Cadaver & Queen

by Alisa Kwitney

  Will, thought Victor. He hadn’t remembered his brother till now. How could he have forgotten his younger brother? The two had been...

  But then he was asleep, and whatever they had been went away for a while.

  The next time Victor was conscious, he found himself shuffling in a long line of men, all of them chained together at the wrist and ankle like convicts.

  “Keep it moving,” said a short, muscular man with a wizened, monkey face and beard without a mustache. He wore a navy greatcoat and cap, like a workhouse guard.

  A second guard jabbed Victor with a long stick. He had thick ginger sideburns that ended at his chin.

  “Come on, lads,” said the monkey-faced guard. “Step lively, now.”

  “Lads, is it? Brutes or monsters is more like,” said the man with the ginger sideburns. Victor looked at him, amused. Did the man fancy himself Victor’s social superior? “’Ey, Pretty Boy, what you lookin’ at?” He bared yellowed teeth at Victor. “Look at me and I’ll smash in your ugly pie hole.”

  “Take it easy, Luther. They don’t mean no ’arm,” said the smaller guard.

  “They don’t mean no good, neither,” said Luther, poking Victor again.

  The sharp jab to his kidney made Victor double over, and the men on either side of him lost their footing and began to fall. Victor reached out and righted the man in front of him, and there was a metallic clink of chains as the other man turned, revealing dull, dead eyes set in a hideously scarred face, his nose flattened like that of a boxer. The man did not seem to register Victor at all, and then Victor saw the electrodes on the man’s neck that marked him as a Bio-Mechanical.

  But if he’s a Bio-Mechanical, thought Victor, and I’m chained to him...what does that make me?

  It was impossible, unthinkable, and yet as Victor stared down at his manacled hands, he could think of no other explanation. How had this happened? The last thing he remembered was standing in the laboratory with Henry and arguing about something. Whether or not to tell something. No, wait, there had been something else...a more recent memory: waking up in a hospital room, chained to the bed. And the day he had worked the puzzle. Victor looked down at his left arm, and there it was: the alien flesh, tanned and leathery and fused with a metallic gauntlet. Dear Lord, thought Victor, it’s true. They’ve changed me. As if from another life, he heard the echo of Henry’s voice: funny old world.

  “Move off, now, move off!” The stick prodded Victor again, and suddenly Victor’s left hand shot out and grabbed the stick.

  “Oh, Jesus, Gibbons, they’re not supposed to do that,” moaned Luther, and then something heavy slammed into the back of Victor’s head, making the lights dance behind his eyes before everything went dark.

  10

  The day, it seemed, had one more surprise in store for Lizzie: there was someone in her room.

  “Oi! Turn off the light!” Lizzie blinked at the redheaded young woman who was lying in bed, squinting at her. “What d’ye mean, barging in here in the middle of the blooming night?” Without waiting for a reply, the angry redhead rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.

  “Sorry!” Lizzie was already backing out the door, sure she was in the wrong room, until she recognized her steamer trunk, still open on the floor from when she had ransacked it for the magnetometer. “I’m sorry,” said Lizzie, “but I think you must be in the wrong room.”

  “Turn. Off. The. Light.”

  While Lizzie had been out, someone had crammed a second bed into the corner where the hulking shape of the wardrobe had been, underneath the window. The wardrobe had been moved closer to Lizzie’s bed, like a massive wooden barricade. “I’m sorry, but can you please explain what you’re doing in my room?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” The redhead sat up, shielding her eyes with her hand. “What time is it, anyway? Midnight?”

  Lizzie checked her fob watch. “It’s half-past nine,” she said, a little surprised herself that it wasn’t later. With one thing and the other, it had been a long day, and she was still reeling from the things she had seen and heard in Makepiece’s laboratory.

  “Half-past nine? Are you positive?” The girl rubbed her eyes and yawned until her jaw popped. “Sorry, I’m completely shattered. Been up for twenty-four hours straight, all of them on my feet.” She pulled back the covers, revealing that she was still wearing her corset and chemise. “Anyway, I’m your roommate, Agatha DeLacey. You can call me Aggie.”

  “Elizabeth Lavenza,” said Lizzie. “Did you just arrive here?”

  “No,” said Aggie as she loosened the laces at the front of her corset. “I’ve been here for a couple of days.” She yawned again, and for a moment, Lizzie thought she wasn’t going to say anything more, but then Aggie began speaking again. “I started out rooming with the second years, because I had some practical training with my ma, but then Matron showed up after dinner and said midwifery doesn’t count.”

  Lizzie tried not to stare as Aggie continued to undress in front of her. She wasn’t used to sharing a room with another girl...perhaps this was typical female behavior.

  “You’re a midwife?”

  Aggie glanced up, then resumed untying her corset laces. “Me ma is. Ah. Blessed freedom.” She dropped her corset onto the bed beside her and heaved another sigh, revealing an impressive amount of pale bosom rising over her chemise.

  Shiercliffe. Of course. This was the matron’s revenge for Lizzie wandering the halls with boys. “Oh,” she said, sitting down on her bed to unlace her shoes. “That explains it.” She hadn’t appreciated how lucky she was to have a single room until now.

  Aggie stood up and replaced her corset in her own trunk. “So, what’s your story? How did you rate a single? Is it because you’re American and are used to big open spaces?”

  “I’d hardly call this room big. It’s because I’m a medical student.” Lizzie tugged off her right shoe and then paused, struck by a thought. What if she couldn’t sleep, like last night, and wanted to read her anatomy textbook in bed? A roommate would insist that she turn off the light, and she would have to lie there in the dark, awake.

  This was a nightmare.

  “A medical student?” Aggie stopped brushing out her hair and stared at Lizzie. “They let women do that?”

  “They let me do that,” she said, not sure if admitting women was standard policy or not.

  “Oh, well, and aren’t you the special one.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind. Turn off the light, will you?” Aggie climbed back into her bed and pulled up the covers.

  “Of course.” Mind racing, Lizzie walked over to the light in her stockinged feet and glanced at the hostile, blanketed lump of roommate in the other bed.

  She had to do something to fix this. In her experience, girls made far more dangerous adversaries than boys. Boys might be unkind, but at least they were openly cruel. Girls, on the other hand, waged covert wars.

  “Listen, I’m getting the sense that I’ve upset you.”

  The hostile lump did not move. “Light.”

  “It wasn’t my intention.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  Lizzie paused. She may not have wanted a roommate, but she certainly did not want an enemy sharing her space. “If you could just tell me what I did or said to annoy you...”

  “You’re doing it now.”

  “I probably seemed unwelcoming. Is that it? It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to find someone in my room. I mean, in our room. And since it is going to be our room, and it’s so small, I think we should try to get along.”

  “Right.” Aggie flung off the covers, stood up and stalked across the room without looking at Lizzie. Then she flicked off the light switch and stalked back to her bed.

  The silence felt uncomfortable, barbed with sharp unsaid truths. Lizzie rolled over a
nd tried to drift off to sleep, but all she could think about was how, as a little girl alone in her dark room, she had conjured imaginary sisters and girlfriends to keep her company.

  “Aggie? Are you upset with me because you’d like to be a medical student, too? Because being a nurse may not seem as exciting or challenging, but—”

  “Stop. Talking. Now.”

  “All right,” said Lizzie. “It’s late, but we can talk about it again in the morning.”

  There was a groan from the other side of the room.

  * * *

  When Lizzie woke, it was already half-past seven, and her new roommate’s bed was neatly made up.

  Passing by the first year nursing students’ table in the dining hall, Lizzie caught a glimpse of Aggie’s red hair. She was sitting a little apart from the others, reading Notes on Nursing by Florence Nightingale, and for a moment, Lizzie thought about joining her. But when Aggie glanced up and saw her roommate standing there, she instantly looked away and began chatting to one of the other nursing students.

  Fine. Lizzie scanned the room, looking for Byram and Will instead. They were either not here yet, or already gone. Never mind; she could always use the time to catch up on some anatomy reading before class. Unfortunately, the only free seat appeared to be at a table with Outhwaite and his constant companion, the plump, milky-skinned boy named Mothersole. As she stood there holding her tray, Lizzie heard a chorus of feminine giggles behind her. Well, what did she care if they acted like a pack of hyenas? Placing her tray on the side table, she took two quick gulps of tea and headed off to anatomy class. She wasn’t really all that hungry, anyway.

  * * *

  The lecture hall had once been the abbey’s main chapel, and even though the altar and crucifix had been replaced by a table and blackboard, Lizzie thought there was something hushed and reverent in the air as the students took their places on the benches. On the table, Lizzie saw a plaster model of a human head and neck, with sections of the brain marked and colored like the pieces of a child’s jigsaw puzzle. On one side of the table, there was a complete human skeleton hanging from a hook; on the other side, there was a life-size portrait of a man who appeared as though he had been partially flayed, revealing slices of muscle, bone, heart and a serpentine coil of large intestine. Lizzie leaned forward and squinted, trying to get a better look. She could make out the words “White’s physiological manikin” and on closer inspection, the image was actually made up of four different sections, but where the sections met at the juncture of legs and hips, the figure’s groin was as smooth as a frog’s. How strange. Common sense told Lizzie that men must be built more along the lines of dogs or horses than fish or frogs, but she had yet to see any proof of this theory.

  Lizzie had arrived early, to make sure she got a seat near the front. She was removing her father’s pocket watch to check the time when she heard someone whisper something in the row behind her.

  “I know,” came the response. “Well, who can blame her? It’s probably the closest she’ll get to a man.” This was spoken loud enough for her to hear, and was followed by a snort of derisive laughter. Lizzie glanced over her shoulder to see that Outhwaite was smirking while Mothersole placed his hand over his pursed mouth and tittered.

  Lizzie felt herself go cold, then hot. She wanted to say, “And it’s the closest you two will get to a woman,” but she knew it wasn’t true. These idiots would probably have their pick of wives, and the worst part of it was the very medical degree that added to their desirability detracted from hers. Never mind. She would rather have a fascinating career than an overbearing husband. Still, it was so unfair that she had to make the choice at all, when men could satisfy both their hearts and their minds.

  Outhwaite leaned closer. “By the way, still waiting for that proof you went to see Makepiece...”

  “We described the lab to you. In detail. What more proof do you need?”

  “The tangible kind. How about your father’s magic whatsit, Lavenza? Fixed that yet?”

  “Yes, but Professor Makepiece wants me to leave it there.”

  “Sure he does.” Outhwaite leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I think there ought to be some penalty for welching on a bet, don’t you, Mothersole?”

  Mothersole’s protuberant eyes seemed to bulge even more in excitement. “I do indeed.”

  It was pointless. Lizzie folded her hands and looked straight in front of her, while Outhwaite and Mothersole whispered about the appropriate punishment for false promises.

  “Hello, you,” Byram said as he slid onto the bench beside her. “Sorry we’re late, but someone’s alarm never went off. Thanks for saving us a seat.”

  “Do we have to sit so close to the front?” Will, as usual, was carrying a novel in addition to his anatomy text. “Grimbald’s sure to call on me if I sit where he can see me.”

  “Lizzie’s a bit shortsighted.”

  “I am not.” Or at least, she never admitted it. Bad enough to be a bluestocking without having to wear spectacles as well.

  “My mistake,” said Byram. “You must squint all the time to give the professors the impression that you’re paying attention. Brilliant ruse, that.”

  Somehow, when it was Byram teasing her, it didn’t bother Lizzie. “You might try it yourself, instead of pretending to be bored all the time.”

  “But I am bored. How long d’you suppose we have to wait to get our hands on a corpse?”

  “It can’t be long enough for me,” Will said. “I can’t even abide the smell of a ham sandwich after it’s been left out in the sun. How am I supposed to poke around in a dead body?”

  The hum of conversation died abruptly as Professor Grimbald strode into the room, his handlebar mustache and military bearing making his white lab coat seem like a uniform. He stood in front of the class, arms clasped behind his back, surveying them from his small, dark eyes, and no one whispered or made a joke under his breath, not even Byram. The class had been excited to begin its studies, but Moulsdale’s rambling discussions on materia medica and the therapeutic properties of various tinctures and potions were not exactly scintillating. Grimbald’s class was another matter entirely. This was Gross Anatomy. Here, at last, the mysteries of the human body would be revealed and explained. Most exciting of all, there would be actual cadavers for the students to examine and dissect. It might be ghoulish, this desire to peel back the layers of protective skin and see the workings of the machinery inside, but all the medical students shared it. Or, at least, all the medical students besides Will, who was looking pale.

  “Welcome, gentlemen, to Gross Anatomy and Physiology. I assume most of you understand the distinction between the two?” He paused. “A show of hands, if you please.”

  Will tried to slip lower in his seat. “How does he expect us to know anything on the very first day?”

  “You, in the third row,” said Grimbald. “Aren’t you Frankenstein’s brother?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Will, looking miserable.

  “Can you enlighten your classmates?”

  “Form and function,” whispered Lizzie, pretending to pick something off the floor.

  “Why, yes, sir. Anatomy refers to the form of the body parts,” said Will. “Physiology to the function.”

  “Very good,” said Grimbald. “Now, let me ask another question. How can we distinguish between the living and the dead?”

  Byram’s hand shot up. “The dead don’t make very good conversation,” he offered.

  Grimbald did not smile. “Too general. Why don’t the dead converse? Yes, you, in the fourth row.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Outhwaite. “I wasn’t raising my hand. I was scratching my nose.”

  Lizzie, who had raised her hand, looked back at him, then raised her hand again.

  “Hazard a guess, then,” said Grimbald.

  “Um.” Outhwait
e’s eyes darted to Lizzie, then back. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite...”

  “Anyone else?” Grimbald paced across the room with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the students.

  Lizzie waved her arm.

  Sighing, Grimbald bowed his head. Without turning around, he said, “The answer, of course, is that the dead are unresponsive. They do not move, or breathe, or grow. They do not digest food, their blood does not circulate and they do not carry on the various metabolic functions associated with living creatures.” Grimbald turned around and began to pace back across the room. “And yes, in addition to all this, the dead do not converse.”

  Byram’s hand shot up. “But sir, what of Bio-Mechanicals? They move and respond to simple commands.”

  Grimbald nodded. “Indeed. They also take in air and require nourishment. And as such, what is your diagnosis—alive, or dead?”

  “Alive, I suppose.”

  “Yes,” said Grimbald, barking the word out and making the students in the front rows jump. “That is correct. Bio-Mechanicals are living creatures, not, as some would have it, corpse walkers.” There was a nervous titter of laughter throughout the room. “A bullet to the brain or heart will destroy them, and they cannot survive without air, or water, or food. Bio-Mechanicals may start out as corpses,” said Grimbald, “but make no mistake—after reanimation, they are alive.” He paused, and Lizzie thought he seemed distracted, as if his thoughts were far away, lost in some melancholy memory. Then, clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders, Grimbald collected himself and went on. “For now, however, we will focus on learning the most basic forms and functions of the human body. This class will consist of lectures and labs, and yes, gentlemen, you will get your hands on a cadaver.”

  “Yes,” said Byram and Lizzie, almost in unison.

  Grimbald paused, staring straight at Lizzie. “However, given the delicate nature of one of those present, this element of the course will be restricted to include gentlemen only.”

  “What!” Lizzie’s astonished exclamation echoed in the lecture hall, and every head in the room turned toward her. “Professor Grimbald,” she said, “how am I meant to pass this class if I am not allowed to participate fully?”