Compulsion (Asylum for the Mechanically Insane Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  Finally, Mrs. Howell glanced at Mary. “Very well done, both of you. And Mary we must be on our way now.”

  Farewells were said, and Gerolf found himself alone with Alwynne, who touched a lantern with a slender finger. “So clever, Gerolf. So very clever. And they will last the duration of the ball, do you think?”

  He stroked his beard. “They will last a few hours, my Lady. Whether the entire ball or not, I cannot say. I would perhaps suggest you light them just before the dancing begins? They must be closely watched, lest they become pierced and fall. I would not want your guests to run the risk of accidentally singeing their carefully coiffed hair.”

  She laughed, a natural sound that pleased him. “I am sure you would not let that occur, Gerolf. But again, my thanks for this special treat. It will enchant my guests and is just what I needed to complete my return to society. I’ve neither heard nor seen anything like these.”

  “You will have everyone talking, my Lady. Your beauty alone will stun them, as it always has.”

  She smiled and took his arm as they strolled to the door. “So charming, my dear Baron. Thank you. I shall accept your compliment with pleasure.”

  Gerolf patted her hand. She was definitely more herself. More the Lady of the Manor now, and less the brutalized victim.

  So why did a tiny chill make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the sensation of her cool flesh beneath his palm?

  He decided he didn’t want to know.

  Chapter Ten

  For Alwynne Harbury, the forty-eight hours prior to the Winter Ball were filled with activities about which her staff knew nothing.

  Telling her maid that she would ring if she needed anything, Alwynne secluded herself in her room. Then left it within ten minutes, bearing a covered basket, taking a dark passage into an even darker tunnel and emerging some minutes later outside an empty laboratory deep in the ground beneath the Hall. She had known the way for many years, but had barely used it; certainly not since the incident early last winter.

  Now it proved invaluable, and once inside the laboratory she drew the screen over the glass in the door and turned on a lamp.

  The basket went on to an empty bench and Alwynne casually whisked one end of her shawl over the thin layer of dust that had accumulated there. Not that it mattered, but she did not want to soil her cuffs and have to explain to her maid why they were grubby.

  Then she carefully extracted a tiny vial of what looked like miniature snowballs. They gleamed white, sparkling now and again when the lamplight caught them at the right angle.

  Next to the vial she laid five exquisite wax flowers—each small, perfect and possessing a ring of green leaves at their base. No larger than her thumbnail, Alwynne touched them with great care. The art of making such treasures was dying out as the work involved was extensive and there were now other methods preferred for creating floral decorations.

  These five beauties had been lurking in one of her jewelry boxes for many years. She couldn’t even remember where they came from, only that she’d always known they were there.

  And now they were going to be the instruments of her ultimate triumph.

  Nobody had ever realized that Lady Harbury had paid close attention to most of the experimental work that took place in what she considered “her” facility. The attempt to create automated life had intrigued her, the chemical vapors that had sustained her for so long had been of value beyond measure, and the devastatingly effective explosive—thonirium—had stunned her with its force.

  The tiny white beads were pure thonirium. Her continual monitoring of this experimental facility had paid off more than once. And it had allowed her to secrete a thimbleful of this most rare of weapons.

  Along with the final item in her basket. A small box containing what she believed to be the one thing that would guarantee the success of her plan. She opened it, nodding in satisfaction at the little pellet. One had only to squeeze the two sides so that their inner surfaces touched…and boom!

  She had no idea whatsoever as to the science behind any of this paraphernalia. But she had managed to observe the man behind the boom many times more than he could ever have imagined. The details didn’t matter.

  In a precisely choreographed series of movements, Lady Alwynne Harbury accessed the laboratory’s energy source, turned on the valves, positioned the little pellet on a slate stand and proceeded to activate the thonirium detonator.

  Her actions were flawless and the system sprang to life, humming a little, lighting the appropriate lights on the bench and zipping happily into the pellet.

  It was simple, ingenious and as far as she could tell, successful.

  While that process was underway, she turned to the flowers.

  Surveying them, she chose the largest and carefully began to disassemble it; putting the white petals to one side and the tiny green leaves in a pile beside them.

  Rubbing her hands together, she began to soften the white wax, gently squeezing and moving it around in her palms until it became a malleable ball. She repeated the process with the green wax.

  When both were soft, warm and round, she removed a ring from her finger, looking at the “H” incised within the small gold signet. It should work well.

  Smoothing and flattening the two wax balls was the work of a few moments, and she nodded as she carefully created a “blank”, cutting it to the perfect shape with a plain ring she’d added to her basket; white wax surrounded by a green border. It was easier than she’d anticipated.

  A moment later, the ring pressed slowly and firmly into the white layer and as it came away, Alwynne smiled happily.

  She had created a delightful accessory; a tiny and delicate wax representation of the Harbury crest, that matched her own wax flowers.

  How could Randall refuse to wear her thoughtful gift?

  She picked up the pin she’d taken from one of her other brooches, and gently slid it down through the back of her design, making it ideal for the lapel of a gentleman. Especially one given to excessive displays of fashionable jewelry.

  It only needed one last touch.

  Removing one tiny bead of thonirium, she carefully placed it next to the new pin. The wax was still warm enough to be malleable, so she took the little white dot and pressed it into the green border beneath the “H”. It settled itself in and looked just like an added decorative element. She added two more, one either side, admiring the symmetry.

  It was perfect.

  The synergy appealed to her as well. This amazing explosive had been developed in the Harbury Laboratories.

  And it would be the mechanism for the destruction of Lord Harbury.

  How ideal an ending to the abomination that was her husband.

  Her task completed, she returned her wax flowers to the basket and disconnected the little detonator device. She would carry that on her person, already planning for it to become part of the decorative trim around her neckline.

  A casual straightening of a silk ruffle—and a terrible thing would happen to Randall Harbury.

  Tidying up and restoring the laboratory to its previous state of disuse, she sighed with pleasure at the thought of being free. And of exacting the most delicious revenge on the monster who had scarred her so terribly.

  Her goal was to simulate some sort of heart attack. Since this pin would be worn on his left lapel—she had to remember to make sure Young Tom placed it correctly—there was a strong likelihood she might get her wish.

  Who would care if there was blood or some other distasteful effect? He was in such an appalling physical state that few would be surprised, and with luck she could have him hurried from the ballroom, all the while displaying the tragic concern of a wife for her husband whose heart had apparently just exploded within his body.

  She would, of course, have been yards away from him when he suffered his fatal “attack”.

  For once, Randall’s extravagant sartorial tastes would work in her favor. He always insisted on a frill of lace s
omewhere on his person, and she knew that was doubly true for his choice in evening attire, flamboyant as it always was.

  She smiled once more at the thought of how his own foibles would be his undoing. Then she carefully unlatched the curtain over the glass and let herself out of the laboratory.

  *~~*~~*

  Baron von Landau was also busy with preparations for the Winter Ball, although his involved activities that would not take place while a small orchestra played the popular tunes of the day, or while servants strolled through the foyer and salons bearing trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres.

  He had planned to make an appearance, of course. He was a guest of the Harburys, living in their mansion, and to all intents and purposes a good friend of both Randall and his wife.

  He probably would not dance, but would mingle, making sure his presence was observed and noted. Perhaps he might engage in a minor flirtation with some ineligible attendee, just to emphasize the jolly and naughty nature of the handsome German baron.

  If he disappeared as the evening drew on, there would be enough people ready to vouch for his presence. Such affairs involved alcohol and giddiness and few remembered to look for a clock when dancing, or sneaking brief moments of forbidden kisses in darkened corridors.

  No, he would be safe from observation once he had attained his goal.

  He was going to kidnap Mary Jones.

  Unaware that another was also in the laboratories that night, working on her own nefarious schemes, Gerolf focused on his experimental equipment—all the machines that had been carefully secreted away behind an unseen door located behind a large bookshelf. Few knew that the shelf was easily swung to one side, and when open revealed a sizeable storage room.

  It was from this space that Gerolf had quietly rolled out a large device, making sure the cords and tubes were tangle free. There were connections specifically made for this room, for the power supply that had enhanced every device Gerolf used.

  They dangled from the machine like feelers from a giant ant, waiting to merge with the matching connector mounted on the wall. And in front of everything, two chairs, linked together by strapping and clamps.

  Although they had been cleaned, they were still foreboding in appearance. There were clamps for the lower extremities, to secure the occupants’ legs at the ankles. A matching set would secure the wrists, one on either side.

  The most intimidating clamps were affixed to the shoulder and neck areas. It didn’t take a scientist to see that they were for one use only—securing a human head into an immovable pose.

  However, even a scientists would have been hard pressed to discern the function of the thick iron collar into which fed an assortment of tubes and out of which protruded extremely sharp spiked tips.

  As Gerolf wheeled the various pieces into place, he smiled, knowing that his latest modification was perfectly positioned above the chairs.

  He had determined that his previous experiments had failed for several reasons, not the least of which was the size of the extraction hole he drilled into the subject’s skull.

  It wasn’t large enough.

  His method for extracting brain tissue was perfectly effective, but he’d failed to take into account the compression factor during the process. It had not been a major goal of his, to retain the brain of the selected donor in any kind of active state. He had been experimenting on a fractured schedule, paying attention to each step of the process at a time.

  Then he had stepped back and achieved an overall view of the entire procedure. It turned out to be relatively simple—remove the desired area of scalp to limit blood loss, drill a large hole in donor skull, take the old brain out while retaining the stem and the spinal column, and replace with new brain transferred immediately from old host.

  It could, in theory, be done in one arduous session. Once the donor skull was cleared and prepared, the new occupant could be installed immediately. In fact, his calculations had led him to the belief that the faster the surgeries, the more successful the procedure would be. Many neurological connections vital to cerebral functioning would still be viable.

  This was, of course, merely theoretical.

  He didn’t exactly rub his hands together with glee, but the instinct was there as the entire evening coalesced into his mind.

  After his appearance at the ball, whisking that little maid Mary away would be quite simple. She was, after all, a servant. All he had to do was make a reasonable request of her…perhaps she could fetch something for him, for example…and she would be obliged to do so.

  Once away from the guests, she would quickly respond to his mesmeric persuasion, and if that failed a tiny drop of the chloroform chemical he had ordered a month or so ago would do the job nicely.

  But she had proved to be quite malleable, so he doubted he would need to use anything other than his voice and his gaze. He took a measuring glance at one of the chairs and made a few adjustments, recalling Mary’s stature as slender and not too tall.

  There. That should be perfect.

  He felt no pity, although there was a twinge of regret. She had proved to be more intelligent than he had expected, and had perhaps amassed a little more knowledge of the world from her employers, unlike her peers. She had intrigued him enough to notice her more than once. It had obviously been Fate trying to catch his attention and make him realize that she was the ideal subject for his most ambitious experiment yet.

  With his skills and perhaps a tiny bit of luck, he would have something very exciting to present to the world on the morning following the ball. Life would exist exo-corporeally.

  Exactly how well this new being would function, he didn’t know. He supposed there would have to be rulings about the legality of a disembodied entity, but that wasn’t his business. And honestly, he didn’t care.

  All he wanted—all he’d ever really wanted deep down in his soul— was the prestige, the notoriety of being the first to do the impossible and keep a disembodied brain alive.

  That would astound the entire world. And oh my goodness, wouldn’t the scientific community sit up and take notice? No longer would he be brushed aside as a sideshow performer who had some science schooling. No more dismissive letters or interviews with allegedly superior scientists asking him to leave the facility.

  He would finally be taken seriously and receive the accolades to which he knew he was entitled. The world would know the name von Landau. And he would be able to stand proudly amidst the premier scientists of the age. Nobody would ever question his abilities again. Ever.

  He hummed to himself, one of his favorite compositions, as he put the finishing touches to the experimental arrangement.

  Not long now. Not long at all.

  The most comforting thought darted through his mind as he covered the entire assembly with a clean tarpaulin. Should anything go wrong, he wouldn’t have to worry about Randall Harbury anymore. He’d come to realize that there was only one brain that mattered. And it wasn’t Harbury’s.

  That…well, that was very good to know.

  *~~*~~*

  There was one more person making his preparations prior to the night of the ball. Inspector Burke had been quite busy at his prized machine and now the responses were coming in.

  He had a small pile of paperwork next to his elbow and he was going through each page with care. These communications had come from a quite elevated position within the government of England, and he was aware that some could be viewed as incendiary.

  Others were just as expected, but one made him sit up, read it again, and then smile.

  Gathering the sheets and stacking them in a neat pile, he slid them out of side into a drawer, locking it once he was done.

  Then he went in search of Charlotte, finding her in the kitchen putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. The cups were on the table, along with a small plate of jam tarts.

  Burke swallowed and went to her, enfolding her in his arms. “Have I mentioned I love you lately?”

  “Yes, but
feel free to repeat yourself at every opportunity.” She smiled up at him, her heart shining in her eyes. “Did it come?”

  He nodded. “It’s here. We’re ready.”

  “Excellent.” She snuggled into his embrace. “How exciting.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Portia sighed and flexed her shoulders. “Lord I’m tired. And the ball hasn’t even begun.”

  Charlotte yawned. “I agree. All this running around for last minute details is driving me quite insane. I sincerely hope Lady Alwynne is happy with the way things are now because I’ll be damned if I walk back up there just to tweak a place setting or adjust a vase here and there.”

  “And we’re supposed to attend the ball.” Portia pursed her lips. “Do I have to go, Charlotte? I really have no interest at all in being there and watching the elite consume and destroy everything we’ve worked so hard to create.”

  “That’s a rather jaded thing to say, Portia. Especially for one so young.” Burke came into the room in time to catch her words.

  She glanced at him. “I’m right, and you know it. They will feast, fawn over the military attendees, then forget their names in a hurry to get to the card table or some secluded corner where they can begin a seduction for the night.” She shrugged. “’Tis the way of their world, I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to admire it. I’ll be stuck with the staff and probably end up waiting on guests. And I’m tired…”

  “You are both right, of course.” Burke diplomatically agreed. “However, Charlotte and I do have to attend. There’s no question about that.” He looked at his fiancée with affection. “But what about Portia, my love? Does she have to go?”

  Charlotte wrinkled her brow. “Well, one would expect her to be in attendance because of all the work she put into the decorations. Although she’s right…she would have to stay below stairs of course. Perhaps a peek at the rooms before the dancing starts, but that would be all that she’d be permitted.” She shrugged. “Truthfully, James, I see no really strong reason for her to be there if she doesn’t want to.”