The Wise Woman knows I’m leaving. She knows what we’ve done.
Sara thrashes, fighting her way back toward the glowing doorway. She gnashes her teeth, yet Alice barks at Grymsdyke to hold his ground and keep his fangs retracted. Harry steps forth and grabs hold of my friend, wrapping his bony arms around her.
He’s surprisingly strong for someone so scrawny.
One of the slaves yells in German, “She is one of them! She will kill us!”
Another man and woman step forth to help Harry. I need to get the door closed before any of the real Chosen find us.
Katrina hovers on the other side of the frame. Jim now stands behind her, his hand on her shoulder.
“I can’t keep it open much longer.” I motion them forward. “They’re coming. She’s coming.”
“It’s okay,” Alice is saying from behind me. “Close it. We’re all through.”
“Stay strong.” Tears shine in my mother’s eyes. “I love you. Take care of your brother and father.”
Jim’s lips thin as he says, “Don’t give in, Huck. Don’t let her win. We’ll do what we can on this side. Take care of those people. They need you.”
The hell they’re staying in Koppenberg. “I can’t lose you two again. Please, just step through the door, okay? Just—”
The door winks away, leaving nothing but a damp, burned medical wing behind filled with a bunch of people who have only ever lived in medieval Germany.
It’s then that the thirteenth Wise Woman’s fury explodes within me.
FINN DROPS TO THE ground, the whites of his eyes visible as violent shudders wrack his body. I barely catch him before Finn’s head slams upon wet, dirty floor that once shone.
If that were not bad enough, the woman who was screaming about the Chosen snatches a scalpel off the floor and rushes Sara, still held tightly in Harry’s arms. She jabs the blade deep into Sara’s chest. In German, she snarls, “I will die before I allow you to steal my soul!”
Sara cries out. Grymsdyke hisses and leaps from her head, landing on the perpetrator’s. Harry pleads, “Please do not kill her! Ilse is just scared!”
It is then that I begin to scream—and pray that someone within the Society is still present that will hear me. Finn convulses in my arms. Sara is now on the floor next to me, bleeding profusely, the scalpel still in her chest. I have one hand on her, assuring her that I am present; my other arm is wrapped tightly around Finn.
The woman who stabbed Sara is hysterical.
What happened here in New York? Where is everyone?
“Push the red button on the panel next to the door,” I beg in German to the woman standing closest to me. She is young, too young to have been abused so badly. “Please!”
She does not hesitate to do as asked. Once the button is depressed, a deafening peal fills the air. Chaos consumes the people I have brought back to the Institute; many drop to the ground, their hands covering their ears as they rock in fear. I continue alternating between shouting for help, begging Finn to wake up, and holding on to Sara.
How doth the little bird go mad. . .
A voice barks, “Put your hands up!”
As it is uttered in English, none of the company present follows this order. The A.D. skids into the room so quickly that when Grymsdyke leaps from Sara’s all-too-still body to his, he slips upon the wet floor, landing on his arse whilst shrieking. A shotgun wavers in his grip as the assassin climbs up his chest. “BLOODY HELL, SPIDER. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“My leg is sore.” Grymsdyke gingerly motions his wrapped appendage. “I am merely using you as a means of transportation. If your heart chooses to battle you, that is of your own doing.”
Van Brunt’s assistant’s focus finds Finn, Sara, and me several feet before him. “Alice?” The firearm lowers. “Jesus! When did you get here?” He glances around. “Who the hell are all these people? Is that Sara? Is that . . . was she stabbed?! Where did she come from? I left her in a motel, chained up!”
I cannot even appreciate the swift, yet fleeting breath of relief over discovering that the Piper did not locate nor slay the Artful Dodger. “Help them,” is all I can say, plead, as his weapon clatters to the ground. He scrambles toward us. “Whatever is happening to Wendy is now afflicting Finn. And Sara. . .”
The A.D.—no, he is more than that now. He is more than a smarmy thief who thinks only of his own creature comforts. He has proven himself. My trust, for good or bad, has been gifted. Jack grabs hold of Sara. “I think Finn’s having a grand mal seizure. Roll him to his side.” He rips off his sweater, bunching it into a ball. “Lift his head so I can put this under it. Don’t restrain him.” And then, his eyes widen near comically as they glance upward, toward the ice-filled box nearby. “Holy shit, is that Victor?!”
Now that Jack is assisting Sara, I wrap both arms around Finn.
Grymsdyke kindly answers for me. “It is mostly the good doctor.”
More footsteps sound seconds before a rumpled, crossbow-toting Marianne Brandon appears. “Jack, did you—” Her footing upon the slick floor is also unsteady, but she manages to right herself before meeting the same fate Jack did. Tears fill her bloodshot eyes. “Thank goodness you have all returned. Although, apparently under terrible circumstances. And with so many people. . .” Her cheeks blaze scarlet as she ducks her eyes. “Who are in dire need of clothing.”
As she enters a code to cease the alarm, I round on the thief hovering over Sara. “What can we do to stop whatever is happening with Finn?”
“Nothing.” Dark circles ring his eyes; soot smudges his face and hands. He yanks off his T-shirt before carefully tugging out the blade from Sara’s chest. She cries out, a keening, pathetic sob before she stills. Did she pass out? Jack presses his shirt against the bleeding wound. “We have to wait it out; most seizures only last a few minutes. What triggered it? I’ve known Finn Van Brunt a long time, but I’ve never heard of him experiencing something like this.” To Marianne, he says, “We can use some of our meds here, but Sara needs a doctor. Call an agent in—we don’t want to risk the Piper getting hold of her again. But first, help me untie her.”
Our colleague still averts her eyes. “Sara?”
“Crewe. Carrisford. You know, Finn’s old partner?” Impatience snaps between them. “The lady who is hogtied and bleeding out beneath me? The one who had a rusty scalpel in her chest?” He waves it over his head.
“Don’t take off the blindfold or ties,” Grymsdyke warns. “It is her wish to remain constrained until the rapture fades.”
Jack scowls. “I don’t think now is the time to keep her tied up.”
Grymsdyke’s hiss sends shivers down even my back. “It is her wish, and we will respect it.”
I grapple with my shreds of sanity, attempt to piece together the insanity of the last day as Marianne places a quick call to a Society doctor before excusing herself to fetch medicine. On her way out, she coaxes several women to accompany her. “His behavior has been erratic,” I tell Jack. I pause as cords of anger and helplessness constrict my lungs. “He is in need of medical attention. He was tortured. He requires stitches and antibiotics.”
I am rambling, and am well aware of it.
Jack glances around at our guests. “Did they do this?”
“No.” It’s a shotgun blast of a denial if there ever was one. “Well, to Sara, yes. I think it was out of fear for her quasi-Chosen state, though. These people were enslaved by the Piper and the Chosen. They aided us and deserve shelter and aid.”
The A.D. accepts this, and the oddest urge to hug him for not arguing for once surfaces. I repress it, though. He will only get ideas. “And Victor?”
The spasms holding Finn hostage slowly lessen. Sara, too, is still, but that offers no relief whatsoever. Grymsdyke once more fills in the gaps more coherently than I. He informs Jack of what occurred in the laboratory between Finn and the creature, and of what actions toward Victor’s person it gleefully claimed.
; Marianne and the ladies return, bearing armfuls of random clothing from various Timelines that must have been raided from the Society’s dressing room. Our technology savant shoves clothes at a shivering woman. “Please dress yourselves.” Her eyes are anywhere but upon their bodies, and if I wasn’t so on edge, I might very well laugh.
I had thought Mary quite prim once upon a time, but I fear Marianne might be even more so. If only she could meet the Hatter and the March Hare.
She hurries over to us. A bulging tote clinks as Marianne lowers it next to Jack.
The A.D. motions for her to maintain pressure on Sara’s wound so he might sift through the bag. “Ahh, you brought the remaining cans of the healing spray. Excellent job, M!” To me, he says, “I’m no doc, but it’ll be a good start.”
“My lady, is there something I might do for you? Or any of us?”
I glance up to find Harry standing over me. He is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, and looking very much like a small boy wearing his father’s clothes. Others stand near him, wearing equally ill-fitting garb, but I take comfort in that they are warmer than they once were in a cold mountain. All bear matching expressions of expectation.
The woman who stabbed Sara is in a corner, in another’s arms, still weeping. What must she have lived through in Koppenberg?
“A queen never allows her personal feelings to trample her duties to her people.”
I swallow, squaring my shoulders as I remember this piece of early advice from my Grand Advisor. There are people here counting on me, ones I offered my protection to. “I apologize that you have been brought to a safe house that appears to no longer be quite as safe as I remember.”
“We are out of the mountain,” a man whispers. “We never thought such a day would happen. A place such as this surely must be heaven.”
Jack pushes his smudged glasses back upon the bridge of his nose before he gently begins tearing Sara’s dress away in order to access the wound. He says in German that is much better than mine, “Blimey. You all look as if you need some solid food. Wish I could offer you some right now, but I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait a bit.”
My eyes meet Harry’s. “You are not in service to anyone within this building. All I ask of you is that you give us time to deal with whatever has happened before we arrived before we return you to your families.”
“Some of us do not have families.” It is a young man who says this, one far too young to bear the scars riddling his face. “The Lord and Lady of the Mountain and their kin ensured that. We have no homes, nowhere to go.”
If homes are needed, I am certain the White King of Wonderland will allow these refugees to find sanctuary. Both the White and Diamonds lands have long welcomed those fleeing other Courts. “Have no fear. I promise each and every one of you that we will not abandon you in your time of need. There is food here, shelter. When our colleagues return, we shall all come together to decide what is best for each and every one of you. It will be your choices, naturally.”
I recognize the can in Jack’s hand from Mary’s laboratory. Not too long ago, Mary and Victor confiscated miraculous medicines from a futuristic Timeline in order to heal Van Brunt’s injuries. Their handiness is unparalleled in situations such as these.
“Alice, you’ll have to let me know where you think the majority of the injuries are,” Jack says, “lest I strip them both naked right here and now.”
“The floor is filthy.” Marianne warily surveys the space. “A sterile area must surely be preferable to conditions such as these.”
“Won’t matter. This stuff,” he shakes a canister, “kills all infections.” There is no labeling upon the bottle, no ingredients or directions other than a simple name. “At least, that’s what Mary’s report said. Didn’t bother to read the story myself.”
“Perhaps I ought to be doing this?” Marianne squeaks as Jack continues to tear away fabric. “I am sure that she would appreciate her modesty, considering your reputation.”
“It’s not like I’m ogling her!” Jack cries. Sara’s chest is fully exposed. “And it’s not like it’s the only pair of boobies I’ve had a gander at this day!”
The very air around us cramps as feet shuffle and eyes flit about, gleaming with the sheen of all that comes with having one’s life upended, whether for the best or not.
My to-do list grows longer, heavier.
Finn’s body finally, blessedly ceases shaking. Madness continues to grip my shoulders, though, whispering alluringly in my ears. I ask, “What happened here?”
Jack hovers close to Sara’s chest, spraying in bursts before rifling through the bag for a different canister. “That musical, manipulative bastard somehow got ahold of Wendy.” My colleague’s voice cracks. “He convinced her to set fire to the Institute.”
Dear God.
“She didn’t know what she was doing.” The protestation tilts more closely to threat, to warning of retribution should I choose to pursue vengeance rather than mere explanation. “She has no memory of those hours.”
The crocodile smiles as it lures in its prey, swallowing them whole, doesn’t it?
“How fare our colleagues?”
He mists the second spray across Sara’s wound. “Some suffered burns, but nothing that couldn’t be easily treated. We were able to stop the blazes before the fire department was notified.” A grim line slashes across his mouth as he dabs the blood away from the injury. “The Institute wasn’t so lucky, Your Majesty. Most of the library was destroyed. Labs, too.”
I awoke from pleasant dreams to descend into one nightmare after another. “Any catalysts?”
Jack shakes his head, and his black-framed glasses dislodge from the brim of his nose. He applies a second dose of the first spray. “The Librarian has long assured that fire or explosions can’t damage any of the cases. And nothing reached the Museum. Wen’s clearance had already been revoked, so she couldn’t get down there.” He clears his throat, motioning with the can toward Finn, whose eyes have now closed. “He’ll sleep off the effects of the seizure now. Don’t be surprised if he’s disoriented when he wakes up, or if he has a bit of amnesia.”
Although Finn’s golden-brown strands are sweaty and caked with blood, I savor the ability to run my fingers through them. “How is it a thief knows so much about seizures?”
Jack wipes at Sara’s wound once more. Satisfied at whatever he sees, he glances around the room, at the people huddled together, disoriented by lack of orders for the first time in too long. He motions for one of the men nearby to toss him a stray blouse. “I read up on ‘em after Wen started having ‘em.” He extracts a syringe out of the bag and wags it at Marianne. “Clever girl! I could kiss you.”
Marianne smiles weakly. “Please don’t.”
As he injects the serum within into Sara, Jack explains it will put Finn’s former partner to sleep. Once they are assured she is dozing, she is untied and the fresh blouse put on.
Jack smacks his hands. “Let’s have a look at Finn. We need to get these two somewhere more comfortable, though. These folk, too.”
The beds nearby are charred, more metal and springs than comfort. “Any damage to living quarters?”
“Some. Cleanup has been a bloody nightmare. My flat is tolerable, and it’s closer than either of yours. We’ll take Finn there. The others can find comfort in some of the flats around mine.” He glances up at Victor. “Has he woken up?”
“No.” And then, more quietly, “Where is Mary? Van Brunt?”
“Hunting for the Piper. They’re all out there searching, except for me, Marianne, and the Librarian. We’re the only ones still in the building. Well, and now you all.”
“He was looking for the book. The codex.” Jack’s blue eyes widen as I say this. “The one Finn asked for you and Mary to steal. As it is missing from the mountain, I am assuming you were successful. Did he reclaim it—or rather, Wendy?”
“No. It’s down in the Museum. The Librarian has been pouring over the damn thi
ng.” As Jack folds his gangly legs beneath him, Marianne removes everything from the medical bag, sorting the items into neat piles. “Everything happened so fast that we really didn’t stop to think that it could be tied to the book instead of me and Mary. Shall I take off his shirt or you?”
His touch was surprisingly gentle with Sara, but I choose to meticulously peel away bloodied, tattered pieces of cloth from Finn’s skin. “Have you learned anything about the book yet?”
“Other than it’s enchanted? Not yet.”
Once the shirt is removed, along with my makeshift bandages, Jack whistles. “Oi! They did a real number on ‘im, didn’t they?”
My fury, my agony, leaves me mute.
Marianne’s emotions get the better of her, and part of me envies how open she is with them despite the restrictions of our similar Timelines. “What type of person can inflict such trauma upon another soul?”
The people in the room with us know the answer to that all too well.
Eventually, skin is mended, wounds are closed, and infections are calmed. The bluish-purple markings decorating Finn’s torso return to their vivid, comforting state I have become accustomed to.
“We couldn’t edit back into the mountain.” My focus snaps back to a grimmer-than-usual Jack, now cleaning his glasses with his shirt. “I tried. Everyone did. The boss man was singularly focused on sending a team to extract you guys before the fires broke out. But we couldn’t edit into 1812GRI-CHT no matter how hard we tried, let alone 1816/18GRI-GT.”
I have no answer for his unasked question, though.
Rocking back, Jack swipes sweat and grime away from his brow. “What happened during the last few days? Were you able to escape the horde of Chosen?”
My answer is as brittle yet raw as I feel. “No.”
Grymsdyke bursts into a flurry of coughs. “Your Majesty, as my ward is sleeping, I request permission to scout the Institute for further threats.”
I give it, asking Jack and Marianne, “Might there be?”
The Lost Codex Page 10
