Unseemly Science

by Rod Duncan

  I jumped back around the corner of the machine, not understanding where the blood on his hand had come from.

  The regulator continued to spin. A link of chain clinked as it tipped over the lip of the trough. I scrambled back around another corner putting the body of the machine between us. Keppler advanced, his face expressionless. I backed up until I was next to Tinker’s head, which was closer to the edge than I remembered. I reached out to undo the buckle and for the first time saw the gash at the top of my arm where Keppler’s knife must have opened my flesh.

  He rushed at me. I turned and ran, circling the machine. He was slower than me on the corners, but faster on the straight. I reached Tinker’s feet and hauled the last of the belt free. Then I had to dive back to avoid another lunge of the blade. I jumped Farthing’s body and was away.

  Another chain link clinked as it tipped over the lip of the trough. Keppler seemed to notice it for the first time. He stopped and looked at the slowly turning wheels, at the chain being forced down into the mist. Then he walked back around in the other direction. I matched him, keeping myself on the opposite side. When he stopped, we were facing each other over Tinker’s body. The feet were next me. Now free of the chain, they’d already lagged behind the rest of him. Keppler had taken up position next to the boy’s head, which was still being dragged.

  I watched as Keppler shifted the knife from one hand to the other.

  “Your brother might have stopped this,” he said. “But he couldn’t do it. He isn’t a killer. Except by not doing it, he’s killed you. And your friends.”

  The winding drum turned. The chain clinked. I watched Tinker’s body judder forwards another inch. The only way to stop it was to undo the strap around his shoulders. Keppler was waiting for me to come to him.

  It would mean death to walk around the machine, so I chose instead to clamber up onto it. On hands and knees, I started crawling across the draining board over which Tinker was being dragged.

  Keppler smiled and matched my movement, climbing up from the other side. With one hand he gripped the knife, with the other he steadied himself on the chain.

  Mist from the freezer was flowing over the side of Tinker’s head. White frost was growing on his hair and eyelashes. The knife darted at me. I ducked and slipped. My chin thudded down making lights dance. Keppler launched himself at me. The chain lashed and his leap fell short. He shouted in pain. His knife hand was next to me. I swung my elbow down onto his wrist and the knife skittered away.

  He thrashed his hand and the chain danced, as if he could not let go. It took me a second to understand. His bare skin, wet with my blood, had frozen to the metal.

  With my gloved hands, I fumbled the strap through the buckle and released Tinker’s shoulders. Keppler was stretching his free hand towards the knife. He got a finger to it but only knocked it further from his reach.

  I hauled Tinker’s lifeless body away from him.

  Another link of the chain clicked over the lip of the trough, pulling Keppler’s hand an inch closer to the freezer. The cold mist was flowing over it already, his hairs whitening with frost. He hit it again and again with his other hand, as if trying to crack the ice. I was off the machine and pulling Tinker after me. I lifted him, feeling pain from the wound on my upper arm.

  Clenching my teeth, I carried him out from behind the machine. He was cold, but not yet frozen. I had to get him out of the tunnels. There was a trolley that looked like a stretcher on wheels parked next to the wall. I laid Tinker on top of it then went back for Farthing.

  Another link of chain clinked over the lip. Keppler’s hand was deeper in the mist. He was stretching with his other hand, trying to grab the belt that drove the wheels.

  “Help me,” he said. “I’ll do a deal.”

  I took hold of Farthing’s feet and heaved. My spikes bit into the ice and he started sliding. At the side of the trolley, I tried to lift him, but he was far heavier than Tinker and I fell to my knees.

  “You won’t get them out on your own,” Keppler shouted, panic in his voice. “I’ll help you if you just free me!”

  The chain clicked forward. He was forearm-deep in the trough.

  I slapped Farthing’s face. “Wake up!” I slapped again, harder, making his head roll to the side. “John Farthing, don’t you die on me!”

  I hauled on the ropes with which he was trussed, forcing the body into a sitting position. Then I crouched, wrapped my arms around him and heaved, lifting him from the floor. I couldn’t get him fully upright. When he started to fall back, I threw all my weight to the side so that his upper body came to rest on top of Tinker.

  The chain clinked.

  “I’ll kill Foxley for you!” Keppler shouted. “Just let me out!”

  I lifted Farthing’s legs and hauled them around. Somehow I’d managed to get him onto the trolley, half on top of Tinker.

  I pushed, leaning my weight into it. At first the trolley wouldn’t budge. Then the wheels started turning and it trundled forwards over the uneven ground. As I entered the tunnel, I took a final look over my shoulder. Keppler was shoulder deep in the trough, straining to keep his mouth above the freezing mist. There was wild panic in his eyes.

  He screamed. “You don’t want to leave me! You’re not a killer.”

  “You did it to yourself,” I said.

  Then I turned away, not wanting to see the moment his head was pulled under.

  Chapter 37

  Humility is the birthright of the common man, whereas the king knows himself all-powerful. Thus he sees not the dagger that strikes him down.

  From Revolution

  Pushing the trolley into the oval tunnel, I felt the wheels drop into grooves in the ice. I’d not noticed them before. Suddenly it was easier to push and I was away around the curve. I wondered how many times they had moved bodies between the freezer and the dormitory to wear such a track.

  As I worked I began to sweat. The burning sensation that had passed through me was now all but gone. Tinker and Farthing had been given the full dose of the drug and perhaps other drugs to follow. I feared what would happen when I got them outside and their bodies started to warm.

  It grew darker towards the end of the oval tunnel. I tried to remember which direction I’d turned to enter it. The fog was starting to clear from my mind. I decided to try left. Within a few paces I was walking in blackness. I patted down my clothes, only to remember that my possessions had been taken. There would be no candle or matches to light the way and I had lost my father’s pistol.

  My encounters with the guide and Keppler could only have taken a few minutes. If Foxley and the other men were still in the tunnels, they would soon discover my escape. I leant my weight into the trolley and pushed harder. There were no more wheel tracks to run along and I was pushing blind. I drifted into the left hand wall and then into the right, each time jarring my weary muscles.

  My eyes were stretched wide open, as if that would help me to see. And then, when I did start to see, hallucinations began leaping in front of me. I saw writhing snakes with the faces of people. And then they weren’t hallucinations anymore, but my own shadow cast over the ceiling of the tunnel. At first I thought daylight must be reaching me from outside. But the shadow was ahead, which meant the light was coming towards me from behind.

  “How far did you think you were going to get?”

  The voice belonged to Erasmus Foxley.

  I turned and had to shield my eyes from the approaching lamp. I sensed several people behind it, but couldn’t see to count. Panicked, I tried to push on faster. But the light grew as they closed the distance. At last I stopped and turned to face them.

  “Take her,” said Foxley.

  The lantern shifted to one side and a man emerged. He stepped around behind me and took a grip on my arm.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  “Back to the Kingdom,” he said.

  “No,” said Foxley. “There’s been a change of plan.”

 
“But the reward…”

  “You’ll be compensated.”

  “We were promised four hundred.”

  “Bring her,” Foxley ordered. “And you… bring that.”

  A second man emerged from behind the light and started manoeuvring the trolley.

  I felt a shove in my back but resisted. “Do they know what you’ve done?”

  “Just bring her!”

  “Do they know the trouble they’re in?”

  Another shove between my shoulders, stronger this time. I stumbled to my knees. The doctor started walking back the way we’d come.

  “What does she mean?” the man behind me asked. “What trouble?”

  “Didn’t you see the bodies?” I asked.

  “She means the morgue,” said Foxley.

  “Did you see them hanging there?”

  “Hanging?”

  “From meat hooks in the ceiling.”

  “Shut her up,” Foxley snapped. “She’s just trying to unnerve you.”

  I felt my hand pulled up behind my back.

  “Do you know who–…”

  But my arm was pulled higher and I could not speak for pain.

  “Shut up!”

  “What does she mean?” This was the other one speaking – the one pushing the trolley.

  “You’re in trouble,” I managed to say before my arm was yanked upwards again.

  “I want to know what she means!”

  Foxley wheeled to face us. “You want your money? That’s what you’ll get. And a bonus. I’ll pay another hundred guineas on top to each of you. Now, put your hand over her mouth.”

  The man did as he was told. His palm pressed down on my face. I bit him. Hard. He yelled and released me.

  “He’s killing people,” I gasped.

  The bounty hunter lunged at me. I jinked away from him and leapt towards the one pushing the trolley, who grabbed me by the shoulders.

  “What people?” he demanded.

  “The niece of the Minister of Patents.”

  “She’s lying!” shouted Foxley. “The Minister of Patents doesn’t have a niece.”

  “She’ll be hanging from a meat hook. They cut off her finger to send to her parents.”

  The other bounty hunter grabbed my arm and pulled me off my feet. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from me. Then he was kneeling by my head, trying to stuff a rag into my mouth.

  “It’s all lies,” said Foxley.

  “You can check!” I managed to say before my mouth was full of cloth.

  “Can we do that?” asked the other one. “Can we check?”

  When the doctor answered, his words were measured. “There is someone with a missing finger. But she’s someone else. This story is concocted. She’s trying to unnerve you. Be a man!”

  “I want to hear what she has to say.”

  There was a scuffle and the pressure was suddenly released from my mouth. I spat out the cloth.

  “The man on the trolley – d’you know who he is?”

  “It’s one of her friends,” said Foxley. “We caught him hiding outside.”

  “He’s is an agent of the Patent Office.”

  One of the bounty hunters swore.

  “No,” said the doctor. “That’s impossible!”

  But there was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. The other men must have picked it up too. I felt a shifting of their postures away from me, away from the trolley on which Farthing’s body lay.

  “She’s lying!”

  “Then let’s check,” said the one who’d been pushing the trolley. “If he’s one of them, he’ll have the mark on his skin.”

  “That’s a myth,” said Foxley.

  The man gripped Farthing’s gown and ripped the cloth away. I scrambled to my feet. There was no mark on his chest.

  “You see,” said Foxley. “Nothing!”

  Then the man heaved Farthing over onto his side and pulled the gown away from his back. On the bare shoulder, a symbol had been tattooed. The letters ‘O’ and ‘I’ superimposed.

  ɸ

  He released Farthing, who slumped back down onto the trolley.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Not dead yet,” I said. “But we need to get him out.”

  The man turned to Foxley. “You can keep your money.”

  I believe the bounty hunters would have left at that moment. Perhaps they would never have spoken about it again. But the doctor, seeing the risk, dipped into the deep pocket of his coat and produced a pistol.

  Immediately they stepped away from each other then moved towards him, one on either side of the passage. The final dash was so quick I couldn’t clearly see what happened. They were on him. There was a struggle. The gun fired. The doctor fell.

  I was on my feet with the sound of the shot was still ringing in my ears. “Help me get the trolley out and I’ll never say what you did.”

  They didn’t even need to look at each other to agree. I picked up the lantern then noticed the pistol on the floor next to Foxley’s body. A leaping hare was inlaid on the stock in turquoise. It was my father’s gun.

  There was a windowless carriage waiting outside the ice factory. Doubtless they’d intended to use it to transport me back to the border. But all thought of the reward had now gone. When they looked at me it was with pleading eyes, hoping I would fulfil my part of the bargain.

  I knelt on the floor of the carriage, rubbing Tinker’s arms and legs, trying to re-kindle warmth and circulation, not knowing if he would wake. Not knowing if there would be anything human left in him. Next to him on the floor lay Farthing. And on the seat, within my reach, rested the gun, loaded with borrowed powder and shot. If either of them woke as a drooling monster, the right thing would be to end their half-death. If I could. Keppler had said I was not a killer. I hoped I’d not have to find out whether he was right.

  The boy’s arm twitched. I put my head to his chest and listened again. The flutter I had heard before was now a heartbeat. I rubbed his skin more vigorously.

  “Wake-up! Come back. Please.”

  There was a groan, but not from Tinker. Farthing’s hand was clawing at the thin gown. I grabbed the gun and pulled back the flint.

  He coughed and retched. There was spit running from the corner of his mouth. He turned onto his side, one arm flailing.

  “Say something!”

  Tinker shifted. I scrambled backwards onto the seat, taking aim at Farthing’s chest.

  “Speak damn it!”

  Tinker sat up abruptly. He lurched towards me, groaning, his hands clutching at my coat. I pointed the gun at him. He opened his eyes. They were yellowed, un-seeing.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, putting my finger on the trigger.

  Then Farthing gasped. “Elizabeth…”

  I snatched the gun away, my hand shaking.

  “Say something more!”

  Farthing held his hands in front of him and turned them, examining each side. “Where am I?”

  Tinker blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his vision. “I’m hungry,” he said.

  All else that followed seemed grey and distant. The bounty hunters had found clothes for Tinker and Farthing. I didn’t ask where they had got them. Soon the boy and the man were able to sit on the carriage seats. We set off in the direction of Upper Wharf Street. Farthing was overtaken by a bout of shivering so powerful that I feared it was a seizure. But it soon passed. Their minds cleared fast after that.

  The coach pulled up beside the warehouse and I remembered those other poor creatures I had encountered on my first visit – their minds corrupted by the experiments of Erasmus Foxley.

  The carriage door was opened by one of the bounty hunters. The housemistress stood behind him, a lamp in her hand. She peered in anxiously, her eyes flicking from person to person.

  “Get the boy inside,” I said. “I’ll explain later.”

  They helped Tinker out, supporting him on both sides.

  “Elizabeth…” Farthing reach
ed a hand towards me.

  I batted it away. “What were you doing? You said the Patent Office couldn’t be involved!”

  “These things… I can’t explain.”

  “And do you know what happened in those ice tunnels? Living people used for experiments as if they were dead bodies! Yet the Patent Office can’t be involved because it’s medical research!”

  “Elizabeth...” he tried again to touch me.

  “You know I hate the Patent Office! And with all my being!”

  There was a second in which we held each other’s eyes. I do not know what happened, but something passed between us. The same feeling gripped my chest that I’d felt in the tea shop. “Why? Why did you put yourself in such danger?” The words welled from deep within me. They were a cry of pain.

  He seemed about to answer, but another shivering fit seized him. He crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest, as if trying to control the tremors. He keeled over onto his side. I felt the sudden impulse to hold him. The feeling was so strong that to stop myself, I had to brace against the corner of the carriage. Gradually the shivering passed and he was able to right himself.

  “I... saved you once,” he said, catching his breath. “You remember? Now you’ve saved me. We’re even. I’ll close your case at the Patent Office. You never have to see me or think of me again.”

  It felt as if an icicle had been plunged into my heart.

  I did not turn to watch the carriage go but I heard the clatter of its wheels. The sound repeated in my mind long after it was gone. I could still hear it as I lay that night in bed, trying to let sleep swallow me.

  Chapter 38

  War and science have ever been the bullwhips of change. But with the drafting of this Great Accord we have abolished both. Thus may we at last set sail into the Long Quiet, which is the end of history.