White Lady

by Nix Whittaker

  The large man tried to wriggle free but Rayne pulled up his arm and the large man went to his knees in pain. His face twisted up in agony. Rayne came close to the man’s ear and whispered to him.

  Victor said, “Isn’t she amazing?”

  Everett glanced at the dragon. He adored his sister. He couldn’t understand his sister’s reluctance to hitch her wagon to the dragon.

  Fields had also come out at the commotion. “What is the meaning of—” his voice petered off as he took in the scene. He frowned at Rayne and Everett couldn’t help his own smile.

  ___

  Ancaster tightened his hands on the box as he passed by a large group leaving the hospital. It would not do for them to knock the box and break the delicate mechanism inside. It wasn’t one he had specifically made but rather one of the display pieces he had made for his window. He thought Margaret would value the small dancing puppets. He had more sophisticated but none as whimsical.

  He didn’t know why he thought the doctor’s wife and assistant would rather have whimsy in her life but maybe it was more of a reflection of his own need for whimsy.

  Earlier that day he had stopped at the wall in the garden to leave a message. He had stayed around for a while to see if Medea would wander by but the chance of them both being at the wall at the same time was slim.

  This time the nurses guided him to a different part of the hospital by his request to find Margaret. She was working by herself in a supply closest and he stopped wondering if he should interrupt her.

  She must have heard him approach as she spun on her heels. “Oh, Ancaster. You are early. The patient isn’t even here yet.” At his last visit he’d been able to convince her to set up a meeting with the woman who had her hand amputated. It meant he could bring the clockwork creation as he had forgotten it the last time.

  He wasn’t sure what he wanted to uncover speaking to the woman whose hand had ended up on his doorstep.

  He shrugged and offered the box. “I thought I’d bring this over and then beg for a guide. This hospital is like a maze. I’ve already gotten lost twice.” She took the box gingerly. Opening it her face lit as her eyes widened.

  “It is beautiful.” She giggled as she pulled it out and got a better look at the puppets. Punch and Judy bowed and dipped in an elaborate dance. One dodging swings and swipes of the cloth-covered hands of the other. She stopped the key on the side and the two puppets swayed to a stop in the middle of a dip and miss.

  Her eyes turned sombre and he wondered if he had offended her after all. She placed it back in the box and said, “Let me take you to the patient’s room. My husband should be there with her. I hope you have a strong stomach as she has come in to have her dressings replaced.”

  He’d seen his fair share of open and festering wounds but there was a reason he made fake limbs instead of becoming a doctor. But he needed to make sure the woman was the one that belonged with the hand. He was fairly sure it was an accident the limb had landed on his doorstep. But he’d rather be sure than let some maniac get away because he hadn’t done his due diligence.

  Doctor Carthart was already with the woman when they arrived in the ward where they were changing her dressings. She chatted warmly with the doctor who worked without speaking.

  Margaret said, “Doctor, that young man from the other day wants to have a word with Mrs Evans.”

  The doctor nodded without looking up from his work. Everett wasn’t sure if he was like that because he was dedicated to his work or because he just didn’t like dealing with people. Everett smiled at the woman. She was a heavyset woman and had muscles that rivalled some of the strongest pugilists that he knew.

  “Ma’am. Is it alright if I ask a few questions?”

  The woman frowned at Everett.

  Margaret came to his rescue and vouched for him. “He makes prosthetics. Mechanical limbs. He might be able to replace your hand.”

  The woman looked at him speculatively. “Something that could do the delicate work I was doing before?”

  “Maybe, what did you do before?”

  “I worked in the weaving factories. Need to be quick to handle the machines.” Now the injury made sense. She had probably come afoul of the machines herself.

  “I can certainly help with that. You could even get a hand specific to your needs.”

  That must have intrigued the woman as she nodded her head. “Ask your questions then.”

  “Is there anything about your hand that was amputated that would make it recognisable from others?” He couldn’t tell if the skin tone was the same. The limb had been separated long enough that it was pale with blood loss while the woman had a healthy tone.

  “There was a pretty good scar on the palm. Got it when I was a girl and fighting with my brother. It is shaped a bit like a crescent moon.” He had seen the scar though it was less shaped like a crescent from the bloated flesh but now in his mind there was no doubt that the hand belonged to her.

  He wasn’t sure why he was a little disappointed that there wasn’t a murder to solve. He knew it wasn’t his career or even his vocation to chase down killers but he admired his sister and maybe he was disappointed that he couldn’t be like her.

  “That is all I really wanted to know. If you want that hand you can visit my store, Ancaster’s mechanical limbs.” He offered her a card. Much like the ones he used when he called on people but this one was for his store.

  The doctor said, “Now if you don’t mind I have work to finish here.” Margaret apologised and took Everett’s hand.

  Once outside she said, “Sorry for my husband. He gets annoyed with people who call themselves doctors when they aren’t trained.”

  Everett frowned. “I’m not a doctor.”

  Margaret waved it off. “It isn’t really you he is upset with. There are two men who visit the hospital often to fit the people with wooden limbs. Far inferior to your own mechanical contraptions. They do have the audacity to call themselves doctors. I’m afraid you remind him of them.”

  She tapped the top of the box with the automaton and said, “Thank you for this. I don’t think I have anything this nice. I will treasure it.”

  He flushed, surprised at the compliment. “Thank you for guiding me around and now seeing me out. I know you must be busy working with your husband.”

  She flushed. “I’m no doctor myself. I merely assist.” He had seen how efficient she had been at the dissection. She might not be a doctor but she was as skilled as any practitioner he had seen.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Margaret. Even if your husband can’t see what assets you are, I’m sure the patients you help certainly do.” Her reply was with her head bowed and was barely a whisper that he couldn’t make out her words.

  ___

  Everett dropped into the seat usually reserved for weeping victims and the desperate. He propped his feet on the desk. Rayne glared at his feet until he sheepishly dropped them and made sure he had left no marks. “I should be able to have a look into your mysterious hand. That cannibal we were looking for was caught. A tip led Larkin and me to his very home.”

  He waved it off. “Don’t worry. I found the owner of the hand. She is alive and kicking so I don’t think we have to rush.” They both looked toward the door when Larkin stormed through.

  A little breathless he said, “We have another case. Some malarkey about it being magic.”

  Rayne growled. “You don’t think it is someone trying to pin it on Victor again?” She shoved away from her desk and rummaged through her drawers to gather her baton and gear. Larkin shook his head. Everett raised an eyebrow as he watched her slip her baton in her belt.

  The people of Londinium had a low opinion of dragons and their abilities. When Victor had returned to town after years of being away there had been a mob outside his house and he had eventually been framed for the murder of his wife. The mob had been convinced Victor had magical powers and that was why he could cover his murderous ways.

  “Who kno
ws? There isn’t a mark on the man. Come on, White Place is on the edge of our jurisdiction.” Rayne glanced to him but he waved her off. He was an adult and could see himself out.

  She brushed her hand on his shoulder as she made her way past him. He had planned to have lunch with his sister but now that he was free he made his way over to the wall. The wall where he had left a note for Medea.

  He glanced around but there wasn’t anyone around as he pulled the brick free. His heart jumped as he saw the small folded piece of paper. He opened the note to see the small and lopsided letters. They were like the letters of a child but better than his own when he was a kid.

  He’d been more interested in getting his point across than learning the fine art of penmanship. It was only when his mother had threatened him with a week strapped to a chair practising nothing but his letters he had put in the effort to improve. Until this moment he hadn’t even wondered if Medea could write or not. He flushed at his narrow-mindedness.

  His family was unusual in that his parents had encouraged education in the whole household. Including the servants. He knew most of his class actively discouraged education in the lower classes.

  He shook off his own classist attitude to read the note. Though her sentences were simple she made herself clear as she explained some of her situation. Helpfully she also explained that she had learned her letters while looking after her master’s children. At the end she warned him about the witch doctor and his power over spirits.

  He frowned at his. He didn’t believe in spirits but he knew there was more in the universe than most people understood. Maybe the witch doctor had other powers much like the ones the dragons used.

  With that in mind, he penned his own note. Warning her about the strange death at White Place. He folded it and slipped it into the space behind the brick. He wished he could speak to her in person but he also respected her fear of the witch doctor. He was violent enough to cut off her foot Everett didn’t doubt he was violent enough to kill someone. It was intent alone that had stopped the man from cracking open his head when he had gone to attack the foot he was making for Medea.

  Rubbing the back of his neck Everett headed for his shop where he could put the finishing touches to Medea’s foot. It was one of his best works.

  Chapter Ten

  Everett winced as Victor banged together some tin basins as he shoved them into a cabinet. Everett had hoped to see his sister but she was still out on a case. Victor had been his next stop but now he regretted it.

  Slamming the door Victor growled. “It isn’t like it could have been me.” Everett raised an eyebrow and pointed to some of his chemicals that were slowly boiling under a Bunsen burner.

  “That isn’t magic or even dangerous. Well, not dangerous in that amount. You’d have to drink about a gallon before you killed yourself on that gunk.”

  The ominous gunk made a loud plop and both of them jumped. Victor went to turn down the Bunsen burner.

  Everett asked, “Is it possible for humans to have powers like dragons.”

  Victor shrugged. “I suppose it is possible. After all, we developed our powers naturally but we are a significantly older race than humans.”

  He tipped his hand to demonstrate it could go either way. “But we’ve been mixing our blood with yours for almost a thousand years. I’m sure there are some humans out there with just a touch of dragon blood that can do some interesting things. Things different to what we can do.”

  “What about controlling ghosts?” Everett wasn’t sure about ghosts but there were many in the city who were convinced. There were even those who would willingly take money to speak to those ghosts. Some even came away from those interviews with closure while others were only upset by it.

  Victor snorted. “Not because I don’t think spirits are real. There are plenty people in Londinium who would chase me down with pitchforks if I didn’t believe in spirits.”

  Everett teased and said, “I thought you already had a mob chase you with pitchforks.”

  Two years before they had framed the dragon for the murder of his wife and her lover. A mob had attacked him and given him over to authorities. Though he didn’t think there had been anyone literally with a pitchfork.

  Victor gave him an enigmatic look that implied he wasn’t impressed with Everett’s attempt at levity. “But I don’t think there is anyone that has the power to control spirits.”

  Victor went over to a large blackboard and searched around for a piece of chalk. Once he found one he drew circles and lines on the board. “There is a part of the human being that isn’t completely here in this plane. Bits and pieces are between the planes but there is something that joins all of this together. When dragons came here, we had to wait for someone who was dying and pick up the bits and pieces that were in the between and wait for the thing holding it all together to let go.”

  Everett had no idea how the circles and lines represented the bits and pieces that were in between. He had heard about this from his younger sister and his father who were fascinated with dragons. “We knew that we couldn’t do anything with the bits and pieces until that energy was no longer there. But energy doesn’t just go away. It transforms.”

  Everett asked, “So you say spirits are merely energy leftover from people living.”

  Victor wiped his chalk coated hands on his coat. “That is a simplistic way to say that. It is more that the energy becomes something more. It is what keeps the universe together. See this beaker here. It has the energy but weaker and simpler. If I break the beaker that energy will still be there but with humans it is different. Instead of just sitting there being a broken thing it becomes something new.”

  He shrugged off his explanation and said, “But whatever it is, it is stronger than any living person. There is no way there is someone who can control them even if they have dragon blood.”

  Curious, Everett changed the subject. “What do you think your kid will be like?”

  “Kid? Child? Your mother would be disappointed at the cant.” Everett sniffed. It was only Rayne that they worried about when it came to her language as they were sure that her exposure to the lesser beings would corrupt her in some way.

  Everett was waiting for his parents to realise that his clients were also from that lower class and that he was also at risk of being corrupted. When Victor didn’t answer straight away Everett asked, “You aren’t worried, are you?”

  “No, no your sister will be fine. I’ll make sure she’ll be fine.” Everett hadn’t seen a dragon heal someone else with their powers but he had heard of it before. He wasn’t sure how it worked but it eased his mind that Victor could keep his sister safe during childbirth. Medical knowledge might have improved but there was still a risk when it came to bringing the next generation into the world.

  Victor continued, “I’m worried about what your sister is feeling. Rayne still isn’t pleased with being pregnant.” She hadn’t spoken to Everett yet about the baby but he had assumed it was because she was focused on her work rather than an intentional avoidance of the topic.

  “You want me to talk to her?” Even as Everett said it he dreaded the conversation. He had avoided thinking of his sister as being desired by others and he knew that no matter how he approached this conversation he would have to come to terms with that fact of life.

  Victor shook his head. “She’ll tell me eventually.”

  ___

  Medea was glad for the almost full moon as she picked her way amongst the flowers towards the wall where hopefully a letter waited for her. A rustle to the side had her go still. When no one appeared she let out a breath and made her way to the end of the path.

  The moon was behind a building so it shadowed the wall. She had to feel her way, counting the bricks as she made her way to the hidden cache. The sound of the brick scraping as she pulled it out was overly loud in the quiet garden. Her heart beating fast in her chest she waited to hear if anyone was approaching before she slipped her hand into the cavity.
She pulled out the folded paper.

  The brick proved stubborn going back in. Once replaced she didn’t bother to see if there was anyone around and made her way out of the garden. Her hand tightened around the note.

  She waited until she was under one of the gas street lamps two blocks from the garden before she took out the letter to read it. When she read about the mysterious death, she worried that the witch doctor was gaining power by killing people. He had done that back when he had first caught her.

  She had been born a slave in the cotton fields of the new world. Her owner though had been appalled by her paleness. There was talk of freeing slaves and the hint that the black slaves could somehow harbour the ability to change their skin colour horrified the man.

  So as a child she had worked exclusively in the nursery with the children. It was easy to hide her away when children were meant to be tucked away. The master’s children had treated her more like an odd pet. But it had afforded her some safety.

  A storm changed everything. It had swept away the whole farm. Including the shed where the slaves slept. She had managed to climb a tree and was rescued in the morning. The family who had taken her in were good people. They spoke about helping her get to states that had no slavery. But one man they had rescued the same day had watched her.

  They didn’t know he was a murderer.

  Their spirits did now as he had put poison in their meal and killed them while they slept. She wouldn’t have escaped the witch doctor either if it hadn’t been an act of the gods. A fire had allowed her to run at the hostel they had been staying at shortly after he had cut off her foot. He must have thought he’d crippled her but she had fought through the pain to get away from him.

  With her history riding her hard she made her way to the address Everett had mentioned. There was no harm in checking it out. There were no lights on in the home. Considering the lateness of the hour and the deaths in the house she wasn’t surprised.