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The Stone of Madness

Page 36

by Nick Baker


  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Nexus had been performing illicit medical research.’

  ‘So I was informed, but what exactly was he up to?’

  ‘He was interested in cryonics.’

  ‘Cryonics? The freeze preservation of cells, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. He began by experimenting on the nerve cells of rats, envisioning that one day he could apply the technique to the entire nervous system of the poor brutes. No one believed him, of course. The medical profession thought he was quite mad and turned a blind eye.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He eventually started experimenting on patients, choosing his victims carefully so that they would not be missed. He believed, through a misguided notion, I suppose, that one day he would be able to prolong their lives … prolong their suffering, if you ask me.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He developed a cryoprotectant, a chemical mixture of sorts, that allows the brain to be frozen without damage to its cells. He believed he could preserve the organ forever. You can see where all of this is leading, can’t you?’

  Price nodded gloomily. ‘The panacea that misguided souls have sought through the ages. Eternal life!’

  ‘Yes, although Nexus was not the only one involved. When the press got a whiff of what he was up to there was a furore, but it all died down very quickly. Nexus had contacts in high places because someone hushed up the details of his work. I suspect that was why I was put in charge of the hearing. I was tasked with ensuring that as little as possible emerged; damage limitation, I suppose you’d call it. I was to make sure that Nexus was banned from medical practice with as little fuss as possible, and without any details creeping into the press. It was as simple as that.’

  ‘A cover up, you mean,’ said Price evenly.

  Caruthers smiled. ‘You know how things work, Price.’

  Price shook his head in disgust. ‘You said earlier that Nexus was not the only one involved.’

  ‘Nexus had some powerful backers, but when the news broke, he was left to face the music alone.’

  ‘Who else was involved?’

  ‘I don’t know, and before you try another of your tricks, trust me, I really don’t.’

  ‘Hmm. I can see that,’ said Price sensing the truth in Caruthers’ words. ‘Who was your contact?’ he asked, changing tack.

  ‘You don’t know, do you?’ replied Caruthers, allowing a thin smile to pass across his lips.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you ever wondered why the Council was not involved?’

  Price shook his head and frowned, suddenly feeling a deep sense of unease.

  ‘I was merely an intermediary. Someone purposefully excluded the Council from the loop,’ said Caruthers glibly, exuding enjoyment at Price’s disquiet.

  ‘What! Who?’

  ‘Let me finish and I’ll explain.’

  ‘Well, get on with it, man!’ replied Price, his anger rising.

  Caruthers glared at Price. ‘I knew nothing of what was going on at a higher political level, and I purposefully chose not to ask. My remit was simple. I was to make sure Nexus was banned from medical practice and to prevent him from performing any more of his dubious research. My political masters assured me that they would be satisfied with nothing less, and so I created a smokescreen to allow the hysteria surrounding Nexus to die down. As it happened, the whole thing went off with a whimper. On the final day of the hearing, strings in high places were pulled to ensure that another story broke with the sole purpose of overshadowing what was going on with Nexus. Politician’s misdemeanours are by no means infrequent and inevitably make for headline news. It was a simple task to hold back such a transgression for the appropriate day. As I remember it, Nexus’ trial barely made the papers on the day the outcome was announced. It was no surprise that he disappeared into obscurity.’

  ‘Someone high up must have been embroiled in all of this,’ stated Price, looking nonplussed.

  ‘You’re right,’ replied Caruthers, allowing an obsequious smile to return to his lips.

  ‘So who was your contact?’ demanded Price.

  ‘My contact was … Sir Robert Lec,’ announced Caruthers theatrically.

  ‘Lec! Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course. It seems you can’t even trust your allies,’ said Caruthers triumphantly.

  ‘How was Lec involved in all of this?’ Price demanded.

  ‘I’ve told you before. I made certain I knew no more than I needed to.’

  ‘You must have some inkling,’ insisted Price.

  ‘All I can tell you is that someone coerced Lec into ensuring the whole business was brushed under the carpet. It was obvious in my dealings with him that he was under considerable duress. As to how that was achieved, well, I wouldn’t wish to speculate. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve other business to attend to,’ said Caruthers, getting up quickly and crossing to the bar.

  ‘Call me a taxi, Smythe, I’ll be leaving promptly,’ Caruthers said, addressing the barman.

  Arrogant bastard, Price thought. He had a good mind to teach him a lesson but he had better things to do than deal with a reprehensible lowlife like Caruthers. He just wanted to get home to Lily. He got up from the chair and brushed past Caruthers. After collecting his belongings, he hurried from the club while reflecting on the unsavoury information Caruthers had just relayed.

  Two hours later, Price surveyed the English countryside as it rolled serenely by from the comfort of the train compartment. Dry, warmer weather had replaced the continuous rain of the past month, but here and there, pools of water were still visible in the fields, a dwindling reminder of the floods that had beset the country. It had been a long and arduous day, and Price was looking forward to returning home. He removed a fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and flicked back the ornately monogrammed casing to check the time, but just as quickly replaced it, irritated that he had performed exactly the same manoeuvre barely a few minutes earlier. The train was due in at Paddington in under an hour, and Price was desperate to be home in time for supper with Lily.

  It was not long before the sprawling suburbs of the capital replaced the open pastures of the Home Counties. As he contemplated the comfort of home, the sound of the door sliding on its runners suddenly broke his reverie. He jerked his head towards the door, half expecting to see the ticket collector, but he was surprised to see the emergence of a swarthy-looking man dressed in shabby denims as he made his way into the compartment. Price was puzzled by this man; the train had not stopped for some time and he could not help thinking that the interloper’s ill-kempt appearance was not appropriate for the first-class compartment. The man’s eyes were glazed, possibly as a result of intoxication, but Price failed to detect the smell of alcohol on his breath. The man sat down on the bench directly opposite and scratched involuntarily at patchy grey stubble on his chin, staring with a feral intensity that immediately put Price on guard.

  ‘Price, innit? Looks just like ’er said ye would. Just don’t look at me. Makes me angry, it does,’ the man barked in a heavily accented voice while he clenched and relaxed his fists as if readying himself for violence.

  ‘What do you want?’ enquired Price levelly, while lowering his eyes to avoid further antagonising the man.

  The man ignored the question and jerked his head in the opposite direction. ‘Wha’ was that?’ he said as if someone had spoken directly into his ear.

  Price saw or heard nothing and wondered whether the man was conversing with an imaginary person or, more likely, using a hidden communication device.

  ‘’Er says I shouldn’t answer any of your questions and to watch out for yer tricks, so take my advice and shut it,’ shouted the man aggressively. ‘Now, look ya, see wha’ I ’as ’ere in me ’and,’ he continued. As he spoke, he thrust out a closed fist that came to rest barely an inch from the end of Price’s nose.

  ‘Now, don’t ye be shy, come meet me little friend,’ he said, unfurling his
fist to reveal a small pile of fine white powder.

  As Price recoiled, the man leant forwards and blew the powder into Price’s face.

  ‘Aagh!’ cried Price, pawing helplessly at his burning eyes, but the more he rubbed, the more the discomfort intensified. He backed away from the inevitable assault but was surprised to hear the sound of the man flopping back into his seat.

  ‘Worked just like ’er said it would, dinnit? Look at ’im. Can’t see a blinkin’ thing,’ he said, chortling heavily. ‘Now, wha’ was I meant to do next?’

  Price could almost sense the cogs of the man’s mind ticking over at sloth-like speed, and although tears were streaming from his eyes, he could just make out the blur of movement as the man got up from his seat. Rather than coming towards him as Price expected, however, the man advanced towards the window and stretched out a hand. Then, with a sudden yank, he pulled on the communication cord with such force that he almost wrenched it from its housing. The train lurched as it slowed down, causing the man to topple back into his seat while his maniacal laughter rose in tandem with the screech of the train’s brakes. Sparks flew from the track illuminating the compartment in a coruscation of light, and the train came to a jerking halt amidst a flourish of billowing smoke that rose up and cloaked the carriage in a thick veil of fog.

  Price tried to focus his stinging eyes on the great hulk seated opposite, and as his blurred vision slowly cleared, he was greeted by the sight of the man’s smirking visage staring intently back at him.

  ‘Now, If I ’ave this right, all I ’ave to do is wait,’ the man said, scratching his head. ‘And ye sit still and don’t move,’ he added, pointing at Price.

  Price regarded the man levelly, not able to fathom his purpose. The tanned, leathery skin of the man’s face was marked with livid bruises across his forehead and cheeks, suggesting recent violence. From his bizarre behaviour, Price deduced that he was taking orders from someone, and bearing in mind the way he had used the powder, he wondered whether this was another of Aurelia Nightshade’s charades. He glanced away from the man and fixed his eyes on the smoke, which was slowly dissipating to reveal an expanse of deserted sidings. He looked on with bewilderment at debris strewn across the tracks, and dilapidated buildings in the distance in various states of disrepair.

  The man made no further attempt to speak, but when Price got up, he quickly jumped up too, barring the exit. ‘Now just ye be patient and sit there like a good ’un, and let me see yer ’ands. I don’t want none of them tricks I bin warned about,’ he said aggressively.

  ‘I don’t have much time for this nonsense,’ replied Price calmly. ‘The guard will be here any minute to find out why you pulled the cord, so I suggest you let me pass. It’ll only make it easier for you in the long run,’ he continued, taking a further step towards the door.

  Quick as a flash and with an agility that belied his lethargy of mind, the man was upon him, grabbing his hands and pinning them behind his back before thrusting him back into the seat.

  The man shoved his face inches from the end of Price’s nose and hissed uncompromisingly, ‘I warned ye once, an’ I won’t do it again. Next time, I’ll break yer fingers. Savvy?’

  Price pulled away involuntarily, overcome by the man’s foetid breath, but he still managed a cursory nod to confirm his acquiescence.

  ‘An’ don’t expect no ’elp to be comin’ yer way. The guard’s locked in ’is van, an’ I don’t suppose ’e’ll get out for a while.’

  Price sat down and looked out of the window into a wasteland of disused tracks and decommissioned engines, deliberately avoiding the hoodlum’s threatening stare while calmly appraising the situation as best he could. He was unsettled and puzzled by this man, who had apparently been sent to keep him in the compartment of a stationary train, but to what purpose? Was he waiting for someone or was there some other reason?

  Price was not sure, but he was not prepared to sit idly by and wait. Whatever else, he had to get away. He had already been caught unawares by the man’s startling turn of speed. From his appearance and the way he spoke, he assumed that he had no knowledge of alchemy, yet this was merely a hypothesis, and if he was wrong, it might result in fatal consequences. No. He wasn’t going to make that mistake. If he were going to escape, he would have to use his guile.

  Price relaxed back in the seat and closed his eyes, but rather than resting as he hoped it would appear, he focused his mind on the complicated action he was about to institute. He recalled the many times he had taught Lily to channel her inner energy in preparation for the manipulation of one physical form into another, and considered the analogy of a converging optical lens focusing parallel beams of light into an infinitesimally small point of unimaginable concentration.

  Price inched his hand towards the opaque, scratched window of the locomotive and felt the clinical coldness of the glass. With the contact came a barely discernible hum as energy flowed from his fingertips. The thug opposite briefly stirred, but Price dampened the power stemming from his hand, causing the sound to immediately cease. The man closed his eyes, suggesting that, to his primitive senses, nothing had changed, and Price could almost sense the thug dreaming about the money he had been promised and all the ale it would buy.

  Imperceptibly at first, the glass shimmered with a soundless resonance as its molecular structure shifted, and by allowing the energy to incrementally grow, Price avoided any surge in power that would overwhelm and shatter the glass, until finally, he reached the point that would allow the transubstantiation to take place.

  For an accomplished alchemist, glass was an almost perfect substance for molecular transformation, being an amorphous amalgam of silica fused with phosphate and borate arranged into a vitreous mixture that was neither solid nor liquid. As he worked, Price pictured the cohesive molecular units that were responsible for the rigidity of the glass. Yet this was also the key to the change, and by modifying the relationship, he gradually transformed the unyielding glass into a malleable, thixotropic gel.

  If the laggard opposite had cared to look while Price had been working his alchemical magic, he would have seen the window shimmering like a waterfall touched by the first sun of spring. As it was, the man remained glassy-eyed, staring vacantly ahead, looking, but definitely not seeing.

  Price held the glass in an amorphous state while preparing for the challenging step that lay ahead. Suddenly, with an acrobatic leap, he flew from the seat towards the glass. The window moulded around his outstretched hands before bending like a sheet of elastic as his palms passed deeper into the glass. Then, with an indiscernible pop, first fingers, then hands, and finally forearms melded with the glass before passing directly through it. The momentum of his dive sent him forwards in a blur of head, torso and legs as he exited seamlessly through the glass while his assailant watched helplessly by. The glass rapidly closed behind him as he flew from the train before he hit the ground, spraying shingle all around him. The impact left him momentarily stunned, but there was no time to lose. He sprang to his feet, quickly shaking off the disorientation from the blow to his head while glancing back towards the compartment. Price locked eyes with his assailant and smiled in response to the astonished look on the man’s face as he pawed helplessly at the window. Try as he might, he could not follow Price through the glass, and the man slumped back in his seat, defeat written irrefutably across his face. Finally, still unable to comprehend what had happened, the man got sluggishly to his feet and headed for the door, belatedly beginning his pursuit at a pace suggesting that he already knew it was too late.

  Price sprinted as fast as he could, dodging this way and that around skeletal remnants of burnt-out carriages, rusted engines and hulking containers. He looked over his shoulder at regular intervals, but eventually, he allowed his pace to slacken, safe in the knowledge that the lumbering giant had neither the stamina nor the wits to catch him. After losing his way amidst a maze of buildings and purposeless sidings, Price finally stumbled upon civilisation. The h
ope of a quick return home immediately evaporated with the sight of a vast ghetto of run-down terraces and tenement blocks. The place was deserted, but the occasional flick of a curtain hinted at unseen agoraphobics either too scared or too timid to venture onto the uninviting streets. The few people he met consistently ignored his request for directions, shuffling away uneasily without reply. He looked down and noted the filth he had picked up from his fall, and the tears in his clothes, courtesy of the barbed wire on the fence he had clambered over to escape from the interminable sidings yard. His dishevelled state did not exactly invite people to help him, he supposed.

  After an age aimlessly wandering along one frighteningly similar street after another, Price finally blundered into a rundown row of shops, padlocked behind heavy metal shutters. He found a late-night liquor store that was open, presided over by a portly man who spoke with a sharp Eastern European accent. The shopkeeper eyed him suspiciously, and it took all of Price’s powers of persuasion to get the man to phone for a taxi after they had bartered over the cost of the call.

  ‘Ze taxi vill be here in sirty minutes. Now, perhaps you vould like to purchase somesing vile you vait?’ the shopkeeper announced after he had made the call.

  Price felt duty bound to pay an exaggerated price for a bottle of water, which he duly drank in silence while waiting impatiently for the taxi to arrive.

  It was almost an hour before a battered car passing itself off for a taxi came to pick up its ride. The driver would not allow Price into the vehicle before he had paid the exorbitant fare in full for the fifteen miles or so it would take to get him home.

  Neither party spoke during the journey and when the taxi pulled up outside Price’s house next to the common, dusk was beginning to fall, accentuating a building that was oddly devoid of light.

  He jumped from the car and fumbled at the gate before striding towards the door. He placed his palm on the locking mechanism, eager to enter the house as quickly as he could. As he worked through the resonances, he jumped back in shock when the door suddenly opened to reveal Albright standing before him looking pale and drawn. One glance at his servant’s face was enough to suggest that something was terribly wrong.

 

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