by Oisin McGann
“Don’t know,” Nate replied through tight lips. “The original particles took over the minds of humans, so perhaps Gerald discovered how to move particles from one person’s brain to another. Or perhaps he moved the whole brain. He obviously held onto Brutus’s body, after he said he’d destroyed it—kept it frozen in those refrigerators of his. I saw Fathers body in the coffin, so either he somehow swapped that out at the last minute or he must have kept Father’s brain. With Gerald, who can tell how he goes about these things?”
“It seems a lot of bother just to have an assistant to run the family”
“It’s always about the thrill of discovery, for Gerald,” Nate told her. “Though I wouldn’t put it past him to have resurrected Edgar as an extra distraction, to put me off my game. He must have known I’d come back and try and stop him. Always looking to the future is Gerald.” Nate rubbed his hands together—his palms were sweating, but the hands were still steady. “That’s what’s so scary about fighting the bugger. He’s always a few steps ahead of you.”
The Wildenstern nursery was in the south wing, one of the oldest parts of the house, away from the tower where most of the family’s day-to-day affairs were carried out. It had once been part of the Norman keep that the Wildensterns had built when they arrived in Ireland centuries before. The room itself had once been the main hall, and it was now decorated in bright colors and equipped with rocking horses, tea sets and all manner of other, well-crafted toys. But its thick stone walls, low deep doorways and narrow windows could contain any clamorous noise a gaggle of children might make. Daisy had fought to move the nursery to a brighter, airier room, but this had been its location when all the current adults had been children, and they maintained it had done them no harm. As far as they were concerned, Daisy’s attempts to move the nursery was one breach of tradition too many.
It seemed that Elizabeth agreed. As Nate and Daisy burst into the room, they found wisps of smoke already threading through the air. The roof of this wing was on fire, and they could hear the roar of flames from the floor above. Elizabeth was standing on the far side of the room, holding a crossbow. Leopold was playing with some wooden animals in the corner nearest her. He waved at Nate and Daisy and went back to his game.
“Ah, the traitors!” she said, as if welcoming some eagerly anticipated guests. She leveled the weapon at them. “Do come in and sit down. Leopold and I were just waiting for Brutus to return, before we made our escape.”
“What if he doesn’t return?” Nate asked cautiously.
The bolt loaded into the crossbow had an explosive tip—obviously intended to kill the most invulnerable Wildenstern.
“Of course he will return!” she exclaimed in a manic voice, tinged with hysteria. She raised the crossbow slightly. “I said, sit down! My brother will be along momentarily. He would not desert me!”
No, thought Nate. But Edgar Wildenstern would drop you in a heartbeat. If he had a heart.
“Think of your son, Elizabeth!” Daisy pleaded with her. “We have to take Leopold out of here! And you’ve just said you were pregnant, for goodness sake. Do you want your child to die before it’s even born? Come with us—please!”
“Leave the castle?” the older woman sneered. “Without the means of defending ourselves against that horde of miscreants outside? I think I shall take my chances within the protection of these walls. NOW, SIT DOWN!”
Daisy glanced down dubiously at the wooden, child-sized seats behind them as Nate wondered how traumatized Leopold would be if they snatched him and left his mother to burn. Elizabeth was sure to be an expert shot, but Nate judged the distance across the floor to be less than a dozen paces. If he threw something at her to spoil her aim—
With a creaking, snapping sound, part of the ceiling gave way and a chunk of burning wreckage the size of a traveling trunk crashed down into the room just to the left of Elizabeth. She flinched away and Nate dived across the floor. He did a forward roll, pulling his gun from under his jacket, and came up with it aimed at her chest. But the crossbow was already pointing with deadly stillness at his throat. Elizabeth tutted and shook her head. Leopold let out a cry. His frightened eyes went from the fire creeping across one side of the room, to the sight of his mother and father pointing deadly weapons at each other. Confusion, fear and panic were written on his face.
The curtains on the window nearest the blaze caught fire. More burning debris fell from the floor above, and they could hear wood crackling and breaking. Daisy rushed across to pick up Leopold and carry him away from the fire. Another section of the ceiling collapsed, pulling down flaming rafters, floorboards and furniture with it. The room was full of smoke now. A wooden rocking horse, knocked into motion by a piece of smoldering debris, caught fire, its paint igniting like paraffin and gusting into a lively blaze. The toy box next to it began to burn. Dolls made from wood, cloth, or even celluloid, painted lead soldiers and wooden trains all combined to make an admirable tinderbox. The black areas of floor around the fallen wreckage were spreading, orange flickers feeding on the thick carpet and growing in size and strength. Daisy edged past the flaming rocking horse towards the door.
“Move another step and I’ll shoot him through his throat!” Elizabeth shrieked over the noise, coughing as smoke caught in her throat. “Put … put down my son!”
“He’s going to die if we stay here!” Nate shouted at her.
“Then at least we’ll all burn together!” she snarled. “Better that we die than we be savaged by that vermin outside!”
“Get out of here, Daisy!” Nate called out, his gun still raised, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth and the crossbow she held aimed at his throat. “Don’t mind me. Take him and go!”
Daisy hugged Leopold to her, pressing his face into her shoulder. She blinked, tears welling in her eyes from the fumes. Coughs wracked her chest and she felt the choking, gritty air contaminating her lungs. The smoke would finish them even before the flames could consume them. They could not stay here any longer. She looked in desperation at Nate, then turned her eyes to the door.
XXXIV
REVOLT
TATTY WAVED TO THE MOB of people behind her, calling for just a dozen of them to follow her inside. She had taught herself to mimic Cathal’s voice as closely as possible, in order to pass herself off all the better as a young man. But she had always found bellowing in a deep voice difficult, and had never convinced herself that she could do so in a truly credible fashion. But people believe what they want to believe, and if her call to attack sounded somewhat shrill, that fact was overlooked as the oppressed tenants of the Wildenstern estate followed their black-clad folk hero as he rode his horse up the steps and through the front door of Wildenstern Hall. They were eager to capture as many of the tyrants as possible.
And while Tatty was sincere in her support of this angry mob, she was also intent on sparing any servants who had remained and might bear the brunt of the rioters. She planned too to limit the violence to seizing her relatives, rather than tearing them limb from limb. Whether she would succeed in restraining the mob was another matter entirely.
Some of the Wildensterns had chosen to stand and fight for their home, even as it burned down around them. Things could turn nasty very quickly. She knew for certain that Gideon kept a small cannon loaded with grapeshot in his room, and two of her cousins bred packs of savage attack dogs. And God only knew what booby-traps had been set in the hallways.
A handful of the most loyal and hard-bitten servants had also chosen to stay and defend the house. Two of these stalwart footmen were crossing the massive entrance hall as Tatty rode in, and were taken by surprise as she rode them down, kicking one to the floor as his colleague was rammed aside by her horse. Tatty jumped down from the saddle, drew a pistol with her left hand and a saber with her right, shouting at the two men to run for their lives as she started up the wide curving staircase on the right side of the hall. Instead of the
dozen she had called for, scores of the people swept in behind her, their improvised weapons held up in readiness. Some of them stopped to set fire to the priceless tapestries and wall hangings with their torches, or throw family portraits to the floor and stab them repeatedly with their pitchforks.
Checking her scarf was still firmly pulled up over her face, she tipped the brim of her hat a little lower and set off along one of the hallways, making for the staff elevator at the back of the house. It was the fastest way down to the underground train platform beneath the building. She was in no doubt that most of the family would attempt to escape by train, and it was a long way round on the surface to the trainsheds on the far side of the mountain, and the entrance to the tunnel. It took the train up to an hour, starting from cold, to build up steam, but it could be in use at any time of the day or night and there was always a crew on standby. Even now, the train could be reversing back into the mountain to the underground platform, to pick up the fleeing family and carry them away to safety. If it had occurred to any of the enraged tenants to come at the house from that side of the hill, it would be devilishly easy to derail that train as it emerged at speed from the mouth of the tunnel. Tatty wanted this wrapped up with as few lives lost as possible.
One of Gideon’s sons leaned round a corner in the corridor, his rifle aimed straight at Tatty. Dropping her sword, she threw herself in through an open doorway even as her cousin’s shot hit someone behind her. With her back to the door, she slid over onto her side and kicked herself back out along the hall floor, her pistol already raised. She fired three shots. One took the young Wildenstern in the leg, one missed and the third hit him in the shoulder. He spun against the wall and collapsed to the floor. The mob rushed forward, shouting curses and threats. Their fury frightened her, and as they laid into the wounded young man she came to the sinking realization that their rage could not be easily restrained.
“Don’t kill him!” she cried, running out into the hallway. Realizing her voice was too high-pitched, she called again in a deeper tone, “Tie him up and get him outside! There are more where he came from!”
But the mob would not be denied their revenge. This was the first Wildenstern they could get their hands on, and he screamed as they kicked him and beat him with the handles of their weapons.
“Stop!” she roared again.
“Stand back there!” another voice commanded—one that was used to being obeyed. “We are not animals! Hold back and let that wretch be! You’ll have your reckoning, but not like this! Stand back!”
Eamon Duffy shoved his way through the crowd, followed by his masked gang of Fenians. They hauled the attackers away from the battered form of the young Wildenstern.
“Bind him and drag him outside,” he instructed two of his men. “Everyone else, follow me. And mind how you go, this place is a bloody death trap. Don’t open any doors or take any stairs without my say-so.”
He nodded curtly to Tatty, a slight smile creasing the corners of his eyes. She wondered if he had guessed her identity. They had met enough times for him to recognize her voice if he heard it. If Duffy suspected, he did not let it show, turning to lead the newly disciplined mob along the hallway. Snatching up her sword, she hurried to catch up with him. It was only then that she realized he was looking around, unsure of where to go.
“We need to get to the train platform,” she muttered to him, so that only he could hear. “Left at the end of the corridor, then through the atrium to the servants’ elevator.”
“Thank you, Miss … I mean, eh … thank you, lad,” he replied softly. “I had lost my bearings there for a minute. This mob needs to be directed somewhere, or lose the run of itself. The train platform it is.”
At the T-shaped junction in the corridor, Duffy took a quick look around the corner, gently pressed Tatty back against the wall and looking around at the eager faces behind her put a finger to his lips. He nodded to another two of his men and tipped his head towards the corner. Stepping out and left, with his revolver raised in front of him, he walked slowly and carefully towards the door at the end of the hallway, with his two men close on his heels. . Another fellow stood by the corner on the other side, keeping his gun trained to the right, watching for anyone from that direction. Tatty had been glad to have Duffy take command of the mob, but resented being left behind.
She rounded the corner just as the door swung open at the far end of the corridor. There was just a second to glimpse the massive gun mounted on small carriage wheels, its ten rotating barrels fed with a large stick magazine set into the top. And then it opened fire.
The ear-piercing shots came so fast they were almost on top of each other. Duffy and his two men were caught halfway down the corridor, with nowhere to hide. Bullets riddled their bodies, punching holes through their thighs and torsos and spraying blood across the carpet and walls. Tatty jerked back round the corner as the gun swiveled and pounded bullets into the plaster and floor where she had been standing.
“What in Christ’s name is that?” one of Duffy’s men asked, the color drained from his face. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, we can’t fight that!”
“It’s a Gatling gun,” Tatty said through gritted teeth.
She was trying to get the image of Duffy’s last moment out of her mind, but it filled her head, blotting out all other thoughts. Panic welled up inside her. What was she doing here? She was no soldier—she was a young girl, still in her teens. What was she thinking? She had sent Duffy down that hallway. Fear and doubt paralyzed her. This was not the first time she had experienced violence or witnessed death, but she had led them all here and now going any further would cost even more lives. What had she done?
“We need grenades,” one man said.
“We used all we had just to get down past the nutters in the bleedin’ tower,” another replied. “Look, we didn’t come this far just to get turned back now. If we rush them, we’re bound to take ’em if there’s enough of us firin’ at once.”
“Is that right, Francie? And how many of us d’you think they’ll kill before we nail ’em?”
Tatty took some deep shuddery breaths and stood up, supporting herself by leaning on the wall. In the instant before it had opened fire, she had seen the two men operating the Gatling gun. They were servants, not members of the family. There was one thing she could do. So much for her secret identity.
“You men out there!” she shouted, making no attempt to disguise her voice this time. “This is Tatiana Wildenstern! Stand down from that weapon!”
Pulling her scarf down from her face, she turned away from the stunned men standing with her and threw her hat to the floor. Unwrapping the scarf, she undid her ruffled blonde hair and shook it free. Some of them uttered curses, or let out gasps of amazement. Others just stared, unable to believe their eyes. Remembering the tone Duffy had used to exert his will over the mob, she put all the confidence and authority she could muster into her words. It was no easy feat when her chest felt so tight it was as if it was bound with iron bands.
“Stand down, I say!” she commanded, and then stepped out into the hallway, pistol in one hand, sword in the other.
The gun did not open fire. Staring down its ten smoking barrels, she did not shy away from its glare, walking straight towards the gun along its line of fire. Two men crouched behind it, one on the crank handle to fire it, the other with a spare magazine in his hands. They stared at her with uncertain eyes.
“Stand down!” she snapped at them again.
Still they did not move, but they did not fire either. Tatty felt her stomach clench as she stepped over Duffy’s ruined body, suppressed the urge to throw up as her boots squelched in the blood soaking into the green, ivy-patterned carpet. The bore of each of the ten barrels was like a gaping mouth, ready to spit hot lead through her. The air was soaked with the smell of gunsmoke, the tang of blood.
“Stand down!”
She was
only a few yards away, a few paces. Still they did nothing. Raising her pistol, she let all the wild emotion churning inside her show in her face, let them hear it in her voice as she aimed her gun at one and then the other.
“Do as you’re bloody told, you ignorant swines! Stand down or I’ll shoot you down!”
Their nerve broke. The two servants staggered back, away from the huge gun, and then turned and ran as Duffy’s peasant army flooded into the corridor behind Tatty. Men crowded round her, congratulating her, unsure of how to treat this upper-class lady in the guise of a criminal. Some patted her on the back, and then drew back, fearing the consequences of this inappropriate contact. Others wanted to lift her onto their shoulders, but Duffy’s lieutenants shook their heads discreetly. No matter how unconventional a lady might be, seeing her manhandled onto a crowd of strangers’ shoulders was a step too far in any man’s book.
Tatty was a little disappointed at their discretion. Truly, even in this modern world, there were still places a woman could not go.
Leaning back against a door, she waved them on, needing to pause for a moment and collect herself before continuing. That had taken a lot out of her. Clutching her shaking hands, she let out a near-hysterical laugh, feeling a glow of triumph before a bitter grief descended over her as her eyes were drawn back to the three men lying dead in the hallway.
As the last of the mob moved on towards the servants’ elevator, Tatty stood up straight. She was dimly aware of someone whistling a tune. It was a lullaby and, listening to it, she was filled with a calm, sleepy sensation, one which gave her relief from the misery she was feeling.
Then the door opened behind her and a pair of hands yanked her inside.
XXXV
AN APOCALYPTIC CHOICE OF MUSIC