A Spark Unseen

by Cameron, Sharon

  I straightened. Ben Aldridge was coming across the cavern, almost to the other side of the table that held the fish. He was elegantly dressed, as if he’d come from a party, his blond hair combed back, the side whiskers neat. I searched again but I could see no other entrance. Had he come from the crypt, or from the other direction, farther down the passage? Uncle Tully’s fingers did not slow, and he did not acknowledge Ben’s presence.

  “I thought it must be you,” Ben was saying, sounding pleased, as if I’d happened to drop in for tea just when he wanted me for business. “But where is your entourage? Don’t you keep a string of suitors about you these days? Or have you discouraged them all by running about in caps and trousers?”

  I did not answer, just watched him warily as he came around the fish to my side of the table. I had no idea what to do, other than stay alive until my hour was up. At least Ben seemed to be alone. The room was deeply quiet beneath the hiss of gas and my uncle’s distracted muttering. I backed into the table as Ben reached around my neck and pulled off Lane’s cap, clucking in disapproval as he tossed it to the table.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” he said, reminding me weirdly of Uncle Tully. “Never braids, Miss Tulman. I liked you better as a wood nymph, like the last time, when you came to my cottage all dirty and wild and with leaves in your hair.”

  Thankfully he did not touch my hair.

  “You quite impressed my father the other night. The emperor was rather taken with you, I think.”

  “Do you have guncotton in here?”

  “Oh, I do apologize. Such a shame about the smell. But I’m finished with the production process, at least for now. The barrels behind you there are full of the stuff. Quite watered down,” he said, “so not to worry. Unless you fire a rifle into it, of course. But you demonstrated the danger of that rather well, didn’t you, Miss Tulman?”

  I saw the six large barrels behind me. If the tiny amount from before had blown Ben’s boat to smithereens, and if the empty chamber before me held enough to destroy a ship, then what would six barrels do to the shops, streets, and houses above us? Ben smiled as he ran his hand along the spine of the enormous fish. “She’s a beauty, don’t you think?”

  I had no response. My uncle moved, reaching for a spool of wire, and then a clank near his feet drew my eyes downward. Uncle Tully had a shackle around his left ankle, linked to a ring driven into the stone wall by a length of heavy chain. A trickle of rage ran down my spine, the cold kind. I lifted my eyes to Ben Aldridge.

  “I think my father will be more than pleased with his surprise. How shall he honor the son that hands him victory in the Crimea? And that should make you happy, too, Miss Tulman. You’d like to see Britain win this war, wouldn’t you? But it will be the Bonapartes that dominate the seas, in the end. And who will stand against them then?” He patted the fish. “Your Uncle Tully really is a marvel. Aren’t you, Mr. Tulman?” His voice rose on this last question, as if my uncle were hard of hearing. “Thank goodness I didn’t let you lock him away. All the trouble I’ve gone to, more than a year of work in the strictest of secrecy, all without making any headway at all, and Mr. Tully had the dashed thing fixed in less than five minutes.”

  My eyes darted to the fish, and then back to my obliviously working uncle, the burning, flaming knot inside of me growing heavy with dread. Oh, no, Uncle Tully. No. Ben chuckled, reaching one finger inside the fish to swing a little strip of dangling metal back and forth.

  “A pendulum, Miss Tulman. A pendulum! Of all things. Creating perfect balance. Just like a clock. So simple, childlike simplicity, and yet sheer, unadulterated brilliance. Yes, I think my father is going to be very pleased indeed.”

  I was breathing, trying to stay calm, trying not to think of ironclad ships exploding into ragged bits and the thousands of bodies that would be the result, like the bones I’d just walked through. Trying not to think of the disgusting shackle around my uncle’s ankle. But the most immediate danger was that my uncle was working, and I was not needed, and Ben was telling me everything. I needed to live for at least fifteen more minutes, until Lane came.

  “Miss Tulman,” said Ben, smiling hugely, “you’ve had a trying time in Paris, and you seem … rather distressed. Do sit with me a moment. I’ve some things I’d like to discuss.”

  He indicated a wooden box behind me as if it were a brocaded chair, waiting politely for me to sit first. My uncle chattered on, incoherent. I stayed where I was.

  “I desire that you would sit,” Ben said, his voice gone cold. I sat, and when he had done the same, he said, “Miss Tulman, this enmity between us accomplishes little, don’t you think? Have you ever considered that there is much to be gained with our understanding?”

  My lips parted in disbelief.

  “Katharine,” he said gently. It made me shudder. “Have you ever considered that I can give you everything you have ever wanted?”

  “You know nothing of what I want.”

  “Don’t I? What if I told you that your uncle could have a workshop like this, a much better one than this, better than anything he’s ever had, that he could live out his days making every brilliant thing that pops into his head?” He leaned forward, boyish face serious. “What if I told you that I could make sure that Mr. Tully never sees the inside of an asylum?”

  I stared.

  “I can make that happen, Miss Tulman. And you can be with him, no thought of separation. I can set you up in Paris, in luxury you’ve never known. Infamy is of no concern when there is power behind it, and the emperor likes you. You would be perfectly independent, doing exactly as you wished. Bring Lane Moreau with you, if you can find him. I care not. Or if Paris is truly not to your taste, then by all means take your uncle to Stranwyne and we will build his workshop there. Have you thought of a proper hospital for the village, with the newest treatments, or teachers that are not the outcasts of society? The place would be the model of England, and how life would be improved for those who live there! Perhaps you would like to repair the house, to bring it back to its glory days in the time of your grandmother? A steward to run it for you?”

  I sat on my crate, hair in braids and wearing absurd trousers, my uncle murmuring nonsense behind me, a man spewing nonsense in front of me, and a weapon of incredible destruction to my side, all in an underground cavern that would defy common belief. And for one moment, sitting there, I tasted the sweetness of what was offered me. Respect, independence, the freedom to do and even marry as I pleased. A complete and lifelong protection of my uncle, who would live in a world of unblemished happiness. It was utterly charming. Ben smiled.

  “I would do it all, Miss Tulman, every bit. Happily, and all I would need is the result of your uncle’s work. Can you imagine what other wonders reside in his head? He has already won a war for two countries. What might he do next for mankind?”

  My uncle muttered on about clocks and their turnings, the chain on his ankle clinked, and I was back in my reality. These lies were mirrors and bright light, honey and ambrosia, pretty words whispered in a glittering, gilded, velvet cage. I rejected them. I would not live like Mrs. Hardcastle. And then, just on the edge of hearing, I thought I heard an echo from the tunnel. “Did I tell you that I met your mother the other day?” I said quickly.

  The smile on Ben’s face froze. “Then I’m sure you heard many interesting things.”

  “Oh, yes. She told me all about her Louis. She said he never came to see you, though you were such a handsome child.”

  “He sees me now, Miss Tulman. Do we have an agreement?”

  “But what about the empress? I am still rather concerned about what she will —”

  “That woman has nothing to do with me. Nothing!”

  He was getting agitated now, but words were the only weapons of distraction at my disposal. “But will she stand aside, do you think, while Napoléon makes another woman’s child his heir to —”

  “You think he will not?” Ben yelled, leaping to his feet. I felt my uncle jump a bit
behind me, but he kept on working. “You think the emperor will ignore me? He will have no need to look further than me! There will only be him and me!”

  He went still, breathing hard, and I thought for a moment he was calming until he hit me hard across the face with the back of his hand, spinning me around and down behind the wooden crates that surrounded my uncle.

  And that was when a shot rang out in the tunnel.

  Lights danced behind my eyes, the gas jets above my head sparkling. There was wood beneath my hands, and I heard the grunting, crashing noise of men fighting. I blinked, tasted blood in my mouth, and pushed myself upward in a daze. Beneath the table, I saw a jumble of thrashing legs, then the legs seemed to sort themselves and the bodies stilled.

  “Bloody fool!” Ben was screaming.

  I heard Lane say my name.

  “Shut him up,” Ben yelled.

  “Katharine?”

  I stood shakily and saw Lane, disheveled but unhurt, his hands up, palms out, and then Henri with rumpled hair and a bloodied nose, tense and still, a pistol pressed to the back of his head. The man at the trigger was Robert, Mary’s Robert from the courtyard. My heart skipped and sank. Not Mrs. DuPont, then, but Mary. No wonder they’d known where to find Uncle Tully. What had she said to Robert, and did she even know she’d done it? I glanced at my uncle, who had evidently never stopped working. His fingers were flying, coiling wire, and he was muttering, repeating the same words over and over, “Not to touch, not to touch …”

  “… told them to watch the church!” Ben was still yelling. “No one to come but her!” He swung around to Lane.

  “You! Why did you come back here? This has nothing to do with you anymore!”

  “I disagree,” Lane said quietly. “This has everything to do with you and me.”

  “Shut him up!”

  These directions were being yelled at Robert, who had at least some English, because he was trying to do as Ben asked. The gun swung its aim from Henri’s head to Lane’s. Henri let out a breath.

  “Not to touch, not to touch, not to touch,” Uncle Tully muttered.

  I met Lane’s gaze, my head humming. He was dusty and dirty from the tunnel, making his skin even darker, and in contrast his eyes were almost startling, beautiful and possibly dangerous, like the sea. He held me with his look, as if the cavern had narrowed to the size of the tunnel, as if there were no one else in the room, and then his gaze slid once to the side.

  “Shut him up!” Ben ordered, only now I realized he was speaking of Uncle Tully. Robert didn’t seem to be sure where he should point the gun. I looked hard at Lane. Where were Joseph and his pistol? The gray eyes made the movement one more time, and I realized with a start that my body, the body of Mary’s young man with the swiveling gun, and the entrance to the cavern all made a straight line. And that there were six barrels of guncotton directly behind me. I gave Lane one almost imperceptible shake of my head.

  Henri was staring at my uncle as if transfixed, his nose bleeding freely, but he’d slipped one small step closer to Robert, who seemed to have settled on Lane for his target. I remembered the knife he had somewhere in his clothes.

  “Not to touch, not to touch, not to touch …” Uncle Tully muttered.

  Lane had turned back to Ben. “It’s time to settle this.” Ben actually laughed, and the gray eyes caught mine, and again slid to the right. I shook my head.

  “Settle what? Do you want a share of the money? A sliver of the glory? You should talk to dear Katharine. Ask her what I’ve offered.” Ben glanced once at me, grinning like a shark. When he did, Henri took another small step toward Robert, whose eyes were trained on Ben, waiting for instruction. “Tell him what I am giving you, love,” he said.

  I didn’t answer, my uncle’s voice mixing with the humming in my head and the blood pumping in my ears. I shook my head again at the movement of Lane’s eyes, wondering if he could somehow tell Joseph not to shoot.

  “I’m going to give her everything. And what can you give her?”

  The gray gaze bore back into Ben. “Nothing much.”

  “That’s right. I am going to give her everything that you can’t, and she will take it. … Stay where you are!”

  Lane had taken two quick steps forward, risking Robert’s shaking hand. Robert had followed and Ben stepped back, while, unnoticed, Henri moved closer to Robert. It was like watching a mad dance, a dance that had nearly gotten Lane shot. But it had taken me out of what I guessed must be Joseph’s line of fire. I slid back, again aligning myself with Robert and the entrance. If Joseph’s shot hit the guncotton, we were all going to die, perhaps along with the people in the streets above us. I saw Lane’s gaze take in my movement, then lift to the barrels behind me.

  “Not to touch, not to touch …” said Uncle Tully.

  “If he moves again, shoot him!” Ben said. “Do you understand me? And make him be quiet!”

  This last order had been to me. My uncle worked frantically, paying no mind to any of us, deep in his own world. I wiped the blood from my mouth and, keeping my eyes on the scene in front of me, curled the fingers of my other hand around a small wrench. It would not hurt anyone, not much, but it might cause a distraction if needed. Ben was straightening his jacket, adjusting the cloth around his neck to its position before the scuffle.

  “I don’t know exactly what either of you think you are going to accomplish down here, Mr. Moreau. You’re not getting them out. In fact, I think it rather likely that Miss Tulman will not go. She might ask you to stay, though. You’ll have to decide what to do with Marchand. Wait and see if she …”

  Lane moved forward, two quick, long steps that again had Robert following and me gasping in terror. But Robert did not shoot; I could see the fear all over his face. Who he should have been fearing was Henri. Henri had again moved closer, deliberately staying silent, still out of reach, but now with something gleaming held just below his right shirtsleeve. Lane was going to have to risk that move again to get Robert out of line with the barrels of guncotton.

  “… not to touch, not to touch, not to …”

  “What I expect to accomplish,” Lane said, deadly calm, “is making certain that bloody machine and nothing like it ever sees the light of day …”

  “Not to touch, not to touch …”

  “… and to leave this place with all of them. The question is whether you wish to be alive or not when I do it.”

  Ben grinned, stretching the arms of his well-cut suit, looking heavenward in mock exasperation. “You realize I’m about to have you shot, don’t you?” I glanced at the gun shaking in Robert’s hand. “You know that I will be the one walking out of here with Mr. Tully and his niece? And that she is going to come willingly?” I gripped the wrench in my hand. “Because she knows I can give her what I promised.”

  “You can give her nothing that’s good enough,” Lane said, his voice very low.

  “Not good enough? Not good enough!” he yelled. “That, coming from you, to a Bonaparte? You are nothing! What can you do that I cannot? Name one thing I cannot give!”

  “Not to touch, not to touch, not to …”

  The gray eyes were all for Ben now, and they were stone. Lane put his hands in his pockets. I think he’d forgotten everything else, including the gun pointed at his head. “Give her Davy back,” he said. “And Mr. Babcock.”

  “And John George,” I whispered.

  “Not to touch, not to touch …”

  “Give her back the last eighteen months. Can you do that?”

  “Not to touch, not to touch, not to touch …”

  “Shut him up!” Ben screamed.

  “Give Mr. Tully back his old workshop, and all the things he made there. Give me back the Lower Village.”

  It was as if the world had again narrowed, making it impossible to look away. Lane was furious, and there was something mesmerizing in the evenness of his rage.

  “It is you who are nothing,” he said. “You were always trying to make it not s
o, even when we were children. Only it still was.”

  “Stop it,” Ben said.

  “Not to touch, not to touch, not to touch …”

  “Everything you’ve tried to accomplish, every foul thing you ever did, all to fawn over a man who will not even give you his name, and instead of more, you were less.”

  “Shut him up!”

  “And you are still less.”

  “Not to touch, not to …”

  “So I ask you, when we leave here, do you wish to be alive, or not?”

  “Stop it! And shut him … What is he doing?”

  I broke from my trance and looked properly at my uncle. And suddenly I knew exactly what he was doing. The crate beside him, full of his things from the attic workshop, the wires running down to the glass jars in the crate, the hum that was not really in my head. And Uncle Tully, repeating and repeating his odd phrase at the parts that had taken shape on the table beside the fish, the blue-white spark reaching up and between two spindles. And then I saw Ben’s body tilting forward, straining to see over my uncle’s creation, the blue, empty eyes wide as he spotted the strange flame; and I saw Lane’s brows coming down, his hand coming up, and the wires now connected to the fish’s metal frame. I watched Lane’s arm stretch, and Ben leaning, both Ben’s hands coming down toward the fish.

  “Stop!” I screamed. And Lane did.

  There was a blinding flash and Ben’s body convulsed, crackling, eyes unblinking, staring straight at my uncle as he shook, stuck to the fish as if to a magnet. Smoke went up, a corona of purple fire and light blazing from his hands. A part of me realized that there was screaming, that it was coming from my mouth, and that the word I was screaming was “No!” Robert had dropped the gun and was reaching for Ben, to wrench him away from the fish and, as soon as he touched Ben’s body, he was thrown violently, almost supernaturally across the room, hitting the metal press before he fell to the floor. Ben dropped as Robert did and the crackling stopped, leaving only the smaller hum of the blue flame between the spindles.