Her Dark Curiosity

by Megan Shepherd

  “We’ll need to clear out.” I peered back into the room. “Montgomery?”

  “Twenty seconds and I’ll be finished,” he answered.

  I pulled Lucy to the storage room directly across the hall, empty now save a stack of chairs. “We can hide in here,” I said. “Balthazar, come.”

  Montgomery finished and locked the smoking room, and then we piled into the storage room and closed the door.

  “Juliet… ,” Lucy started.

  “Shh. If they hear us, this will all be over.”

  A few painfully long minutes passed. Balthazar’s chest was at my back, and the feel of his solid strength gave me relief. Lucy pressed closely to my side.

  “What the devil is that smell?” she hissed, sniffing the wet spots on my dress that were soaked in the creatures’ tank fluid. At the same time, I heard the groaning hinges of the main courtyard door and whispered for her to be quiet. We all held our breaths.

  It wasn’t long before footsteps sounded in the hall, then the low voices of two men talking. From the slips of conversation I could make out, they weren’t happy about being called upon on Christmas Day. I heard them rattle the doorknob of the smoking room across the hall, but neither had a key.

  After another few minutes more footsteps came, brisker than the rest, and Inspector Newcastle’s familiar voice said, “Isn’t Radcliffe here with the key? He’s the one who called this bloody meeting. Never mind, I have mine somewhere.”

  My gut wrenched. I squeezed Lucy’s hand, wishing she hadn’t come. The sound of a key turning in the smoking room door came, followed by footsteps filing into the room.

  I stared at the crack of light beneath the storage room door. It suddenly glowed brighter as someone within the smoking room must have flipped on the electric light.

  For a few seconds, the four of us waited, breathless. We were pressed together so closely, I couldn’t tell whose hand was brushing mine, whose elbow was in my back.

  I closed my eyes and thought of a jungle far away, a father I’d once idolized.

  “What the devil?” a sharp voice came from outside.

  “Now!” I yelled.

  Montgomery threw the door open, and he and I raced across the marble hall. The smoking room door had been left cracked, and as I reached for the knob to pull it closed I saw flutters of movement within: the startled face of Dr. Hastings, Isambard Lessing twisting to look behind him. My eyes met those of Inspector Newcastle—his blue, cold, calculating eyes—an instant before I slammed the door.

  One of the King’s Men threw himself against the door, but Montgomery had already twisted the key. Balthazar slid his rifle through the handles to blockade them in. For an instant, there was only the sound of someone desperately twisting the doorknob, back and forth, back and forth, and then a sudden silence.

  A high-pitched animal squeal erupted, ungodly and terrible. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.

  Lucy twisted her neck to stare at me in horror. “Juliet, what have you done?”

  “They would have brought this upon the city,” I said, desperate to convince her what I’d done was right. “They would have killed Edward to do it.”

  Someone pounded the door hard enough to nearly split the hinges. A lamp crashed. It was terrible, listening to those sounds. Terrible and satisfying, in a cruel way. I could only imagine the King’s Men’s shock at seeing their creatures suddenly animated. The confusion. Then the horror. Another wail came, though from beast or man, I couldn’t be sure.

  Lucy screamed as blood trickled beneath the door.

  “Make it end!” she cried. “It’s killing them!” She threw herself against the door, pulling at Balthazar’s rifle.

  “No, Lucy, don’t!”

  Both Montgomery and I rushed forward, but it was too late to stop her. The rifle clattered and her hand twisted the key. She didn’t even have time to turn the doorknob before it was flung open by Isambard Lessing, blood dripping from his eye sockets, his chest already stained crimson. He collapsed in the doorway, dead.

  None of us was prepared for the carnage inside.

  FORTY-THREE

  WHAT STRUCK ME FIRST wasn’t the dead man at my feet, nor the scrambling chaos within.

  It was the smell.

  A King’s Man—or perhaps one of the creatures—must have knocked over the liquor cabinet, because now the sticky-sweet smell of rum clogged the air, mixing with the odor of fresh blood, laboratory fluid, and the musk of wild things on the hunt.

  I gagged as I reached to slam the door shut, but Isambard Lessing’s body was in the way. Balthazar stooped over to move the body, but it was too late; one of the creatures was already hurling itself toward us, all glowing eyes and scrambling claws and a body that moved more like snake than rodent.

  Lucy screamed again, diving to the blood-soaked floor. I grabbed the rifle and tossed it to Montgomery, but we hadn’t time. The creature was three feet away, two, and then it was on him. It let out a hideous cry and sank its long claws into his arm. I screamed and stumbled toward him, wrapping my fingers around the thing’s furry back to rip it off. Balthazar picked up the fallen rifle and slammed it into the creature’s head, cracking the skull again and again, until cranial fluid seeped onto my dress.

  I dropped the dead creature, heart pounding, and stumbled backward until I collided with the sofa. Blood poured from the wounds on Montgomery’s arm.

  “God help me!” a male voice called, though I couldn’t tell if it came from Dr. Hastings or Newcastle. I looked around as though in a dream—a nightmare—but there were too many bodies crawling on the floor, stumbling around the room, too many flashes of furry creatures scrambling with glistening claws and teeth.

  I’d had no idea what chaos five freshly awakened creatures could cause. For a moment, time was frozen. Lucy was pressed in a corner with arms braced over her head. Montgomery and Balthazar each fought with a creature, blood dripping from their arms, inhuman screeches filling the sticky-sweet air.

  “My god,” I muttered.

  I stumbled toward Lucy, over Isambard Lessing’s dead body. Dr. Hastings fell onto the leather club chair next to me, moaning as blood spilled from a deep gash on the side of his neck that turned his white shirt crimson, before tumbling off the chair and landing near the fireplace.

  I threw myself on the ground in front of Lucy, wrapping my arms around her, dragging her deeper into the corner. A broken bottle lay on its side that I grabbed as a weapon, heedless of how it cut into my palm. Across the room, Montgomery aimed the rifle at a creature he’d cornered in the fireplace. Balthazar gave another a sharp kick. The sounds of bullets filled the air, the dying cries of little creatures that should have never existed.

  I had done this. I’d killed these men, I’d spilled this blood, just as a year ago I’d spilled Father’s. I tried to tell myself this was just as necessary, yet I hadn’t seen Father’s death. I hadn’t witnessed the carnage of his body torn apart, seeping blood like the dying body of Dr. Hastings by the fireplace.

  Montgomery let out a final gunshot that echoed in the room. For a few moments there was the sound of moaning and wheezing little animal breaths, but no movement. Wherever the remaining creatures were, they were hiding. Montgomery raised a finger to his lips and started to crouch on the rug, but Lucy screamed suddenly as two creatures flew out from under the sofa. One went for the fireplace, and Montgomery leaped up and fired his pistol, again and again. The other skittered on the ground toward us. Balthazar lifted a heavy foot and stomped on it, smashing it dead with a crunch of bone.

  “Your rifle!” Montgomery yelled to Balthazar. “One’s still alive on the other side of that chair!”

  The sound of squealing beasts and gunshots was terrible, and I threw my hands over my ears. God help me, something about the chaos was thrilling, too. I could almost taste it, like the shock of first frost. Balthazar lumbered behind the cabinets, rifle in hand. I pulled Lucy deeper into the corner, brandishing the broken bottle, ready to slice a creatur
e apart if one lunged for us. Montgomery fired again and his pistol clicked—empty.

  “Damn!” he yelled, drawing his knife.

  Lucy kept screaming, and the dying men moaned in pain, and the room filled with swirling smells. I caught sight of a letter opener that would make a much better weapon and staggered forward, when from out of nowhere Balthazar slammed into me and knocked me against the table. I cried out, and at the same time another gunshot went off. Balthazar collapsed behind the sofa, letting out an anguished cry.

  “Balthazar!” Montgomery yelled.

  Pain burst in my shoulder from where I’d collided with the table, making my vision spark, but I crawled to my knees and tried to find Balthazar. I saw glimpses of his back and meaty arms in the midst of a brawl behind the leather sofa, but by my count all the five creatures were dead. I must have forgotten one, missed one… I stumbled toward him with the letter opener in hand, ready to plunge it into the living flesh of a creature, but when I looked around the sofa, I froze. Balthazar struggled with not a creature, but a man. A copper breastplate gleamed on his chest.

  Inspector Newcastle was still alive.

  It all made sense to me in flashes. He’d shot at Balthazar. No—he’d shot at me, but Balthazar had shoved me aside. He’d taken the bullet in my place.

  My insides wrung like a washrag, and all I could think was Balthazar, Balthazar, Balthazar, that he’d taken a bullet for me, a rifle blast no less, a shot that would have killed me instantly.

  “Montgomery, help!” I cried.

  I stumbled forward on hands and knees, skirts tangled around my legs, as Montgomery leaped over a couch to reach us. Dr. Hastings’s body lay in my way, the life draining out of him, and I had to drag my skirts to crawl over his bloody chest. With his dying strength he grabbed my ankle, but I kicked free, shrieking, and toppled onto the rug. In a way, the Beast had left him for me to kill—what terrible irony.

  Newcastle lurched for the door just as I collapsed against Balthazar.

  “Where are you hurt?” I cried.

  He peeled back a meaty hand clutched against his rib cage to reveal a pulpy wound seeping blood. I gasped as Montgomery rushed to my side.

  “He’s shot,” I said. “Newcastle aimed for me but Balthazar pushed me aside.” My stomach clenched. If Balthazar didn’t survive…

  Lucy rushed over. “You can stop the bleeding, can’t you?”

  “Perhaps,” Montgomery said, hurrying to remove his coat. “Newcastle’s a good shot. How did he even survive?”

  “It’s the copper breastplate he wears,” I muttered, glancing at the door, dragging a bloodstained hand through my tangled hair. “That blasted armor protected him.”

  Fury seethed in me as Balthazar lay bleeding, just as the professor had bled to death. A man as ambitious and highly connected as Newcastle wouldn’t stop because we’d exposed him. If he escaped, he’d concoct some new scheme, move to a new country and invent a new name, involve new patrons—there was certainly no shortage of wealthy, unscrupulous men in this world—and anyone who stood in his way would be murdered. Worse, he was the sole witness to the massacre tonight. He might tell Scotland Yard what we’d done, turn this around to blame it on us, absolve himself of any involvement. Montgomery and Balthazar and Lucy and I would hang for what we’d done.

  No, not Lucy. He loved her enough to spare her the noose, but what would he demand in return? A lifetime of marriage under threat of prison if she ever left him?

  Men like John Newcastle stopped at nothing.

  It was up to me, then, to stop him.

  MY FINGERS WENT TO Balthazar’s bloodstained coat pocket, digging for the sugar cubes he always kept there to feed insects. “Stay with him, Montgomery,” I choked. “I’m going after Newcastle.”

  I raced for the door before he could answer. I skidded out into the hall, following the sounds of Newcastle’s footsteps. It was a maze in these hallways, but one I knew well. The exterior door on this level was always kept locked, so if he was headed north as his footsteps indicated, he’d have to circle around.

  I could intercept him.

  I hurried to search each of the rooms until I found a small supply closet filled with bottles and powders, and I located a glass jar of nitric acid and another of standard ether, staples of any laboratory. I crushed the sugar cubes in one hand, turning them into a dissolvable powder, and then took a deep breath.

  Did I truly want to do this?

  On their own nitric acid and ether caused minor burns, but when mixed with a metal alloy and a reactive agent—the sugar—they would create an exothermic reaction strong enough to melt copper.

  Dash it. I hadn’t a choice. As I ran to intercept New­castle, I unscrewed the lid of the acid and added the sugar, then shook the mixture. It was dark in these hallways, with only the moonlight, and I was able to hide myself in the shadowy alcove of a doorway. I heard his footsteps approaching as he doubled back, each step as loud as the thumping of my heart.

  I squeezed my eyes closed.

  He killed the professor, I reminded myself. He shot Balthazar. He was aiming for you.

  He turned the corner and his face fell into a beam of moonlight just as he saw me.

  I rushed him. I didn’t think, I didn’t listen, for fear that I’d lose my courage. I hurled my body against him, kicking and tearing. His rifle skidded down the marble hall as we tumbled to the hard floor.

  “Get off me!” he yelled.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I hurled back. “Like you killed the professor? Like you nearly killed Balthazar?”

  He managed to pin my shoulder to the ground. “Like you just killed those men?” he hissed back at me. “Your father would be proud of your resolve, Miss Moreau. There can’t be too many girls as ruthlessly determined as you. He was the same way.”

  I let out an angry cry and pushed away from the floor. I couldn’t let this man escape—he’d have us arrested, only to continue his schemes. He was much stronger than me, but in his wounded state, we were equally matched. As we tussled together, I managed to free my left hand and slam the glass jar of nitrate across his breastplate. Acid ran down his chest but Newcastle ignored it, knowing the copper armor protected him, and let out a harsh laugh.

  The acid was only the beginning, though.

  I took the glass bottle of ether from my pocket and, with more curses than prayers, aimed for the same place on his armor. He threw up an arm to deflect me, and the bottle smashed against the edge of his shoulder instead, spilling down over his chest. The dizzying fumes made me choke.

  Newcastle coughed too, as I skittered back against the far wall. He whirled his head around, wondering why I suddenly looked so frightened. It wasn’t until the reaction began, the volatile gas igniting the acid and reactive agent binding to the copper, which began to glow a faint red, then a molten yellow and white hot, searing into his skin, burning his flesh, that he began to howl.

  He tore at the copper breastplate, trying to get it off, but it had already begun to fuse to his flesh as it glowed bright as the sun.

  I shaded my eyes from the light. By the time it faded, Newcastle had stopped howling. He lay on the stone floor, the smell of burned flesh in the air mixing with the sugar-sweet aroma of chemicals.

  It only took one look to know that if he wasn’t dead, he would be soon.

  My legs gave out. I sank against the wall, sliding to the floor. Behind me came footsteps, and I saw Lucy standing in the hall.

  For a moment we only stared at each other. There were no words for what I had done; no words to forgive me, nor to condemn. I’d just killed one of her suitors, a man who despite all his terrible crimes had truly loved her.

  “We’ve stopped the bleeding,” she choked at last. “But we’ve got to get Balthazar back to the professor’s house so Montgomery can remove the bullet.”

  I stood on shaky legs. My body was weary with exhaustion, and yet despite everything there was a small, terrible thrill of pride. It burned in the dark part
of my heart as brightly as gleaming copper.

  “Take me to Balthazar,” I said.

  FORTY-FOUR

  WE LEFT INSPECTOR NEWCASTLE’S body smoldering in the shadows. The copper armor still glowed a deep red and smelled of burned flesh, an odor I wished to live my entire life without smelling again. By the time we returned to the smoking room, Balthazar was sitting upright with a makeshift bandage across his chest. He smiled when he saw me. I stumbled to my knees next to him.

  “You saved my life,” I said.

  “You’re so small,” he said. “One bullet would kill you.”

  Love for this big man swelled in my throat as Montgomery patted him on the shoulder. “His pulse is strong. I’ve never known a man who could take a bullet to the chest and walk away from it. What do you say, my friend, can you stand?” With our help Balthazar lumbered to his feet, wheezing only slightly.

  I led them as fast as Balthazar could hobble through the maze of hallways to an exterior door. Snow blew in, making wind eddies in the hallway corners, replacing the miasma of singed flesh.

  The empty carriage waited in the alley, tethered to horses that stamped impatiently in the cold. We helped Balthazar into the back, and Lucy and I climbed in with him as Montgomery mounted the driver’s seat and cracked the whip. The steady rumble of horse hooves was eerily soothing, and by the time we reached the professor’s townhouse, my wild determination had drained away and left me with only the cold reality of what we’d done.

  What I’d done.

  Outside the carriage, church bells rang eleven at night. Christmas is almost over, I thought. A supposed day of joy. At the university I’d felt such an arrogant swell of pride to know I’d defeated Newcastle and Hastings and Lessing, and that the rest of the King’s Men would scatter. Such pride sickened me now.

  Elizabeth was waiting for us anxiously when we arrived. Sharkey came running down the stairs, sniffing the air and our clothes, tail low as he wound circles between our feet while we helped Balthazar shuffle into the dining room. Elizabeth cleared the table and set out her medical supplies, and now directed us while trying to keep Sharkey from tripping us with his frantic whining. I laid a hand on Balthazar’s swollen shoulder, wishing I knew how to give him my thanks. All I had were words, and words were poor payment for a saved life.