Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles)

by Charlotte E. English

  When he saw her, his eyes lit up and he smiled at her with such delight that her heart constricted with guilt.

  “Luk,” she said, going to him. “I’m sorry, it’s been—”

  He waved that away. “Listen, I have something I’ve been dying to tell you.”

  His casual dismissal of her absence wounded her a little, but she hid that and smiled, albeit in puzzlement. His manner promised something extraordinary, but Clara couldn’t begin to guess what his news might be. “Oh?” she said cautiously.

  “I found out who paid Mik Hass!”

  Clara blinked at him. The name sparked off a vague recollection but she couldn’t quite remember who he…

  “Oh!” she blurted. “Right, the one who ran you off the track.”

  Lukas cast her a quizzical look. “You’d forgotten?”

  She coughed apologetically. “It’s been a peculiar few days.”

  Lukas’s smile faded and he nodded. “Well—do you want to hear about it?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s Alfred Geiger,” he said. “You remember him—came third in the last Eisenstadt Cup and was a thoroughly poor sport about it.”

  Clara remembered. Luk had come second in that race—and the first-place winner had since retired from the sport.

  She also recalled how Cas, a disappointed fourth, had, on the contrary, been a terrifically good sport about it.

  “Geiger’s certainly got the money to do it,” she agreed.

  “And the morality of a snake,” Luk agreed cheerfully. “I spread word about the set-up around my club and the gents got to work. It wasn’t long before somebody overheard something that gave us a lead, and…”

  Luk went on at some length, but Clara’s attention wandered. She nodded vaguely along as he talked on, her mind elsewhere. It shocked her to realise how little interest she felt in the issue of Mik Hass, Alfred Geiger, and their scheming over the Eisenstadt Cup. Rather, she did feel an interest—they had, after all, been directly responsible for breaking Luk’s leg and ending his hopes of winning this year, plus the mess Cas had made of his career. But in light of the events of the past few days, a broken leg and a crumpled car seemed less significant.

  “Clarry,” Luk said, breaking her train of thought.

  She looked down at him and smiled, hoping she didn’t seem vague. “Yes?”

  “I was saying, Geiger’s certainly responsible for Cas’s troubles, don’t you think? I’m out of the running but Cas might still manage to get back into the race—it’s a classic attempt to intimidate—”

  Clara shook her head. “It wasn’t Geiger.”

  Luk blinked up at her. “What? But I already told the police.”

  “Then you need to tell them you made a mistake. We know who’s been hounding Cas.” But as those words left her lips, she realised that there was no reason why Geiger couldn’t be involved as well. The black mercury wasn’t such a secret anymore, and it wouldn’t take a genius to realise that the fuel that sent the autogyro to Inselmond could also be used in autocarriages. If Cas had realised its potential, why not Geiger? Perhaps he had been the person ransacking Cas and Lukas’s houses.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned, sinking to a sitting position on the floor. “Could it possibly be any more complicated?” She put her face in her hands, trying to block out the world for a moment while she assembled all the pieces of this maddening puzzle.

  Geiger paid Hass to eliminate Lukas, his top rival for the Eisenstadt Cup Trophy. Cas was well known for his temper, and his friendship with Lukas Rosenthal was perfectly obvious. Geiger might well have hoped that Cas would lose it and eliminate himself too.

  Then the black mercury had been discovered and Hildy had demonstrated its applications in fine style. She could imagine that Geiger would realise what the new fuel could do for his vehicle. Perhaps at last he could outdo even the technological advantages of the Goldstein autocarriages! Cas was banned from participating, but Geiger couldn’t know that Max Goldstein had engineered that himself; he might well have feared that the power of the Goldsteins would reverse the ban in time for the event.

  Meanwhile, Hildy was Cas’s aunt. It wouldn’t be a big step for him to imagine that Hildy would give some of the stuff to Cas for the race.

  By trashing Cas and Lukas’s house, then, Geiger had hoped to find some of the black mercury and intimidate Cas out of taking part.

  Had he also been the person who’d shadowed Cas around Eisenstadt and tracked him to the ramshackle building he’d been sleeping in? And did he have any connection to Matilda Bernat and her peculiar friend, or were these separate attacks on Cas? And what about the Shadow?

  The notion that Cas was under fire from at least three directions at once was… unsettling. Clara found herself babbling in her haste to explain all this to Lukas. To his credit he didn’t interrupt; he listened in silence, nodding in that calm way he had. She watched his dark eyes, unfocused yet intent as he absorbed and thought over everything she said.

  “Has anyone got into Hildy’s workshop?” Luk said at last, and Clara realised with a stab of guilt that she’d inadvertently given away Hild’s secret in her alarm. It was only Luk, but still…

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “I doubt that Geiger knows about it—Hildy’s careful. Though she did say something recently that was odd…” We’ve been rumbled before, she’d said.

  Crap.

  Lukas nodded. “He wouldn’t try for the Goldstein manufactory, of course—it’s too well guarded. Hans’s dig site is sewn up, and nobody would be crazy enough to try to break into the government storage buildings. Once again, Cas is the soft target.”

  Clara jumped to her feet, her tiredness swept away in the wake of new alarm. “I have to tell Hildy and Til about this. Do you think the police believed you about Geiger?”

  Lukas stared up at her, his eyes troubled. “I don’t know. Most of our evidence was hearsay… I mean, we have more than enough to be sure it’s him, but not a lot on paper, so to speak.”

  “So they haven’t arrested him.”

  Lukas shook his head.

  “Right. I’m going back.”

  “I’m going with you.” Lukas grabbed his crutches and pushed himself out of his chair. He was growing more used to his reduced mobility and had lost his early clumsiness, but he was still agonisingly slow as he steadied himself, gained his balance, and moved towards her.

  She opened her mouth to object, but closed it again. She didn’t have the heart. She waited with barely contained impatience as he caught up to her.

  The look he gave her told her he guessed at her struggles and was grateful for her forbearance. “Thank you,” he said. “I won’t slow you down.”

  No, Clara thought privately. She’d make sure he didn’t—by hiring an autocarriage to take them back to Hildy’s house. They were prohibitively expensive, even for short journeys, but Cas’s welfare was at stake.

  ***

  Cas woke from a deep slumber, slowly and with great reluctance. His thoughts were thick and befuddled with weariness; so much so that the sight of a figure bending over his bed only prompted a foggy murmur of, “Liebling? Mh. I’m fine.”

  No one answered. Cas forced open his heavy eyelids. The man at his bedside was covered from head to toe in dark clothing and he wore a hood, but Cas recognised his face. “Faulkner?”

  The man said something in reply, which of course Cas couldn’t understand. He grabbed Cas and shoved him, rolling him over and over into a bundle tightly wound in blankets. By the time Cas thought to react, he was bound fast. He thrashed wildly, kicking his legs, but he remained captive.

  Faulkner ignored his splutterings and curses and began to cart him off. Then somebody else grabbed his legs and he was hauled off the bed and across the room. His head hung uncomfortably and the room swung crazily around in his vision as he was bounced and jounced to the door.

  Til had been standing watch over him, it seemed, for his bulky figure lay stretched out on the flo
or near the window, senseless.

  Cas struggled again, thrashing about like a fish and yelling as loudly as he could. “What are you doing? Let me GO!”

  Faulkner smiled down at him, his expression coolly pleasant, and clamped one hand over Cas’s mouth. Cas bit at the man’s hand and managed to catch a bit of flesh between his teeth. That won him a startled exclamation from Faulkner and the hand weakened its grip momentarily.

  Cas followed that up by wrenching his upper body from side to side, ignoring the spasms of agony from his wounded ribs and muscles, until Faulkner dropped him. His head hit the floor with a snap and it hurt, but he didn’t allow it to distract him; he braced himself against the floor and kicked until his feet came out of the grip of Faulkner’s companion. Then he rolled and thrashed until he worked himself free of the blankets.

  “Kidnapping!” he roared as he pushed himself to his feet. “For a bit of fuel? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Faulkner stood between him and the door, so he turned and raced for the window, wishing he was on the ground floor.

  A dark figure slipped between him and the window, blocking his exit, and Cas stopped short. This wasn’t Faulkner; this was the Shadow, grotesque mask in place, swathed in black. What were the two of them doing together?

  Trapped, Cas opened his mouth to yell, but the Shadow brandished something that shone faintly in the low light and an instant later Cas felt a sharp pain in his neck.

  A coilgun. Cas slapped at his neck, trying frantically to dislodge the needle that was probably stuck in his flesh, but it was too late. The drugs on those things worked fast, apparently. His brain fogged, his vision blurred out, and he fell.

  ***

  Clara had left Min standing guard outside—or at least, that was what she’d told the pigeon. In truth, she didn’t think Luk’s house was in any danger now that Cas had left. What she was really concerned about was getting a chance to talk sensibly to Lukas without a hundred loud interjections about cake.

  Min had taken the assignment quite seriously, however. She was marching up and down on top of the protruding doorframe when Clara and Luk emerged.

  “All’s clear, Captain!” she barked.

  “Min,” Clara said. “Something’s come up. Any reports from your friends?” Min was making sure that at least ten of her flock were keeping an eye on Hildy’s house at all times.

  “None,” Min said. “Don’t worry, Clarry! We’ve got it under control.”

  Clara opened her mouth to reply, something sardonic on her lips; but just then a pigeon came soaring over the roof of Luk’s building, screeching something unintelligible. Min shot to instant alert.

  “Calm yourself!” she bellowed. “You’re a disgrace to the Force!”

  The pigeon landed clumsily next to Min and babbled on. Min managed three seconds of tolerance; then her head shot forward and her beak clamped down on the other pigeon’s neck. He stopped babbling instantly and began to twitch.

  Min released him. “Talk, Bunce!” she ordered. “Slowly.”

  “Disaster!” shrieked the pigeon. “Disaster and woe! We are betrayed!”

  Another bite—harder this time—restored Bunce to what little sense the creature normally possessed and he stopped shrieking. “It’s Widge,” the bird wailed. “I always said she was too stupid to be trusted! The crows got to her—paid her off—she told them where we were going—all is lost—”

  “Paid her?” Min interrupted. “What happened?”

  “They gave her cake,” Bunce said miserably. “You know, that really fine stuff that comes out of the cake shops—it had lemon in.” The word ‘lemon’ emerged as a despairing wail.

  “Cake!” shrieked Min. “She gave away our location for CAKE?”

  “Bunce,” Clara interrupted, “how do you know this? Did someone attack the house? Did they get Cas out?”

  “Someone got in,” Bunce said mournfully. “The leggy one is gone.”

  The leggy one…? “You mean Cas?”

  “That’s him,” Bunce said, nodding.

  Fear squeezed Clara so tightly that for an instant she couldn’t breathe. “And Hildy?” she managed after a moment. “Til?”

  “The greyhead left after you did,” Bunce said. “The one with the sun and pigeon-coloured hair? She had tools with her.”

  “What of Til?” she repeated.

  “Didn’t see him.”

  “Did you see where they took Cas? Did any of you see?”

  “They had crows with them!” Bunce said. “Lots and lots of crows. Ran me off, and the others too! The dark people stuffed him in one of those moving monster-things and went off. Didn’t see where.”

  “Dark people?” Clara pressed. “What did they look like?”

  Bunce shrugged again. “There was a big one and a shorter one, covered in black.”

  Lukas had slipped away a few moments before; she’d been so absorbed in her questions that she’d barely noticed. Now he came back, hastening on his crutches.

  “Autocarriage,” he said. “It’s at the curb. Come on.”

  “Bunce,” Clara growled. “Min. Get in the car.”

  Clara raced through the ground floor of Hildy’s mansion and, to her terror, she found nobody there—not even Til.

  “Min!” she yelled. “Bunce! Split up and search the house. Start at the top.”

  For once, neither pigeon argued. They charged up the stairs, wings flapping madly, and disappeared. She followed, and by the time she’d got through half of the first floor she heard a terrific squawking from Bunce coming from the next floor up.

  “Man doooown!” he was screaming. She followed the sounds at a run.

  Til lay stretched out on the floor of the room Cas had been sleeping in. To her relief he was moving; he’d propped himself up on one arm while the other clutched at his head. He looked like he was still mostly unconscious.

  “Til,” she hissed. “Don’t move—stay there—just, don’t move.”

  Til nodded vaguely and eased himself back to the floor, giving Clara a few moments to assess the damage. The blankets had been ripped off the bed and lay, inexplicably, in a tangle all over the floor. There was no sign of Cas.

  “Keep searching, Bunce,” she said to the pigeon who hovered uselessly at her elbow. “Look for Cas or—or anything amiss.”

  “Captain!” Bunce snapped, and wheeled away.

  Clara went to Til. His eyes were glazed. “Til, what happened?”

  “Was sitting outside,” he said thickly, with a vague gesture at the door. “Noises in here. I came in—folks coming through the window. Two of ‘em. At least one of them had a coilgun.” His deep voice was thick with shame. “They take Cas?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she said, trying to sound soothing. “He might yet be here somewhere—perhaps he got away.”

  Til just shook his head. “Not from a Shadow.”

  Clara sucked in a breath at that. The Shadow was back? How could Cas hope to hold his own against such a foe as that? Her heart sank anew. When Min and Bunce returned a moment later, she already knew what they’d say.

  “No sign of the leggy one, Captain,” Min said crisply.

  “You know his name, Min,” Clara sighed.

  “Yeah, but I like Bunce’s better. Everything else seems fine.”

  Clara said nothing. A Shadow—specialists in anonymity—had taken Cas, working with one other person that nobody had identified. He could be anywhere and they had no way of finding him.

  “Why would they take Cas?” she wondered aloud.

  “There’ll be a note,” Til said grimly. He was regaining some of his usual ruddy colour and his voice had gained strength. He tried to sit up, but she gently pushed him back down.

  “Did you two find a note?” she said to Min and Bunce.

  Both pigeons squawked a negative.

  “Reckon it’ll go to Hildy,” Til elaborated.

  Of course it would. If they couldn’t get Cas to hand over his supply of black mercury, Hildy was the best person to p
ressure—she had direct access to the full government supply of the stuff.

  “Or even Max,” she said. He was Cas’s father, Hildy’s brother, in control of the government autogyro project and friends with Hans Diederich, the man with the equipment to dig up more mercury.

  “Possibly both,” Til agreed. “Best get to Hildy, fast.”

  “It’s the hospital for you,” she said sternly. “We’ll take you on the way. Luk’s downstairs with an autocarriage. Come on.”

  She helped Til stagger to his feet, her slight frame struggling to bear his weight. Biting her lip on a grunt of pain, she let him lean on her all the way down to the ground floor and out to the waiting car.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lukas did his best, but despite his urgent persuasions, the drivers of their hired autocarriage wouldn’t proceed above a certain speed through the darkening streets. Clara sat in the back in a fever of impatience, tempted to kick the pompous idiots into the street and drive the vehicle herself. Anything could be happening to poor Cas while they dawdled their way to Hildy! It might have been faster to cycle.

  Long before they reached the Goldstein manufactory, they met Hildy herself coming from the opposite direction, her distinctive autocarriage going at a roaring pace.

  “Stop!” yelled Clara. Before the vehicle had quite finished braking, she threw the door open and leapt out, waving her arms to attract Hildy’s attention.

  There was a screech as Hildy’s foot met her own brakes, and her car drew to a jerky stop on the other side of the road.

  Clara turned back to help Lukas out of the car. “Send the bill to Max Goldstein,” she told the driver breathlessly, and slammed the door on his protests.

  “Cas is gone?” Hildy said without preamble, as Clara and Lukas hastily stuffed themselves into the back of her autocarriage.

  Clara quickly repeated everything that had occurred, ending with, “How did you hear of it? Is there word?”

  Hildy didn’t answer; she merely thrust a piece of paper at them over her shoulder. Clara took it.