by Tim Waggoner
As I listened to Henry talk, a suspicion began to form in my mind. "When we first met, I thought you were Baron's assistant. But you're not, are you?"
Devona looked at me, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"When Henry rose from the chair and I saw he'd surgically grafted Osseal to himself, my first thought was that he was simply a disgruntled employee who was tired of being number two and wanted to take over his boss's business for himself." I turned to Henry. "But it's more than that, isn't it? A lot more."
Henry gave me a look so cold that, if he'd been Acantha, I'd have turned to stone on the spot.
Devona's eyes widened in sudden realization.
"You're Dr. Frankenstein!" she said.
Henry inclined his head. "At your service."
"If that's true, then why go by the name Henry?"
"It's my middle name. And I wasn't about to call myself Victor anymore. Not after he took the name."
I thought back to the interactions I'd observed between Baron and Henry. Henry had been more than a bit snarky toward Baron, but the latter had tolerantly accepted the other's behavior. At the time, I'd thought Baron had been simply too caught up in his work to care, but now I recognized his tolerance as that of an adult child good-naturedly putting up with the irritating behavior of an older relative.
"Why the resentment toward Baron?" I asked. "He seemed to treat you well enough. More like a partner than an assistant."
"That's what he wanted everyone to believe," Henry said. "But in truth he regards me as an inferior intellect, barely fit to wash out his test tubes."
A sorrowful look came into Baron's eyes, but he remained standing still at Henry's side.
"Is that what Baron thinks or what you think?" Devona asked gently, but Henry ignored her.
"When we met I told you that Shelley's novel got some of our story right, though many of the specific details are different. Suffice it to say that I'd attempted to create a perfect man, only to realize I'd fallen far short of that too-lofty goal and instead created a monster. I attempted to rectify that mistake and destroy the beast I'd made, and he in turn tried to destroy me. In the end I died and my monster lived and I went into the darkness with the consolation of knowing I was at least free of the grotesque abomination I'd brought into the world. But do you know what he did? He refused to let me stay dead! He claimed he did it out of love, because he didn't want to lose the only family he had in the world. But I knew the truth. He did it out of spite – for vengeance's sake! He brought my body to my lab and using my notes and equipment, he went to work. The result? He succeeded in returning me to life, but trapped inside this twisted joke of a body. He apologized for the crudity of his work, saying said it was because this was his first attempt at the reanimatory arts. He promised to continue, experimenting and learning, until he'd obtained the knowledge and skill to fully restore me. What a laugh! As if he ever had any intention of doing so!"
"Judging by how he looks, I'd say he succeeded in mastering his craft," I said. "Has he never offered to operate on you again?"
"Numerous times," Henry said. "But do you think I'd ever allow him to come near me with surgical tools again after what he did to me?"
I thought to Devona, Sounds to me like what Henry needs isn't a medical doctor as much as a really good psychiatrist.
No kidding, she replied.
He's already more unstable than a house of cards in a hurricane. Let's see if we can't push him the rest of the way over the edge, maybe get him to make a mistake.
Maybe get him to kill us, you mean, Devona thought.
What's life without a little risk? I countered.
Easy for you to say – you're already dead!
I had to keep from smiling at that. Aloud, I said, "It must've eaten away at you, coming to Nekropolis and working alongside Baron all these years, watching him improve himself physically while he became increasingly successful."
Henry nodded emphatically. "So successful that people started calling him the Sixth Lord? Can you believe it? What hubris!"
"And all the different refinements and applications he came up with were based on your original work," Devona added.
"That's right! And what's tattooed on everything that leaves the Foundry, on the laborers, voxes, Mind's Eye sets? Another Victor Baron Creation. As if I'd never existed!"
"Worst of all, Baron succeeded where you failed," I said. "Thanks to his efforts to continually improve himself over the years, he did become the perfect man. Or at least as close to perfect as possible."
Henry had become more and more agitated as we'd talked and now his face was red with fury and spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.
Henry whirled on me. "Yes, damn you, yes!" He practically screamed these words and beneath his voice Osseal's tone became a high-pitched shrill.
Now! I thought to Devona.
With Henry's full attention focused on me, Devona seized the opportunity to make a lunge for Osseal. As strong as she was, if she could grab hold of the instrument and rip it free from Henry's chest –
SEVENTEEN
– but before she could reach the magical artifact, Victor Baron, who'd stood motionless while his creator ranted, now burst into sudden motion.
Moving with a speed that put Devona to shame, Baron caught her hand by the wrist before she could get a grip on Osseal. She tried to pull away, but Baron held her tight, his face showing his futile internal struggle to resist Osseal's commands. Under Henry's control the celebrated Sixth Lord had become nothing more than an organic machine, performing whatever tasks he was told to.
Henry became calm again, and when he spoke his voice was filled with so much satisfaction, he nearly purred. "Nice try," he said.
I blew it, Devona thought to me.
Stay sharp, I thought back. We may get another chance. Since no other course of action presented itself, I decided to keep Henry talking.
"If you hate Baron so much, why keep him alive? It's not like you need him to run the city, once your takeover is complete. Unless the job is more than you can handle on your own."
Henry chuckled. "It appears you're not as intelligent as I gave you credit for. I don't care about taking over the Foundry or ruling Nekropolis. My plan has but a single, simple aim." He looked at Baron with loathing in his eyes. "To ruin everything he's worked for. That's why I'm using Osseal to control only Victor's creations. I want the blame for the rioting to fall squarely on his shoulders. And after the events of this night, the name of Victor Baron will be reviled by the citizens of Nekropolis. The Foundry will be shut down and Victor will be hauled off to Tenebrus. He'll go quietly and he'll make a full confession as well." Henry grinned as he reached up to tap the bone flute embedded in his chest. "I'll make sure of it."
"Speaking of Osseal, how did you learn about it in the first place?" I asked.
"The same way I learned about the mark on your hand and what it can be used for," Henry said. "Research. Since my resurrection I've spent every spare moment I've had searching for ways to increase my knowledge of the reanimatory arts, hoping to find any scrap of lore that I might be able to use against him. Victor's business relationship with Lord Edrigu helped a great deal. I've accompanied Victor to the Reliquary on several occasions, which familiarized me with the layout of Edrigu's stronghold. And whatever information Edrigu didn't readily supply, I discovered on my own through one means or another."
"And you had your plan all worked out," I said. "Except for one little detail: you didn't have someone who possessed Edrigu's mark."
"That's right. Edrigu's mark is only given to the dead, and the majority of them exist in semi-insubstantial states that made them unsuitable to my purpose. But then I saw your interview with Acantha, and I realized that after all these long years I'd finally found what I'd been looking for. Someone dead, who possessed the mark, but whose form was solid enough for me to use."
"So you dispatched two of your best Bonegetters to cut off my head and bring my body to you here at
the Foundry. Seems like a lot of trouble to go through to get the mark. Why not just have them steal my hand?"
"That would've been more convenient, wouldn't it?" Henry said. "Unfortunately, the mark's magic is what's required, and that suffuses the entire body of the mark's bearer." He smiled. "A precaution of Edrigu's to prevent anyone from simply cutting off some dead being's hand and using it to gain entrance to the Reliquary. Fortunately, the magic remains functional so long as the majority of the body is intact. After all, the physical dead are known for losing bits and pieces of themselves, so it's rare to find one that's completely whole."
"What did you do once you had my body?" I asked. "Stick some kind of control unit on it and work it remotely like some kind of machine?"
"Nothing so crude," Henry said. He pointed to a fresh looking scar on his neck. "We work wonders here at the Foundry, you know. With Burke and Hare following my expert guidance – and while Victor was preoccupied elsewhere with his latest pet project – I removed my head and my assistants transferred it to your body. They drove me to the Reliquary where I used the mark on your hand to gain entrance. I stole Osseal from around Edrigu's neck, departed and Burke and Hare brought me back here. They returned my head to my own body and then took yours to the Sprawl for disposal. I supposed I could've had them destroy it here, but I didn't want to risk there being any evidence at the Foundry that a forensic sorcerer might be able to discover."
He smiled. "You can't imagine how amused I was when Ms. Kanti called and asked if we could reattach your head. The irony was simply too delicious to deny you, and as extra amusement I got to watch Victor put you back together, all the while being completely unaware that it was your body which served as the instrument of his ultimate downfall. And having you restored provided a useful distraction. Your arrest, incarceration and subsequent escape from Tenebrus kept the authorities occupied while I implanted Osseal in my body and learned how to use it."
All the pieces had fallen into place, but there was still one thing I didn't – couldn't – understand.
"How can you resent Baron so much?" I asked. "Isn't it the hope of every parent that their children one day surpass their achievements? I'd think you'd be proud of him."
Henry's face clouded with anger and he leaned his face close to mine as he shouted, "This misbegotten piece of stitched together filth is not my son!"
Henry had moved in close in order to yell in my face, giving me a chance to grab Osseal. I managed to wrap my fingers around the bone instrument, but I didn't have anything close to Devona's strength, and when I pulled, the flute didn't tear free.
Realizing what I was up to, Henry snarled and shoved me back. He gave no obvious command to Baron, but the man lashed out with his free hand and struck me a solid blow. The impact sent me flying and I heard numerous bones snap as I hit. I immediately got to my feet, though my broken body didn't want to obey me, and once I was on my legs, they wobbled as they struggled to support my weight. My jaw felt loose, too, but I was still able to speak well enough.
"From where I stand, Frankenstein, the only piece of filth in this room is you."
Henry's face turned purple with rage, but when he spoke, his words were measured and precise. "Your amusement value has run out, I'm afraid, Mr. Richter. I'm going to use Osseal to force you to stand still while Victor rips you to pieces." He smiled coldly. "But I'll allow you to retain control of your mind, just as I have with Victor, so you'll be aware the entire time. After all, I wouldn't want you to miss your own dismemberment."
Osseal's song seemed to swell louder then, almost as if it was coming from inside my ears. I could feel its power pressing against me, but try as it might, it couldn't overcome the spirit of the Loa inhabiting Papa Chatha's necklace, and my body remained mine to command.
Henry frowned. "Something's not right." He shrugged. "Well, no matter. It's not as if you have anywhere to run, is it?" He turned to Baron, and when he spoke next, his voice was cold as arctic ice. "Tear him apart."
I hope Baron would let go of Devona in order to fulfill Henry's order, but instead he picked her up and hurled her toward the flesh wall. She flew across the room and slammed into the wall, but before she could bounce off, the veins in that section of the wall wrapped around her like swollen, throbbing tentacles and held her fast. I understood what had happened. The fleshtech in the room had been created from reanimated tissue, and was therefore just as susceptible to Osseal's influence as any of Baron's other creations, and it was under Henry's control.
Baron turned and started walking toward me. There was no hesitation in his motion, but his gaze was sorrowful, and I knew that what Henry had said was true. Baron was fully aware of what he was being made to do, and though he fought against Osseal's power, he had no choice but to obey Henry's commands. I felt sorry for Baron, but not so sorry that I intended to let him reduce me to zombie nuggets. I drew my .45, took aim at his head, and started firing.
I was hoping to do the same to him as I had to Jigsaw Jones, but Baron was far faster than the wrestler, and he brought his arms up in time to intercept the bullets and protect his head. The .45's rounds tore into the flesh of his arms, and while there was some blood, it was far less than it should've been. Over the last century and a half, Victor Baron had made himself into the pinnacle of what the reanimatory arts could accomplish, and that meant he was strong and tough as hell. He could take a handful of bullets without flinching, and they certainly didn't slow him down. He came at me so swiftly that even if I'd had the reflexes of a living man I wouldn't have been able to get out of the way. I dropped my .45, pulled the salamander out of my pocket, and gave its tiny belly a good squeeze.
Flame shot out of the creature's mouth and it struck Baron on the side of his perfect face. The flesh sizzled and blackened, but Baron kept coming. He reached out, wrapped his hand around my wrist, and squeezed, crushing the bones along with the salamander. He then grabbed hold of my wrist and tore my arm out of the socket.
"Dammit! I hate that!" I shouted. "Do you know how many times that's happened to me?"
On the bright side, Baron had also torn the sleeve off Bogdan's coat when he pulled the arm off, so it wasn't a total loss.
Baron came at me, still holding onto my arm, and I remembered the swill the recently deceased minotaur had forced me to drink outside Hemlocks. The Sprawlicano had been sloshing around in my stomach ever since, and since I'd have to get rid of the wretched stuff eventually, I figured now was an excellent time to heave ho.
I tensed my stomach muscles, opened my mouth as wide as I could and let Baron have it right in the face. Whatever nasty ingredients the Sprawlicano had originally been made from, their time pickling in my zombie stomach had taken them to a whole new level of putrefaction. A nauseating liquid stew of browns, greens and grays splashed into Baron's eyes and he roared in pain and staggered backward. I imagined the toxic mess burned like hell and probably stank worse than a ghoul's breath after a two week eating binge at the Roadkill Roadhouse. Baron wiped his swollen, reddened eyes with his free hand and I was mildly surprised – and a bit disappointed – to see that Sprawlicano à la Richter hadn't eaten away the man's eyeballs. My regurgitory assault hadn't done more than make Baron pause and a second later, eyesight cleared, he came at me again.
Baron had managed to retain hold of my arm, and wielding it like a club, he slammed it into the side of my head so hard that I thought he was going to undo his own handiwork and decapitate me again. But though the blow sent me sprawling onto the floor, my head remained attached. Thank Dis for small favors.
Still gripping my arm, Baron came toward me. The sorrow in his eyes was palpable now, and along with it was an impotent rage. Baron was fighting Osseal's power with everything he had, but no matter how strong his will was, he couldn't resist the artifact's magic on his own. I sat up, determined not to meet my fate lying down, and as I moved, the pieces of Papa Chatha's Loa necklace rustled together.
Maybe Baron couldn't throw off the effects of Ossea
l by himself, but if he had a little help…
Devona had been fighting to escape from the veintentacles that held her, and when she saw Baron tear my arm off, she decided to quit fooling around. She bared her fangs and bit down into one of the veins, tearing out a great bloody chunk which she spit out. Ichor gushed from the wound, spraying the air and soaking her in crimson. She instantly became too slick for the other veins to hold on to her, and she wriggled out of their embrace and fell to the floor. She landed on her feet and started running toward Baron, and even though I loved her, at that moment, seeing her covered with blood, fangs bared, eyes blazing with feral fury, I was scared of her.
Just as Baron was about to hit me with my own arm again, Devona launched herself through the air and landed on his back. She bit into the side of his neck and ripped out a hunk of flesh. Blood flowed from the wound – but again, less than it should have – and though the injury should've hurt like blazes, Baron's face showed only his internal struggle against Osseal's magic. With his free hand he reached up and grabbed Devona by the top of the head and flung her forward off of him. She sailed overtop me and slammed into the opposite wall where more coils of vein ensnared her.
