by Mark C. King
Through the ringing in his ears, Sigmund started to hear his environment. There was a lot of shouting, yelling, an occasional scream, and crying. Much of the commotion was around a fire brigade dousing flames somewhere.
What’s happening?
“Oi!” the constable in front of Sigmund said. “Nice piece of work here, eh? Murder and treason. You disgust me.”
From far, far away in Sigmund’s mind, a tiny light of comprehension was sparked. He still wasn’t close to understanding, dazed in no small way, but a glimmer of remembrance was growing. Looking up, focusing hard on the building in front of him, Sigmund finally recognized the Charlotte Street Hotel – but it looked different, dirtier, confused – ablaze!
“That’s right. Take a long look at your handiwork!” The constable hung the lantern on the carriage that was behind Sigmund, grabbed his shoulder, and forcibly turned his body towards the hotel – his shoulder screamed with pain and he couldn’t help his body involuntarily trying to double over, only to be held in place by the constable. Sigmund tried to move his arms but he found that he couldn’t. It was at this moment that he realized why his arms couldn’t move, besides the pain – they were handcuffed behind his back.
Why am I restrained? Handiwork? Treason?
Looking back at the hotel, Sigmund raised his eyes to the second floor window – there was some remembered significance to the second floor – and saw a gaping hole on the left side of the building. It was as if there was an explosion… Like an explosion, the evening started to catch up to him – The minister, the Germans, the cube, and then… and then… light… darkness.
A bomb?
Forcing his mouth to speak, Sigmund asked, “What happened? Why was there an explosion?”
“You piece of garbage!” exclaimed the constable, “Do not play dumb with me! A witness saw you on the ledge. I guess you didn’t give yourself enough time for your bomb to go off.” The officer chuckled menacingly.
“I didn’t set a bomb!” Sigmund managed to say with a little energy behind it.
“Listen, we found you knocked out on the pavement right here. A witness saw you on the windowsill. What? You were just walking on the ledge of the second floor for fun? Lie all you like but you are going to jail, you are going to face a hangman’s noose for this piece of work! Not soon enough for my liking.”
Confusion of where he was and what happened was starting to clear up but now he was confused about this new information. And his shoulder throbbed constantly. How-
Interrupting his thoughts, the officer grabbed Sigmund’s face and turned it towards a scene on the sidewalk. Screaming in his ear, the constable demanded, “Take a good look at that!”
“What? What am I looking at?”
“LOOK! You see that little girl crying?”
“Yes… Yes I do.” There was a girl surrounded by several people, she was crying, sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old – about Sarah’s age – braided blonde hair and wearing a sleeping gown. The ones around her were clearly trying to comfort her but she was beyond consolation.
“Yeah, you see her? Good! Take a long look. You did that. Your bomb killed not only the minister but also killed her parents in the adjoining room.”
I didn’t do it. Was all Sigmund could think, too overwhelmed and in too much pain to even bring words to his throat, let alone speak them.
“You are responsible, you scum!”
I didn’t do it.
“We have a special place for a person like you. You will never see the light of day again!”
I didn’t do it.
“Every breath you take is an offense to the good people of Britain.” The constable then gave Sigmund a vicious jab to his stomach.
Sigmund hardly felt it as the jolt caused his already throbbing shoulder to explode in sharp pain.
I didn’t do it.
He continued to stare at the young girl – being hugged by one person after another. Her tears continued despite all the comfort being provided. For a moment Sigmund’s pain subsided as he was overcome with grief for this devastated girl – now orphan. His body doubled over involuntarily and he vomited. Pain, confusion, heartache… it didn’t matter the cause, probably all of those, Sigmund couldn’t stop from retching. The taste in his mouth and the smells around him only worsened by this. Still, he kept his eyes on the tortured girl. Regardless of what was happening around him, regardless of the confusion that still assaulted his mind, he wasn’t confused about the pain that she had, it was crystal clear – a pain he vividly remembered when his father passed away. Her world crushed and nothing would change that now. And although Sigmund was not responsible, he felt as if his part in all of this, though not complete, gave him a share of the responsibility.
Without warning the entire scene was bathed in light. Sigmund could clearly see all the activity happening around him. The hotel itself had people, mostly police, running in and out. The fire brigade had their pump engine running and was spraying water on the remaining flames. The young girl was still inconsolable. Wondering where this sudden light came from, Sigmund looked around for the source. Eventually his eyes moved up and saw that a police dirigible was now hovering over Charlotte Street. The dirigible was much smaller than the kind used for travelers, it was designed to carry a few people to oversee, literally, a situation. Smoke billowed out from its engine up and around the balloon while its powerful electric light illuminated the surroundings. There must be an engine noise coming from it, but between the ringing still sounding in his ears and the commotion around him, Sigmund couldn’t hear it.
“Doctor Montross?” Came a voice from the confusion. “Doctor Montross, is that you?”
Looking around, Sigmund saw the hotel clerk from the day before. Oh bugger! This can’t be happening.
“Doctor Montross, it is you! Are you alright? Were you able to find your professor?”
Sigmund just stared at him, he couldn’t think of anything to say that would help himself.
“Doctor Montross is it?” said the constable holding Sigmund. “And here I thought we had a Sigmund Shaw.” Addressing the hotel clerk the officer said, “How do you know this man? Why are you calling him Montross?”
“Why, Doctor Montross here stopped by the front desk yesterday in search of his patient, a German Professor Faust. He had medicine that was most necessary to save his life.”
“Is that so?” sneered the constable, “Looking for a German professor? Well, let me tell you that he is no doctor and he has no patient. Seems like he was using you to get at some information to plant his bomb.”
With a face that bespoke his confusion and growing anger, the hotel clerk gave Sigmund a sharp stare and then turned and walked away.
“Would you like to keep up your story, doctor?”
“How… How do you know my name?” managed Sigmund.
“You’ve been in and out of consciousness. Somewhere along the way you gave us that much. Wasn’t sure if you were going to make it – unfortunately you did. Probably just a temporary situation though.” The guard laughed at his last statement.
Sigmund thought about his options. His trouble matched his pain – both extreme and more than he had ever had before. He decided on the simplest route, the truth. “Look constable, I was here yesterday, and I was here tonight on less than legal business. I was told that there would be an important conversation here and that there was something that I should take… steal.” Sigmund thought about telling the constable that this was at the Empire’s direction but he knew that it would not be believed and probably make him sound like a lunatic. Continuing, “But in no way did I plant a bomb! Whatever or whoever caused the explosion did it before I had a chance to act. The meeting wasn’t even over yet!” Sigmund then realized something that he was surprised he didn’t realize sooner – “I was framed!”
“Of course you were.” Sneered the constable. “We never seem to arrest guilty people. I guess I should just let you go the
n.” Without warning the constable gave Sigmund another punch to the gut – more pain rocked his shoulder “Just shut up. You will rot in a cell and then be held accountable for your atrocities.”
Doubling over again from the punch – managing to not vomit this time – Sigmund tried to ignore the pain and nauseousness and think things out – he wasn’t too successful. Who would want to set him up? How would they even know he would be here? It was hard to concentrate. The pain in his body and the ongoing confusion around him kept him thoroughly distracted from clear thought. He quickly concluded that these questions didn’t matter, at least not at the moment. He needed to escape – these other questions could be answered later. Sigmund knew that even with his sneaking abilities, when they loaded him into their protected police wagon his chance to get free was just about zero. If he was to escape it would have to be now.
9.
Fortunately, Sigmund still had a trick up his sleeve, or rather, in his jacket tail. With a profession like his, he had to imagine that at some point something could go wrong and he would be caught. With that in mind, Sigmund had sown several handcuff keys throughout his clothing. The one most accessible now was the one hidden in the lower back of his coat tails.
He felt around with the fingers on his right hand, causing pain with every movement, and tried to locate the hidden pocket. It was much harder now than when he had practiced this before, although when he had practiced before he hadn’t just been blown up. Dazed, ears ringing, officer at his side with hand firmly around Sigmund's left arm – causing continuing pain in his left shoulder – he slowly moved his fingers around the jacket until he felt the telltale bump. Extracting the key was fairly easy, but twisting his wrists so that the key would fit in the keyhole was difficult. Without ever seeing the handcuffs he wasn't sure where the keyhole was - top or bottom, front or back. He slid the key around the surface of the handcuffs until he felt it sink into a depression. A little more wiggling and the key was in! With as much noise that was happening around him the sound of the lock releasing couldn't be heard. Careful not to move his hands much, for fear of detection and for fear of the pain from moving his shoulder, Sigmund was able to unlock the second cuff. His hands were free.
Now what? He wondered, he still had a constable at his side.
Feeling the carriage tire against his back, Sigmund located a spoke and clasped one cuff around it. Now, he simply needed to get the other cuff around the officer. He thought first of grabbing the hand of the officer, yanking it down, and snapping the cuff around him quickly, but that led to too many things that could go wrong, besides, Sigmund wasn’t sure he was physically up to that challenge. Adding to that thought, this officer was not a small man, certainly no push-over. So, with the constable on his left, he carefully, and painfully, moved his left hand to gently loop the cuff around the officers belt. Gently closing the cuff, Sigmund felt, rather than heard the locking mechanism engage.
He felt bad for this officer, after all he was only doing his job. That said, Sigmund would have felt a whole lot worse getting hung for a crime he didn't commit. In a flash, Sigmund spun around and landed a right-handed blow to the officer’s stomach - quid quo pro. The officer had no chance to respond, so off guard he was caught. With the grip now loosened, Sigmund broke free and ran from the carriage towards the gathered crowd.
Behind him, the constable he broke away from was finding his voice. Calls of “Stop!” could be heard followed by a police whistle and then several more – a musical chorus of pursuit.
Moving through the crowd it was impossible to not bang his shoulder in to people – each collision hurt more than the next, the pain was nauseating. Sigmund’s current athletic state would not be enough to escape, he needed something more to help him. Taking in the scene around him Sigmund thought, what I need is some added chaos.
“Oi! There’s another bomb!” Sigmund shouted and waved his good arm at the crowd in warning. “Run for it! Get back!”
The crowd that had gathered took only a moment to react to what was being said. They were so unnerved at what had already happened that it was easy to prey on their fear. Screams. Shouting. Pushing. Running. This part of Charlotte Street became an instant stampede. It was not unlike an anthill that just got kicked, causing a flurry of activity.
Police whistles still sounded but Sigmund was now among the scattering crowd. He would be hard to find. But Sigmund also realized that it was believed that he just murdered several people, including the Minister of Defence, and that no effort would be spared in capturing him. As if hearing his thoughts, the light from the dirigible swung over the running crowds, searching for one man.
The hunt was on for Sigmund Shaw.
The farther away from the hotel he moved, the more the crowd thinned out. He needed to get off the main street and find a place to hide. The sound of police whistles over the screaming crowd was more than enough motivation to keep moving. He ducked down an alley and went as quickly as he could into its darkness. Taking a moment to catch his breath, the adrenaline of the escape started to wane and his shoulder once again throbbed. He couldn’t keep moving, at least not as far as he feared he needed to go to be safe – if there was any place that even could be considered safe. He needed a place to hide, a place that wasn’t too far away, otherwise he would be a dead man.
Dead man?
That thought awoke in Sigmund a memory. A memory of a location that could help him. He took a moment to get his bearings, looked down the alley at the street, mentally creating a map of where he was, and figured he was about two blocks from potential help. He knew he couldn’t go far with his shoulder as it was but he figured he could make it two blocks, he had to.
Wasting no more time, he started again at a run – which turned into an awkward jog as he tried to minimize the impact to his shoulder. He reached the end of the alley and paused before the next street. There were less people here, no constables that he could tell, but he knew the police would be around soon. Waiting no more, he started across the street, heading at an angle to reach another alley. The hum of the police dirigible could be heard, while its light flashed back and forth over the street he was now crossing. A few of the people Sigmund passed stared at him – between his torn clothes, his strange movements, and probably blood, he was quite a specimen. But no one stopped him.
Reaching the alley, Sigmund looked back down the street one more time – mistake. He locked eyes with someone who just came out the alley that Sigmund had been at. That someone was a constable and they locked eyes for a moment.
Ignoring the disappointment that his look back caused, Sigmund turned and ran as quickly as he could – his shoulder rebelling all the while. He could hear a whistle start blowing behind him. Cursing his fortune, he reached the end of the alley and did not pause, keeping his momentum going. He knew that stopping, even for a moment, would end the escape attempt – if he stopped moving then the pain in his shoulder would subside some, and that little bit of relief would be too much to give up. He wouldn’t have the nerve to start running again and reintroduce the pain that movement caused.
Continuing down the street, there were probably people around him, maybe even police, but Sigmund didn’t care – he was fading fast and could barely comprehend anything beyond the ringing in his ears, the exhaustion of his body, the fogginess of his mind, and the almost crippling pain. One more block.
He knew that the constable that spotted him must have reached the street he was on and couldn’t be too far behind.
Half a block.
His world lit up as the police dirigible light spotted him. Yells and whistles could be heard behind him. It was going to be close.
He could see the next alley that he had to go down. There were no people between him and his goal – just his shadow being cast by the police light. He picked up his pace, slightly, and started to make audible noised of pain with every step. Almost there.
Turning down the alley, Sigmund didn’t risk a look behind this time. He knew t
he pursuers had to be near – sneaking a look back wouldn’t change that. The alley, like the others was bordered by multi-story stone building and littered with random objects and garbage. The walls would at least make it difficult for the dirigible to spot him. Along one of the buildings, there were recessed wells for basement windows – all dark. At the third basement window from the street Sigmund just came from, just behind a stack of crates, he stopped and kneeled. The window looked like any other but Sigmund knew better. There was a cleverly hidden lever – a lever that Sigmund had installed – along the side of the window pane. He pulled it with his good arm and the floor of the recessed well slid to the side. Below it was a metal ramp that led into darkness. Sigmund stood, thought about how painful this was going to be, took a deep breath, then jumped onto the ramp and slid down into the darkness below, tripping a mechanism that closed the opening above him.