by Anne Renwick
“The corneal epithelium is highly keratinized.”
The features of the man bent over her were indistinct, obscured not by the decilamp he held, but by the bright argon lamps above them. There was a soft scratching sound. Miss Russel taking dictation?
“The sclera is thick,” he continued. “Excellent for withstanding the pressures of diving. But there is only a hint of a nictitating membrane.”
“She’s awake,” the boy announced in a small voice. “Is she cured?”
“Yes. Now hush, Thomas,” Miss Russel said. The sound of her pencil moving never stopped.
The light blinked off, and Isa caught an unfocused glimpse of a pale, emotionless face before the smoky and distorting goggle lenses were pulled over her eyes again.
“Water, please,” she whispered. Her lips were dry and cracked, and a chin strap left her barely able to form the words. Though her stomach growled, she didn’t dare ask for anything more. How long had she been in captivity? What had happened to Alec? Had he come to harm? Or was he even now wondering what had become of her?
“I think she’s hungry too,” Thomas spoke up once more. “Isn’t possible to feed a person by sticking a tube in their arm.”
“All that is necessary to sustain the creature has been done,” Miss Russel hissed.
“She’s a woman,” the boy objected. “And pretty. Why are you being so mean?”
“Thomas,” the man’s voice was stern. “I’ve explained the need to collect information. Do you recall what is at stake?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said, contrite.
“Now not another word, or there will be no sweets after supper.” The man cleared his throat. “To resume. Dry body temperature elevated one degree above that of human core temperature.” Cold metal probes touched against the sides of her nose. “Initiating nostril exam.”
A bolt of electricity ran through and across Isa’s nose, spreading outward. Her back arched, and she squealed in agony as the voltage contracted a number of facial muscles to their limits.
“Subject possesses musculature to close the nostrils, most likely the nasalis muscle,” he noted while Isa panted in pain, unable to wipe the tears that ran downward from the corner of her eyes. “Closure is sufficient to prevent water entry during submersion.”
“That hurt her!” the boy objected.
“Thomas!”
“Recorded,” said Miss Russel. “Lung capacity is next on the list.”
“Now, Mrs. McQuiston,” the man said. “We need to record the full amount of air you are able to inhale and exhale in preparation for a dive. It’s a simple matter of breathing—as deeply and as strongly as possible—though a spirometer. I am going to remove the chin strap. Cooperate and Miss Russel will provide you with oral nourishment.”
The buckle fell free, but before Isa could ask any questions or make any demands, rubber tubing was forced between her teeth. Two fingers pinched her nose closed.
“Exhale first. Then seal your lips and inhale as deeply as possible,” the man commanded.
With no real choice but to breathe through the tube, she did her best to reduce the volume of air moving into and out of her lungs. Isa refused to allow them to collect accurate data on the lung capacity of a Finn. They knew too much already.
“Mmm,” he said. “Rather low. Perhaps because she’s still recovering from the amoeba infection.”
A bell clanged in a distant corner of the room. The man and Miss Russel exchanged silent glances, then set down their instruments and hurried off to investigate.
A small hand shoved wet strands of hair away from her face. “Sorry,” the boy said, leaning close. “I can try to slip you one of my biscuits later.” He paused. “Unless it’s true what he says, that you would prefer raw fish?”
“No fish,” Isa rasped. Sensing a potential ally, she added, “But tea would be lovely.”
“I knew it!” the boy exclaimed. “You are human.”
Miss Russel stomped back, yanking Thomas by the arm. “Do not speak to the creature, Thomas.”
“But she wants tea!” he whined.
“Go. Now. You have a math assignment to complete.”
“But—”
“Now, Thomas!”
Isa’s small friend ran away.
“There will be no forthcoming tea,” Miss Russel snapped, pushing a rubber tube between Isa’s lips. “Drink.”
Isa sucked. And nearly gagged as the nasty taste of fermented cod liver oil met her tongue. This was what the woman imagined the Finn people consumed in lieu of tea? But fat was a substance unavailable to her via an intravenous line. She drank every last drop. The moment she was done, the woman yanked the chin strap back into place, snapping Isa’s teeth together, buckling it more tightly than before.
“Well, well, well,” the man said. His footsteps came to a stop beside her. “Now that I have managed to secure an Ichor machine and a proper program card, I can definitively say that this woman’s husband was brilliant. If only he’d shared his work earlier, there would have been no reason to see his work so abruptly terminated.”
Isa inhaled sharply, the leather straps digging into the skin of her chest. Had this man seen Anton killed? She squinted, trying to make out his features through the lenses. Miss Russel had called him “my lord” and he knew—had known—her husband. Could it be Lord Roideach? Not that she would know; she’d never been introduced.
“The Ichor machine has provided us with fascinating data.” Paper rustled in his hands. “As suspected, in hypoxic conditions, she strongly expresses factor Q. The protein allows her blood to bind oxygen at twice that of human blood and explains why a Finn can stay submerged for up to twenty minutes at a time. That makes her a most excellent candidate for our project.”
Factor Q. Project. This had to be Lord Roideach. Fear clawed at her skin like sea lice. Not only did it sound as if he’d played a role in Anton’s death, but he didn’t consider her—a Finn—to be human. A state of mind that would make it all that much easier for him to conduct experiments upon her and her people.
“Do you think the data will convince the committee to continue their funding?” Miss Russel asked.
“CEAP is to receive only the basic physiological data. As our private sponsor procured the Ichor machine, the Q status of our test subjects is to be considered among the proprietary information. Never forget he holds the trump card, Miss Russel.”
“Of course not, my lord.” Was she mistaken, or did Isa detect a hint of acid in the assistant’s voice? “Are there any further tests you wish to run before we return her to the tank?”
“I need fine needle biopsies of her liver and spleen to examine potential location of blood reservoirs.” Steel instruments rattled upon a metal tray as he searched for the right tool. “Perhaps a lung biopsy as well.”
What? “No! Please!” But only a strangled, feral cry emerged from Isa’s throat. One to which they paid no heed.
Chapter Nineteen
BY THE TIME DUSK FELL, Alec stood amidst a copse of trees, studying Allanach Castle. Reports of its reconstruction were greatly exaggerated. It was inhabitable, but just barely. The roof of the keep had been restored, though the same consideration had not been extended to the watchtower which rose above the loch at the end of the curtain wall, some distance from the main structure. Scaffolding climbed one side of the keep where it appeared glaziers were at work during the daylight hours, installing windows.
If any significant sum had been poured into this building, he was willing to bet he’d find the investment concentrated in the lower portion of the castle, in the dungeons, where screams were muffled and small, high-set barred windows discouraged prying eyes.
Once, before succumbing to mediocrity, Lord Roideach’s laboratory at the Institute was a source of groundbreaking marine biotechnology. Though his skirt-chasing tendencies and sudden, intense interest in his family history could explain the behaviors of many spoiled gentlemen, Alec was n
ow convinced something more underlay the man’s long absences from his laboratory.
What if Roideach had found compelling hypotheses that fell outside acceptable ethical parameters? Where better to pursue interests of the gray—or even black—variety than inside the walls of his very own ruinous, isolated castle? Like so many of the gentry, however, his funds were stretched thin. Which, if Alec’s supposition was correct, begged the subsequent question: who provided funding?
Alec already knew the why. Selkies.
In times past, the possibility of their existence would have been ignored by academia, lumped with the faerie, the stuff of myth and legends. But with the arrival of kraken and pteryforms, creatures so common now in London’s rivers and skies that they posed a nuisance, should he be surprised at such possibilities? Cryptozoologists were forever discovering new and strange animals—such as hyena fish. Why not, then, odd human variants?
Which circled Alec back to the conclusion that Isa was a selkie. Or that Roideach believed her to be one.
Not that it mattered. Experimentation upon unwilling human participants was not to be tolerated. Isa and her people were most definitely human, though they did appear to possess some extraordinary aquatic talents that might cause people to think otherwise. Such skills only strengthened the pull of her attraction upon him.
In the time he’d stood watch, Alec had detected no obvious guards, save the gardener and the shepherd who—given the late hour—showed a suspicious dedication to their assigned tasks. But they were obstacles easily eliminated. More worrisome was the fact that light only flickered behind three windows. Had instinct led him astray?
He’d find out as soon as the sun finished slipping over the horizon.
His primary goal was to rescue a damsel in distress. What happened next would depend upon what he found after breaching the castle walls. Or—he adjusted the focus of the sight upon his rifle—after scaling the scaffolding to slip through one particular low-set window secured by heavily oxidized iron bars.
How they would exit would depend upon Isa’s medical condition. With luck, they’d leave on the backs of the two black, clockwork horses that stood behind him, oiled and fine-tuned, their drive springs tightly wound. Given the proximity of the loch, he was also prepared for a wet exit. Alec might be on his own, but the fact that he had options at all was courtesy of his superior’s willful blindness.
Nearly an entire day had passed since he’d left Glasgow.
Preparing for his trek into the highlands to save one Mrs. Isa McQuiston, Alec had returned to the BURR operations room to acquire a few specialty items. The room had been dark, all men elsewhere.
“Is that you, Captain McCullough?” Fernsby asked, stepping from his office.
Hands on an air rifle and a box of tranquilizer darts, Alec froze. The timing couldn’t have been worse. “Pursuing a lead, sir,” he said, slowly turning to face his commanding officer.
“I regret to inform you that Mr. Black was unable to recover the samples recovered during your last mission. Commodore Drummond has declined an explanation and remains unapologetic.” Fernsby’s lips pressed together in displeasure. “However, I understand a woman—quite alive—rescued during this same mission has also gone missing?”
“Yes, sir.”
Fernsby lifted a sheet of paper and peered through spectacles perched upon the end of his nose. “According to Rip’s report, at least one individual appeared to have been attacked by an octopus while the rest of the human remains had been severed by the ‘razor-edged teeth of a biomechanical megalodon and fed upon by hundreds if not thousands of hyena fish’.”
“Accurate, sir.”
Eyebrows raised, Fernsby looked at Alec. “Quite a bloody scene, I imagine.”
“It was, sir.”
“While you were under the knife—again,” Fernsby’s eyebrow lifted, informing Alec that his continuing disability was noted and categorized as worrisome, “the rest of your team was called to Edinburgh. Seems we’re to be involved with providing security for the Iceland-Demark wedding as Queen Victoria’s personal gift to the bride and groom.” He shook his head. “Ridiculous, building a floating castle.”
“A floating castle?” Alec blinked, recalling his sister’s words. “Built of iron and steel?”
“And of copper and brass and about any alloy they could think to bolt, rivet or weld to the structure.” Fernsby waved a hand. “But it’s not your concern. Mr. Black made it clear that you are attached to the Queen’s agents until the situation surrounding this megalodon is resolved.”
“Yes, sir.” A moment’s stirring of regret—the mechanics of a floating castle aroused his curiosity—was quickly replaced by relief. No one would be ordering him to step away from his mission to discover and stop the biomech octopus attacks.
“Good. Fold any actions taken within the next forty-eight hours into the reports of this most recent mission.” Fernsby turned, calling over his shoulder as he disappeared back into his office. “I expect any equipment and munitions expended to be accounted for.” He fixed Alec with a look. “I’ve a promotion pending. As do you. Proceed accordingly.” His office door slammed.
Tacit permission received, Alec had wasted no time, dragging a large rucksack into the middle of the floor. Keeping in mind the very real possibility that he might be carrying Isa along with all his gear, he gathered the bare minimum of equipment and headed for the highlands. Several hours later, he’d arrived at Allanach Castle on horseback.
A gust of wind snapped his mind back to the present.
Night had fallen. Time to act. Alec lifted the air rifle’s sight to his eye, surveilling the castle and grounds once more. With a muffled pop, he dropped the shepherd amidst his flock with one dart. The TTX poison injected into his system would wear off in a few hours with no residual effects. The gardener fell next.
Slinging the rifle over his back and clipping his gear into place, Alec froze. There, in the distance, a figure rose from the water at the edge of the loch.
He yanked a spyglass from his pocket and lifted it to his eye. An icy chill took hold of his core. Dripping wet and wearing nothing but a simple pair of trousers, the man walked to the castle door—and was granted admittance. What the hell was Commodore Drummond doing here?
~~~
Isa woke with a start, heart pounding. Again she floated in the tank. The obfuscation goggles were in place, her wrists tightly bound. This time the water wasn’t ice cold, but rather pleasantly cool, like the sea in late summer. A gentle current circulated through the water. None of it calmed her in the slightest. They’d been far too interested in her blood.
She could make out Thomas sitting beside the tank, holding some kind of stick. But for the stick, the sight of the boy would have brought a certain measure of relief.
“If you promise not to scream, I’ll unbuckle the chin strap.”
Though her stomach churned, she nodded. What choice did she have? Screaming would only bring back Miss Russel or, worse, Lord Roideach. Waterlogged leather loosened from her chin, and the oxygen tube dropped away. “Why are you here?” she rasped, her voice rusty with disuse.
“Me?” He blinked, as if no one had ever asked. “Lord Roideach is my father. My mother is a selkie, like you.”
Her breath caught. Thomas was half Finn? Never before had Isa ever heard mention of Finn gentry, though this child might be exactly that. “Is your mother… here?” Had they married? Either way, Isa prayed Lord Roideach wouldn’t experiment upon his child’s mother.
Thomas jabbed at something in the water, then shook his head. “No. She found her seal skin and left when I was a baby.” His voice held a note of longing. Imagine that, heir to a viscounty, yet he wished himself something else entirely. “But sometimes she visits. Soon I’m going to the ocean to get my own seal skin.”
“We don’t have skins,” Isa said. Not in the sense he believed. Gray seal pelts were purely
ceremonial, traditionally given to children at the dipping ceremony when an elder presented them to the ancient sea gods. Perhaps he meant that? “Nor do we shape shift. But we are really good swimmers. Have you never been to the seaside?”
His head shook. “Father won’t allow it. I’m too valuable.”
“As the next viscount, of course,” she said.
“No. In the laboratory. He needs my blood. I have webbing between my fingers and everything.” His voice held a note of pride.
Something pliable touched her hip, the merest brush across her skin. Thomas jabbed his stick into the water again.
“What was that?” Isa cried, twisting on the rope that bound her wrists, her eyes struggling to focus on whatever swam through the water beside her. Ice crystallized in her veins and arteries.
Thomas ignored her. “But your blood is better even if your hair is red. Father says full-blooded selkies are better.”
“Better?” Her voice rose an octave as something rubbery curled about her thigh. When Thomas didn’t lift his stick, she kicked it away. “Thomas, what—exactly—is in the tank with me?”
“The tentacles,” he answered, as if she ought to know. “You shouldn’t have kicked that one away. That’s exactly where it needs to be. You’re lucky. It’s only been an hour and the tentacle has tried to stick to you seven times already.”
“What!” Her pulse thrashed in her ears as realization struck her with the force of a tidal wave. The tentacle was probing her leg, searching for a blood vessel. Like all the fishermen before her, she was about to become the biomech octopus’s newest victim.
“You promised you wouldn’t scream.” The boy reached toward her chin, toward the leather strap.
Isa yanked her face away. “Please, make it stop.”
“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “I don’t want to. But Father says if it works, he’ll take me to the seaside. I’ll get my own skin and then I can be with my mother. I’m tired of living in this castle. The loch is freshwater, and my mother doesn’t like that.”