by Oisin McGann
There was a knife in his right hand, and as they watched, he pressed the tip into his left palm. Blood welled forth, looking almost black in the dim light. Hugo held his wounded hand out over the railing and squeezed it into a fist. Daisy reached the rail and looked over in time to see a few drops of blood fall into the darkness below. She could just see the outline of the water trough below the brow of Colossus. Hugo was feeding the creature his blood. The engimal stopped drinking and sniffed. Steam drifted up from its nostrils. Then its eyes blazed with a blue light and it backed away from the trough, snorting warily.
“Untamable, you say?” Hugo asked Gideon.
“Irredeemably savage,” Gideon replied. “We would all be dead were it not for this moat.”
Hugo jumped over the rail and dropped the twenty feet to the ground in front of the juggernaut, landing with the grace of an acrobat. It towered over him and he stared back at it, shielding his eyes against its light.
It could have crushed him like an insect, but instead it rocked back and forth like a shy child being introduced to a stranger. Hugo held up his bloodied hand, fingers splayed, and the juggernaut edged forward. The wound closed up, the edges knitting together, leaving only the bloodstain. With a timid movement, the machine the size of a house leaned forward and nudged his outstretched fingertips.
“My God!” Gideon exclaimed.
“My brother.” Elizabeth corrected him with a smile.
XXX
“SORRY FOR YOUR TROUBLES”
IT WAS OVER two hours later when the party of four returned from the zoo. Daisy, already disturbed by what she had seen there, was shocked at the change in her husband. Roberto seemed to have aged and he looked ridiculously relieved to see her walk through the door. She felt a mix of feelings at his reaction. Even though she could not bring herself to forgive him for cheating on her, she still had hope that she could win him back. But that could all come later. First she needed him to be strong—to protect herself and their sister like a good husband should, instead of letting his emotions get the better of him.
They could not allow themselves to be intimidated. With a shudder, she thought about the macabre acts she had just witnessed at the zoo. They could not allow themselves to be seen to be intimidated, at least.
Berto was in an armchair by one of the tall windows, flanked by two of his treacherous cousins, both of whom held revolvers. The curtains were open and she knew he had been watching for their return. Tatiana was sitting on a stool beside him, holding his hand. She looked less bothered by their situation than by the effect it was having on her brother. He smiled like a puppy at Daisy, who stared back sternly at him, urging him to show a bit more backbone.
“Nathaniel has escaped,” one of the Gideonettes informed them as they walked in. “He got his velocycle as far as the wall, but had to abandon it, so we know he’s on foot. Slattery has gone after him. The bailiff knows his business—we should have our little outcast by daybreak.”
Hugo nodded, taking his seat behind the desk. Stroking his goatee, he stared with empty eyes at Roberto. He chewed the inside of his mouth, a pensive expression on his face.
“If he still intends to vanquish me and return to Wildenstern Hall, he won’t seek help from outside the family,” he mused. “We must discredit him, so there will be no help available to him. Spread word that it was he who shot that wretch of a blackamoor we killed at dinner. Say it was over some petty breach of etiquette or other. Make him into a murderer.
“We will not speak of Edgar’s death and there will be no funeral yet. The body will be kept until a more convenient occasion arises. Instead, we will say that he has been struck down by the fever and is at death’s door. Needless to say, he is highly infectious and is not receiving visitors.”
“And then what?” Daisy asked. “What are you going to do with us?”
“Our two errant young boys will be kept alive only for as long as they are useful,” Hugo replied. “And I don’t anticipate that being very long at all. You and Tatiana will be spared … But you will spend the rest of your days within these walls. The family needs good breeding stock.”
“You can’t do that,” Daisy said in a tight voice. “The Rules don’t allow for Aggression against women.”
“They don’t have to, my dear Melancholy,” Hugo said with a solemn smile. “You are women in a man’s world. The late Duke, God rest his soul, kept his last wife trapped in the attic for years. Even her children didn’t know she was still alive. I hear she was completely out of her mind by the time she finally succumbed to a merciful death.” An edge of menace crept into his voice. “And unless your behavior pleases me, you can look forward to the same fate.”
Elizabeth crossed the floor to where Berto and Tatiana were sitting. She was wearing a new cloak; a strange white affair with a patchwork effect and a high collar. It moved as she did, with a lightness that belied the weight of the material.
“Come, Tatiana,” she said, holding out her hand. “It is long past your bedtime and it has been a terrible, traumatic day. Let us retire and leave these grown-ups to their bickering.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tatiana retorted.
“Now,” Berto said through gritted teeth. “Now, Tatty!”
“Harsh—loud!” Tatty cried, and lifted her skirts to reveal her ankles.
Her shameful act of exposure took the others by surprise—but it was nothing compared to their reaction as her pet engimal burst from beneath her dress and erupted into a deafening cacophony of metallic drumbeats accompanying what sounded like giant church bells crashing to the ground from a great height. Everyone gasped in pain and covered their ears—except Roberto. Launching himself out of his chair, he jabbed his rigid fingers into the windpipe of the nearest Gideonette, seizing the pistol from his cousin’s hand and kicking him in the stomach, knocking him back against the wall. Elizabeth had her back turned and did not hear Hugo’s warning over the ear-splitting noise. Berto swung his arm round her neck and pressed the gun against her temple, yelling something nobody could hear.
“Hush,” said Tatiana, and the bird went quiet, fluttering down to settle on her wrist.
“—moves and I’ll shoot this slattern!” Roberto finished shrieking.
Every other pistol in the room was now pointing at him, and Daisy carefully moved out of their line of fire, searching for a weapon of her own. She picked up a poker from the fireplace, concealing it in the folds of her skirt. Berto had fooled her and everyone else; his simpering had just been an act—and it had worked.
“We’re walking out of here and you’re not going to stop us,” Berto was saying.
“No, I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” Hugo replied.
Berto tightened his grip on Elizabeth’s neck and pointed the gun at Hugo, firing off a shot. The bullet hit the wall over Hugo’s shoulder.
“I only need one hostage,” Berto warned him. “The next shot will take you between the eyes.”
Hugo spared his sister a glance and she managed a strained smile as she gasped for breath. His eyes flicked back to Berto’s.
“You’re not a killer, Roberto,” he said. “You show your weakness in every move that you make, every word that you say. Your father said you always lacked nerve. You won’t hurt my sister.”
“The hell I won’t!” Berto yelled, his voice a little too shrill.
Even from beyond the grave, it seemed that Edgar was undermining his sons. Daisy gripped the handle of the poker, sidling up behind Gideon, whose attention was fixed on the hostage situation. If anyone made a move towards her husband, Gideon was going to get it over the back of the head.
“Give me the weapon, Roberto,” Hugo said gently, holding out his hand. “You don’t want it to go like this. Think of your sister. She could get hurt.”
“I can look after myself,” Tatiana informed him tartly.
“We’re getting out of here,” Berto said tightly, but he sounded less confident now.
He went to move, but E
lizabeth would not walk and he nearly tripped over her.
“Move!” he cried.
Elizabeth looked to her brother. His face was expressionless. He gave a barely perceptible nod. Her cloak let out a rising hum and then burst into pieces. Dozens of leaf-lights, each one no heavier than the page of a book, swept back over Berto, their paper-thin edges cutting gashes into his skin and clothes. Elizabeth knocked his gun-hand aside and stepped away, making a pushing motion with her other hand. The leaf-lights obeyed, whirling in a loop and coming at him again. He disappeared in a blizzard of blinding white movement, letting out a panicked cry as he was carried backwards and thrown through the window with a great crash of glass and wood.
He tumbled backwards, screaming into empty space, thirty stories above the ground.
Daisy gave a gasp, dropping the poker and rushing towards the window. Hugo stepped into her path, catching hold of her and pulling her to his chest.
“It’s best you don’t look, child,” he said in a soothing tone. “Best that you don’t look.”
She shrieked like an animal at him, clawing at his face, but he was too strong. Grabbing her wrists, he gripped them in one hand as he used the other to press her face against his shoulder, and she burst out into helpless sobs.
“Shhh. It’s all over now,” he whispered.
It was. She had no more fight left in her. She didn’t even have her dignity left. Collapsing against him, her body shook as she cried for her dead husband, her best friend.
The others crowded towards the window, but Tatiana reached it first. From somewhere below the window came a long, fearful moan.
“He’s not dead!” Tatty exclaimed.
Daisy caught her breath. She felt Hugo’s grip relax as he looked over in surprise and she pushed away from him, rushing to the window. Elbowing her way through the Gideonettes, she leaned out through the broken glass. In the light of the windows two stories down, she could see Roberto suspended out in the darkness as if by magic.
But then she saw what had saved him. He was bent backwards over the broad neck of a gargoyle and was hanging on precariously to one of its horns.
“Hold on, my love!” she called to him. “We’re coming for you!”
He was obviously in severe pain and could only answer with another moan. She tried to get out past Gideon and his sons, intent on making for the stairs. They held her, turning to Hugo for instructions. He grinned, tugging at his moustache.
“Let us save the young whelp,” he laughed. “This is the most entertaining night I’ve had in centuries!”
Despite the hindrance of their hooped skirts, Daisy and Tatiana were first to the door and led the charge down the stairs to Roberto’s floor. Only Brunhilde stayed to watch from above. Leaning her hands on the glass-strewn windowsill, she stuck the top half of her body out of the window and opened her mouth wide, letting a thread of spittle drip from her tongue. Then she became completely still. Roberto stared up at her in bewilderment until he realized what she was doing. She was pretending to be a gargoyle.
Nathaniel knew that Slattery would be coming after them, so he led Francie cross-country, winding through the fields and narrow lanes, stumbling over the rough ground in the dim light from the sky. He couldn’t stop thinking about Clancy, sure that his manservant must be dead by now. Gerald had taken one look at the wound and shaken his head, but Nate had urged him to do everything he could. Nate nearly tripped on a rabbit hole in the middle of the field and was brought back to his own predicament. He and Francie had been on the move for nearly two hours, but as the sky began to brighten, any hope of making the train station at Kingstown before dawn slowly faded with the darkness. From there he could catch a train to the south and seek refuge with some relatives in Cork.
They were descending a grassy hill, wet and muddied from their flight through the countryside. They could see lights in the windows of one building on the road. It was a pub, and Nate turned towards it, hoping he could borrow or buy a horse from someone within.
As they drew closer, they could hear the sounds of singing voices, fiddles, tin whistles and the beat of bodhráns. There appeared to be a party going on within.
“Must be a wake, to be goin’ on at this hour,” Francie said. “I wonder who for? I know this pub—it’s Hanratty’s. We’re near Stepaside.”
“Hanratty’s. That’s a Fenian pub, isn’t it?” Nate asked.
“Aye, I don’t think yeh’ll be too welcome there, sir.”
“We’ll see about that,” Nate declared, striding ahead.
Francie hurried after him.
“Sir, you can’t just walk in. It’ll all be just family and friends in there. They won’t take kindly to strangers bargin’ in.”
They reached the end of the field and climbed over a stile. Once on the road, they found it was only a couple of minutes’ walk to the front door of the pub, a small stone building with a thatched roof. Nate, who was not accustomed to being refused entrance to drinking establishments, opened the door and stepped inside. Francie followed him reluctantly.
If Nate had hoped to be discreet, he was sorely disappointed. The music faltered and stopped, and every face in the room turned to stare at him. For a moment he didn’t know what to do … so he just stared.
Most of the musicians, about six or seven of them, sat in one corner of the room. More than sixty other people were squeezed in among the tables, either sitting on beaten-up benches or stools or standing against the wall. The air was thick with pipe smoke and the smell of stout and whisky. The scent of drink made Nate realize how thirsty he was himself. Most of the people were peasants, dressed in their paltry Sunday best for the funeral, now looking all the more worse for wear after an all-night drinking session. There were a few of the middle classes there too, their clothes and hair of a better cut.
Some of the people stood up when they saw that Nathaniel was a gentleman; perhaps they even recognized him. Others stayed in their seats. Some of them glared at him in open hostility. In the center of the room, resting on two tables, was a cheap coffin. It was closed. He had never been to a wake before, but he had heard that it wasn’t uncommon to have the box open so that the corpse could take part in the proceedings. He wondered if there was a reason the lid had been kept on. Sitting on the lid was glass of whisky, presumably for the corpse, should he want it.
“What … What can we do for you, sir?” a small, mousy-haired man with spectacles asked.
He was standing with a tray of drinks in his hands, obviously in the middle of serving. Nate felt everyone’s eyes upon him.
“Pardon my intrusion,” he said, only just remembering his manners. He should show some sensitivity to the mourners before trying to wangle a horse out of them. “What is the name of the deceased?”
“Duffy,” the landlord replied. “Eoin Duffy.”
Nate drew in a sharp breath and his face dropped. Off to one side, Francie went pale.
“The moneylender?” Nate asked.
“He had a number of businesses,” another man in a grey tweed suit answered him. “I’m his brother, Eamon. May I ask why you are interested, sir?”
Slattery had disobeyed him. Nathaniel had walked out of the dungeon and the bailiffs had completely ignored his instructions to release the moneylender. And now the man was dead. Nate put a hand to his brow and closed his eyes for a moment. He seemed to be surrounded by death, and he was sick to the pit of his stomach with it all. Looking up at the unfriendly faces around him, a thought occurred to him. He had no intention of obeying the Rules of Ascension any more … or any other laws for that matter. He just wanted to rescue Tatty, Berto and Daisy. Gideon and the rest of the older generation had too much influence with the British for Nate to trust the authorities, but the Fenians hated his family almost as much as he did. Perhaps his enemy’s enemy could be his friend.
“How did your brother die?” Nate asked, ignoring Duffy’s question.
“He was murdered,” the man told him. “He was found floating in t
he Dodder River with the guts hanging out of him. Now what can we do for you, sir?”
His tone was polite but insistent. He was a square-built man with a stern face and grey hair flecked with black. A silver watch chain hung from his waistcoat pocket. He stood taller than Nate and with the confidence of a self-made man. It was clear he was a figure of authority in this room.
“He was killed by Patrick Slattery,” Nate told them, watching for their reaction. There was precious little. A few of the women exchanged puzzled glances, but nothing more. Everyone’s expression seemed frozen in place.
“We know,” said Duffy. “And it’s a strange admission coming from you, Mr. Wildenstern, seeing as it’s Slattery who does your father’s dirty work.”
“My father is dead,” Nate replied. “And Slattery is working for his murderer. If there are men here who will aid me in my fight against the traitor, I will give you Slattery in return.”
That caused a stir. A wave of mumbling carried around the room. Duffy held up his hand and there was quiet again.
“Slattery will pay for his crimes—come hell or high water, he’ll get his,” Duffy said. “But why would we want to help you? Your family can simply hire a dozen more like him. Nothing will have changed.”
Nate bridled at the man’s stubborn attitude. It sometimes seemed to him that the Irish peasant cared more for the dead than for the living. Perhaps that was the reason why so many of them seemed so apathetic about their lot in life.
“This is in your own interests!” he appealed to the people in the room. “There have been some terrible changes in my family over this last night. The man who has taken over our estates is a fiend of the worst kind. He has taken my sister and sister-in-law as hostages and I am sure he means to kill my brother. They are all I care about. I can get you past the guards and into the house, do you understand? You can strike a telling blow for your cause by assassinating him and anyone who defends him. It’s in your own interests. This man will make life a misery for all those beneath him. He has no conscience and his greed knows no bounds—he will bleed you dry! If this tyrant is allowed to gain control of our businesses, you will all be reduced to living in misery!”