When Yip got home that night he was looking forward even more than usual to his daily glass of sloe gin. Drink in hand, he’d generally sit for a while with his wife Fantasy and recount the day’s doings with Doctor Efrain. She was the only one who knew of his connection with the inventor. All his other family members and friends thought he was a clerk in a steam tractor factory. But as he opened the door of his apartment, he immediately knew something was wrong. Normally his three children would come rushing to meet him, crowding round him until he lifted them up, carrying them into the main room where Fantasy would be waiting with his drink. But tonight, the hallway was strangely silent. He called out:
“Armstrong? Siddeley? Sapphire? Are you there?”
Nothing.
Throwing his coat to one side, he strode into the lounge and saw Fantasy, sitting in the carver chair from which she usually presided over family dinners, but now roped to it hand and foot. Her mouth was stuffed with a scarf. She grunted, her eyes opened wide, as if she were trying to signal something to Yip. He intuited that she meant that there was danger behind him and he turned to see two huge men, although one was shorter than the other. That was all he had time to register, before his world imploded and oblivion enveloped him.
oOo
8
Cerval Franks. Cerval Frankenstein.
I’m supposed to be a fucking journalist. I should have put that one together. I should have realized the moment I saw the estate – a town in its own right, subject of rumor and legend!
Now Shelley Mary understood Cerval’s plan. He wanted her to reveal the true identity of the Incorruptibles’ leader because the Frankenstein name was legendary. One of very, very few the Commission would pay attention to and perhaps the only one its members might fear. A name that might – just might – inspire the people of The Smoke to resist the erosion of all their hard-won political and social rights. To stand up to the Commission and the Silencios.
Could a Frankenstein go even further and foment a full-bore revolution?
This was the story that would make her, if she got it right: the young scion of one of the richest, oldest families in The Smoke – perhaps the most celebrated of all - prepared to sacrifice everything for the good of the people.
The crowd and the casket had moved away fast and were already through the gates into the main castle. Hurrying after them, Shelley Mary looked up and saw the powerful shape of Brutus the karrier perched on a battlement.
Brutus had flown the seven hundred odd yoettes from The Smoke to the estate in just over twelve hours, an astonishing average speed over such a long period of time. It was as if he knew he was on a mission of life or death; and the information he had brought with him had enabled Gori, Thorsten’s father, to prepare the Frankenstein laboratory, where the original baron and his faithful aide Igor had created life, for the restoration of life to Igor’s descendant.
Shelley Mary knew none of this and no one was about to let her into the lab.
It was a huge room with a vaulted ceiling about thirty ricros high. In the centre of that ceiling was the ancient contraption that the original baron had used to bring the lightning down to animate his creature. Now, however, the stone walls were clad in polished copper and all the laboratory’s equipment was sleek and futuristic.
In the centre, beneath the lightning conductor, was a burnished copper table to which Thorsten’s mutilated body had been strapped. The room’s temperature had been drastically reduced, but not to the three points above baseline necessary for the prolonged preservation of blood and tissue. Therefore, the team had to work fast.
It was led by Gori and by Cerval himself. Gori, directly descended from the ill-fated hunchback Igor, had a comprehensive grasp of the Frankensteins’ traditional science, the massive body of biological and medical information the family had amassed over two centuries. Originally the family had aided the Frankensteins as they experimented but, for the last three generations at least, it had offered not so much service as partnership and Cerval regarded Gori with great respect. Gori, in turn, knew that Cerval was a prodigy who had studied medicine under The Smoke’s best instructors from the age of twelve, adding to the Frankenstein’s traditional knowledge base; Cerval had absorbed every scrap of physiological and neurological data available.
If the two of them could not save Thorsten, then no one could.
They worked hard and fast, firstly to stabilize the giant; to repair the punctured blood vessels, the perforated intestines, the compromised organs, so that as Thorsten’s temperature rose and his heart began to pump faster, his blood would not drain away through the wounds. Gori had gathered all his family members together, tested their blood and collected three cubic ricros-worth, which he hoped could be transfused if necessary; but transfusion was a dark art, at best. Blood types were not entirely understood and both Gori and Cerval preferred to avoid the process if possible.
While they worked on him, they kept Thorsten sedated with ether; but it wasn’t ideal. Ethered patients had been known to die before they regained consciousness. It seemed to be a question of how deeply they were under – but too light an anaesthetic and Thorsten would simply die from the shock of the procedures he was undergoing. Therefore, in conjunction with the ether, Gori and Cerval used an auto-hubble to transfuse Thorsten’s heart-lung and oxygen dissemination systems with another miracle drug, daggativa, which reduced pain and induced a healing euphoria.
Three hours into the operation, they cautiously allowed the laboratory’s temperature to rise. With it, rose the cadence of Thorsten’s breathing, Gori, Cerval and their helpers gently pumping air into his lungs with a simple bellows.
Slowly, surely, Cerval and Gori began to realize that they had at least saved Thorsten from death. When they finally looked across their patient and agreed that the first crisis was over, it was a powerful and emotional moment. Gori was Thorsten’s father and had acted like Cerval’s since he was a young boy. Thorsten was Cerval’s oldest and closest friend, and Cerval couldn’t help thinking if he hadn’t embarked on his mission to clean up The Smoke, and taken his friend along for the ride, Thorsten would not be in this dire strait. It had added yet another layer to Cerval’s almost psychotic guilt.
Shelley Mary was sitting on the huge bed in the room she had been assigned when the door opened without warning and Evangeline appeared.
“Thanks for knocking,” Shelley Mary said. She was prepared to dislike this woman, deeply, and the visceral effect Evangeline had on her irritated her even more.
“I’ll knock when you earn it,” replied Evangeline and continued seamlessly, so that Shelley Mary couldn’t interject her indignation. “You’re lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Thorsten’s survived. At least, so far.” Without seeming to, Evangeline had drifted closer to Shelley Mary and now stood looking down at her. Shelley Mary wanted to move, to put space between them, but a move would be a sign of weakness. Submission.
“I’m glad – but I’m not sure why that makes me lucky.” Evangeline reached out and ran a finger down the side of Shelley Mary’s face. Fire where it touched.
“We’re wondering about you, Cereal and I. Wondering.” She sat down on the bed, next to Shelley Mary, leaning back, her hands flat on the bed, arms supporting her weight, her posture emphasizing her figure. Shelley Mary felt her blood rising, hoped she wasn’t blushing. She wondered how such a petite, slim woman could appear voluptuous. Then, a spasm of anger with herself – why was she thinking about the woman’s body when, clearly, Evangeline had some hostile intent?
“Tell me what you’re wondering.”
“The Silencios knew about the sting at Efrain’s laboratory. Someone betrayed us.” Furious, Shelley Mary sprang up from the bed. “Are you accusing me? For fuck’s sake – you… Cerval… you told me to be there! You were the ones who set it up! Why would I betray you? I’m a fucking journalist.” Her words fell over each other in her anger but Evangeline was unmoved.
“Barely,�
�� she said.
“Barely? Barely what?” Shelley Mary was shaking with indignation.
“Barely a journalist. The Circular. Comings and Goings. You’re a gossip monger.”
Without thinking, Shelley Mary swung her hand at Evangeline, a roundhouse slap which, if it had connected, would have knocked Evangeline clear across the room. But, without seeming to inconvenience herself, just sitting a little straighter, Evangeline caught Shelley Mary’s wrist and stood up abruptly, at the same time whipping Shelley Mary’s wrist in a circular motion. If she didn’t want her arm twisted out of its socket, Shelley Mary had no choice but to make her own half-somersault, and landed on her back, on the bed.
Evangeline had not let go of her wrist and now, with astonishing speed, she straddled Shelley Mary and grasped her other wrist, looking down at her, the ends of her hair brushing Shelley Mary’s face. Shelley Mary was bigger and heavier than Evangeline but she felt the smaller woman’s power and knew, instinctively, that it would be a waste of effort to resist.
“A gossip-monger. And The News Of The Smoke’s turning into the Commission’s house magazine. Perhaps a betrayal would earn you a favour. Promotion.”
“You’re full of shit. I don’t think you believe what you’re saying. It doesn’t make any sense. If I’d wanted to betray you I didn’t even have to show up.”
“My, you’re quite lovely when you’re angry,” said Evangeline sardonically, and leaned down, licked Shelley Mary’s neck from collar bone to ear lobe.
An instant later she was gone, the door shut behind her.
Then CLICK!
Shelley Mary sprang up from the bed, lunged at the door. Locked! She was outraged. Yelled her exasperation. Put her hand to her neck. Ice where Evangeline’s tongue had traced its path.
The door remained locked until the light beyond the narrow leaded window faded to darkness. Then the door lock clicked again and swung open to reveal Evangeline and Cerval.
“What am I – a fucking prisoner?” Shelley Mary demanded before either of them had even entered the room. They exchanged a glance and Evangeline stepped forward.
“Your bodice is too tight, my dear,” she said, smiling. “Ease up.” Cerval entered behind her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We needed to confer before we spoke to you again. We didn’t want you to run out on us.”
“There’s nowhere to run out!”
“True – but that wouldn’t necessarily stop someone who’s fearful.”
“I’m not… fearful… I’m just fucking furious!” Cerval nodded in acknowledgement. “But you can see why we thought about it.”
“No, actually, I can’t! Why would I have stowed aboard that stupid bloody P.A.V. if I’m who you think I am?” She calmed herself. They might be crazy and paranoid – but there was still a great story to be had. “Look, I work for one of the biggest arseholes in The Smoke, one of the most disgusting human beings imaginable. I work on the most humiliating material in a newspaper that – she’s right,” acknowledging Evangeline, “is basically a Commission house rag. But it’s one of very few writing games in town and all I’ve ever wanted to be was a journalist. Now… somehow… this story has fallen into my lap. It’s even bigger than I realized. Cerval Frankenstein! Do you have any idea what a huge story that will be?”
“You can’t write it,” said Cerval quietly.
“Like hell I can’t!”
“Unless you swear to… how do you… journalists… say it?” In Evangeline’s mouth, ‘journalists’ was a slur. “Embargo it. Unless you embargo it, you’ll never leave this castle.”
“You’re gonna kill me? Here?”
“No, of course not, Shelley Mary,” Cerval said quietly and despite all the tension and the danger, Shelley Mary responded to his voice. Double-teamed by two of the most… she had to admit it… attractive people she’d met. “You just wouldn’t be allowed to leave.”
“Not a bad life,” Evangeline added with a sly smile. “The estate’s getting a little in-bred. Same few families intermarrying, You’d introduce a whole new genetic line.” Shelley Mary looked at her impassively. Was she joking? Did she even have a sense of humour?
“Look,” said Cerval. “We do need someone to tell our story. The Incorruptibles’ story. Somehow, we have to do more than cut the crime and eliminate the corruption.”
“We have to murder the murderers.” Cerval shot Evangeline a look and, again, Shelley Mary saw his command as Evangeline went no further. He continued: “We have to capture the UnderGrunts’ imagination. Get them on our side by showing that there’s someone in The Smoke who cares about justice and fairness. Who’ll fight for and with them. A first step towards building the kind of outrage that might encourage them to take direct action.” Shelley Mary looked from one to the other. It was simplistic and naïve. Would The Smoke’s citizens, beaten down through the generations, even care? Nonetheless, an excitement grew within her.
“And you want me to be the one to tell the story?”
“Perhaps,” said Cerval.
“Once we know we can trust you,” said Evangeline.
They had dinner in one of the castle’s formal dining rooms: Cerval, Evangeline, Gori and Shelley Mary. Some sort of ceviché featuring fish raised in the estate ponds. A salad the like of which Shelley Mary had never experienced. Citrus fruits, jicama, radishes and other ingredients which Shelley Mary could not have named. A lamb so tender and succulent that she ate far too much of it. And sorbets of five different colours and flavours. Each course served with its own appropriate wine – all of them made on the estate.
But everyone was tired and a dark shadow hovered, too dark for even a meal like this to overcome: what was going to happen to Thorsten, alive but desperately mangled and certain to lose at least one arm and probably a leg?
There wasn’t much conversation.
Perhaps that’s why everyone drank substantially more than usual.
And that might have accounted for Shelley Mary’s dreams, filled with powerful and erotic images in which she shared herself with Cerval and Evangeline, each competing to bring her the most pleasure, drive her to the wildest extremes. When Shelley Mary woke, the silk sheets were violently displaced and she felt breathless.
The next morning, Shelley Mary was surprised at her hunger. Dinner the night before had been late and she had eaten hugely. How could she now wake up ravenous? As she navigated the castle’s endless corridors and halls, searching for breakfast, she hoped she wouldn’t encounter Evangeline or Cerval. She needed time to think, to resolve her emotional confusion. She thought of herself as clear-minded, the kind of woman who saw what she wanted and went for it. She had loved men and she had loved women but not simultaneously. Feeling drawn to Cerval and Evangeline both was exciting and baffling. Perhaps she should stay here to figure it out, rather than return to The Smoke and pursue her career and the extraordinary opportunity Cerval might offer her if she earned their trust. Perhaps she could earn that trust here in this beautiful, safe backwater? She liked Gori – old, weird but kind of cute – and she wanted with all her heart for the team to be able to piece together the giant Thorsten. But she knew, deep down, that the only way she could really earn their trust was to return to The Smoke, prove her loyalty by keeping their secrets until they were ready for her to begin to tell their story.
How, on the other hand, would they know what she was doing in The Smoke – which might as well be on another planet, so remote was the Frankenstein estate. Then, looking through one of the panoramic windows, she saw a karrier swooping in, and she realised that Cerval’s people in The Smoke were keeping him up to date almost on a daily basis.
Nobody took any notice of Shelley Mary that day, and she used it well, exploring and making notes for her future stories. She knew she was the only journalist who had ever visited the estate, one reason that Smokies knew so little about it.
The next morning, after a deep and dreamless sleep (sadly dreamless, she had to admit) sitting down to bre
akfast, she looked up as a door opened and Cerval and Evangeline entered. They were close. Shelley Mary sensed their bond and she felt excluded. Was she jealous, she wondered and, if so, of which one?
After some noncommittal exchanges, Cerval asked her: “So, are you ready to go back?”
“To The Smoke?”
“Yes, to The Smoke.”
“But you’re staying?”
“Of course. Thorsten… ” He left it hanging.
“Does this mean you’ve decided to trust me after all?” Shelley Mary asked.
“Evangeline made the decision. The night before last, actually.” That night! “She likes you.” Shelley Mary was strangely elated. “And I trust her judgment.”
Shelley Mary glanced at Evangeline, who remained silent through the exchanges but smiled briefly at her.
“You’ll be happy you made this decision, I swear it.” Shelley Mary felt like a child about to cut her finger and mingle her blood with theirs: Best Friends Forever. She’d investigate the fuck out of the Commission and the Silencios. She’d find out the truth behind the lab massacre. Never mind all that society stuff, she’d become the investigative reporter of the century! Rupert Gilchrist Bass could forget it if he thought she was going to attend one more vapid society ball, one more mind-numbing musical. And then, when they were ready to lift their embargo, she’d begin to tell the story of Cerval Frankenstein and his Incorruptibles.
“When do I leave?” she asked.
“Today. Now, actually.”
Half an hour later, she met Cerval and Evangeline in the main hall but instead of heading to the castle’s aerodock, Cerval led Shelley Mary upwards, first via a riveted cast iron elevator powered by water-filled counter balances, and then via a narrow staircase which eventually gave them access to a huge flat area right at the top of the castle.
The Incorruptibles (Book One, Frankenstein Vigilante): Frankenstein Vigilante: The Steampunk Series (Frankenstein Vigilante. The Steampunk Series.) Page 7