The Dead Gentleman

by Matthew Cody

  Macheath had backed up a number of steps, positioning himself securely on the other side of the bilge doorway. The lurking shadows and demons had retreated to their holes. The Gentleman’s bony face managed an expression almost like a smile—predators always knew when something fiercer had entered their territory, and this was fiercer by far.

  “Find the female,” the Gentleman said. “Smell her out and kill her. Bring me Learner alive if you can, but I want her dead.”

  Horrible jaws opened in the mockery of a roar, but no sound came out as the newly risen thing slouched its way out of the bilge in search of its prey.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TOMMY

  ABOARD THE NAUTILUS, 1900

  “How’s the Captain?” asked Bernard, his whisper just barely audible over the hum of the ship’s engines.

  I was staring at the blue-black waters of our familiar Atlantic Ocean as it passed the porthole outside, but my head was still back in the Hidden City.

  “He’s sick, but he’ll be all right,” I lied. The Captain had indeed healed from the worst of the Grave Walkers’ beating, but he’d taken ill with something much worse. The time spent in that dank corpse pit had done something to his lungs. Every breath the man took now crackled like paper. In my time as a street scavenger, I’d seen enough sickness to know the difference between the ones who would get better and those who wouldn’t. The Captain was dying.

  Thinking back, it might’ve been wrong to lie to Bernard. It was probably a violation of some Explorer’s Code of Conduct, withholding information from a fellow Explorer and all. But Bernard was still reeling from the news that the Academy was destroyed and all the people there, dead. The boy had signed up to be an Explorer, not a soldier. He wasn’t prepared for a war. So I decided to spare him the truth of Captain Scott’s condition. While I could, anyway.

  “Want to lend me a hand and put on a pot of tea?” I asked. With the Captain sick in bed, Bernard was a ball of nervous energy, shuffling from foot to foot, absently drumming his fingers on the brass safety rails. Putting his body to a task might do him some good.

  “Sure. How do you take it? Lemon and sugar?”

  “It’s not for me,” I said. “It’s for the Captain. And he likes it with a pour of milk.”

  Bernard nodded. “Of course. Right. I’ll be just a minute.”

  “Take your time. He’s dozing.”

  I watched as Bernard hurried off to the canteen—the small kitchen/dining hall where we took our meals. I waited until Bernard was well out of earshot before opening the giant oval door to the Captain’s quarters.

  Scott’s room reflected the best and the worst about the man. On the one hand, it was as neat and tidy a space as I’ve seen, especially considering the amount of stuff he had crammed in there. It served not just as the Captain’s sleeping quarters but also as a kind of museum of his various adventures. A generous library full of books from dozens of worlds sat on a glass-enclosed bookshelf. Bizarre relics rested on bolted-down pedestals (we were on a ship, after all). Carved idols, ancient weapons and odd devices were displayed everywhere. In one corner rested an original folio of Shakespeare’s plays, right next to a dusky glass globe that held a miniature city, peopled with colored pinpoints of light that actually cooed at you when you approached. It was quite a thing.

  On the other hand, it was impossible to look around that room and not recognize the Captain’s considerable ego—to not get the impression that you’d wandered into a museum dedicated to the life and times of Captain Jonathan Scott, designed and built by Captain Jonathan Scott, and starring Captain Jonathan Scott.

  A life that was ending. Surrounded by his trophies and keepsakes lay the Captain in his canopied bed, covered in sheets of rich silks. His mustache was, as always, perfectly groomed, and he was wearing a ridiculously ornate nightcap patterned with the winged-cog symbol of the Explorers’ Society. But the man’s cheeks were sunken, and his once-ruddy nose had turned as pale as his linens—its fire all gone out.

  Merlin perched on the bed’s headboard, his little face tilting this way and that. Scott was awake and watching me through drooping half slits.

  “You send Bernard away?” he asked.

  “Yes, like you told me. He’s off looking for milk for your tea—I’ve hidden it and it’ll take him ten minutes to realize there isn’t any.”

  Scott smiled. “Sometimes I suspect the boy’s spectacles only work one way and he’s got them on backward.”

  “Too bad for an Explorer.”

  “Poor Bernard is not an Explorer and he never will be,” said the Captain, wheezing slightly at the ends of his words. “He doesn’t have the stuff. Not like me. Not like you.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, sir. He’s a wonkish bookworm, but he tries.”

  “What I’m saying is no slight on the boy’s character; he’s a fine lad. But facts are facts. Now come closer. I can’t keep up all this shouting.”

  The two of us hadn’t been shouting at all, far from it. In fact I’d had to strain to make out everything the Captain was saying. Still, I pulled up a richly embroidered stool and sat down next to him.

  “I’m dying, Tommy. You know that, don’t you?”

  I nodded. I suppose some might expect that I’d protest or even cry, but the truth is, I’d seen enough people die in my young life that I’d given up on tears. Before I’d ever heard of the Explorers, I’d seen death take folks in far worse ways. The one truth of street life is, you never die in a comfortable bed.

  No, I’d mourn the Captain in my own way, but I’d be lashed before I’d show it.

  “I wish I could’ve lived to see the wonders of this new century,” said Scott. “The things you will witness! Still. I am thankful for the life I’ve led. I lifted the Veil of reality and saw the truth of the cosmos. But a different sort of veil is falling over me now, and I’ve still much to tell you. Things you mustn’t share with the crew.”

  The rest of the crew was, of course, Bernard alone. The Captain’s grasp on real life had been especially slippery these last few days. That faraway look that sometimes came and went had come to stay.

  “You saw what happened in the Hidden City. The Academy destroyed. The Explorers all dead. That must not be allowed to pass here on Earth.”

  I pictured the Academy as it had been just a short time ago—bright and shining. A bit dull, yes, but still beautiful. And then I remembered what we’d just escaped—white buildings dipped in blood.

  “Could such a thing happen here?” I asked. “Surely not. The Academy was made up of a few thousand people, if that. He can’t conquer an entire planet!”

  “There is no limit to the Gentleman’s power except one—the soulless undead cannot walk in the light of the sun. Right now, that is the only protection we have against him. He’d be powerless during the day; it might even destroy him. Yet the Gentleman risked a visit to our world before, to get Merlin. But he failed to keep hold of him, thanks to you and your sticky fingers. It was our good luck that you interrupted whatever it is he has planned for our little friend.” With that, he glanced up at Merlin and smiled. The bird answered him with a sweet, sad song.

  “Tommy, you have to stop him!”

  “Me? But I’m one boy …”

  “You are an Explorer! That means something!” This time the Captain did raise his voice, and the exertion sent him into a coughing spasm that shook the bed. As he hacked, I could hear the fluid bubbling in his lungs, blood perhaps.

  When the cough subsided, I handed him a glass of water from his nightstand.

  “Even before the Academy fell, we’d lost our spines,” he said after taking a sip. “You said it yourself. We’d become a society of old men or, at best, scribes like poor Bernard. Explorers are supposed to risk everything because that is how everything is won!

  “After I die, you’ll be the last one. The last Explorer. The only one worthy of the name, and it’ll be up to you to make sure that the Gentleman doesn’t get a hold on our world.” />
  I swallowed. The responsibility of what Scott was saying loomed large in my brain. “How? How do I do that?”

  Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. If I did, I’d have done it myself. But even the dead can die. Remember that, Tommy. Nothing is indestructible.”

  Scott glanced up again at Merlin, who swiveled his head in response. “Start with him. Keep him safe above all else.”

  “Merlin? Look, I know the Gentleman’s keen on getting him back, but why?”

  “Merlin is the key to it all, Tommy. I’m sure of it. The Gentleman wants him desperately. He must be more important than we know.” He craned his head up to look at the bird. “If only I’d had time to discover your secret, my little friend …”

  The shiny metal canary chirped once and cocked his head—he looked as harmless as a child’s windup toy. Scott sank back into his pillow. His eyelids fluttered and for a second I feared that the man was falling asleep, or worse.

  “I wish I had answers for you,” said the Captain, at last. “I’ve been trying to find out for years. Maybe you’ll prove to be a better detective than I.”

  I reached out a finger and gently tapped Merlin’s head. The bird seemed to like it, the way a flesh-and-blood canary might enjoy a nice scratch of his feathers. Pleased, he hopped down from his place at the headboard and climbed onto my thumb. Without gloves, I always winced at those pinching little brass claws, but I let the bird be. He began to whistle.

  “It’s good that he likes you,” Scott said.

  “Yeah, well.”

  “He trusts you.”

  The Captain reached up and put his hand on my shoulder—a familiar gesture, but this time the man’s grip was weak. I could barely feel the weight of his hand against my coat.

  “I’m promoting you to full Explorer. Bernard will be hurt but he’ll understand. Everything is going to you—Merlin, the Nautilus, everything.” He opened his hand and in it was a small compass etched with waves and a picture of a ship’s steering wheel. “Here. As you know, the Nautilus is one of a kind. You’re her captain now, and she’ll come when you call. Find what the Gentleman has planned and stop him …” The Captain’s words disappeared in a wet coughing fit. After a minute he went on, but he seemed to be talking past me this time, to a roomful of men who weren’t there.

  “Tell the crew, tell the men that I want to be buried at sea, with full naval honors. Ask McGuire to play “Rule Britannia,” on his fife …”

  Then his hand slipped, falling back to the bed with a heavy thump. Eventually he drifted off and his eyes closed. I pocketed the compass and waited until Scott began to snore (proof that the man wasn’t going to die just yet), and then returned Merlin to the headboard, where the bird resumed its silent vigil.

  “You whistle if anything changes,” I whispered, and let myself out, closing the door softly behind me.

  Bernard was waiting for me with a tea tray.

  “It’s gone cold,” Bernard said. “I heard you two talking and it sounded serious so I waited out here. Now the tea’s gone cold.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was just checking on him, but he’s sleeping again anyway. We’ll have the tea warmed up for him when he wakes.”

  “He’s not getting better, is he?” Bernard asked.

  “No,” I answered, too tired and suddenly too full of worries to keep up the lie. “No, he’s not.”

  Bernard nodded. “I’ve never actually watched someone die before.…”

  I put my hand on Bernard’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, just the way I imagined the Captain might’ve.

  “It’s all right, Bernard. I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll watch for the both of us.”

  Then I took the tea tray out of his hands and headed to the canteen to find where I’d hidden the milk.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JEZEBEL

  THE HOLLOW WORLD, 1902

  Something had been following Jezebel for the better part of an hour. She’d first become aware of it as she was picking her way through the high ridge looking for another cave, a back entrance to wherever the trogs had taken Tommy. He’d said that the trogs were cave dwellers, rock shapers. She’d seen the proof of that as they sealed off the entrance while stealing away with Tommy, but perhaps they’d left another one open. It was a long shot, but it was the best plan Jez had been able to come up with so far.

  She climbed as high as she dared, choosing to crawl on hands and knees rather than risk walking on the loose gravel. From her vantage point there, she could see the whole valley—the sparse growth of lichens and dwarfish toadstools along the hillside that grew into a thick tangle of fungal forest farther down. Those black dragonflies buzzed around the caps of mushroom trees, and every now and again something would leap up out of the jungle or swoop down from the hazy skies above to catch one in its jaws. Besides serving as Tommy’s lighter fuel, the poor bugs appeared to be on the very bottom of the Hollow World’s food chain.

  Unfortunately, there were no other caves to be found. No cracks or crevices on this side of the valley—none large enough to fit through, anyway. But it was up there on the ridge that she first noticed a strange ripple in the jungle’s ceiling of mushroom caps—like the wave caused by something large making its way through the undergrowth. Occasionally she’d catch a glimpse of pale skin as it brushed too close to the canopy, but then it was gone again. This, in itself, wouldn’t have been particularly unnerving, not considering the hundred other strange sights and sounds she’d encountered just that morning, except that whatever it was, it seemed to be keeping pace with her. It was sticking to the jungle where the cover was thickest, but it was definitely following her as she zigzagged her way along the uneven ridge. Perhaps it was incapable of climbing the steep slope, or perhaps it was just waiting until it had gained enough ground on her to make its move.

  Her worrisome pursuer had just about persuaded her to turn back when she spotted a thin plume of smoke snaking its way out of a ring of giant, fat toadstools.

  Someone had built a fire down there. Who knew if they were friendly or even human, but Jezebel thought she stood a heck of a lot better chance with them than she did with the wild animals in this prehistoric jungle. But the smoke was a good several hundred yards into the valley floor, and that meant coming down off this ridge and crossing the path of whatever that thing was down there. Even now it moved monotonously onward, getting ever closer.

  She made her decision in an instant and began scurrying down the ridge toward the smoke. She half stumbled, half skidded on her butt, careless of the noise and the dust she was kicking up. Whatever that thing was that stalked her, it obviously knew where she was, so it wasn’t like she was giving away her position. She needed to get past the creature chasing her and reach the smoke before it had a chance to catch up. And at first her plan looked like it was going to work. She hit the edge of the forest, and though her pursuer kept on in her direction, it didn’t seem to speed up. At this pace she could make a straight line toward the plume of smoke and outdistance the creature easily.

  The problem occurred after she’d made it fifty yards or so into the jungle. The giant fungal trees were mostly thicker up top than down below, which meant that there was plenty of room for Jez to travel around their stalks, but the huge mushroom caps all but obscured the sky—and therefore her view of the smoke plume. Without the smoke to navigate by, she quickly became lost among the spongy tree stumps and shaded paths. Every so often she’d find a break in the canopy, but the tiny glimpses of dull red sky did nothing to help her. She had the sinking suspicion that she was running in circles, maybe even winding back into the path of whatever was following her.

  She needed to get her bearings, and she wasn’t going to do it from on the ground. So she found a tall, sturdy toadstool with a cleft in the cap—a lumpy thing covered in bumpy nodules that made excellent foot- and handholds—and climbed to the top. It was tricky, but after a bit of struggle she was able to lift herself up and above the jungle ceiling, balanci
ng on the toadstool’s wide, spongy top. She was covered in powdery mushroom spores and smelled like a day-old sock, but now, at least, she had a view. Directly in front of her was the ridge she’d just come down from and behind her, as far as the eye could see, was the sprawling mushroom forest. When she peered over her left shoulder, she could see the plume of smoke. It looked smaller now—little more than a dark thread dangling in the haze.

  She had been going in the wrong direction. She had indeed circled back on herself and ended up where she’d started earlier that morning—near the trogs’ closed cave entrance. All she’d managed to do was to put herself farther away from her destination.

  Jezebel cupped her hand over her face to shield her eyes from the molten red glare overhead—the heat really was unbearable down here—and tried to look for signs of movement in the surrounding forest. Nothing stirred. Farther off she could see the dragonflies bouncing about the treetops, but the jungle was strangely quiet. Still. Perhaps it was just reacting to her presence.

  Or another presence altogether. Something much larger. And meaner.

  Jez felt the tiny hairs on her arm prickle at the thought, and she was suddenly, keenly aware that though she had a good view of the valley, she didn’t have so much as a peek at the floor below. The wide mushroom caps obscured everything below her. Something could be standing directly beneath her feet and she wouldn’t know it. She might as well have been adrift on a dark, bottomless ocean.

  Did her mushroom cap just shake? She thought she felt a slight tremble, but that could have just been the fungus tree settling into her added weight.

  But there it was again! The whole thing had definitely shifted, as if something big was brushing up against it. Or climbing it.

  Jez had just begun to inch away from the edge when a loud groan, a thick-throated grunt, broke the unnatural silence. It was right beneath her. For a second Jez considered jumping for a neighboring toadstool; perhaps she could leap from mushroom cap to mushroom cap. But even as she began to stand, the toadstool shook again, more violently this time, and it was all she could do to hold on and not tumble off the edge. Her grip was shaky at best, and she found herself sliding inch by inch. She struggled to get her footing, but her feet slipped along the spongy surface until they dangled over the side. As her legs disappeared over the lip, the thing beneath her let out another croaking growl. It had seen her.