by Peter David
The Artful and Bram had no choice but to listen or at least pretend to listen. It was not an easy endeavor, though, because there was much to steal their attention: namely, the patients.
They passed a series of closed doors, but there were decent sized windows in each of them so that it was easily possible to observe the people within. What they saw was extremely distressing. People were in there—presumably patients, but they were not patients in any sense in which the boys were experienced with the word. There was nothing done to be making them better, to help them recover their senses.
Some were wandering free. They would move about the room, or perhaps simply sit in one place and stare off into space, their eyes far too disinterested in the world around them to react. A couple of them made eye contact with Dodger but seemed to be looking right through him. It was as if there were someone residing in their heads who was actively endeavoring to keep them from interacting with the world around them.
Those were the ones who were free. Far more disturbing were those who were anything but free. They were chained up, manacled in place. Some were at least able to move around, with their chain allowing them a few feet of latitude in any direction. Others were being kept right where they were. They struggled against their restraints; they screamed at the top of their lungs. The Artful was sure that he would never be able to cleanse those agonized screams from his mind. It was as if they cut right into the base of his brain.
Doctor Huddleston noticed the reaction on Dodger’s face. Bram was once again his impassive self, but Dodger was having difficulty hiding his revulsion. “Are you all right, lad?” the doctor asked.
Realizing that he was leaving himself open to possibly being ushered out, Artful waved it off as if it were nothing. “I’m fine. I’m all right. I was just wondering about, you know . . . the necessities.”
“Necessities?”
“How you decide who to chain up and who not to.”
“Ah.” Huddleston appeared to warm to the topic. “That is based entirely on interviews with each of the patients. If we are convinced that they will be harmless to themselves and others, then of course they are permitted to walk about unimpeded. If, on the other hand, they seem as if they are going to present a hazard, then naturally we have to take additional steps.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That makes sense.”
They continued to move past room after room. It quickly became depressingly monotonous. That did not distract, however, from Dodger’s determination to study the face of everyone he was watching.
Men were kept in rooms with men, and women with women. Dodger assumed that there was no mingling of the genders for obvious reasons. He did his best to maintain full interest no matter which sex was occupying the room, yet nevertheless, he could not help but pay far closer attention to any room with females. He hadn’t worked out exactly what they would do when they spotted Drina, but he wasn’t all that concerned. He had outsmarted all manner of individuals in his life, and he was certain that Doctor Huddleston would prove no exception.
“Now this fellow,” said Huddleston, “is a would-be murderer. At least, he says so. We’ve no evidence of anyone that he’s actually killed, but naturally we’re disinclined to take any chances.”
Dodger looked through the window. The resident within was wearing only slacks and no shirt, and he was barefoot. The wall was spotted with the remains of food that he had apparently thrown against it in fits of rage. Chunks of his hair had been ripped out, presumably by the man himself. He glowered from beneath furrowed eyebrows at the boys. He shook the chains briefly and noisily.
“You have all types here, eh?” said Dodger.
“Oh yes. All the best and worst that humanity has to offer reside herein. Well, this is as far as we go.”
They had halted in front of a large set of double doors. The Artful tilted his head in that direction. “What about there? What’s through there?”
“Ah. That’s the east wing. That’s closed to the public, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
Huddleston looked saddened. “I’m afraid that there are some individuals who are simply too ill to be subjected to public view. We keep them secluded and sedated so that they present no threats to anyone, including themselves.”
“That’s prob’ly very wise,” said Dodger, “but we’d still like to have a look-see, if you don’t mind.”
“Unfortunately, that simply isn’t possible. But you’ve seen two floors of the hospital. Certainly, you must feel satisfied with what I have shown you.”
Before Dodger could say anything, Bram spoke up. “I have a question. You said that that fellow in there believes himself to be a murderer.”
“Aye, he does.”
“Do you have other patients who likewise believe themselves to be something they’re not?”
“Oh, my, yes. We have one fellow, for instance, who thinks—”
Bram did not bother to let him finish. “What about vampyres? Are there any who are convinced that they are vampyres?”
Huddleston seemed surprised by the question. “You mean fictional creatures of the night?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, yes.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Doctor Huddleston, “but for all I know, perhaps someone does indeed believe that he or she is a monster.”
“Would you keep any of those in the east wing?”
“Young man,” said Doctor Huddleston, and his patience was clearly beginning to fade. “You are asking some very odd questions.”
“It’s an odd world,” said Bram. “We need to go to the east wing,” he said, more to Dodger than the doctor.
Huddleston looked from Bram to Dodger. “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said, his voice firm.
“We need you to make it possible.”
“And why would that be?” He smiled thinly.
To Dodger’s utter shock, Bram said, “Because we need to know where you are hiding the princess.”
Huddleston’s gaze flickered, and then something in his voice changed. It was as if he suddenly perceived the boys as some manner of enemy.
“Right. That’s it,” he said.
He brought his hands up to either side of his mouth, and it was quite clear that he was about to call for help. It was at that point that Dodger realized they were out of time. So he did the only thing he could think to do.
He swung his cane around as fast and as hard as he could manage.
It struck Doctor Huddleston on the side of his head, sending him to his knees. “What . . . what?” he managed to say. The Artful gave him no opportunity to say anything else. He struck again, this time on the back of the head, and Doctor Huddleston went down without another word.
Quickly, Dodger went through the insensate doctor’s pockets and came up with exactly what he was looking for: a couple of large keys hanging on a ring. “Skeleton keys,” said Dodger with satisfaction. “These should give us the run of the place.”
“For as long as we don’t get noticed.”
Choosing one of the larger keys, Dodger struck it right, first crack out of the box: He opened the lock to the door that led into the cell of the nameless killer. Seeing the door open wide, the man stood exactly where he’d been, waiting with curiosity to see what would happen next.
It required the strength of both Dodger and Bram to drag Huddleston’s unconscious body into the cell. Upon seeing the doctor lying there, helpless, the killer wasted no time and lunged for him. The chain, however, did its job, snapping tight so that the killer was brought up short by a couple of feet. He pulled at the chain furiously, shaking it with all of his might, but for all the effort he put into the endeavor, he was unable to snap the chain that was restraining him. He let out a deafening roar, and it was all that Dodger could do to ignore him. It was becoming easier for him, although he was loath to admit it.
“Here now, lads,” whispered the killer. His fingers were twitching desperately as he tried to get the doctor within range. “We haven’t met, but I feel good about asking you boys for a little favor.”
“We can’t free you.”
“Of course not. Heavens no. Just bring him a little closer, would you? I’d be ever so grateful and couldn’t wait to show you my gratitude.”
“And how would you do that?” the Artful asked.
“Why, by killing you quickly ’stead of slowly.”
“That’s very kind of ya, mate, but I think we’ll leave him where he is. But good luck to you with that.” He gestured to Bram. “Let’s go.”
They headed out fast, taking care to shut the door behind them. Straightaway discerning which key opened it, Dodger opened the door to the east wing, and they headed through.
The smell of the place was even more pronounced, and it was all that Dodger could do not to vomit up the minimal amount of food he had in his stomach. They moved down the row of cells, looking into each and every one.
Most of the cell occupants didn’t seem to pay them any mind. They were far too wrapped up in their own respective worlds. Some, however, did give them notice. Seeing unfamiliar faces, they cried out, “Get us out of here! Let us go!” In some instances, Dodger actually considered doing so. Why should he leave them clapped in irons in the heart of Bedlam? But without even asking, he knew the reason: because they truly could be insane. And if that were the case, then it was possible that they might try to do damage to Dodger and Bram. He simply couldn’t take the chance of their adventure ending prematurely because he was trying to be of benefit to someone.
Besides, this whole helping others thing was a bit new to Dodger, so he figured it best to focus on the task at hand.
Then he passed one cell and stopped dead.
There was a young girl in it. She didn’t appear to be more than ten years old. Her face was wan and exhausted, and her black hair hung limply around the sides of her face. She wasn’t chained up, which seemed to bode well. “Help me,” she called to him when he stared in at her. “I’m not supposed to be here. Please.”
The Artful couldn’t stand the notion of leaving the girl behind. He had no idea how he would manage to extricate her from this place, but he knew he had to do something.
As he brought the key up, however, Bram placed a hand on his. “No,” said Bram. “Leave her be. We don’t know what her situation is.”
“I don’t care,” said Dodger. “I’m not just going to—”
“Hey! You two!”
From the hall behind him, two men were rapidly approaching. They were dressed very simply in white clothing. Clearly, they were workers here at Bedlam, burly fellows doubtless charged with keeping order amongst the inmates. And seeing two young lads wandering around on their own did not keep with their view of how the world was supposed to function.
“Stop where ya are! Right now!” They advanced on Dodger and Bram.
Dodger did the only thing he could think of. He shoved the key into the door lock and turned it as quickly as he could. He yanked the door open, and the ten-year-old girl bounded out on all fours.
That’s unusual, thought Dodger even as he said to the girl, “Get out of here! Quickly!”
But the youngster showed no interest in departing. Instead, her eyes widened as she saw the guards and then she let out the most hellacious screech that had ever reached Dodger’s ears. He actually clapped his hands to the side of his head to mute the sound. The guards, for their part, skidded to a halt, and there was fear in their eyes.
And just before Dodger could wonder why in the world the guards were looking concerned, the girl charged them. Still on all fours, she looked like an animal, a wolf of some kind. She moved, however, with incredible alacrity, and with a howl of fury she leaped upon the larger of the two guards and sank her teeth into the base of his throat.
She was not a vampyre; that much was certain. That, however, did not make the slightest difference in terms of the damage that she was doing. She yanked her head back and a chunk of the guard’s skin came out with her. She spat it out, and it landed on the floor with a disgusting, moist sound. Blood seeped from the point where she had torn the skin loose, and the guard shrieked as he fell to his knees.
The second guard did the only thing he could: He grabbed her and endeavored to yank her clear. All it prompted her to do was turn her attentions to the attempts of the rescuer to intervene. She twisted in his grasp, pulled away, and dropped to the ground. The moment she was there, she bit into the man’s calf. He shrieked and tried to pull her off, but it did no good. With her teeth sunk into his skin, she wasn’t about to let herself be pulled away.
The Artful watched the entire encounter with wide eyes. He was so stunned he forgot to breathe. He jumped slightly as something grabbed his arm, but it was just Bram. “Let’s go,” he said briskly. “Before she remembers that we’re standing here.”
The Artful saw the wisdom in those words. There was no reason to assume that the girl would not turn her attentions to the two lads once she was done assaulting the guards. Plus they heard footsteps coming from farther down the hallway; the ruckus was obviously drawing attention. Which was ideal for them. If the berserk girl was occupying everyone here, then the boys could go elsewhere without being disturbed.
The girl did not notice they were departing. She was far too occupied trying to chew on anyone or anything that was getting within range of her. Poor creature, thought Dodger but then gave her no more thought beyond that. He had other things that he had to attend to, and if the girl’s actions made them simpler, then so much the better.
They sprinted down the main corridor of the east wing. Aside from the fact that the stench was even more pronounced, it seemed reasonably similar to the rest of the facility. They went from door to door, looking in as quickly as they could. They encountered various staffers, but they seemed mostly interested in going about their jobs and did nothing to challenge the lads. Dodger was grateful for this; at least, finally, something was going their way.
Reaching the end of the corridor, they sprinted up the stairs. But as they raced along, they heard a distant voice behind them. It was male and thundering and angry, and it was saying, “Did you see them? Where are they?”
The boys cast a quick, nervous glance between each other. It sounded as if the easy time they were having of it so far—minus having to knock out the doctor and siccing a feral child on two hapless workers, of course—was going to be ending fairly quickly. Someone was in pursuit of them, and it might be mere minutes before that person caught up with them.
They emerged onto the second floor and were running as quickly as they could. These doors were different from the others. There were no windows for them to peer in. Instead, there were simply narrow slot bars set into them that could be pulled aside so one could gaze through. Also, the doors seemed heavier and more secure. Dodger was definitely not liking the looks of this, and worse, there was simply no time for them to pull aside every single slot bar. It was time for him to take a desperate chance. Bracketing his mouth with his hands, he shouted, “Drina! It’s us! Where are you?”
It was nothing short of a desperation move, and honestly, by this point he wasn’t really expecting it to work. So he was astounded when a voice called out from behind one of the doors, “Dodger?” It was faint and weak, but it was most definitely she.
“He told the truth,” said Bram, sounding utterly astounded. “The vampyre told the truth. I’ll be.”
“Now I’m almost sorry he’s dead,” said Dodger, who actually was not, but he felt as if he should say something.
At that point, it was simply a matter of finding which door she was behind. This was not as easy as it sounded, because the moment Drina called out, so did a number of other patients. The cacophony of noise made it difficult for the boys to lo
cate her; they ran from one door to the next, to the next, pressing their ears against each one and desperately trying to locate the voice’s source.
Fortunately, it only took less than thirty seconds. It seemed like far longer, but it was most definitely not.
“Dodger!” came her familiar voice from the other side of one door toward the far end of the corridor.
“Here! I’m here! Hold on!” He rummaged quickly through the keys and found the one that had opened the door down on the first floor. He prayed that it was indeed a skeleton key that gained him access to all the rooms on the floor. Perhaps because God was feeling generous, his prayer was answered. The lock on the door clicked satisfyingly open, and Dodger threw wide the door. He took a step in and gulped.
Drina was inside, all right. She was completely naked, deprived of even the slightest vestige of clothing.
“Oh dear,” said Bram. For the first time since they had joined forces, Bram actually seemed thrown off by something other than strong smells. Monsters crawling out of the woodwork to try and destroy him—that did not deter him in the slightest. But a naked young woman he clearly had no idea how to handle. Something on the ceiling drew his attention, and he focused his eyes on that.
The Artful was likewise curious about the state of the floor, wall, and ceiling, but he shook off the discomfiture much faster than Bram did. He stepped toward her quickly. Her hair was down and disheveled, hanging in her face. That worked out well, because she was so ashamed of her condition that she could not bring herself to look Dodger in the eye. She was seated on the floor with her legs curled up tightly against her bosom. Her hands wandered aimlessly over her body as she tried to cover herself and clearly was not sure where to place them. “I . . . I . . .,” she started to stammer.