by Anne Renwick
Warrick stood beside her, wearing a long, rubber apron.
“Please, John,” Elizabeth cried. “Don’t do this!”
The sharp scent of ethanol met Ian’s nose as Warrick wiped the patch of bare skin with disinfectant.
Bone marrow could be obtained from a number of locations in the human skeleton, but the flare of the hip, the iliac crest, was the location of a large volume of bone marrow—an ideal location from which to harvest marrow cells. He’d executed the painful procedure himself on a number of patients suffering from different blood disorders. But Ian had obtained consent—and had acted in an effort to understand disease origin and implement an effective treatment.
There was no consent here. And the equipment spread out across a metal tray suggested that more was about to occur than a mere sampling of his sister’s defective bone marrow cells.
His fingers found the ulnar collateral ligament of the guardsman’s elbow joint. He shifted his grip infinitesimally and dug into the nearby ulnar nerve. The guard released him with a howl of pain.
“Don’t!” He ran to the prison cell, yanking on the iron bars that prevented him from reaching his sister’s side, hoping the stone and mortar would crumble like the rest of this cursed castle. But the bars refused to shift. Reaching between them, he snagged Warrick’s sleeve, wrenching him backward against the bars and away from his sister. “First do no harm,” Ian hissed into his ear. A central tenant of the physician’s oath. One that was drilled into the minds of every medical student ever to attend Lister University.
Warrick turned toward him with hard eyes. “A pledge I never took. Or have you forgotten?” He tore free of Ian’s fingers and stepped out of reach. “The procedure will succeed.”
“Ian?” his sister whimpered, twisting against her restraints to face him.
“I’m here, Elizabeth.” He kept his voice as calm as possible considering he wanted to murder the man he’d once thought of as a brother. “You promise much, Warrick, but deliver very little.”
“Do you mean to inform me, Herr Rathsburn,” Count Eberwin’s voice boomed, reminding him that there were others present, “that you can deliver what Doktor Warrick cannot?”
Turning his head, Ian glared at the count. At his side stood the ever-present Zheng. The Chinaman’s hand shifted, and the sharp blade of his curved sword flashed in warning. Ever so subtly, his head tipped.
He followed Zheng’s direction and swore. Katherine held a strange two-pronged device against Olivia’s neck. Coils of wire protruded from the side of the device, curling downward to a power source. A voltaic prod, an instrument designed to deliver bolts of painful electricity.
Katherine’s gaze met his. “My husband favors all things sharp. Me, I find other tools more captivating. The last person who opposed my husband? The electrical shock nearly stopped his heart.” Her gaze raked down Olivia’s form. “Though well-padded, your wife is considerably smaller.”
Olivia jerked and whimpered as the voltaic prod dug deeper into her flesh. This was a dangerous game. He considered the odds. How much was the count depending upon him to fix his guardsmen, to design and build him stronger ones?
“You wouldn’t dare,” Ian countered, not taking his eyes off of Katherine. “Without my expertise and cooperation, this project is doomed to failure.” She frowned, and he shifted his gaze to the count. “I’ve seen the end result of Doktor Warrick’s work. It’s not encouraging. How much time and money have you wasted on his effort?” He shook his head slowly. “A poor return on your investment.” He paused. “No. I consider my sister, my wife and myself safe. Quite simply, you need me.”
“You are, of course, correct,” the count agreed. “Doktor Warrick, your past successes keep you alive. Nevertheless, as Herr Rathsburn points out, you have completed only half of the task set before you. Strengthen their bones, that you have done.” The count narrowed his eyes. “Yet as the months pass, my guardsmen fall ill. They sicken. They die without honor.”
“I’ve done my best,” Warrick countered.
“And it has not been enough,” Count Eberwin answered. “Which is why I arranged for Herr Rathsburn to join us at Burg Kerzen. After today’s procedure, you will continue to work with him—and his wife—in the laboratory. I expect to see progress. My men need a cure, and they need it now.” The count waved in Elizabeth’s direction. “Proceed.”
“No!” Ian’s entire body vibrated with the effort it took not to throw himself at the count. He fought hard to keep panic from his voice. “Wait! Warrick has refused to let me examine his work. There are certain to be problems with his process.”
Warrick’s brow furrowed. The man’s greatest fault was pride.
“There likely are,” the count said. “You will fix them. I am providing motivation.” His lips curved upward and an unholy light appeared in his eyes. “And if this vial of cells fails your sister, your wife will serve as her replacement. Time runs short.”
He heard the sharp intake of Olivia’s breath. The hard steel teeth of reality bit down. His sister was beyond his reach, and he could offer Olivia no reassurance that she would not be next. Clenched muscles shook with suppressed frustration, but he was no match against the weapons Zheng and Katherine wielded.
The count waved at Warrick. “Proceed.”
As Warrick turned back to Elizabeth she cried, “No, John. You don’t need to do this. I’ll marry you. Just let me go.”
“Stop, and I will permit it,” Ian offered, despite the bile that rose to his throat at the thought of calling this man kin.
Warrick hesitated.
“Do it. Now!” the count barked.
Lifting a scalpel, Warrick made a small incision through the skin above Elizabeth’s hip. He then inserted a large bore needle of a syringe through the cut. Ian watched helplessly as Elizabeth cried out in pain while Warrick twisted and pushed, forcing the sharp tip through the cortical layer of bone. Tears ran down her cheek in a torrent. Warrick pulled back on the plunger drawing a sample of bone marrow into the body of the syringe. With a twist, he separated the body of the syringe from the needle and set it aside.
Warrick lifted another syringe from the metal tray upon the bedside table. As he turned, Ian caught sight of the cloudy liquid inside the body of the syringe. His heart began to pound. These were the same cells that were killing the count’s guardsmen, men who were far, far stronger and healthier than Elizabeth.
Cells that owed their existence to his initial work. Cells that had left British shores because of his inability to see the narcissistic light in Warrick’s eyes, because Ian had blindly followed protocol. Valuable time had been wasted waiting for the Queen’s agents to capture and detain the rogue scientist. He should have shot Warrick and dragged him directly to Newgate when he’d had the chance.
“Don’t.” Ian gripped the iron bars, his knuckles white. He wanted to howl, to scream, to do something, anything to stop this nightmare. But he was utterly powerless. Keeping his voice calm and rational took every ounce of control he possessed. “Modifying the osteoblast progenitor cells found in the marrow doesn’t work. Their undifferentiated state is what causes the cells to grow out of control, to form tumors.”
Determination wavering under the assault of Ian’s words, Warrick paused.
“If you care at all for my sister, you won’t sentence her to certain death.”
The count growled.
Still Ian pressed onward. “The new procedure is to modify mature osteoblasts directly, to transform fully differentiated cells of the periosteum at targeted locations.”
Warrick turned toward him. “You mean to address each bone individually?”
“Yes,” Ian said. “Painful and tedious, I know, but it is the only way to ensure the patient survives.” He reached through the bars, holding his palm upward and lowered his voice. “Give those cells to me. I’ll destroy them. We’ll begin again.”
“Silence him,” the count ordered.
Katherine swung the voltaic prod
in Ian’s direction and before he could yank his arm from between the bars, the pointed metal probes pierced the skin of his upper arm like a hot iron poker and every muscle went rigid. All motor control fled. As the floor rushed up to meet him and the probes pulled away, his body grew limp. Then his head hit the ground and darkness swallowed him whole.
~~~
Olivia rushed to Ian’s side, grateful to see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Falling to the ground beside him in a puff of silk, she pulled his head into her lap and pressed a hand to its side. Already a nasty lump formed on his temple.
Never before had she witnessed such horrors. A frail, young woman tied to a rough bed, subjected to a painful medical procedure that was likely a death sentence. The same threat now hanging over her own head. Sharp prods shoved into Ian’s shoulder generating an electrical pulse strong enough to drop a six-foot man.
What had she gotten herself into?
She turned her face upward toward the count, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears that were far from fake. Warrick had yet to complete the procedure, but if he continued they would be trapped. If there was even the slightest chance that he had developed a way to keep his cells under control, Ian would refuse to flee the castle without discovering it. As would she.
“Please stop this,” she pleaded, her throat thick with concern. Too much was happening too fast. She needed to buy them time. Time for the Queen’s agents to mount a search, time for them to locate the acousticotransmitter’s signal. “Please don’t do this. Warrick’s procedure won’t work. But with the modifications my husband has made, your goal can be achieved. Our new device, the osforare apparatus, is nearly ready. We need but a few weeks.”
“Weeks,” the count replied, his voice flat and his eyes cold. “You dare ask for weeks?”
Olivia swallowed and nodded. “Scientific progress is by its very nature slow and tedious. To expect instant results is insanity.” The moment she spoke, she realized her mistake. Unwise to suggest the count had a mental disorder… But it was too late, the damage was done.
“Insane?” the count repeated, stepping closer. “My men have but weeks—days—to live and you think me insane for demanding fast results? Your husband—you—have had years to perfect this procedure. It is my sound opinion that scientists spend far too much time performing unnecessary tests on rodents. Rats and humans do not appear at all similar to me. Indeed, with the slightest of motivations, Doktor Warrick was able to generate an unbreakable soldier for me within months.”
“With deadly consequences.” Must she state the obvious?
“Which you will solve. Quickly. Lest your fate be the same as the fräulein’s.” The count’s head snapped up. “Now, Doktor Warrick, or your life is forfeit.”
Elizabeth broke into loud sobs.
Olivia pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry out as Warrick completed the procedure by shoving the plunger of the syringe home, claiming yet another life in this mad count’s bid to produce a race of unbreakable soldiers.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE DINGY, DANK DUNGEON the cancer-ridden guardsman marched Olivia into should not have surprised her. The laboratory space of mad scientists never came equipped with windows. Her own sister had set up research space in the back half of a chicken coop. In comparison, a wine cellar was a step up.
The door closed behind her and a key turned once more, leaving her alone in a vast room filled with wine casks, miscellaneous laboratory equipment and her thoughts. Disturbing, unwelcome thoughts.
She wrapped her arms across her chest, rubbing her shoulders against the dank chill emanating from the stone walls, but nothing could ease the cold knot that twisted low in her stomach.
A plan. They needed a plan. She began to pace. First they needed to gain the count’s trust. As much as she detested the notion, she was going to have to fashion herself into a biologist, into Ian’s laboratory assistant. They were going to have to produce measurable results in record time.
From what she could piece together from his instruction, her brief observation of the osforare apparatus, and the words he’d thrown at Warrick, it seemed that transforming the entire skeleton—hundreds of bones—was an impossibility. She spun on her heel. Well, not impossible, exactly, but Warrick’s method ended in certain death.
Ian possessed the ability to create a different kind of cell that could transform bones, one or two at a time—a lengthy procedure—but only with the assistance of the osforare apparatus, a device which still needed to be completed before its programming card could be adjusted and refined to deliver these cells to the surface of the bone.
With all those sharp needles, there was going to be blood. More blood than the simple incision she’d just witnessed. Black spots appeared in her vision and her steps faltered. She put a hand out, steadying herself against the wall. She took a deep breath and focused on contracting her muscles. There was no choice. She had to move past this irrational fear.
So. Create a new kind of altered cell. Make the osforare apparatus function. And the last and most significant hurdle, find a way to kill Warrick’s cells, the ones that multiplied without restriction, forming those horrible tumors that protruded from so many of the guardsmen’s hands and faces.
Warrick’s claim that he could stop the growth of cancerous cells would need to be investigated. She pursed her lips. If he truly possessed the means to cure the count’s guardsmen, why had he not yet implemented it? The man seemed to make a habit of practicing shoddy medicine while making unsupportable claims.
Nonetheless, Warrick’s assertion would have to be investigated because the moment those cells he’d injected Elizabeth with were rendered harmless—or the moment they held the cure in their hands—the three of them could escape, treasonous scientific equipment in hand.
Help might come. Or it might not. Best to plan on its absence.
Which was why Olivia had taken care to count every stair and every turn, forming a mental map of the castle. With lock picks in hand and Watson at her feet, she could have them free in moments. The greatest challenge would be avoiding the guardsmen.
Unless.
She recalled the small arsenal removed from Ian’s person upon docking and wondered at the possibility of finding him a serviceable weapon. The Queen’s agents were all well-trained and quite capable of improvising…
~~~
The moment Ian regained consciousness, Zheng forced him to his feet at sword point. Behind the bars lay the sleeping form of his sister, unbound and tucked beneath a thin wool blanket. The count and countess along with their guardsmen were gone. As was Warrick.
And Olivia. An icicle pierced his heart at the thought of her coming to harm.
“What have you done with my wife?” he demanded. Speaking made his head throb. “I need her.”
He was surprised to find he meant it. Though her loyalty lay with Queen and country, Olivia was the only sane, able-bodied ally he had in this pile of rocks. He hoped her programming skills were as good as she claimed, for they needed to work closely and quickly together if they were going to survive.
“I have done nothing to your lovely wife.” Zheng scoffed. “The count ordered her to the laboratory. Business concerns compel me to insist you join her without delay.”
The room tilted, and he reached for the iron bars to steady himself. He pressed his fingers against a large, painful lump on his head and prayed he hadn’t sustained a concussion. “Might I have a moment to speak with my sister?”
“A moment,” Zheng replied, but made no move to step away. It seemed their moment was not to be private.
“Elizabeth,” Ian called.
His sister’s eyes fluttered open, and she pushed herself onto her elbows. Her face was pale and drawn. His stomach twisted in despair. If those cells could drop a hulking guardsman, he didn’t hold much hope that his sister’s weakened immune system would be able to fight off cancer long.
“You shouldn’t have come, Ian.” Hand
pressed to her hip, she rose, limping to the iron bars. “Bringing your bride! Whatever were you thinking? And why is it you never mentioned her in your letters?”
“Never mentioned?” Zheng stepped forward, taking far too much interest in his sister’s words.
“As if I would abandon you,” Ian said. “And Olivia…” His sister waited, her eyes wide and sparkling. For years now, she’d nagged him to take a wife, build a family. No doubt she expected an impressive tale, one full of stolen moments, heartfelt declarations and a romantic hot-air balloon proposal.
She wasn’t going to get one.
But, as it was safer for everyone if his sister believed the lie, Ian inhaled deeply and, ignoring his pounding head, attempted to provide a convincing story.
“Ours was a whirlwind romance.” Wasn’t that how they were always described? “And a forbidden one.” That part was true. “Romantic liaisons with staff members are prohibited. I’ve a new treatment device, one so complicated it requires an engineer to program it. Olivia was the engineer assigned to my project.”
“The Rankine Institute allowed a woman to enroll?”
Lister University School of Medicine had opened their doors to women last year. He’d assumed the engineering school had as well, but perhaps not. “The circumstances of her employment are complicated. When she learned of your plight, she refused to be left behind. We—er—eloped.”
There. All of it true. Nearly. Well, some of it.
Zheng grunted. Approval or disapproval, Ian couldn’t tell.
“Smart and necessary to your research.” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Do not tell me you married her for me?”
Trust his sister to question the façade. Ian summoned indignation. “Not at all!” He’d “married” Olivia to save her from the count, but there was convincing to accomplish. “From the moment we met, Olivia made me feel… alive. I wanted her and no other.”
His heart gave a great thump as Ian realized he’d presented his sister with a singular truth. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had occupied such a large portion of his conscious thoughts. Despite Elizabeth’s condition, despite the nearly insurmountable difficulties they faced, he looked forward to being the sole focus of Olivia’s attention. His face grew hot. Even if it took every last ounce of gentlemanly willpower to turn down her intoxicating offer. She was a temptress, a lady and probably a spy.
