White Lady

by Nix Whittaker

  He felt responsible so as he had sat by her sickbed to keep her company. Seeing how she had taken on the world despite her lack had grown his respect for his older sister.

  Rayne rubbed her mechanical hand on her other arm in a nervous action. “Sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to blow you off.” He had almost forgotten about the random limb left on his doorstep. He was sure he could find the answer to the mystery soon so he had shelved it in his mind.

  It was his sister that couldn’t put a mystery down while he was more interested in what he could do for others to improve their lives. He was more worried about the albino woman Medea. She hadn’t come back for the limb he was building her. But he didn’t blame her if she was running away from the creepy man who had threatened him. He wondered if he should mention the man to Rayne but she had enough on her plate already.

  Everett waved off her apology. “Not a problem. But what brings you here?” He glanced at Larkin who lurked silently, this was no casual visit.

  “We were wondering if you still had that body part.”

  He frowned. There was no good reason his sister would want the hand and also be lugging Larkin around at the same time. “No, I left it with Victor.” The smell alone would have chased away all his customers. “What do you want it for?” Maybe he was wrong and it was from a murder victim rather than a medical misadventure.

  Rayne made a frustrated face by wrinkling up her nose to the side before she sighed. “We have a case of cannibalism and we were wondering if your bit of evidence was part of all that. Some construction workers found chewed on body parts dumped at their site. Human teeth marks. I’ll check in with Victor, he’ll know if someone has been munching on it.”

  Rayne turned to leave but paused and said, “I saw your albino girl the other day. She was in Seven Dials. Not sure what she was doing there except that she was saving a young girl.”

  “Medea? You saw Medea?” Hope rose in him.

  “I assume it was your girl. I can’t think of many albinos in the city let alone one who was using a crutch. But you promise me if you go looking for her you take someone to watch your back. Seven Dials is not a place to go in alone.”

  He crossed his heart with his fingers and said, “I promise.” Though he had no idea who he would take. He didn’t have many friends and most of them lived in foreign climes. He doubted Rayne would appreciate him taking their younger sister though she would probably be perfectly safe. She had a way of staying out of trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  Everett pushed the magnifying glass aside and leaned back to loosen sore muscles. The gears of the toes were exposed but mostly formed. He still had to put in the springs that would make the toes return to position. The bell above the door warned him he was no longer alone in his workshop.

  It was the creepy man with the stick. Everett could hardly believe the man would dare to return after he had threatened him the last time.

  Pushing his stool backward, Everett rose to his feet. “You again. I thought I told you to get lost.”

  His voice cracked with vehemence. “The girl who came in here. The roho, the ghost.” The last was spoken in a sneer.

  The sparkle in the man’s eyes as he spoke wasn’t a look of pride for Medea but rather of lust. The hatred in the African man’s voice had Everett growling.

  The dark man continued, “The woman is mine. You leave her to me.” His hand caressed the top of his walking stick. The motion had Everett shuddering with revulsion.

  “She came to me. I didn’t seek her out.” Everett crossed his arms across his chest. He wasn’t sure why the man had returned but he seemed sure that Medea had visited while before he had been testing Everett. He also wouldn’t reveal that Medea had left in a hurry and he doubted she would return regardless of what he wished.

  Madness lit the man’s eyes. “You will not make her one of your contraptions.” A statement rather than a suggestion. Everett had never been very good at taking orders.

  Everett’s fists tightened against his forearms. His voice iced with steel, “I’m already making it.”

  Anger stiffened the man’s muscles and the image of an old frail man disappeared in a flash.

  With malice, the man raised his stick, transforming it from an ordinary item to a weapon. In a fluid motion, the man struck Everett. Ducking reflexively it glanced off his head.

  Everett staggered back against the counter. Risking another blow he turned his back on the old African man to search for a weapon. The counter, unusually clear, only yielded a soldering iron. Hardly a weapon to counter the reach of the walking stick. The stick smashed down on the almost completed foot he was making for Medea. Gears and metal spun off in several directions.

  When Everett turned, there was no attacker. The old man had dissipated like a fog on a summer morning.

  Turning to the ruined foot Everett picked up a now severed toe. The hard end of the stick had done more damage to the foot than it had done to his head so it was more likely the man hadn’t intended to kill him, merely get him out of the way.

  He turned the toe over in his hand. Though damaged it wasn’t destroyed. Everett took his seat again and rubbed at the spot on his head where the man had contacted. A lump had risen under his hair and he winced as his hand found the exact spot. He rolled his shoulders. They were still stiff from being hunched over and despite the exercise the weird man had given him it hadn’t dissipated.

  ___

  The visits to the other hospitals had uncovered nothing so the link between St Andrews and the Collectors was all he had. He hadn’t been to the bowels of the Yard before so he wandered aimlessly in his search for the Collectors and their headquarters. Poking his head into the different rooms he eventually found a room cooler than all the others. They stacked blocks of ice up against the wall and metal bins lined the far wall.

  Two men worked to clean the room. The younger of the men was folding bloodied sheets haphazardly. The older one, who was moping the floor with a dirty mop, spotted Everett and stopped to ask, “What can we do for you, My Lord?”

  Since they wouldn’t be aware that he was a duke’s son he frowned at the honorific. The younger man said, “He’s no lord.” He ran his eyes over Everett which had him automatically straightening his spine.

  The older man frowned and said, “Don’t mind him, sir.”

  Everett shrugged it off, he wasn’t one to care about what honorific they used for him. He actually preferred it when people were unaware of his father’s rank. “I had a hand left on my doorstep a week ago and St Andrews said they had one pass through there and that you good fellows were the ones to dispose of it.”

  The old man said, “We do take care of the waste from the hospital but I don’t remember a hand. They don’t do many amputations there.” He glanced at the younger man who just shrugged though there was a fierce flush to his cheeks which implied anger.

  Everett tipped his head to the older man and said, “Thank you for answering my questions.” He eyed the other man carefully. There was something the younger man wasn’t saying but Everett didn’t have any power to make him answer. He might get Victor to ask the man more pointed questions and see if he could get something from the belligerent man. If that didn’t work then he would sic Rayne on the man. That would get answers.

  ___

  Medea tugged her coat closer around her. She had traded a necklace for it. It hadn’t had sentimental value instead she kept it for situations like this where she needed help when she escaped. She had been forced to move again as there had been another dead bird on her windowsill. This time it had its head but she couldn’t risk the witch doctor finding her. She had moved deeper into the vile areas of Londinium.

  A wheelbarrow rattled as it went from a wooden walkway to the dirt road. Medea ducked out of view even though she was already hidden by the shadows. It didn’t matter if it was the witch doctor or not. It was late at night and no one was safe at this hour. Even the ladies who entertained men had alrea
dy found their beds.

  The wheelbarrow rolled past her and her hiding place in the deep doorway of a derelict church. Her spine stiffened at the sight that passed by. A man dressed in black, his face hidden by a mask and hood, casually carried the body of a man. The body was soot-covered and small. Most likely a man who cleaned chimneys. His lifeless eyes stared at the starless sky. Blood dripped from his fingers so the man was only recently deceased. Bite marks curved like a sickle went up the arm.

  The wheelbarrow and its gruesome contents turned a corner. She came out of her hiding place and quietly made her way to the corner. Keeping her body hidden by the corner of the building she took a peek. The man turned down another corner. This time to a dead-end alley that went into a courtyard. About half a dozen families would live in the courtyard but she didn’t think any of them were at risk from the man with the wheelbarrow. He already had his victim.

  She took note of the courtyard name and returned to her doorway bed. Tomorrow she would leave a note with the constables to search for the man. It was too late for the man in the wheelbarrow.

  She didn’t sleep after that so it was early when she stretched out and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. She had procured a short-term job at a factory. Normally she wouldn’t risk it but she desperately needed the coin.

  One advantage of waking early was that she could get to the front of the line of one of the charity kitchens that was run by one of the society ladies. There were already a few souls like herself that probably slept on the streets and were woken early. They kept their eyes off her and she returned the favour.

  Someone called her name and her head shot up, worried it was Cayman, only he had always called her ghost or made reference to the magic her body could perform him. He believed she could bring him untold wealth. He had never used her name.

  Ancaster, the man from the artificial limb store ran towards her. He didn’t seem to care that running was mostly done by young boys and those fleeing policemen.

  He wrapped his arms around her and then must have realised how familiar the hug was as he jumped back. A blush ran up his neck to his cheeks. “When that man came to the shop to threaten you I wondered if he had gotten to you.”

  She caught his arm to steady herself. “Man? What man?”

  “Some African man with a stick. He called you a ghost and said he would send my ancestors to haunt me if I helped you. He nearly split open my head though when he tried to break your foot.”

  “You are making me a foot?” Her voice was incredulous even to her ears. She couldn’t believe that someone would bother with her.

  “Of course, wasn’t that why you came to my store?” She shook her head. She had no money. Less now than she had then. She had only walked in because of curiosity rather than because she had the means to purchase a limb to replace the foot that had been taken from her.

  “I didn’t expect you to make it.” She frowned. There was no way she could get the foot anyway. If the witch doctor was haunting the store and threatening Ancaster, he would watch out for her. Not that this neighbourhood was any safer.

  “You need to be careful of Cayman. He is dangerous.”

  He put a hand to his head and rubbed his hair as he answered, “I’m well aware of that.”

  She glanced around and spotted a dandy strolling down the street with his hands still in his pockets. “You didn’t come alone did you?”

  Ancaster glanced around and said, “I brought Victor.” She frowned at the dandy. He hadn’t tried to keep up with Ancaster so as a bodyguard he was already lacking. He didn’t look particularly dangerous in his burnt orange coat and purple embroidered waistcoat.

  He winked at her and said to Ancaster, “I see you found your girl.”

  Her frown deepened. Ancaster must have realised she was concerned about his abilities as he said, “Victor is a dragon. He might not look it but he can toast anyone who thinks about attacking me. But you can’t be safe here.”

  She waved him off and said, “I’ve been in more dangerous places. But you can’t be here. If the witch doctor knows that you know me he might follow you.”

  Victor said, “No one followed us. Not unless they can fly.” She eyed the dragon. She noticed the golden eyes now that they had revealed his identity.

  “He has spirits that can find anyone anywhere.”

  Victor raised an eyebrow. She waved off his scepticism and turned back to Ancaster. “You need to leave. I’ll be fine.”

  “Where will I find you when I finish making your foot?”

  She shook her head. Fear shivered through her blood that Ancaster, an innocent, would be dragged into the horror that was her life. “I can’t afford any of your wares.”

  “No cost.”

  She studied his eyes. There was no deception, only earnest serenity. She didn’t come across altruistic people often but she wouldn’t be alive except for the few she had come across. “Okay.”

  Victor said, “You can use my wall.”

  Ancaster turned and frowned so she wasn’t the only one confused by the dragon. “I have a wall in a public garden in Culpeper. There are several bricks that are loose and you can hide a message behind them. I think the third one along from the rose and six rows up is still free.”

  Ancaster asked, “What?”

  “You won’t be the only ones using the wall. I have several groups that use the wall. Usually for a cost. I make sure the messages go to the right people. There was the whole scandal of the wool manufacturers getting the letter meant for the coal industry. They almost torched one of their factories by accident over that debacle.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. She glanced at Ancaster and he looked as confused as her. “You mean you run a postal service for spies.”

  A smile split the dragon’s face. “I wonder if I could advertise it like that.” He waved it off and answered his own speculation, “Silly you can’t advertise a secret service to spies. Darn, that would have been an interesting flier. Yes, third one along from the rose and six rows up. Leave something there and I’ll make sure the boy gets it.”

  She hesitated. She had learned her letters when she had looked after her master’s children and the tutor hadn’t cared if she was present or not. Spirits would be able to follow her even to a secret wall like the dragon described but with a mechanical foot she would be better able to hide and to travel. She could get work in places that weren’t also in the same neighbourhood as cannibals.

  “I’ll leave you a message. But you must go now.” He caught her hand and placed a few pounds in it. She hadn’t seen many pound notes in her lifetime and he handed them over as if they were the change in his pocket. He squeezed her hand. Probably anticipating the protest. She bit her tongue though. With this money, she could buy herself shelter and protection.

  She slipped the money away and then hurried to rejoin the line going into breakfast. She glanced back to see Victor pulling Everett away.

  Chapter Nine

  Everett frowned at the bird. Without a head, they nailed it to his door. He poked it with a finger. It was still warm with the life it had recently lost. He glanced around looking for whoever had left it there. The street was empty.

  He scratched his chin as he contemplated the threat. It was a threat. More so than the limbs left on his doorstep. If he guessed who had left it, he would say it was the African man. The dead animal fit with his motif.

  He opened the door to his shop and went inside for a tool that could pry off the nail and the bird. He didn’t think any of his clients would appreciate the addition to his door.

  He dropped the bird into a box. He was planning to head to the Scotland Yard to install the new fan for Victor and he could show his sister the bird. He doubted there was much she could do but she would be upset if he didn’t share this with her.

  He burdened himself with tools and the new fan and had to juggle the box with the dead bird. Victor was waiting for him when he arrived at the Yard. His sister was no
where to be seen and even before he could call out a greeting to the dragon Victor said, “She is out arresting someone. She should be back by the time you are done.”

  Everett chuckled. “How do you do as well, Brother?”

  Victor snorted. “Whatever.”

  He frowned at the usually happy-go-lucky dragon. “Things not so happy at home?”

  Victor shrugged one shoulder. “Fields is being difficult. The men are getting worse.”

  Everett glanced around at some of the constables who went about their work in clumps with heads bowed together. There weren’t many who hung around the Yard as most of them were out on patrol. None looked like the cads his sister said they often were. Unfortunately he was also aware that his experience was often different from the reality that was his sister’s.

  “Well, let’s install this new fan then.”

  Victor grunted. Everett could understand the dragon’s frustration as there wasn’t much anyone could do about hidebound men. Victor as a dragon worked with the government in Londinium and other British towns to try update laws to be fairer to everyone. His work at the Yard was more about spending time with his wife than his true mission.

  It took longer than expected to install the fan as neither of them knew where a ladder was stored in the building and they were forced to check every storage closet in the building. It didn’t help that Victor had been accurate of his own abilities about mechanical things. He called every tool a thingamajig and by the end even Everett was calling them by that term just to speed up the process.

  A commotion drew their attention outside. Everett rushed down the ladder and followed Victor outside to the stairs. He gasped as he saw a tall man, well over six foot with muscles that bulged and filled out his coat. Rayne had the man’s arm yanked up at an awkward angle behind his back. Larkin held a gun on the man but otherwise didn’t interfere.