Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles)

by Charlotte E. English

  Sniffing the air, Clara too caught a whiff of the acrid, coppery smell of black mercury. “There’s no way that holds two gallons,” she panted, breathless from the digging.

  “Barely a quart, I’d say,” Hildy agreed.

  They both looked at Lukas.

  He shrugged, then obviously regretted it when one of his crutches went clattering to the ground. “He had a lot more than that,” he said testily, stooping to retrieve the crutch. Clara went to help, though by the time she reached him he’d already regained it.

  “Oh, no.” Hildy closed her eyes for a moment. “Could he have used the rest already?”

  Clara couldn’t speak. The panic that had been fluttering in her belly rose to a roar and it was a struggle to draw breath. “Wait,” she said. “That might not be it. Maybe… he divided it up and hid it in several different places?” If so, he had to have split it into eight or nine parts. Daunting thought—but it was better than Hildy’s alternative.

  Hildy grabbed at that with both hands. “Yes!” she gasped. “That sounds very like Cas. But where would he put them all?”

  “Do you suppose he buried them all around the track?” Clara hazarded.

  Hildy and Lukas both shook their heads simultaneously. “We’ve searched two other places Cas might reasonably have chosen to hide bottles,” Hildy pointed out. “If we didn’t find anything in either place, I’d say that’s a bad sign. Could he possibly find seven other hiding places around here without using either of those two?”

  “I agree,” Lukas said.

  Clara covered her face with her hands. “So,” she said through her fingers, “there are up to seven other bottles somewhere in the city with the rest of Cas’s black mercury in. Assuming he hasn’t just used up the rest.”

  “Somewhere,” Hildy said grimly. “Right.”

  Clara scrubbed tiredly at her face, heedless of the mud she transferred from her soiled hands. “We can’t be sure we can find all those in time. We only have two days.”

  “An idea,” Hildy said shortly. “You two know Cas best. You carry on the search. Til and I will work on locating Cas.”

  Clara blinked at her. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “We’ve some idea of who might be responsible,” Hildy pointed out. “Matilda Bernat, as she calls herself, and her peculiar friend. Also, a Shadow. I’ll use Max’s connections—we can find something out.”

  “Do you really think you can find Cas’s captors?”

  Hildy shrugged, her shoulders stooped with weariness. “It’s worth a try. I’ll give our information to the police first, of course—since Max has already involved them, it’s too late to worry about that. Maybe they can come up with something. But in the meantime, Til and I will try what a couple of amateur detectives can do.”

  Clara nodded. “And we’ll keep after the mercury.” She looked down at the three pigeons, who had gone into a huddle on the floor. “Min, we’re going to need your flock. Every last one of your friends, please, and any other birds you can bring in. Your task is to keep the crows off us—and Hildy too.”

  “Captain!” yelled Min.

  “Min,” Clara said, gently but firmly. “This isn’t a joke. Cas’s safety is at stake. Please, do the best you can.”

  Min hopped over and stood on Clara’s foot, which she supposed she ought to take as a gesture of some sort of comfort. “Understood, Clarry,” Min said more quietly. “We can do this!” She hopped off Clara’s foot again and jumped into the air, turning a slow circle over their heads. “Let’s be off, boys! We’re gathering the flock!”

  She flew off, and Top and Bunce quickly followed.

  Lukas had kept out of the discussion for some time, but now he held up a hand. “Wait just a moment,” he said. “Is this even the best way to go about it? Wouldn’t it be quicker to go talk to Max again—or the police? I’m sure they could get a mere couple of gallons of black mercury released from the government.”

  “Possibly, but in less than two days?” Hildy snorted. “You heard Max before. And the police will try everything else before they’ll consider paying the ransom, for the same reasons Max gave. I don’t trust any of them enough to leave Cas’s safety in their hands.”

  Lukas sighed. “You’re probably right, but I feel we should at least try it.”

  “I’ll do my best on that, all right? I’ll be talking to the police soon anyway, and I can have one more try at persuading my brother. But I don’t hold out much hope. I need you two to do everything you can to find the rest of Cas’s bottles.”

  “Agreed,” Lukas said curtly.

  “Also,” Hildy added, “I assume we’re expecting another note at some point with details of the exchange, or so I hope. I’ll make sure Max sends a copy as soon as it arrives. Can we agree to leave word for each other, somewhere central?”

  “We can use the Goldstein head offices for that at least,” Clara suggested. “They’re pretty central and easy to reach from a lot of places.”

  “Right,” Hildy agreed. “Leave word with Albert—he’ll be on the door from now until noon. I’ll talk to him, ask him to help us.”

  “Albert,” Clara repeated. “Fine.”

  “That’s it, then?” Hildy said after a moment’s pause. “Anything else to discuss?”

  “Nothing here,” Clara said, and Lukas shook his head. She was oddly reluctant to watch Hildy go—Hildy’s extraordinary brain made the older woman a formidable ally, and it bothered Clara to be left in charge of this endeavour without her support.

  Judging from Hildy’s hesitation, perhaps she, too, would have preferred to have the support of her protegee and friend. She clasped Clara’s hand, and Clara pulled her into a hug.

  “We can do it,” Hildy said quietly as she released Clara. “We’ll get Cas back.”

  Clara nodded briskly, trying to look confident. “Where am I sending Min’s troops?” she asked.

  “They can catch up with me at Max’s house. The crows won’t bother me before then.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Hildy shrugged. “Why would they? I’ve got nothing they’re interested in.” With that, she gave Clara and Lukas a quick salute, turned, and walked quickly away.

  Clara watched until her mentor had disappeared into the darkness, then turned back to Lukas. “So,” she said slowly. “Where to begin?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Caspar spent an uneasy and uncomfortable night slumped on the floor of his prison. He still couldn’t see, though partway through the night he managed to shunt his hood far enough upwards to allow him to see a sliver of … nothing underneath. The effort wrenched his neck and gave him a headache, so he spent the next hour lying in a pained heap on the bare floor—naturally he had not been given anything to sleep on, for why would they choose to promote his comfort? The more unhappy they could make him, the sooner he would capitulate.

  At least it was the height of spring, and warm. That was a blessing. His skin shivered in revulsion at the thought of his misery if all this had happened in winter.

  When dawn came, he knew about it because a faint glow reached the one eye that was partially free of the hood. This he welcomed with such infinite relief he could almost have wept. He was not blind!

  He was still celebrating about this when he heard locks being opened and the thud of the door as a bar or some other block was removed. Then the door swung open with a pained howl and foosteps—unmistakeably feminine ones—crossed the cold floor towards him. Under the edge of the hood, he could see the toes of someone’s rather small feet.

  “Good morning, Mr. Goldstein,” purred a female voice that he recognised. Then the hood was wrenched off his head—taking a few of his hairs with it—and he saw Matilda Bernat standing before him. Or was that Matilda Nacht? If she was indeed a Shadow, then Bernat was only an assumed name. She’d bear the customary surname of the organisation.

  Her pale hair was tightly bound back in braids, and he couldn’t see the rest of her body. She was wearing black
from neck to toe, he judged, and the outfit allowed her to blend into the shadows. Even the pale pre-dawn light was enough to make his eyes water, and he blinked them rapidly.

  “I’m not sure my appearance has ever inspired such emotion in a man,” the Shadow said with a wide smile.

  Cas lunged at her. He couldn’t have said what he was planning to do; his hands were still bound behind his back, and after so many hours they were dead and numb. He was acting on instinct. If he could throw her over with his superior body weight, use his teeth to—to—

  To what? Nip her chin? Matilda stepped back, easily avoiding his clumsy attack, and he collapsed on the floor, rocked with silent giggles. What a pathetic sight he must make. Max Goldstein’s son, one of the best drivers on the circuit, and he couldn’t even free his hands.

  When he’d stopped laughing, he became gradually aware that Matilda was pointing her coilgun at him. It was a small weapon, but he knew from experience that she’d fire its needles with deadly precision.

  “I’ve come armed, as you see,” she said coolly. “Not that I think you’re dangerous in this state.” She lowered the weapon a little as she looked him over. “Not pleasant, is it? We should definitely see if we can get you out of this.”

  Cas grinned at her, aware that he looked maniacal and probably not quite sane. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

  She beamed at him. “So we have. For what it’s worth, I do think Faulkner’s wrong in his present approach. You’re a waste of space in so many ways, Caspar Goldstein—so many ways. But you’ve plenty of pluck. I don’t think you’ll hand over the mercury.”

  Having hauled himself back into a sitting position, Cas nodded along as she spoke, not really paying attention. He didn’t object to anything she said, not even the part about him being a waste of space. So what? She was right. But his eyes narrowed at her last sentence.

  “Why are you here?” he said.

  She smiled again, then crossed back to the door. She spoke to someone on the other side, too quietly for Cas to hear what she said. Then the door was shut and Matilda rejoined him in the middle of the room. She stood over him for a minute, then—to his surprise—she sat on the floor, bringing her face almost eye-level with his.

  “You have friends,” she said. “They miss you. Your aunt and a certain Miss Clara Koh are hard at work, looking for the means to secure your release. They’ll probably find them, won’t they? They know you well.”

  Cas wasn’t sure how she knew how he’d hidden his superfuel; probably she had spies following his friends around. That thought prompted a spasm of alarm, which he quickly squashed.

  Of course Hildy and Clara were looking for his black mercury. Of course they were trying to help him. They were doing it with the best possible intentions, and the thought that they, and probably Til and Lukas, were endangering themselves on his account brought a lump to his throat. But he was also frustrated. What was the use of heroism if one’s friends neatly defeated it in their attempts to help you?

  Reflections like Matilda’s hurt. He was a waste of space. Look what a mess he’d made of his life this past week. He’d gone from bad to worse, blundering about like a clueless boy— which in fact was exactly what he was. Somehow, being the hero and defeating the efforts of scum like Faulkner and Nacht had come to be desperately important. It wasn’t just the prospect of what they might do with his black mercury—that was such a distant and nebulous possibility, it was hard to maintain his sense of alarm over it. Rather, it was a matter of self-respect. He had to do something meaningful; otherwise he had no notion how he’d ever pick himself up again after this misadventure.

  Which was all very well, but he had no way of communicating with Clara to ask her to stop (and explain why, since she was naturally obstreperous and would be sure to argue).

  Think, Caspar, he told himself sternly. There had to be some way to resolve his problems. If only his mood would stop rocketing from despairing and self-pitying to violently angry every half-hour, he might be able to think clearly.

  A spasm of rage shot through him at that thought and he wrenched violently at the bindings that confined him. Fruitlessly, of course. He only hurt himself.

  Stupid Caspar!

  Matilda’s eyebrows shot up at his reaction, and she smiled smugly.

  That made Cas nervous.

  “You don’t like that, do you? I’m not surprised. Why would you want to hand over all your hard-won black mercury? You probably still hope you can escape somehow without having to—or perhaps your friends will find you and get you out. Why pay for something you can take for free?”

  Cas wanted to spit at her for her broken, twisted logic, but he stopped himself. She had come here for a reason. She might enjoy gloating over him for a little while, but sooner or later she’d get around to telling him what was really on her mind.

  “The trouble is, you’re not the only one who thinks that way.” Her tone turned bitter. “I made a deal with Mr Faulkner, but do you know how he intends to repay me for my aid? By breaking our bargain. By leaving me behind when he returns to Inselmond. Why pay me for my assistance when he can take it for free, and cast me off?”

  She scowled at Cas as if it was his fault. “I haven’t yet decided how to respond to that,” she confided. “I am tempted to kill him, but what good would that do me? It wouldn’t help me achieve my goal. So I’m more inclined for… revenge.”

  Now her smile turned nasty. “Double-cross the double-crosser, do you see? Here’s how it works. I’ll release you. You’re free. You go find all the other bottles, saving your poor friends the trouble of searching all of Eisenstadt for them. You give… half of them to me. A fair split.”

  Cas frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’d have no incentive to keep to the bargain either, once I’m free.”

  “There are two reasons why you would,” Matilda said coolly. “One: you won’t get rid of me until you give me what I require. It’s not possible to shake off a Shadow.”

  Cas stared back at her. “What’s the second reason?”

  She leaned closer, and he had to suppress the urge to lean backwards and away from her. “I don’t really want to threaten you, Mr Goldstein. What I’d like is to form a new partnership. A new bargain.” She smiled. “What do you think we could accomplish between the two of us—the heir to Goldstein industries, and a Shadow? With your wealth and connections and my skills, we could be magnificent together.” For a moment Cas was afraid she meant to kiss him, but she withdrew a little, sitting back on her heels, and smiled winsomely. “And Inselmond lies above, waiting for us. Ripe for the taking. Faulkner’s told me. There’s no technology up there; they’re a limited, backward population, uncivilised. Imagine being the first to introduce advanced technology. Your father’s machines. I bet they’d do anything for them. And with me at your back, competition won’t be a problem.” She smiled, her voice dropping to a purr. “You could put one over on your father, Caspar Goldstein. How would you enjoy that?”

  A few things crossed Cas’s mind at once. For a start, perhaps this was the reason why Faulkner had gone back on his promise to take Matilda to Inselmond with him. She was pure poison. Not that Faulkner was a being of sweetness and light, exactly, but he probably wouldn’t relish the competition. And maybe even he had scruples.

  Well. It wasn’t completely impossible.

  The rest of his thoughts fixed on the details of her offer. To his shame, he kept cycling back to that last gambit of hers. His father.

  She hadn’t begun well, referring to him as the heir to Goldstein Industries. All his life, that’s all he had been. Max’s son. The heir. Destined to turn into an exact copy of his illustrious father, with precious little choice in the matter himself.

  It was why he’d clung to autocarriage racing so hard. That at least had been his choice, even if he’d needed his father’s financing to do it. At the track, he wasn’t Max Goldstein’s son: he was Caspar Goldstein, one of the heroes of the sport.<
br />
  Losing that left him floundering. What would he become, if that part of his life was over? What could he, useless waste of space that he was, possibly hope to do next to avoid his unwelcome destiny as the next Goldstein tycoon?

  On those grounds, Matilda’s offer was attractive. Horribly so. He sat in agony, turning all the possibilities over in his mind. There was a beautiful irony to the notion: he, Caspar, would take all his father’s work—all the work his father had milked out of poor Hildy over the years —and turn it to a different fate. He’d make his own name somewhere far beyond Eisenstadt. Up there, he wouldn’t be known as Max Goldstein’s son because nobody knew who Max even was. He could take Hildy along; she’d be free of her brother’s influence, free to do as she chose at last.

  He’d heard people say that everyone had a secret core of evil somewhere in their heart. Cas’s was being sorely tried. He could feel it there, pulsing with every heartbeat, a black, twisted thing that ached to take Matilda’s offer and forget all the inconveniences of his life: duty, responsibility, obligation, morality, everything. It would be fun, this life she offered.

  And people like Max would say it wasn’t even wrong. All he’d be doing was selling services to people who lacked them. Even the assistance of Matilda could be overlooked: people had done worse things for money.

  But.

  It wasn’t much, swapping the life of a technology tycoon in Eisenstadt for the life of a technology tycoon in Inselmond.

  Gradually, his conscience returned from the tiny box he’d managed to stuff it into. His father, and others like him, might see nothing wrong with the plan, but he saw plenty to question in it. He’d be taking advantage for personal gain; nothing he could say would successfully cast the venture as a selfless campaign to enlighten the backward Inselmonders.

  Besides that, he only had Matilda’s word for it that her account of the islanders was even true.

  Lastly, his thoughts returned to Hildy. Take her with him? She’d be revolted at the notion; as was he, now that he’d mostly subdued his frustration.