She stopped rubbing her arm and instead clutched it. “I—I don’t think so. Except one. It moved.” When she finally looked at Stephen, her eyes were large and dark, and her lip trembled.
Humans? Could they possible be . . .? Stephen worked his dry mouth. Were they the missing people? He grasped for any other explanation. “Perhaps your father was treating them.” Yes, that made sense. His shoulders relaxed. Kat was young; maybe she didn’t understand what she had seen. But the look on her face . . .
She shook her head. “The bodies were laid out on metal tables with metal contraptions attached to them: to their heads, to their chests, to their arms. Naked. A strange green light filled the laboratory from miner’s lamps set around the room.” She went trancelike, as if reliving the memories. “I knew my father would experiment on rats and guinea pigs. I always felt awful for the little creatures. But this . . . this was very different.”
Stephen licked his lips, the hair along his arms rising. The room seemed darker. “Did your father catch you in there?”
“No.” The word came out in one breath, her eyes still focused on something beyond. “I ran back to the other laboratories. Ms. Stuart took me home and . . .” She went still.
“Kat?”
Muffled singing came through the floor from the tavern below.
Stephen raised his hand and waved. “Kat?”
She blinked and jerked up.
“What happened when my aunt took you home?”
“I—I told Ms. Stuart about the lab I had found.”
“So my aunt knew something.”
“Yes.”
Stephen narrowed his eyes. The hesitation in Kat’s voice indicated she was holding something back. “Anything else?”
“No.” She went eerily calm. “That is all for now.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked him straight in the eye, and a shiver went down his spine. Something had changed in Kat’s demeanor. The terror had vanished. She seemed calm, composed. Completely different than the fearful, grief-stricken woman from moments ago. And the story she had just told . . .
The lights brightened, then dimmed. Stephen glanced up at the lamp. What the—
He ran a hand through his hair and stood. “Listen, I’m going to get us something to eat. Will you be all right?”
Her eyes flickered. She shook her head as if to clear it.
“Kat?”
“Yes, yes.” She rubbed her forehead and her body lost that calm rigidity. “Actually, food would be good. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“Maybe I can even round up some tea.”
She looked up and gave him a small smile. “Tea would be wonderful.”
Stephen doubted Marty had tea, but he would do anything to keep this Kat talking, and not the other one, the scary one he had glimpsed a minute ago.
He stepped outside the room and quietly shut the door behind him. He leaned against the door and let out a shaky breath. He was spooked, that’s all. But he couldn’t shake that look on Kat’s face, or the images she had spoken about. Her words continued to play inside his mind.
Humans. Alive. Bodies laid out in green light.
There were rumors that the Tower might be conducting illegal experiments. Was it possible the institution was also responsible for those people who went missing two years ago? Those taken by the reapers? Like Mr. Hensley?
Stephen looked back at the door. Could Kat be right? Had she really seen humans in Dr. Bloodmayne’s laboratory? And were those experiments still happening?
Was Kat one of them?
Right after the door shut, Kat held her head in her hands. She had tried to repress that memory, bury it deep inside her mind. But the moment Stephen had asked, it had shot up like air bubbles in water. She never went back to her father’s laboratory after that day. For years she wondered if she had been mistaken in what she had seen. But the sight of that hand, rising from the table, followed by a long moan . . .
She put her fists to her temples and pushed against her skull. The little girl inside her still longed for her father. Even now. But the woman demanded that she give up these dreams and accept who her father really was: a cold-hearted scientist. A man who would do anything to achieve his goals.
A monster.
“Ms. Stuart, I wish . . .” Tears prickled her eyes. “I wish you were here. I wish we could talk one last time. I wish I knew why you died.” The last words escaped her lips with a sob. “I don’t think I was worth it.”
Kat rocked back and forth in her chair, letting her heart flow over until she heard footsteps in the hall outside. She wiped her face and pushed her hair back as Stephen stepped into the room with a tray in his hands.
He spotted her, but didn’t react to what he saw on her face. Instead he placed the tray on the table. “Surprisingly, Marty did have tea.” He poured the dark, steaming liquid into a cup and passed it to Kat.
She took the cup without looking up and cradled the warm ceramic. Two bowls filled with chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes in thick brown sauce sent tendrils of steam into the air. Between them, elevated on a stack of something, sat a dinner plate with a loaf of sliced bread.
Stephen waved his hand toward the tray. “It’s not much, but it should help the hunger pangs.”
“Thank you,” she said in a small voice. She set a bowl and a spoon in front of him, then took the other for herself. For several moments, neither of them spoke, the only sound the clinking of spoons against their bowls.
When they had finished eating, Stephen sat back, and crossed his arms. Silence filled the room, no longer the companionable quiet of a shared meal. Kat took a sip of her tea, her gaze on the tips of his boots. His duster hung over either side of his chair. Beneath his coat he wore dark pants, a dark vest, and white shirt. His revolvers sat snug against his hips. She tried to remember what Stephen had looked like years ago in his police uniform when she first met him, but all she could picture was the man before her now.
The bounty hunter.
She took another slice of bread and blew across the top of her tea, though it didn’t need it. Why had he left the police force? Marianne never said.
Her heart clenched. Marianne. What did Marianne think of her now? Had Marianne tried to hide the truth to protect her? A memory from that night tore through her mind. Marianne saying her name, and the look on her face.
“I need to leave in five minutes.”
“What?” Torn from her reverie, she found Stephen staring at her with unblinking eyes. “Where are you going?”
“I want to get a head start on my inquiries.”
“Inquiries?”
“Into your Dr. Joshua Latimer.”
Oh. With everything else, she had forgotten about the doctor. “You’re still going to look for him for me?”
He rubbed his face, and the hard look disappeared, replaced by fatigue. “Yes, we made a deal. And I always honor my deals.”
Kat tightened her grip around the cup. Had she done the right thing, telling him about her father? Until now, she had told no one except Ms. Stuart. Why now? Why him?
Because I trust him.
Kat sat back, the truth of that thought ricocheting through her body. It hadn’t taken much to transfer her trust of Ms. Stuart to her nephew. But then, she had no one else.
Stephen looked up and quirked one eyebrow.
For some strange reason, Kat laughed.
He blinked and his brows furrowed.
“I’m sorry.” She laughed again, that kind of nervous belly laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and . . .” She laughed again, because if she stopped, she would cry instead.
Stephen hesitated, then reached over and grabbed her hand. His skin was warm and his grip strong.
Kat hiccupped and blushed.
He looked into her eyes. “I understand
. It has been a long day.”
He held her hand a moment longer, then let go. He stood and grabbed his hat, pausing with it still in his hands. “You’re sure you won’t tell my why this doctor is so important?”
Kat shook her head. Ms. Stuart had known about her condition and now she was dead. Maybe there was a connection, maybe there wasn’t. But she wasn’t about to put another person’s life in danger. And she might trust Stephen, but not enough to risk that he might run if he found what she really could do. This was her secret to bear and if she had to, she would carry it to her grave.
Stephen sighed and placed his hat on. “All right, then. You’re safe here. Marty is a bit dimwitted, but he knows how to keep his mouth shut. Don’t leave the inn. If you need anything, Marty will provide it for you, and I’ll settle up with him later. I should be back sometime tomorrow evening.”
He moved the bread plate to reveal a small stack of books. “And here. I thought these might help. ” He held them out to her and she took them, turning them over in her hands. Not the type she usually read. Just penny novels. But, faced with hours alone in a small room, she was grateful for anything to occupy her mind.
“Thank you, Stephen.”
His face softened. “It’s not much at the moment. But you should be safe. Hopefully I will find out more about this Dr Latimer.”
Before Kat could say anything, he turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Instead of moving to the bedroom on the right, Kat lay her head down on the table and closed her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.
20
You always did like brunettes.
Patrick’s words from years ago whispered through his mind, words spoken shortly after he’d met and fallen hard for Vanessa. Apparently things hadn’t changed.
Get your mind back in the game, Grey.
Stephen stepped off the train platform and out onto the street, his hat pulled low, his collar tucked high around his neck. Harvey had been a dead end, which meant an entire day wasted. However, word had reached Stephen that his old friend Captain Grim had just docked in Covenshire. It was the sort of timing he might once have thanked God for—Grim could have been in World City or halfway to Austrium. As it was, Stephen would stop and see his friend, find out what he knew, then be back to Kat right on time.
A quick glance around revealed no one in the shadows. Covenshire was a large city, not as big as World City, but big enough that unless the men who had been following them knew where to go, it would be a while before he and Kat were found. And by then they would be gone.
He followed the pier, passing by crates of imported goods and piles of rubbish washed up by the sea. Here and there a rat scurried between the circles of light cast by the gas lamps on every block. Out in the harbor, ships bobbed along the black water, a few with twinkling lights within.
He turned his gaze upward. The ship he sought wasn’t the kind that took to water.
Near the end of the pier stood a circular wooden tower with platforms set in a spiraling height progression around its circumference. A sky tower for airships. Stephen paused to examine the structure. He could only see the two lowest platforms; the rest were hidden in fog and darkness. One held a small blimp, probably an inland cargo ship, and the other was empty.
Of course, Grim wouldn’t dock on one of the lower platforms. Unlike many of the vessels that traversed the skies suspended below a balloon filled with gas, the Lancelot rode the wind on solar-powered rotor blades. The force of air created by those whirling blades on landing and take off caused havoc among the other airships’ more fickle rigging, which meant the dockmaster would have assigned Grim the highest spot.
Not that Grim complained. He was always planning for an easy escape, should he need it.
Stephen sighed. That meant a long trek up the tower.
He headed toward the wooden door on the side of the tower. Water lapped quietly in the nearby darkness and rigging creaked in the wind. The door that led inside the tower was thick and dark and groaned as he opened it.
A musty smell greeted his nose and Stephen sneezed. The sound echoed up and around the inside of the tower. There were no lights, only small squares of gray where traces of light from the outside trickled in.
He could barely make out the steps that wound around the inside of the tower, but he didn’t feel like taking the time to find a lamp. He gripped the banister and gave it a tug. At least it didn’t wobble. With his hand sliding along the railing, Stephen began the climb up and around. A minute later, he reached the first platform, where a doorway led out onto a narrow wooden walkway. The small cargo ship tugged against the rope restraints that held it to the platform.
Stephen bypassed the entrance and continued up. Around and around he went, most of the time the railing his only compass. The air grew colder and the fog thicker the higher he went. He passed two more platforms, both empty.
He paused and looked up again, his breath coming out in hot puffs. A trickle of sweat followed the side of his face and fell beneath his collar. Perhaps Grim wasn’t here after all.
A lamp twinkled high above.
Stephen pursed his lip into a half grin. Looked like it was his lucky night.
As he neared the top of the tower, two men came to stand in the doorway at the top of the stairs. One held a lamp, the other a rifle.
“Halt! Who goes there?” said the one with the lamp.
Stephen stopped ten steps beneath them and held onto the rail. “I come seeking Captain Robert Grim. Is that his ship docked up above?”
The man with the rifle stepped forward. “What is your name and what is your business with Captain Grim?”
“Tell him Stephen Grey is here to see him, and I seek information.”
The two men conversed, then the man with the lamp handed it to the one with the gun and disappeared out onto the platform.
The other man, now armed with light and gun, stood in the doorway, blocking it from Stephen’s view.
Stephen took the opportunity to quietly check his own revolvers. Not that he was expecting a fight, and he certainly didn’t want to start a shootout with Grim’s crew, but a person could never be too careful.
“So. . .” the man said above him.
Stephen looked up.
“Grey, huh. You’re not that bounty hunter from World City, are you?”
Stephen pressed the revolver back into his holster. “I am.”
The man stepped onto the top step inside the tower. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Stephen gave a grunt and folded his arms. He could well imagine what the man had heard. In two years, he never lost one bounty: not to a runaway, and not to death. Hence the reason the World City council usually hired him. It had also given him a name in the underworld. The criminal sector knew if their name came up, there was no place they could run from him.
Before the man with the rifle could say more, his partner returned. “Captain Grim said to bring you to his quarters.
The smile came back.
Stephen followed Grim’s men outside onto a narrow platform about fifteen feet long. The light from the lamp illuminated the walkway and fell off into darkness on either side. Only a fragile railing separated the three men from access to the airship and a long, long fall.
Good thing he wasn’t afraid of heights.
The men led the way across the walkway, the light soon brushing over the hull of Grim’s famous airship, the Lancelot.
Apart from the flying apparatuses, the Lancelot looked like a water vessel, though much more luxurious than any found in a shipyard. The ship itself was as large as one of the dual story flats back in his neighborhood. Dark wood made up most of the hull, with intricate carvings inlaid in gold along the railings and edges.
The deck held the usual platforms, ropes, and pulleys, but instead of mast
s, there were six rotor blade towers: two smaller ones on either side of the bow and stern, and two taller ones amidships. In the air, the blades moved and directed the airship. But here in port, they were still, only moving when a breeze came along, and the vessel was held in the air by an inflatable balloon that would be retracted when the time came for the Lancelot to take flight.
Below the main deck were two more levels. Small glass windows surrounded the middle floor, darkened now in the absence of the crew. A wall of glass held in place by steel rods made up the bow, and soft light shone through the panes.
As he neared the ship, Stephen could see rich tapestries and furniture inside the wall of glass: Grim’s private quarters. He could well imagine the view those windows offered in flight and for one moment wondered what it would be like to sail high above the land, gazing down on towns and counties, even World City itself.
The men led Stephen across the gangplank—another precarious affair—onto the top deck. The moment he stepped onto the wooden planks, a door opened to the right and a man emerged. He was of medium height and wore a black leather duster similar in fashion to Stephen’s own. The rest of his clothing was dark as well, with the exception of a gleaming cutlass that hung on his right side and a revolver tucked away on his left.
He wore a leather patch across his right eye, with the leather strap cutting across his cheekbone. Dark stubble covered his chin and jaw, and his black hair hung in strands around his face. The light from the sailor’s lantern twinkled in his one eye. “Stephen Grey.”
“Robert, it’s good to see you.”
Robert smirked and walked across the deck. “You presumptuous scoundrel. What brings you to the Lancelot?”
Stephen grinned back. “Information, my friend.”
“And who are you chasing this time? Not anyone I know, I hope.” He clasped arms with Stephen and gave him a good shake.
Stephen shook his head and stepped back. “Actually, for once I’m not searching for a criminal.”
“Oh?” Robert eyed him curiously. “Well, let’s not stand out here in the wet. Come, follow me back to my cabin. I have a nice brandy waiting for us.” He turned and headed back toward the door he had exited through a minute ago. “Harding, Reid, let me know when the crew gets back. I want to sail at first light.”
Tainted (The Soul Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
