Quicksilver Soul

by Christine d'Abo

One moment she was standing; the next her legs buckled from beneath her as Thomas hit the backs of her knees, sending her crashing to the floor. The side of the workbench slammed against the side of her temple, sending the room spinning. It took several shakes of her head and many deep breaths before her world righted once again.

  Emmet was shouting. She wasn’t certain what he was saying, but he was most definitely shouting. He dropped as best he could into a squat and cupped her cheek.

  “Miss Tesla?”

  “Dammit! That hurt.”

  “You bastard.” Emmet jerked against his chains. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  “I simply wanted to assure you that I have no issues dealing with a woman. Now, we’ll leave the two of you to work. I expect to see wonderful progress. Leaps and bounds from where you currently are.”

  The ringing in her head slowly subsided, though it was replaced with an ache. Emmet supported her weight as much as he was able, chained the way he was, and assisted her back to her feet.

  “Are you well?” She could tell he was holding back, no doubt wanting to inspect the damage, but aware of the others watching them. “Do you need to rest?”

  “I’m fine. Nothing more than a bump.”

  “Miss Tesla—”

  “For the love of God. I think given everything we’ve been through you can call me by my name.”

  For the first time since she’d met him, something in Emmet’s eyes softened. He dropped his hand and turned away from her. “You do like to push, don’t you, Nikki.”

  Air refused to enter her lungs at the sound of her nickname on his lips. Even whispered, it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.

  “Of course I do. I’d die of boredom otherwise.” She faced the workbench. “I take it you know exactly how to put one of these together?”

  “I have no practical experience. As I said, the extractors are the same ones that we’ve used for years. However, I have seen the inside of one and I’ve had access to blueprints outlining the construct of the machine. It should be enough for you to successfully complete your task.”

  “I often thought having an eidetic memory would be a blessing.”

  “I can recall every single terrible thing that’s ever happened to me. I can tell you in exacting detail what a torn open human body looks like. I can recall the smells as well, the stench that hung in the air when Piper extracted the memories of a dead prostitute. The exact way my father looked at me the last time we spoke.”

  His hand brushed hers as they reached for the same spanner. Nicola stopped, allowed the contact, needing the reassurance that it brought.

  “I can describe,” he whispered so softly, she could barely hear, “the flush of your skin when you’re aroused. The soft way you sigh before you orgasm.”

  He ran his pinkie the length of hers, sending a shiver through her body.

  “There are some benefits.”

  “I see.” She pulled away as she felt the eyes of their guard land on her back. “We best get to work then.”

  * * *

  Emmet never did have a head for engineering, or an affinity for automatons. His skills were always based in the practical, in people and his ability to manipulate them to do what he wanted. It was something he’d learned early on by his father’s side, and he was far better at it than any of his brothers. Thankfully, his ability to recall the schematics he’d seen was enough for Nicola.

  With little direction on his part, she’d easily picked up the thread of what he described and continued on from that point. The extractor contained gears, tubes, and energy sources, combined in such a way as to latch onto the memories of the dead. If Nicola understood the metaphysical aspects that manifested somewhere along the way, she didn’t say. Instead, she would nod and proceed to insert the bits and bobs into place.

  If it was possible for him to become even more disturbed by the power of the extractor, this would have caused him additional nightmares. How was it possible for something so mechanical, so pragmatic, to have the ability to pull the essence of a human being from their shell? But while the extractor was a feat of engineering, it was nothing without the human component, the battery that kick-started the process.

  It was his mind that drew out the other. He was a magnet of sorts, with the unimaginable power to beckon to a soul. If that’s what they were actually dealing with. No, that wasn’t exactly right. He was more of a final component that closed the circuit and made the madness possible.

  “I’m not certain I’ll be able to attach the filament to the board properly. My fingers are unfortunately large.” Nicola’s voice was absorbed as she spoke into the box. “I might have to see if I can fashion some pliers to assist me. Not that Thomas will let me keep them for long.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage.”

  She looked up at him, frowning. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been a bear for ages now.”

  “Nothing.” Everything. Things she couldn’t understand. “I’m tired.”

  “Terrible liar. You need to work on that.” She returned to her work without further prodding.

  If she was correct and she was the intended recipient of the extractor, Emmet wasn’t certain he’d be able to complete the task. He’d been with Piper when she’d had the prostitute’s memories in her head for an extended period of time. She’d been convinced that the woman was actually still alive in her mind, still able to carry on a conversation, argue for her right to live. If Nicola was killed and her thoughts ended up in his mind, he wasn’t sure he’d survive. To have grown to know someone that intimately, only to have the experience wiped away…

  No, they needed to find a way out of this nightmare.

  So he did the one thing he could, and hoped it was the right thing.

  Speaking of which.

  He checked to make sure Jonas wasn’t within earshot before he slipped a stiff piece of wire from the spool that held it. “Can you cut this? Just a short piece.”

  She frowned, but did as he asked. “Why?”

  Carefully, he doubled the wire over and slid it beneath the cuff around his wrist. “We need to start finding a way out of here. You’re far too proficient in the creation of your inventions and we are running out of options.”

  “Of course I am. Only the best for the HBC.” She stepped away to the opposite side to solder something, before returning with a rusted and bent file. “This might also be useful.”

  “Tuck it someplace here on the bench. I’ll find a way to get it back to our cell.”

  And so they went, back and forth gathering bits and pieces over the next few days, like magpies in the hopes of finding things that would aid their escape. It was a slow and frustrating process, with the constant checks from their guards, Thomas’ inspections, and Keegan’s eerie appearances.

  While Nicola had developed a soft spot for the boy, Emmet was still reserving judgment. He didn’t trust that faraway stare, or the way he’d close his eyes and the metal in his hands would seemingly move on its own. His friend Samuel had that ability, so did Jack from what he’d gathered from the others. The affinity to make the metal move, to bring life to the lifeless, was nearly as disturbing as the archiving of souls.

  “Damnation!” Nicola stepped quickly away from the bench, clutching one hand in the other.

  “What happened?”

  “The space was too tight to work. The pliers I made broke and I cut myself.”

  “We need a bandage!” But none of the guards made a move to help.

  Keegan drifted to their sides, a small handkerchief held out. “Will this help?”

  “Thank you, sweetie.” Nicola took the cloth and pressed it to the wound. “I fear I might be done work for the time being. I can’t feel my fingers for the throbbing.”

  Keegan stepped closer and took something from his pocket. “This might help.”

  The small white disk looked to be some sort of sweet. The edges had crumbled from being rubbed, giving it a waxy appearance.
Keegan held it in such a way that he didn’t want the guards to see, nor Emmet to be able to reach it. Odd indeed.

  Nicola looked at it briefly, before leaning in to smell it. “What’s this now?”

  “A secret,” his voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “Mr. Edison pays me with money, but also gives me sweets. I like the sweets. They make me feel so much better. I think they’ll make you feel better too, Nicola. But please don’t tell Mr. Edison that I gave you one. I don’t want him to think I don’t want them anymore. Because I do. All the time.”

  He held it up in front of her lips, giving her little choice but to accept the treat. Emmet watched as a range of emotions flitted across her face—uncertainty, surprise, and finally pleasure.

  “Those are wonderful. I can see why you enjoy them as you do.”

  The boy’s smile took up a surprisingly large part of his face. “I do. I can share some with you if you like?”

  “We’ll see. I don’t want to take all your treats. You work so hard for them.”

  “I get bags of them when I do good. Maybe you will get some when you do good and finish your memory box. Then we can share.”

  Nicola shared a look with Emmet, one that belied her concern. “We’ll see.”

  “I’m almost done with the heart. Mr. Edison will be pleased to hear that. I might even get an extra bag of sweets.”

  There was something wrong about all this. While offering treats to a child to buy his attention and affections was nothing new to Emmet, the fervor with which Keegan clutched these wasn’t right. Once the boy shuffled back to whichever crevasse he’d been working in, Emmet pulled Nicola close.

  “Did you swallow it?”

  “Of course.” She smiled as she tied the cloth around her cut hand. “They really were some of the most delicious treats I’ve ever had. Not that I get many back at the Company. Occasionally, we’ll have something special made for us by some of the chefs, but most of the men aren’t as particular regarding those things as I am. I really do love my sweets. Perhaps once we are out of here you can take me someplace for something special. That would be wonderful.”

  In a matter of moments, Nicola’s eyes had glazed over and she’d stopped favoring her hand. It was as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Opium. Or laudanum.” Leaning in he smelled her breath, trying to see if he could catch a hint of the drug. “I think the sweets are most likely laced with opium.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had it before.” She giggled and picked up a spool of wire. “I should get back to work. I’m good at working. Everyone always says so.”

  “Guards, we need to go back to our cell. Miss Tesla has injured her hand and needs rest.”

  Thankfully, she offered little resistance as they were led back to the cell, though she’d begun to sing a song in a language he wasn’t familiar with. In between verses, she’d poke at the wound on her hand and say “Ouch.” The added distraction of her erratic behavior made it easy for him to allow another bit of wire to fall to the floor and cover it with his foot before Jonas removed the cuffs from his wrist. The guard sneered at Emmet, slamming a shoulder against his before securing them.

  Emmet held himself back until he was certain they’d been left alone. With a quick check down the hall, he turned and guided Nicola to the bed.

  “Sit.”

  “There’s no reason for you to boss me around. I have an employer and I happen to like Simon quite a bit. I’ve heard he’s not interested in ladies though, which is a shame. That would explain Anderson’s fascination though.”

  “Sit down.”

  “Fine.” She plopped herself on the bed with a huff. “I’m growing tired of this place. We need to move soon. I want to go back to the inn. They have a lovely bed.”

  “I intend to do that once I know you are in a condition to be moved. Being drugged isn’t the best of times.”

  “Pfff.” She laid her injured hand in his. “I’m quite well. Never been better, in fact.”

  “That boy is addicted to opium. I’m fairly certain it was Edison who did the deed.”

  Emmet had heard of an archivist who’d taken to the poppy as a means to gain solace from the ever-growing hole in his mind. The man had reportedly jumped from one of the balconies while in a drug-induced haze. It was shortly after his arrival at the Archives, though at the time he’d believed it was simply a story that the Guild Masters told as a way of keeping the acolytes in line. He hadn’t fully believed the tale until years later, when he’d witnessed another such suicide. The Administrators quickly hushed up the incident, but Emmet hadn’t forgotten.

  If Keegan was being drugged, then his life was already in great peril. If Edison decided to dispose of the boy once his task was complete, it would be difficult for a child with little means to earn enough money to support a drug addiction. He would need help or else be dead within the month.

  Nicola had only ingested a single sweet, giving her temporary release from her pain, but hopefully not enough of a dose to acquire an addiction. She would need to stay away from the boy for the time being.

  Using far more force than he normally would, Emmet held her hand down to examine the wound she’d previously hidden from him. “Let me see.”

  “So you’re a physician now, too?”

  “I know a thing or two about treating wounds.”

  She snorted. “Basic training for an archivist?”

  “It is, actually.” Any number of things could happen out in the field. “I managed to bring another wire back unseen. I’ll attempt to fashion a lock pick once the others have settled down.”

  “Oh good. That means we can go elsewhere and get more sweets. Or kisses.” She licked her lips and smiled up at him. “I do enjoy your kisses.”

  “Please shut up and sit still. You cut your finger quite deep and we need to make sure you heal properly.”

  There was little he could do given the distinct lack of supplies. A needle and thread would be necessary to close the gash and prevent infection. With her drugged, it would at the very least cut the pain. “I doubt they’ll let me take care of this. I’ll have to involve Edison.”

  “Don’t.” Her voice grew quiet, trembling on that single word. “Please don’t.”

  “It needs to be stitched up, and I doubt he’ll give me a sharp object to do the deed.”

  “Let it be then. I’ll live.”

  “I can’t. We need to fix this before things begin to fester. The last thing you need is to lose a hand.”

  Nicola grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard. “He’ll kill me if I go with him.”

  “He won’t. He still needs you to finish building the extractor.”

  She shook her head hard, her short hair flying around her face. “You don’t understand. He hates me for destroying his lab, for ruining his work and running away. He wants to take everything that he lost from my head and put it in an automaton. I’ll be trapped there forever.”

  Ignoring her wound, Emmet pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “I won’t let that happen. I won’t let him do anything to you, do you understand?” Dammit, he’d never had such strong feelings for a woman before. The simple thought of someone doing her harm fired a rage deep inside his chest. God help the person who laid a finger on her.

  “You won’t be able to stop him.”

  “Yes, I bloody well will.” Without thinking, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, before trailing more down to her lips. She was soft and pliable, and if circumstances were different, he’d be more than willing to take advantage. “I can’t do anything if your hand gets infected.”

  Sniffing and looking up at him with childlike eyes, she sighed. “Fine.”

  Emmet gave her one final hug before getting to his feet. Pausing only long enough to retrieve the wire and slip it into a hiding spot in the corner of the cell, he moved to the door.

  “Edison!” The man was going to pay for every ill he’d caused to both Nicola and Keegan. “Edison, get in here!”
>
  Time ticked on, but eventually the man sauntered down the hallway. “While I appreciate the stretch, I am a busy man, Mr. Dennison.”

  “She’s hurt and needs stitches.”

  Edison didn’t look beyond Emmet to see if what he said were true, and instead held his gaze. “Is that so?”

  “She’s no good to you if she loses her hand to infection.” Even looking at the man made it difficult for Emmet to breathe. Rage squeezed at him, threatening to burst forth. “And despite my knowledge, I am no clockwerker.”

  “No,” Edison said, lifting his chin, “you’re not. Not much of an archivist from what I can gather, either.”

  “I’m more than enough for what you need, and you’ll be hard pressed to find another.”

  If Edison had any concerns about Emmet, he didn’t show them. “I’ll send Jonas to get her. I’ll make sure her hand works again. You see to it that this extractor functions. Deal?”

  He stuck his hand through the bars, leaving Emmet to stare at it. It would be so tempting to simply grab him and smash his face against the bars of the cell. But while it would leave him feeling most satisfied, it would do little to aid them in their predicament. Emmet gripped Edison’s hand firmly, not fully certain of what he was promising.

  “Deal.” One with the Devil, if Emmet believed such a creature existed.

  * * *

  Keegan couldn’t get the tune out of his head. It was a soft little ditty he’d always seem to hum on occasion. Da, de da, da de de dum. Over and over the tune circled, until it began to spill from his lips.

  Da, de da, da de de dum.

  He’d taken to closing his eyes while he worked now. It was a strange thing, the darkness. Once it had frightened him, threatened to consume him whole, but now it had grown to be a comfort. It was in the darkness that he could hear the metal, could enjoy the colors that clung to people as they passed by. With his eyes closed, it was easier for him to see them and the patterns they created.

  Nicola’s was green; Mr. Dennison’s was blue. Mr. Edison’s would shift from red to yellow and back again. Keegan was starting to think that the colors were related not to their moods, but to something deeper that lived inside them.