Cadaver & Queen

by Alisa Kwitney

  “We have an audience.”

  Lizzie sat up, just in time to see Outhwaite and another first year pass by their table. Outhwaite knocked into the table, causing some of Will’s stew to spill onto his jacket.

  “Miss Lavenza, I do apologize for my clumsiness.” Outhwaite’s smile seemed too small for his long face. “I don’t suppose you could whip out that little box of yours and set me to rights? But oh, no, wait...the thingammy broke, didn’t it?” Outhwaite shook his head. “What a pity. I suppose it was rather a flimsy design, though.”

  Lizzie half rose from her seat. “It wasn’t flimsy, it was delicate, and if you hadn’t—”

  “Hadn’t what? Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Easy, Tiger.” Byram put his hand on her arm, pulling her back down. “In another moment, you’ll require either Will or myself to defend your honor, and while it would be lovely to smash my knuckles into Outhwaite’s chin, we might want to put off the fisticuffs until our second day of medical school.”

  Outhwaite gave a nasty laugh. “What he means is he doesn’t want me to mess up his pretty face. Again.”

  “Outhwaite always had a thing about my looks,” said Byram, apparently unperturbed. “Don’t worry, old man, some girls actually like fellows with arse-shaped chins.”

  Outhwaite made a move toward Byram, but his companion held him back. “They’re not worth it,” he said. “Besides, we don’t want to start something here.”

  “True. I’ll find a better opportunity to break you into little pieces. Rather like Miss Lavenza’s little toy.”

  “So it was you! You turned up the dial!”

  “That would have been cheating,” said Outhwaite, a sneer in his voice. “I don’t need to cheat against a female.”

  The realization hit her: So it wasn’t him, which meant it was Moulsdale, just as Byram had implied.

  This time it was Will who touched her arm. “Doesn’t signify, one way or another. Makepiece will set it to rights.”

  “Makepiece?” Outhwaite gave a snort of laughter. “The head of engineering won’t even talk to first years. He only ever sees the second years when they’ve chosen their specialty.”

  “He’ll see us.” Byram twirled a spoon between his fingers. “He’s particularly keen on seeing the etherometer.”

  “Etheric magnetometer,” Lizzie corrected automatically.

  “It’s all bosh,” Outhwaite told his companion. “Makepiece would never see them, and they don’t even have the bottle to try.”

  Byram smiled as if this were a pleasantry. “Care to place a wager?”

  “Five pounds says you don’t so much as knock on his door.”

  “Ten pounds says you’re a bally jackass.”

  “Byram!” Will stifled a laugh, but he looked as nervous as Lizzie felt. It was a fine idea, going to Makepiece—as long as they didn’t get in more trouble for doing it.

  Outhwaite glared down at Byram. “I’ll need proof, of course.”

  “You’ll have it.” He held out his hand and gave Outhwaite a challenging look. “It’s a wager?”

  Outhwaite shook his hand. “Don’t forget, I want proof.” He walked off with his friend, laughing as though he’d already won the bet.

  “I say, old chap,” said Will, once Outhwaite was out of earshot. “Was that really wise?”

  Byram shrugged. “It was satisfying...which is seldom the same thing.”

  7

  After dinner, Lizzie, Byram and Will made their way through the misty September evening to the School of Engineering. Through the open cloister windows, drifts of gray fog slipped past the tumbled stones of some ruined abbey wing like wandering wraiths.

  “Charming,” said Will, hunching his shoulders against the dank night air. “You have to admire how the school has preserved the atmosphere of utter desolation.”

  “Oh, I quite like it,” said Byram, pausing to consider the tumbled stone walls. “It makes me want to write a Gothic novel about the ghost of a mad monk. Lizzie here can be the poor maiden who wanders off in the night.”

  “And why am I wandering around? Insomnia? Indigestion?”

  “A poor sense of direction.” Byram glanced sideways at her and then back down at the uneven stones. His limp was more pronounced now.

  “You heard a mysterious noise and saw a ghostly shape,” said Will. “And came out here, where you stumbled upon a catafalque inscribed with an ancient Latin curse.”

  “Ah,” said Lizzie, trying to recall if a catafalque was the same thing as a coffin. “And the curse says?”

  “Sapere Aude,” whispered Will.

  “Dare to know,” Lizzie translated automatically. “Isn’t that the Ingold school motto?”

  “Indeed,” said Byram. “And who can refuse a dare?” He paused for a moment at the door to a grim, gray-stoned laboratory building, contemplating the eerie green light visible from the narrow arched windows. Something about the quality of that light—its cold, unnatural absinthe luminescence—made the back of Lizzie’s neck prickle with unease.

  Will cleared his throat. “Remind me why we’re doing this?”

  Byram lifted the big brass knocker and let it fall with a hollow clang. “To help our friend Lavenza here. And because Outhwaite got up my nose.”

  “A fine reason to get suspended for skipping study hall on our first day of school,” said Will. “Well, guess no one’s home. Shall we head back?”

  “Are you really that easily discouraged?” Lizzie put her hand on the doorknob and turned. The door was heavy, but not locked. “Come on, maybe Makepiece is inside and just didn’t hear us.”

  Inside, the strange, green tint of the lighting made the room appear like some unearthly realm, and gave a slightly sinister aspect to copper pipes that snaked and coiled around the walls. The room had a faintly chemical odor that made it feel unhealthy to breathe too deeply. In one corner, there was a large metal spiral encased in glass. This was a Tesla coil, and when turned on, it could conduct an enormous amount of voltage. Lizzie had used a smaller version in her father’s laboratory, and it had generated enough electricity to shock a man senseless. This large-scale model could easily kill a careless student.

  Of course, she had no intention of being careless.

  “Ugh,” said Will, standing in front of a large vat that contained a dismembered male arm floating in a luminous green liquid. “What is this?”

  “They’re specimens,” said Byram, investigating a series of smaller vats. When Lizzie stepped closer to him, she saw that each vat had an organ floating inside—a heart, a brain, a kidney. “Human, I believe.”

  There was a glint of gold on top of one of the vats, and Lizzie picked it up. “I think someone’s lost something.”

  Will made a face. “Is that meant to be an autopsy joke?”

  “No, look.” She showed him the small gold locket, which had been engraved with the initials JTM. She opened the catch, revealing a small photograph of a pretty little blonde girl.

  “That must be Makepiece’s daughter,” said Will. “Rumor has it she’s an invalid of some sort.”

  “They say she lives at the school somewhere,” added Byram, idly passing his finger back and forth through the blue flame of a Bunsen burner. “But for some reason, no one ever sees her.”

  Will shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re actually playing with fire.” He snapped the locket shut and handed it back to Lizzie. “I’m guessing the girl’s a bit of a sore subject with Makepiece, so I wouldn’t go asking him any questions if you want to get on his good side.”

  “I may be American, but I do know better than to go digging into a professor’s personal life.” She replaced the locket on top of the vat. “Now you can stop looking so nervous.”

  “We’re standing in a room with a bunch of pickled organs—I think I have a right to look n
ervous.” Will threw up his hands. “Why am I even here? I should be at Cambridge, reading classics.”

  “I will remind you that the Iliad is filled with blood and gore,” said Byram, bending to examine the severed arm more closely.

  “It sounds less grisly in Classical Greek.” Will looked sideways at Lizzie. “Suppose this is old hat to you.”

  “It’s a bit different from my father’s laboratory.” The Tesla Coil, she knew, was used to generate high-frequency alternating current electricity. Her father had used electrostatic generators, which produced a lower voltage direct current. “This must be the Galvanic Reanimator,” she said, picking up a brass helmet and examining the various leather straps and attachments. “Do they just use it once, to bring the Bio-Mechanical back to life, or do they have to keep shocking them?”

  Will, about to sit down in the chair, jumped back. “Are you insane? Put that down!”

  “It’s not going to bite you,” said Byram, with an evil grin. “Unless... Want to test it out?”

  “Imbecile.” Will turned away from Byram and then gave a startled shout.

  A man in a coarse-spun jacket stood nearby, broom in his hand. Underneath his cap, his face had a greenish pallor that was accentuated by the reflected light from the glowing vats. Where had he come from?

  “Somebody tell me that’s not Makepiece.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Will.” Byram walked up to the man, his limp carefully controlled. “This is a Bio-Mechanical. I thought you visited your brother here. Didn’t he show you any corpse walkers?”

  “You forget, I was fifteen then. My parents were antiquated embarrassments and my brother was an insensitive science Morlock. I spent the whole day sulking out on the hill with a dog-eared copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poems while Victor showed our parents around the school.”

  Byram smiled. “I recall that time. You wore nothing but black for a year.”

  “I was in mourning for the lost innocence of childhood.”

  “Well, now that you’re the insensitive science Morlock, here’s your chance to inspect a Bio-Mechanical.” Byram made a dramatic flourish with his arm, like the ringmaster at a circus directing the audience’s attention to a new performance. The Bio-Mechanical ducked its head. On closer gaze, Lizzie saw that the creature was misshapen as well as ugly, his back twisted so that his left shoulder was perceptibly higher than the right.

  “Poor devil,” said Will.

  “Really, Will, that’s not a very scientific reaction.” Byram reached out a hand, and the creature recoiled. “No, don’t worry, I won’t harm you.” He took the broom away, then pushed off the Bio-Mechanical’s cap, revealing matted black hair and a face crisscrossed by scars. The creature started making odd little grunting squeals. Byram turned its head to the side, exposing the short metal rods on the side of its neck. “See? Electrodes. One on each side. They use those to galvanize the corpses.”

  Will stared at the Bio-Mechanical, his expression one of mingled fascination and disgust. “Is that all that makes them mechanical? The electrodes?”

  “Some of them have other enhancements—mechanically augmented arms or legs, mostly, or reinforced chests. Don’t think this one has had anything special done to him, though.” Byram pulled at the creature’s shirt, presumably to determine if it did, indeed, possess any enhancements. It bleated in alarm, like a sheep before shearing.

  “Let go of him, Byram,” said Lizzie. “He’s frightened.”

  “Don’t be daft,” said Byram, releasing him all the same. The creature shuffled into a corner, then stopped, as if unsure what to do next. “Bio-Mechs can’t feel fear.” Byram pulled out his pocket handkerchief and wiped his hands, a faint look of disgust on his handsome face. “Wonder what he’s doing here, anyway?”

  Lizzie picked up the creature’s cap from the floor and handed it to him. “He must do small jobs for the professor. Although he seems so...limited. It’s difficult to imagine him as a soldier.”

  “Don’t underestimate Igor.”

  They all turned to see a biblical prophet of a man who had emerged from a side door. He was white-bearded and gaunt, with bushy eyebrows that flicked up at the ends like angry wings. Only his spectacles and his threadbare gray suit proclaimed him a citizen of this new twentieth century. They needed no introduction to be told that this was Edmund Makepiece, as his photograph hung on the wall in Moulsdale’s study alongside Grimbald’s.

  He must have come on through the same back entrance as the Bio-Mechanical, thought Lizzie.

  “Igor is a good deal more intelligent than he appears,” Makepiece went on. “Unlike most people, who advertise their stupidity the moment they open their mouths.” The scientist folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. “This is, I believe, the moment when the bravest of you opens his mouth to explain what you are doing in my laboratory.”

  8

  Igor is a good deal more intelligent than he appears. Professor Makepiece was glowering at Lizzie, Byram and Will over his half-moon spectacles, and she knew she had to speak before he got even angrier, but all she could think about was the Bio-Mechanical hunched beside her, pathetically holding his cap in his hands.

  “Igor,” she said, taking the cap and placing it back on his misshapen head, “I’m sorry if we were bothering you before.”

  He stared up at her for a moment with something like surprise, then dropped his gaze.

  Byram shot her an irritated look. “Professor Makepiece,” he said smoothly, “we apologize for this unauthorized visit.”

  “I did not ask for an apology. I asked for an explanation, and I am all agog to hear it.” Makepiece picked up the broom and handed it to the Bio-Mechanical. “Go on, Igor. Sweep up.” With his fierce eyebrows and his shaggy white beard, he still looked like a biblical prophet, but his voice sounded dryly amused rather than offended.

  With an anxious look over his twisted shoulder, Igor shuffled off and began to push the broom ineffectually across the floor, never pausing to look up.

  “Now,” said Makepiece. “Without unnecessary embellishment or circumlocution, please explain what you three are doing here.” He glanced at the jar of eyes, which was still sitting on a low table instead of on the shelf where it belonged, and then back at Byram. “Besides rearranging my stock, that is.” Again, there was that droll note in his voice that belied his stern expression.

  “Well,” said Byram, a hint of mischief in his overly polite expression, “Miss Lavenza is really the cause of our visit, so perhaps she should explain.”

  Makepiece lowered his spectacles and regarded her with interest. “Indeed?”

  All right, she thought, here goes nothing. “Yes, sir. You see, I have a device with me...something my late father invented. And it needs fixing.”

  “A device? What sort of device?”

  Squaring her shoulders, she described the way the etheric magnetometer operated at much lower frequencies than the Galvanic Reanimator, and how this resulted in far less damage to living tissue. Makepiece stroked his beard and made a little humming sound of encouragement, so she went on, talking about the experiments her father had done using violet light.

  “Wait,” Makepiece said, and for a moment she thought he was angry with her. “Are you saying that the violet light can actually destroy harmful bacteria with its tithonic waves?”

  Lizzie nodded cautiously, and then Makepiece shocked her by clapping his hands and breaking into a full grin. “You clever girl,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement. “So much to show you, and where to begin?” Before she could respond, he turned and took a jar from the shelf. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Take this.” The jar was filled with dozens of squirming live earthworms.

  “Sir?”

  “Give them one each.” At her befuddled look he added, “The salamanders, of course,” and pointed to a low table filled with glass aquariums. E
ach aquarium contained a different species of salamander, some small and orange, others large and dark, their glistening bodies patterned with bold splotches of yellow or blue. There was even an aquatic specimen, corpse white, with frilled appendages coming out of its head.

  “Ah, yes, bacterial growth,” Makepiece muttered, stroking his beard. “That’s always been the fly in the ichor.”

  She exchanged wordless glances with Will and Byram, who shrugged. Makepiece didn’t seem to be paying her any attention, but maybe this was a test of her character, to see if she was squeamish about the earthier aspects of lab work. If so, it was an easy test to pass; she had never minded touching worms.

  As she walked around the room, dropping worms into cages, she watched Makepiece out of the corner of her eye. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, he made a little sound as he noticed the gold locket. Picking it up, he opened the catch and stared down at the photograph as if he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room with him. “All right,” he said abruptly, snapping the locket closed and stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket. “Ask me a question.”

  Byram was the first to speak. “Are you thinking of using Lizzie’s device to make a Bio-Mechanical?”

  “No, no, don’t ask the obvious, my boy. That only impresses fools. Look around the lab. Ask an evidence-based question.”

  So it was a test, but not the one she had been expecting. While Byram sulked and Will looked terrified that Makepiece might call on him, she looked around the laboratory, at all the coils of electrical wiring and the jars and test tubes, and tried to think of a truly impressive question that would reveal both her keen powers of observation and the subtlety of her mind. Nothing. Finally, out of desperation, she blurted out a completely inane question, because it was the only one she had. “Is there a reason for all the amphibians, sir? I thought most labs kept mice and rats.”

  Makepiece nodded at her approvingly. “Most do. But you see, salamanders have a rather exceptional ability.” He pulled one, wiggling and scrabbling against his hand, out of its aquarium.