The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1)

by Anne Renwick

  “Let’s go,” he said to Amanda, ignoring Black’s directive.

  “But‌—‌”

  “By the time I climb one flight of stairs, Black will have neutralized any threat. But if the victim, if Luca is still alive…” He didn’t wish to explain to a pregnant woman why her child no longer had a father. “There is also Lady Huntley to consider. We’ve no idea what he may have done to‌—‌or with‌—‌her.”

  Amanda needed no further encouragement.

  Together they pushed through the noisy crowds that teemed the docks even before dawn had fully broken. They dodged men rolling barrels, steam dockworkers hauling crates, and any number of odd machinery carrying loads hither and yon, and plunged into the dark warehouse and up its rickety stairs.

  It took every last bit of his strength to keep up with her.

  On the ride here, he’d injected his leg with a last dose of Somnic. The last dose. These past few days he’d far exceeded the recommended amount, injecting his leg nearly every hour just to maintain minimum function, to keep his foot‌—‌quite literally‌—‌beneath him. Failure was imminent. If not for the iron bands of his leg brace, he would even now require a crutch.

  A loud commotion broke out above them.

  Thornton forced himself to climb faster. They arrived on the second floor to find Black directing agents to a rear exit. Black himself was crouched on the ground, bending over a crumpled woman’s form‌—‌Lady Huntley.

  He quickly took in exposed bricks and beams. Dusty, clouded windows. Wide, roughly hewn floorboards. A space designed to hold cargo brought in by ships arriving at London’s docks. Lady Huntley was shackled to a support post. A man’s form was strapped to an old wooden door propped on two barrels of rum.

  “Is she hurt?” Thornton yelled, storming across the room.

  At the same time Amanda cried out, “Luca!” She ran to the man’s side.

  “She’s fine,” Black answered. He yanked Captain Jack’s Tension Torque from his pocket and reached for Lady Huntley’s hands.

  Angry, red welts encircled her wrists where the bizarre manacles binding her to the post had rubbed them raw. Lady Huntley looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Thornton. I couldn’t stop him. He forced me to hand over the latest phaoscope and the drug.” She shuddered. “His spider is a horrible mockery of Lady Amanda’s design.”

  Thornton glanced at the gypsy. “Did he…‌?”

  “Only one eye. It worked, exactly as designed.” She swallowed. “Henri disconnected it. Go, I’m fine. See to the poor gypsy boy, he’s in so much pain.”

  At least Luca was alive.

  Thornton turned on his rebelling limb and crossed the room to Amanda’s side, taking in the horrible sight spread before him. A bioluminescent lamp hung from a rope over the makeshift operating table. A nearby barrel held a metal tray containing an array of surgical implements and a number of bloody rags.

  Luca moaned, fighting against the leather strap that bound his head to the table. One eye remained. The other was gone leaving an empty socket, surprisingly devoid of blood. Fine gold threads woven in an intricate pattern extended around and behind the cauterized stub of the man’s optic nerve.

  The pain must be unbearable. He searched through a small collection of glass bottles, Henri’s abandoned store of drugs, looking for something that would bring the man relief.

  Amanda leaned in closely, her hand stroking his sweat-dampened forehead. “Hold still, Luca. It’s me, Amanda. It’s all over. Emily is fine. The baby is fine. Both are safe at Father’s house. Please. Hold still. Let us help you.”

  There. He palmed an innocent-looking glass vial filled with a clear fluid. The label confirmed its contents. From the metal tray, he grabbed a syringe and drew a small amount into the barrel. “Amanda.” She looked up, distress written on every feature. He handed her the vial and indicated the syringe. She raised her eyebrows. “A small dose. Just enough to sedate him until we can get him the help he needs.”

  She glanced at the label and nodded assent. He stepped forward, deftly slipping the fine, silver needle into a vein and sliding home the plunger. Seconds later, every muscle in the man’s body relaxed, sending Luca into a painless sleep.

  Thornton exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

  “What now?” she whispered.

  “Look closely. Lady Huntley says the cranial neurachnid performed as expected.”

  “How can you be thinking of such things at this moment?” Her voice rose with each word. “We have to do something to help him!”

  “We will. But what we do depends on the success, or failure of the neurachnid. Look closely,” he repeated. “I want to confirm Lady Huntley’s observation.”

  She stared at him a moment then grabbed magnifying eyeglasses from the tray. Lifting a blunt-nosed probe and angling the lamp, Amanda leaned in closely to examine the eye socket and study the configuration of the gold threads. A moment later, she looked up in amazement. “She’s right. It worked.”

  He stared back. He’d hardly dared to hope.

  She handed him the magnifying goggles, inviting him to confirm her findings.

  He accepted. “Indeed,” he said. “All three cranial nerves appear to have received diffuse insertions.” He studied the crimped ends of the golden wires. “All evidence suggests Henri successfully connected the artificial eye.”

  “But he severed the connection,” she said, her eyes searching the crude medical space and not finding what she sought. “The phaoscope, it’s not here. Nor is his spider. Wherever Henri went, he took them both.”

  Lady Huntley moved to stand beside them, her wrists wrapped in ragged cotton strips. Blood seeped around the frayed edges.

  Thornton raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m fine. Or, rather, I will be,” Lady Huntley said. “If we transport him to Lister University Hospital, we could implement protocol number 374.”

  “We could,” Black agreed, moving to join them.

  “What is protocol 374?” Amanda asked.

  “Luca’s original eye is lost,” Thornton answered. “Due to the delicacies of blood supply, there’s no reconnecting it. However, I can arrange for Luca to have the most technologically advanced artificial eye in all of England.”

  Amanda shook her head. “As a gypsy, Luca won’t want that.” A single tear escaped the corner of her eye.

  “It won’t be forced upon him. First, his condition must be stabilized.” He lifted his hand to brush away the tear from her cheek. “Don’t fret. We have as much time as we need.”

  Black cleared his throat and looked away, barking orders to the remaining agents who sprang into action. “Lady Huntley, you need to come as well. Those injuries should be properly treated.”

  Black and Lady Huntley stepped toward the door.

  Amanda also moved to follow the makeshift stretcher. Thornton put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Go without us,” he said to Black. “I want to take a closer look around.”

  “Of course,” Black answered, but glanced at his leg, frowning.

  “I’ll be fine,” he growled. “Be sure you find Lord Thistleton and tell him to keep the amatiflora under tight guard. Henri does not have access to the greenhouse, but I doubt that will stop him from trying.”

  Black nodded and then he was alone with Amanda. Silently, he held out his hand. She stepped past his outstretched arm, burying her forehead in his chest. Without a thought, he wrapped his arms about her, pulling close the woman he loved.

  Loved.

  Amanda.

  The thought left him stunned. He’d fallen in love. When had that happened? He’d meant for this to be a temporary affair. Something to satisfy both their needs and desires. Now he wasn’t sure an affair would be enough. The primitive need to possess her, for her to belong to him and him alone, had reared its head. Was it possible she felt the same? He kissed her hair. “Luca will be fine.” This wasn’t the time to sort through the tangle of emotions kno
tted within his skull. Later, when this situation was resolved, when he was alone, he would unsnarl them with great care. “Right now, we need to focus on finding Henri.”

  She pulled away and nodded, blinking away the tears that still threatened.

  “Henri knew we would be coming,” Thornton said. “He planted that acousticotransmitter on Sommersby. Left Luca alive. All to keep us busy, distracted. The question is why.” He swayed a bit. The Somnic was wearing off.

  “To buy himself time to escape,” Amanda said. “A little time is all anyone would need to slip into the crowds that line the docks. Someone trained to evade…‌”

  Thornton shook his head. “Certainly true. Yet Luca was very deliberately chosen. Henri delays us even longer if we all rush back to the laboratory to oversee the surgery.” Thornton limped back to the barrel that held the metal tray. He held up an empty amber vial, the one that once contained the nerve agent. “He has a neurachnid and the artificial eye. He does not…‌”

  “Have any more nerve agent.” Amanda began to pace. “If amatiflora is indigenous to the British Isles, Henri cannot risk leaving without it. He has the formula. He needs the plant.” She looked at him. “You cut off his access to Lord Thistleton and the greenhouse, but there must be more of the plant still growing at the base of that chimney.”

  “We took the last flowering vines. He needs someone who can identify the plant from the leaves alone. So we must ask, who else can identify it? Me. You. Emily.” They were all, momentarily, safe.

  “Nadya. We must warn her.” Grabbing her skirts in her fists, she started for the stairs.

  Thornton forced his leg into motion, following as quickly as he could manage. “For their own safety, the gypsies were ordered to disband, to leave London when Luca was discovered missing.”

  Amanda paused on the steps to give him a look of disbelief.

  “I know,” he panted. “They have no respect for authority, and they won’t have gone far. But how can we possibly find her, warn her?”

  “Nicu is her brother. He’ll know. We need to go to Clockwork Corridor.” Amanda continued, “Nicu and I spoke of Nadya in Henri’s presence. And Nicu trusts Henri. We need to warn him.”

  They stepped out onto the busy street. Thornton placed a protective hand at the small of her back and flagged a crank hackney with his cane.

  He wanted to be a man she could count on, but even now, he was running out of time. His leg tingled. A muscle twitched. The first symptoms informing him Somnic no longer had any effect. Thornton swore under his breath. He shouldn’t have been so precipitous in sending Black away. They needed help. He needed help.

  But they were gone. And there was no time to lose.

  He handed Lady Amanda inside the rickety vehicle that stopped in front of them, barely managing to haul himself inside before directing the driver to Clockwork Corridor.

  “Your leg?” Concern laced Amanda’s voice.

  “Is bad.” It killed him to admit it, but she needed to know. “And I’ve no Somnic left.”

  “Then we’ll go to Lister Hospital first.” She lifted a hand to knock on the roof.

  He shook his head. “There’s no time and it won’t work. I’ve used as much Somnic as I can. Too much.” Black had had to forcibly wrest the last vials of the drug from the doctors’ hands. They wouldn’t be giving him any more. “The last dose barely lasted thirty minutes. I’ve an hour or two at best before my leg truly begins to rebel. We’ll need to be quick.”

  It already felt as if someone were slicing a knife through the skin of his leg. Every nerve fired, every muscle clenched. Without Somnic to stop it, the delicate balance of sodium, potassium, chloride and other molecules were falling into disarray. Soon, more and more nerves and muscles that had been tangentially affected by the drug would begin to seize.

  No one before him had ever used Somnic to such an extensive degree. There was no knowing how many nerves and muscles would be affected. Only this one leg? The other one as well? His torso? His arms? Would the entire musculature of his body clench as his body metabolized the last of the Somnic? And how long until homeostasis returned?

  A headache crept upward, threatening to engulf his entire skull. He rubbed the back of his neck. The aftereffects of Somnic? Or simply the result of psychological tension? Either way, he needed to relax, to find a way to fight the muscle tension that threatened to overtake him.

  “My God,” Amanda stood and crossed the carriage to sit by his side, bending to pull his leg into her lap. Her fingers pressed down, finding the pressure points.

  The pain receded, but only slightly. It would be back soon and at a level guaranteed to drop an elephant.

  “You need a doctor,” she said. “Someone who knows how to help.”

  “This helps.” But he knew nothing short of general anesthesia was likely to stop the pain. He clasped her hand. “Inform Nicu of the threat to Nadya. Have him send word to Black.” He reached inside his coat, drew his TTX pistol and pressed it into her hands. “Hold on to this.”

  She gasped. “I’ve never…‌”

  He managed a wan smile. “Soon, your aim will be better than mine, Amanda. Point. Pull the trigger. Remember. One bullet to slow a man down.”

  “Two to drop him. Three to kill.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  With a worried frown, and handling the gun as if it might sting her, she shoved it inside her bulging handbag. “Now, your leg. Tell me what to expect. What to do.”

  The blood drained from her face as he gave her a quick rundown of possible symptoms. “They should pass in four to six hours.”

  “Four to six,” she repeated.

  He nodded, trying not to let the pain show on his face. There was little to do that would ease the process. A bottle of laudanum rested on a table by his bedside. He’d planned on enduring this alone, but circumstances being what they were…‌.

  It would be ugly, there was no avoiding that. And, at the end, when his muscles finally relaxed, the damaged nerve would rapidly deteriorate. He’d used such high doses, he had no idea what damage he’d already done. Even if the amatiflora bloomed next week, it would be too late.

  It was likely too late already.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  AMANDA NEARLY WEPT with relief when the driver finally located Nicu’s maroon vardo. She had to shake Thornton awake. He’d been in and out of consciousness the entire trip, and his face was white with pain.

  She helped him from the cab and, when his leg muscles refused to cooperate, nearly toppled under his solid weight. A few men passing by threw her looks of disgust or pity, but not a single one made an offer of help, the middle class dismissing him as yet another dissolute peer and her, with disheveled hair and a rumpled gown, as his mistress.

  Amanda paid the driver, then handed Thornton his cane. He stood there as if frozen. A sheen of sweat dampened his forehead, and he surveyed the distance to the vardo‌—‌some five feet‌—‌as if a vast canyon yawned before him. “Let me help,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist, doing her best to steady him. His body tensed as he forced his bad leg to move, its foot refusing to cooperate.

  At last they reached the wagon. Thornton looked at the curved wooden stairs that led to the vardo’s door and shook his head. “I can’t.” He reached out to balance himself on the back wheel. “Go,” he panted. “Find Nicu.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He nodded.

  “Nicu?” she called, pushing open the slightly ajar door.

  “Lady Amanda.” Nicu rose from a chair to great her. “How can I be of help this fine day?”

  So he’d not heard about Luca. There was no easy way to broach her news, no time to cushion the impact. “We need to warn Nadya about Henri.”

  He shook his head and frowned. “Warn Nadya about Henri?”

  “Henri is the gypsy murderer.”

  Nicu gave her a long look, then swore in Romani. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  She
nodded. “Lord Thornton waits outside. He needs help. Now.”

  “Why did you not say so? There are few such men who would lift so much as a finger to help a gypsy.” Nicu rose and headed for the door.

  With her determination and the old man’s wiry strength, they propelled Thornton into the vardo and behind the partition separating the old man’s clockwork business from his personal living space.

  They lowered Thornton onto the raised bed. Amanda dragged a low stool to sit beside him while Nicu lit a fire. “Warmth is good for the muscles,” he said, pulling up another stool. “Now, tell me, what is to be done?”

  “Black. Get a message to Black.” Thornton spoke from between clenched teeth.

  “Black?” Nicu looked at her.

  “An agent of the Queen who can stop Henri,” Amanda explained. “We convey our suspicions to him. His agents will monitor both the greenhouse and the factory where the plant is known to grow. They will also protect Nadya.” She quickly informed Nicu of the plant’s significance.

  “Nadya can identify this plant?”

  She nodded. “She sent us to find it. We need to stop Henri from getting hold of the plant. Once he has it, he will disappear.”

  “Disposing of my sister as well once she is no longer useful.” Nicu opened a box, pulling forth a sheet of paper and a pencil. He handed them to Amanda. “Write your note to this Black. I will see it delivered into the right hands.”

  As Amanda scratched out a message, Thornton ground out directions as to how to contact Black or any one of his men. She handed Nicu the paper.

  He stood. “A few minutes. I will be back.” Nicu caught Amanda’s eyes. “Then we discuss what to do about our other problem.” Almost indiscernibly, his head tipped in Thornton’s direction, then he was gone.

  Amanda turned to Thornton, smoothing his hair from his forehead. She wished for cool water and a towel. “How bad is it?”

  “Worse.” He dragged in a breath and the rest came out in a rush. “Can’t bear to be moved.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” she reassured him. “But I have more questions.” Ones she’d tried to ask in the crank hackney before he fell unconscious. “How long before the nerve is destroyed? A week?” She paused.