Merciless Reason

by Oisin McGann

  She could make out the heads, snake-like necks and shoulders of four drawbreaths on one side, connected by tubes to a line of pipes, presumably contributing to the flow of air. Embedded in an iron framework set into the middle of the floor was what appeared to be a velocycle. The wheel suspended from its back legs had been stripped of its rubbery outer layer and was now being used to run a drive-belt, to power some other part of the machine. The front wheel had been pulled off entirely, the creature’s front legs amputated. Its head hung limply over its streamlined chest, but Daisy could see faint plumes of steam from its nostrils. It was alive, but this creature would never race across the Wicklow hills again.

  In the cluttered void inside the organ, she saw other creatures, living and dead. There was a spider-fly the size of a hatbox, with wire wound round its legs—part of the booby-trap, perhaps, the rotating legs acting like a highspeed spool. There was also a frog-like creature about the same size, whose wide mouth could spew hot air at high pressures, built into the pipe system like the drawbreaths. Much of the metal and ceramic and other materials used in the construction seemed to have come from the bodies of engimals. Those accordion-shaped valves, which appeared to be made of paper, were in fact constructed with the pliable, wafer-thin forms of leaf-lights.

  She was concerned that she might find Siren, Tatty’s engimal bird here. It would be just like Gerald to trap the thing in an organ, but there was no sight of the creature.

  Daisy’s handkerchief was now soaked in blood and she felt sick to her stomach, though she did not know if it was from the sight of the blood, or the loss of so much of it, or the horrific spectacle in front of her, or the combination of all of them. She wanted to throw up, but would not allow herself the indulgence of doing it in the church. There could be no doubt about it; Gerald was utterly insane.

  “Pardon me, yer Grace?” A man’s voice made her start, interrupting her thoughts.

  She turned, realizing there was now enough dawn light on the balcony to make the oil lamp on the floor redundant. Hennessy, the head groom, was standing at the top of the stairs. The gentle, nimble-looking middle-aged man had once been involved in a relationship with Daisy’s husband—a love affair that had deeply hurt and humiliated her. But their shared love for Berto had given them a bond after his death, and now the man was one of the few members of staff she trusted completely.

  “Yes, Hennessy?”

  “Pardon mae fer enterruptin’, yer Grace, but Mister Gerald has requested yer company in the drawin’ rum, ma’am,” he drawled respectfully in his Donegal accent. “He said et was emperative that everyone come at thar earliest convenience.”

  Which was a servant’s politest way of saying that Gerald was demanding their presence immediately—or sooner if possible.

  Hennessy was diffidently waiting for her reply when he spotted her blood-soaked handkerchief. With an exclamation of alarm, he quickly came forward, pulling his own handkerchief from his pocket. Despite the dirty nature of his profession, it was spotlessly clean and, leaving hers wrapped round her fingers, he tied his coarse square of linen firmly over it.

  “Yeh need to hawv a doctor see to this, yer Grace, and quickly. Et’ll need stitchin’ at the very least. And yev lost quate a bet of blood. Yeh need to get into the hise and He yerself dine with yer feet raised, lest yeh come over faint. Yeh don’t want to make this worse by havin’ a fall.”

  His movements were gentle and assured, from a lifetime of dealing with injuries associated with keeping and riding horses. She noticed he did not seek her consent before engaging in this forbidden level of contact between a servant and his mistress. He was appalled that she had suffered such an ugly wound, and acted without thinking to help her. Only after he had finished did he realize he had overstepped his bounds, but she smiled at him and held out her uninjured hand to clasp his.

  “Thank you, Hennessy,” she said softly. “You always take such good care of me.”

  “In a place like this, ma’am,” he replied awkwardly, his eyes trained on the floor, “someone has to.”

  XVI

  AS BRUTAL AND AS DAMAGING AS ONE WOULD EXPECT

  HARDLY ANY OF THE FAMILY ROSE this early in the morning. It was barely half-past five and Gerald’s summons were met with much indignant protest—but they were obeyed nevertheless. There were not enough seats for the nearly forty members of the family present in the house, so more chairs were brought in. Even so, not everyone sat down; outrage is better expressed from a standing position.

  Daisy had her decapitated fingers cleaned and dressed properly before turning up, and she was still one of the first there. She was careful to hide the hand from Gerald’s sight.

  He sat in an armchair, saying nothing as they all filed in. His chair was next to the door which led to the smoking room. The door was closed, and there was something about his posture which stated it would be staying that way until he said otherwise. Elizabeth sat in a chair next to him, looking stately in a beautiful deep purple dress, with her black hair gathered up at the back, tresses hanging down the sides to frame her pale-skinned face. She was holding Gerald’s hand in a rather formal, possessive fashion, as a queen might hold her king’s to demonstrate her authority. Leo was not there, so she was able to direct the full force of her superior air over the room of relatives.

  Gerald was less regal, his blue suit rumpled as if he, like Daisy, had been up all night, and his silver silk cravat was worn a little too loose. He waited until everyone was present, and then interrupted the hubbub of sniping comments by clearing his throat. The Wildensterns fell immediately silent.

  “Thank you for coming,” he began, ignoring his mother’s snort of derision from the front row. “I have an announcement to make, and I wanted to make it before you were all drawn away by your day’s business. As you know, I have struggled to give the Company the time and attention it requires. Daisy has done her best to compensate, but has been hampered by the unfortunate restrictions of her gender. With this in mind, I have taken the liberty of finding someone to take over some of those responsibilities—an eminently capable man who will answer to me, and me alone.”

  “And who is this man, pray tell?” Elvira asked in an imperious tone. “And how can someone none of us know presume to have any authority in this family’s business?”

  Gerald gave his mother a faint, polite smile; the warmest expression he could muster for her these days.

  “But you do know him, Mother, although the two of you have never spoken. Most of you have seen him before, and you all know his sister very well indeed.”

  With this, he glanced at Elizabeth, who favored him with her most gracious smile. There was a chorus of confused grunts and puzzled exclamations. Gerald stood up and stepped over to the door of the smoking room. He opened it with his right hand and stood back, gesturing to the crowd with his left.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you … Brutus Wildenstern!”

  There were gasps of shock and disbelief. Those who had seen Brutus before were aghast at the sight of him now; those who hadn’t found it hard to believe that this was the man Gerald claimed him to be.

  The man’s massive frame filled the doorway. From the styled mane of white-blond hair framing his jutting brow and wide jaw, down the tailored suit to the expensive, made-to-measure shoes on his over-sized feet, Brutus had been groomed to appear as much like a gentleman as possible. Quite a feat, given his rather primitive roots.

  Daisy thought he looked remarkably well for a man who had been murdered by religious fanatics, lain buried for six hundred years, only to be resurrected and promptly killed once more by a fall from a window high up on Wildenstern Hall. She had been sure that Gerald had destroyed the body once and for all, but clearly the temptation to tinker had been too strong. Brutus’s resurrection had not been completely successful; his right hand had been amputated not long after the mummified bodies of himself and his brother and sis
ters had been discovered. Gerald had replaced the hand with a crab-like engimal claw—a claw that had once occupied the same position at the end of Edgar Wildenstern’s right arm.

  “In any other house,” Daisy muttered to herself, “this would all be highly improbable.”

  Somehow, through the strange science of intelligent particles, Gerald had succeeded in bringing this medieval barbarian back to life once more. Elizabeth looked beside herself with joy—and smug satisfaction. She had been the last of her brood, her elder brother and younger sister having died in a violent power struggle years before. No doubt she saw Brutus’s new position as another way to increase her own authority.

  But Daisy could not understand how a man who had grown up in a time when America had not even been discovered by Europeans could hope to understand the continent where the family made most of its money. How could he hope to grasp even the basics of all the modern business practices necessary for running the North American Trading Company? Especially since, by all accounts—including some from Elizabeth herself—Brutus was more at home swinging an axe on a battlefield than dealing with international economics. Aside from all that, could his brain even work properly after all the punishment it had taken?

  “It is good to be back among my family,” a deep, cavernous voice croaked, cutting across her thoughts. Brutus was standing in front of the fireplace, hand and claw clasped behind him. There was a searching look on his face, as if he was struggling to gather his thoughts. “As you can imagine, my … recovery has been a long and trying one. Since regaining consciousness, I have spent my extended convalescence learning all I can about this modern world, and that education shall continue as I take the reins of this mighty enterprise. I have no illusions regarding the scale of my new responsibilities, and I have no doubt that you will all grace me with your various areas of expertise, to assist me in my task.”

  He paused, and there was a change in his features that stopped anyone from speaking up before he could continue. It was an expression that was easily recognized in that house—the look of a man who was accustomed to power, and would be ruthless in wielding it.

  “Let me conclude by assuring you that I am fully cognizant of the nature of this family’s business, of the Rules of Ascension and all that they entail. As I hail from a time when such rules did not exist, I shall do my very best to adhere to them. Should any of you attempt to undermine my authority, or defy it by putting those rules into practice, I promise you that my response will be as brutal and as damaging as one would expect from the ‘barbarian’ you all believe me to be.

  “So, in the spirit of cooperation, I appeal to your goodwill and family loyalty to aid me in any way you can during this transition. We will have time for a more social discussion this evening at dinner, but for now I must immerse myself in my new duties. Thank you for your attention.”

  “Golly,” Tatty said from behind Daisy. “That’s certainly throwing the cat among the pigeons.”

  Daisy looked back at her sister-in-law and nodded a greeting, but then turned to watch Gerald, Elizabeth and Brutus walking out of the room. As Brutus passed the two young women, he stopped and turned to Daisy. Gerald and Elizabeth hovered, waiting for him.

  “Daisy. Gerald tells me that your help in clerical matters has been most useful,” he rumbled slowly, like an idling steam engine. “You will join me in my office after breakfast, to begin familiarizing me with the details of your activities. You have shown considerable talent as a clerk, and I will have need of that ability in the future. But your interference in business decisions and your ‘investigations’ into Gerald’s activities will end today. Your usefulness does not excuse the overstepping of your bounds, my dear.

  “We will start our discussion this morning with local matters; the running of the estates, our transport networks, and I also wish to look into your attempts to sell the mines in Glendalough. I will see you at nine o’clock, in my office.”

  “Will you?” she replied in short, bitten words. Her talent as a clerk, indeed. The bloody nerve of him! “And where is’ your office, exactly?”

  “On the top floor,” Gerald informed her. “Edgar’s old rooms.”

  Daisy leveled a hostile gaze at him. By setting up Brutus in the Patriarch’s old abode, Gerald was making a clear statement; Brutus now held the seat of power in the family. Would Gerald be able to maintain control over him if that was the case? Did he even want to? She was seething at the effortless way in which he had swept her from her position, suddenly treating her as if she were some lowly secretary whose only purpose was answering this Neanderthal’s demands.

  “I believe I know where that is,” Daisy said to Brutus. “Nine o’clock, then. I will see you there.”

  Brutus nodded to her and continued on towards the door, Elizabeth tucking her arm under his. Gerald was about to follow them when his eyes fell on her bandaged fingers, which in her distracted state she had neglected to hide behind her back. They were bound together in the dressing, the tips thickly padded, but blood had already stained the linen once more.

  “You’ve hurt yourself,” he murmured.

  Tatty gave a little gasp as she too noticed the injury for the first time.

  “Why do you assume I did this to myself?” Daisy snapped back.

  “That’s not a minor wound, if I’m any judge,” Gerald said evenly, ignoring her question. “Come down to my laboratory before breakfast, and I’ll have a look at it.”

  “Never mind my fingers, Gerald. I’m not about to let you touch me, let alone make me a guinea pig for your unnatural science. Where’s Cathal? What have you done with him? Is he even alive?”

  Gerald lifted his head to look into her face, a placatory expression in his eyes. She could see now that he still needed her. He did not want to drive her to the point where she felt she had nothing to lose, fearing she might go off and do something reckless and damaging. She showed him the fingers, keeping her voice low so that only Tatty, and none of the other relatives could hear.

  “I took a look inside your insane pipe organ, Gerald!” she hissed. “It nearly cost me my life, but I’ve seen what you’re doing to those engimals. What the hell’s it all for? And where’s Cathal?”

  “He’s alive and well, at least for now,” he muttered. “And he’ll stay that way if he causes me no more trouble.”

  “And how long, exactly, do you expect Cathal to remain obedient?” Tatty demanded. “Given that he is quite the most contrary creature on the face of the Earth?”

  “Come down to the laboratory and let me have a look at your fingers,” Gerald said again to Daisy. “They could become infected if they are not treated properly. There’s no need to be suspicious, I’m only being rational. I need you in full health, Daisy. Brutus needs your help.”

  She glared back at him, but the selfish part of her knew Gerald could probably do more to repair her fingers than anyone else in the country. If they became infected, they might have to be amputated. The nerve damage was already affecting her ability to move them properly and she was concerned the disability might be permanent. She was also still vain enough to worry about how disfigured her hand would be.

  “I’ll come down after I’ve met with Brutus,” she told him. “I need some time to gather the relevant papers together.”

  He nodded and walked out. Tatty wanted to ask about the damaged hand, and chat about everything else that was going on, but Daisy excused herself and started out into the corridor. It could take all day to outline the workings of the estates and the transport network—all year, if Brutus turned out to be in any way simple-minded, which was a distinct possibility.

  He had asked about the mines in Glendalough too, which surprised her, as Gerald had closed them down the previous year with no explanation. He had fired most of the miners and moved the rest, and most of the equipment, off to other sites. It was one of the many times that he had moved workers or res
ources from one job to another without consulting her, or giving any reason. But the surveyors said there were still rich seams of ore under Camaderry, and since they were sitting there unused, she had set about selling off the mines to make up for some of the money and property Gerald was draining from the Company.

  Daisy came to a sudden halt in the corridor, clutching her brow with her uninjured hand.

  “Aaaaah … oh, you idiot!” she exclaimed.

  She had forgotten the note that had been slipped under her door: The mines in Glendalough. Of course! Hadn’t Leo told her about his trip out to the mountains to see ‘Big Uncle’ and Gerald’s new machines? God, sometimes she felt like a dimwit. She started hurrying towards the elevators as fast as dignity and her skirts would allow. Ringing the bell to summon the mechanical lift, she bounced restlessly on her feet as it descended. The lift took far too long to reach the fifteenth floor, where her office was located. She emerged from the lift, told the boy to wait there for her, ran to her office, unlocked it and rushed inside, taking a large ring of keys from her desk drawer. From there, she took the elevator down to the tenth floor, where the property office was located. None of the staff had shown up for work yet—the office did not open until eight o’clock.

  She did not know how long she would be allowed to keep these keys, which could unlock every door on the business floors of Wildenstern Hall. She had to make good use of them now.

  Turning a corner in the corridor, she discovered Tatty crouching down at the door of Oliver’s office. She was picking the lock. With a gasp, she looked up and saw Daisy. Then she let out a shaky breath.

  “Good Lord, you gave me a fright,” she said. “Thought you might be Oliver.”

  “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  “Poking around,” Tatty replied, as if this were a perfectly satisfactory reply.