the lab. They’re always in need of some chemical or other. Been here since I was twenty-one years old, I have.” His face drooped as he said this. He rested his chin on his fist. “Where was I? Oh yes, this Spector fellow. He’s taken things too far, in my humble opinion, reopening the lower levels and messing with substances he shouldn’t.”
“Mr. Gentry, I want to ask you about that.” I pretended to sip the tea, not wanting to offend but not about to drink a brew from a self-professed poisoner. “Dr. Spector is using something to control people—a serum.”
“Ah yes, the serum. It’s borrachero extract and blood, mixed with an anticoagulant, of course. Using it on people, you say?” Mr. Gentry looked up, a shocked expression on his wrinkled features. For his age, his bright eyes sparked with intelligence. “Oh no. No, no, no, that just won’t do. Told me he was using it on the rats, he did. Never did like that fellow, something malevolent about him. Sounds funny coming from one who slipped his boss some arsenic, but let me tell you, he had it coming, oh yes he did.” His shoulders shuddered. “That Spector scares me. Makes my flesh creep, he does.”
“Dr. Spector is evil,” I agreed forcefully.
He finished his tea and stood. “Now, if you please, follow me.”
We returned to the magical fairy grove, the white flowers hanging in beautiful profusion. “Devil’s breath,” Mr. Gentry said, pointing at one. “Or the borrachero tree, as it’s called in New Granada. It’s completely poisonous.”
These lovely flowers are poisonous? It was hard to believe.
He tightened his lips. “Dr. Spector had me import it for his experiments. Dangerous stuff, it is.”
I rubbed my arms, suddenly feeling cold. “Mr. Gentry, if you agree he’s gone too far, please help me. I must find my mother and two friends that are being held prisoner. It’s urgent.” To press my case further, I added, “Dr. Spector has committed murder for his wicked cause.” I knew of Roland Malice. It was quite possible there were others.
“Terrible, simply terrible. Of course, there’s no way for me to help you. No way. That Dr. Spector will have my head, he will.” His eyes blinked rapidly as he shook his head.
I had to figure out a way to get his support. My second sight? I slowed my breathing. Again, it seemed easier in this place. Pale light surrounded Mr. Gentry. In my mind’s eye, I saw a younger Mr. Gentry cowering before Dr. Spector. “You work for me, Gentry, or you go to the gallows.”
I tried pushing energy toward Mr. Gentry, but he seemed lost. He’d just experienced the same memory. Fear was embedded in his bones. I could not alter it.
I felt as helpless as Dr. Spector claimed I was. There had to be another way. I pointed at the glass ceiling. “Couldn’t we find a way to go out through the roof?”
“Oh no. Not sure how we’d get you up that high, but even if we could fashion some sort of ladder, you’d be fried to a cinder, woo-hoo, burned to a crisp. They run electricity through the metal framework.” The lens of his magnifying glass reflected the green mercury-vapor lamps from the airships above. “Oh dear, oh dear, what a predicament. I’ve lived most of my life in this very room, yes indeedy. Not sure there’s hope for your mum, loopy as she is, but a young lass such as yourself shouldn’t be in here, no sir. I had a gal once. Her name was Ginny—Virginia, but I called her Ginny. Wonder what happened to her . . .” He stared at the moon, drifting off into his memories.
I couldn’t imagine—so many years in the Tombs. “Mr. Gentry, don’t you miss the outside world?”
“Yes? Oh, yes. The outside world, you say? I miss my Ginny, I suppose, but what I really miss is Pepper.”
“Pepper?”
“My parrot.” He placed his hands on his heart. “I do miss talking to him, I do.”
“I’ve never seen a parrot.”
Mr. Gentry pulled a woven pouch from his shirt. From within, he fished out a piece of worn folded paper: a pencil sketch of a bird with a curved beak and long tail feathers. “Taught him to speak, I did. He was quite the chatterbox. I’d do anything to have Pepper here to talk to.” He glanced up at the moon. “Oh deary me, look at that. Time to go.”
Without another word, he ushered me toward the ladder.
“But—”
“No ifs, ands, or buts about it. You must go. My head will roll, it will, if you are caught here.” He smiled crookedly, as if half of him was suspended in dismay, the other half in decorum. “I’ve enjoyed our visit, though, I have.
”
I stepped down onto the ladder, into the shaft. A panicky feeling crept into my gut. “Please, Mr. Gentry, can’t you help me?”
“No, no, no, absolutely not. There is no way. I’m very sorry, I am,” he said as he bustled away.
I took a long look at the moon. Will I ever see it again?
Chapter Thirty-One
Pepper
Mr. Gentry had said my mother was in a cell down the hall on his floor. I had to try to find her. The only other opening in this shaft was directly across from the one into the greenhouse. The problem was, the ladder was on this side. If I fell, I’d break every bone in my body.
Leaving the lantern on the floor, close to the opening, I held the top rung with one hand and stretched out with the other. My fingers tried to grip the stone ledge, but it was too slick with algae.
Quietly, I climbed back into the greenhouse. I’d seen a pile of scrap wood that looked like it’d come from the construction of the tree house. I found a thick board and slid it inch by inch across the shaft into the other opening. I held my breath as I gingerly crawled across, pushing the lantern. The board groaned but held fast. I entered another tunnel.
My nerves tingled as I peered through the bars of a small opening at floor level. My lantern only lit the room so far, but it appeared empty. I continued to the next one.
Lying down, I peeked through. The walls were padded. I sucked in my breath as the light caught a glint of auburn hair in the distance. It had to be my mother’s. I realized with dismay that she must be sleeping on the floor.
“Mother? Mother, can you hear me?” I was afraid to speak loudly, but to be so close without being able to communicate with her was agonizing. Then I remembered Mr. Gentry saying she was drugged. After calling out a few more times, I knew it was useless. I had to go.
Using the string, I easily found my way back to my room and closed the grate.
Too agitated to sleep, I spent the rest of the night thinking about my mother. Eventually, a morning nurse came in with milk and bread. When she left, I dozed, exhausted from the events of the night, until the evening nurse entered to escort me to the washroom. Once I was alone for the night, I found myself pacing, agonizing over my predicament.
Mr. Gentry seemed like a decent sort of gentleman murderer, but how could I get him to help me? I wished my second sight was more like Indigo’s. Hurricane and I had decided my abilities worked best with people who were doing something that went against their morals. Apparently, that didn’t apply here. And I had to think of something else before Spector came for me on November twelfth. The inside of my arm tingled, as if my bruises were alive.
A crazy, probably impossible idea crept into my mind. But I was willing to try anything, and Mr. Gentry was loony enough that he might just go for it.
Again, I made up the shape of a person under the sheets and grabbed the lantern. Once I climbed up to the greenhouse, it was not difficult to find Mr. Gentry. I simply followed the sound of his snores. I placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Oh heavens! Who’s there?” He stared up at me, eyes bleary with sleep. “Oh no, Miss Avery. You should not be here. Not again, no sir.”
“Mr. Gentry, no one comes to my room at night, so as long as I’m back before morning, no one will know.”
“No, no, you must go.” He jumped up. “But before you do, care for some tea?”
He couldn’t help himself. “Yes, that would be nice.” I watched with interest as he struck a match and lit the single-burner kerosene stove, just as he’d done last night. It looked like a lantern, but the wick was circular and set into a perforated sleeve. I can work with that.
“Mr. Gentry, would you be willing to help me if I could make you a life-size replica of your parrot, Pepper?” I blurted out. Could I actually do it? I wasn’t sure. Hopefully, yes.
He stopped, teapot in hand. “Pepper, you say? Oh, deary me, my long-lost Pepper. How I would love to have my Pepper back. But I don’t know, surely I don’t, how you would do such a thing as that.”
“Leave that part to me. In the meantime, will you help me come up with a plan to escape? I have no one else to turn to.”
He tapped his head and whirled around in a circle, muttering to himself. “I just don’t know. . . . Spector will send me off to the gallows, he will.”
“Please, Mr. Gentry. Spector is hurting people. I must get out of here.”
Mr. Gentry turned to me, wringing his hands. “Is Spector truly using my serum on people, as you say?”
“Yes, I saw him force someone to jump to his death.” I looked down, reliving the memory. Then I lifted my chin and fixed him with a steady gaze. “Mr. Gentry, Dr. Spector is also selling your serum to powerful men who intend to use it against people of every nationality that have come here to work toward a better life. They plan to divide and control them. He must be stopped before it’s too late.”
“Selling it, you say? My, oh my.” His eyebrows pinched fiercely together like two spiky caterpillars, and his face splotched with red. It was the first time I’d seen him angry. “I will, I will help you. I’ll noodle it over, but I warn you now, it is impossible, simply impossible, to get out of the Tombs. And if that Spector fellow starts asking questions, I’ll deny everything, I will.” He folded his hands together in front of his chest, softening his expression. “Will you still make Pepper for me?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Gentry. Shake on it?” I extended my hand, which he pumped vigorously. “I’ll need that stove. And do you have any more kerosene?”
After his kettle boiled, he showed me to his workbench in the back of the greenhouse. Gingerly, he moved a host of jars and vials filled with powders and liquids of various color and density to clear a space for me to work.
“You simply must not touch any of these chemicals,” he said. “I have to keep strict inventory, I do, and I will be in quite a predicament if anything is amiss, I will.”
Something like trust flickered in his eyes, though, as he placed the sketch of Pepper on the work surface.
Making sure I was not near any of his poisonous concoctions, I set up the stove while questioning him on the types of supplies he had in his space. Then he ran about retrieving the items I asked for: an extra canister of kerosene oil, an old copper teacup, a pair of gardening shears, gloves, a spool of tin utility wire he used to support plants, and some goggles he had for working with chemicals. Lastly, I told Mr. Gentry I needed a small section of Sally; it would not affect her ability to slither, I assured him. We cut off what I hoped was enough and wound her back onto the spool.
“While I work, can you use Sally and try to see where they’re holding a Gypsy boy my age, or a blond girl, or a young boy with curly brown hair?” I did not know how many others there were, but I described in detail what Indigo, Hurricane, and the boy from the street looked like.
I hope I can do this. I donned the canvas gloves and set to work. Using the shears, I sliced the copper cup down one side and made a hole in the bottom. I pressed the sides together to form a cone shape, leaving only a tiny opening at the top, and took apart all the thin segments from Sally, cutting them into the shapes I needed, glancing occasionally at the sketch: small feathers for the head and chest; long wing and tail feathers; a wide, curved beak. Wedging the copper cone onto the burner, I lit the stove. If I could concentrate the heat enough, I could melt the tin wire. The Works had taught me well: tin had a very low melting point compared to copper.
I turned up the wick and lowered the goggles. With a copper piece in one hand and the tin in the other, I placed the tip of the wire into the flame coming from the opening in the cone. Please melt.
It took longer than I’d hoped, but the wire slowly turned bright silver and then dripped onto the copper. I made a line of the melted tin and pressed another piece of copper to the first. As soon as the metals cooled, the tin would harden, fastening the two pieces together.
The hours slipped away, much as they
’d done back at the Works, the familiar actions calming my agitated nerves.
When Mr. Gentry tapped me on the back, I jumped.
“Time to skedaddle, it is,” he said. “Is Pepper finished?”
“Don’t peek. I need ten more minutes.” I continued melting the tin wire and overlapping the copper pieces as Pepper took his final shape. As a finishing touch, I turned a screw from Sally into either side of Pepper’s head. Two beady parrot eyes.
Holding up Mr. Gentry’s sketch, I compared it to my assemblage. It was remarkably close, even if the body somewhat resembled a falcon. The large head and long tail definitely said “parrot.” It was a good thing I knew a lot about birds and their body structure. Although crude in comparison to my father’s or Geeno’s mechanizations, the overall effect was of smooth feathers with a beautiful patina from the various shades of copper. And, of course, the welds were perfect. I’d even crafted adjustable claws so Pepper could sit upon a branch.
I propped Pepper on the bench and went to find Mr. Gentry.
He took one look at the copper replica and burst into tears. “Pepper! He’s wonderful. It looks quite like him, it does. Sally is useful, but she has no personality.”
“I’m very glad you like it.” I scrunched up my nose and pointed to the table. “Mr. Gentry, I know you said not to disturb anything—and I didn’t, I promise—but I accidentally knocked the table. A jar tipped over and spilled. I’m so sorry. I would have cleaned it up, but you said not to touch it.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I must get it back in the jar.” With a tiny metal spatula, he carefully scooped up every grain, murmuring, “They weigh every substance, they do.” When he was done, he breathed out a long sigh. “You were lucky, very lucky indeed. This is iron oxide. Harmless stuff. Good thing you did not knock over the one next to it. A good thing indeed.”
I looked at the tiny glass bottle. Inside was a yellow liquid. “Why? What is it?”
“It is sulfuric acid, it is. It’ll eat through most anything. It will eat your flesh right to the bone, it will.”
The Tombs Page 24
