The Affinity Bridge

by George Mann

  Newbury took one last look at the passengers, many of whom were leaning out of their windows heckling him as the train pulled away. Then turned and searched out a passing cab, leaping aboard and directing the driver to make haste in the direction of Veronica's apartment, where he hoped to find both Bainbridge and Veronica herself awaiting him.

  —— Chapter Twenty-Five ——

  The door was still hanging loose on its hinges when Newbury ducked into Veronica's apartment a short while later. He winced as he made his way along the hallway, heading towards the sound of voices that were coming from one of the reception rooms at the back of the house. He could hear Bainbridge fussing over Veronica from within.

  "Really, Miss Hobbes. I do suggest we call a doctor." Veronica's response was terse. "Sir Charles, I will not be fussed over unnecessarily. I assure you I am quite well."

  Bainbridge sighed extravagantly. "Very well. As you wish." Newbury could imagine him rolling his eyes. The conversation lapsed into silence.

  Newbury approached the door to the lounge and knocked loudly before entering. Veronica jumped to her feet. "Sir Maurice! Oh..." Her mouth fell open in slack-jawed amazement when she laid eyes on his bedraggled appearance. She crossed the room, took him by the arm and led him slowly to a nearby chair. Her face was a picture of concern.

  Newbury smiled. "Do I really look that bad?" Veronica looked away, refusing to be drawn on the question, but Bainbridge was more to the point. "You look like you've gone ten rounds with an Indian tiger. Are you badly hurt?"

  Newbury couldn't help but laugh. "That's the second time you've asked me that today, Charles, and the answer remains decidedly the same; no more than can be expected." He shifted in his seat where the leather upholstery was pressing painfully against his wounds. "I think we'll get today's excitement out of the way, and then I'll be paying another visit to the Fixer, to see if he can't dose me up with some more of that miraculous compound of his. I took a bit of a beating out there today." He fell silent, watching the fire gutter in the grate as the others waited for him to go on.

  Bainbridge pulled at the edges of his moustache impatiently. "Are you going to elaborate, then? Did you lose him somewhere?"

  Newbury watched Veronica as she made her way back to her seat. He shook his head. "No. He's very much dead."

  Bainbridge nodded, his face unreadable. Veronica looked aghast. "What happened?"

  "I chased him over the back wall and along the High Street, whereupon he leapt up onto a passing ground train and scrambled onto the roof. I followed suit, we scuffled, and he fell to his death. It's a damn shame. It would have been far more useful if I'd managed to restrain him instead. I would have liked the opportunity to question him about the case." He glanced at Bainbridge. "I left instructions for the body to be taken to the morgue." Bainbridge nodded his approval.

  "You fought him on the top of a moving ground train?" Veronica's voice was strained.

  Newbury nodded. "Indeed."

  "What were you thinking of! You could have easily gone over the side with him!"

  Bainbridge raised an eyebrow at this outburst from Veronica. "Miss Hobbes, it is clear to me that you are still suffering from a certain degree of shock, which is only to be expected following the nature of this morning's attack. Perhaps you need some time alone to recover?"

  Newbury smirked as Veronica bit back on her retort. She glanced over at him, her eyes flashing. "My apologies, Sir Maurice. I did not mean to question your judgment."

  Newbury gave a half-hearted laugh. "Oh, but you are quite correct in this matter, my dear Miss Hobbes. It was a rather foolhardy exercise, and one I shall be in no hurry to repeat, I assure you. I've had quite my fill of hand-to-hand combat for the time being. What galls me terribly is the fact that I did not even manage to apprehend the villain for my troubles."

  Bainbridge spluttered. "On the contrary, old boy! Your actions have resulted in the removal of a major criminal element from the streets of London. You are to be congratulated. A job well done!"

  Newbury shrugged noncommittally. He turned towards Veronica. "And Miss Hobbes, I assume you are quite well? Were you hurt in your struggle with the man?"

  Veronica shook her head. "No, I'm well enough, thank you. A little shaken, perhaps. I'm pleased to report that you and Sir Charles arrived before the situation degenerated into actual violence. I should have hated it if I'd found cause to actually use that hot poker on the man." She shot a sardonic glance at Bainbridge, who seemed impervious to the witticism, or else was simply choosing to ignore it.

  Newbury smiled. "You certainly seemed to have everything under control when we arrived, Miss Hobbes. I'm only sorry that I had to involve you in this terrible business. If I'd imagined at the outset of this investigation that it would in any way put you in danger, I would, of course, have refrained from including you in proceedings."

  Veronica edged forward on her seat, clasping her hands together in front of her. She looked anxious. "Not at all, Sir Maurice. I wouldn't have it any other way. I couldn't bear to be excluded now."

  Newbury nodded slowly. "Very well, then." He smiled, as if satisfied that he had done his duty in giving Veronica the opportunity to back out. "Let us order the events in our minds. Miss Hobbes, can you tell us exactly what happened here? Before I chased the villain from the scene, I mean. It could be pertinent to the case."

  Veronica sighed. "I'm not entirely sure, I'm afraid." She glanced from Newbury to Bainbridge. "I was in this room, taking a cup of tea before the fire, when I heard a sound from the hallway. I turned to look just as the man you saw, dressed as the blue policeman, barged in and came at me with his fists. I grabbed the poker from the fire and used it to drive him back into the hallway. That was when the two of you arrived. He must have found his way in through the back somehow."

  "What about your housekeeper?"

  "Mrs. Grant has only just arrived for the day. She's in the kitchen at the moment, searching out a temporary prop for the door. She doesn't begin her duties until half-past nine on a Thursday."

  Newbury sank back into the clutches of his chair, smiling. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Do you think Mrs. Grant could find it in her heart to prepare a pot of Earl Grey for two gentlemen in urgent need?" He glanced over at Bainbridge. "Charles and I have a great deal to talk to you about."

  Veronica frowned. "I am sure Mrs. Grant will be only too happy to accommodate you. But what is it that you need to discuss?"

  Newbury ran a hand over his face, sitting forward in his chair. "I think we'd better start at the beginning."

  Newbury recounted his theory to Veronica over a pot of tea, in much the same way as he had explained it to Bainbridge earlier that morning in the offices at Scotland Yard. Veronica nodded solemnly as she took it all in, and Newbury could see by the look on her face that she thought it made a terrible kind of sense, when all the facts were considered alongside each other.

  "So you're essentially saying that Chapman and Villiers organised the glowing policeman murders as a means of obtaining human brains for use in their automaton devices?"

  Newbury nodded.

  "And that you believe the reason that some of the automatons have been malfunctioning—thus causing the airship crash, amongst other things—is because a number of those organs were carrying the revenant plague?"

  "That's about the size of it, my dear. Of course, questioning the man who was posing as the glowing policeman would have helped to establish the link with more certainty, but the clues are all there: the human organs in the automatons that attacked me; the blue powder around the throat and collar of the murdered Christopher Morgan, who had previously threatened to expose Chapman and Villiers; the glowing policeman coming after you this very morning. It all fits together perfectly. I suspect if we were able to disinter the bodies of the glowing policeman's earlier victims we would very quickly be able to establish that the brains had been removed from the bodies. The fact that those organs have all been sourced from the Wh
itechapel slums, where the revenant plague is rife, coupled with the fact that we know the virus has an eight day incubation period, suggests that the revenant symptoms might not present until days after the automaton units were sold on to their clients." Newbury sat back, crossing his legs and taking another mouthful of Earl Grey.

  Veronica shook her head. "It's all in their heads! Ha! I should have realised earlier." She sighed. "It's all in the heads of the automatons."

  Newbury frowned. "What was that, Miss Hobbes?"

  Veronica met Newbury's gaze. "Oh, nothing. Something for later, perhaps. It has no bearing on the case." She clapped her hands together. "So, what is our next move?" She glanced at Bainbridge.

  "Chapman and Villiers. It has to be. As Newbury has already pointed out, the moment they get wind of the fact that their assassination attempts this morning have failed, they'll have to make a run for it. We need to get to them first, if we're not already too late."

  Newbury shook his head. "No, they're both as arrogant as each other. Chapman probably thinks he can take us on at our own game, and Villiers, I suspect, doesn't care one way or another. I doubt they'll run. In fact, if we're lucky, they'll play right into our hands."

  "And directly into a noose, too, if I have any say in the matter." Bainbridge tapped his foot on the carpet, coughing loudly. "Shall we make haste?"

  Veronica stood. Newbury did the same. "If I may make use of your bathroom facilities before we leave, Miss Hobbes? I would very much like to wash away some of this blood and grime before making the journey across town."

  Veronica smiled. "Of course. Let me show you where to go." She led him from the room, showing him along the hall to the small bathroom.

  Newbury hesitated before the door. He turned to regard her. "Thank you, Miss Hobbes. I won't keep you for long." He held her gaze for a few seconds, noticing for the first time the small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He smiled warmly, hesitated, and then went on. ""I'm very glad you survived this morning unscathed."

  Veronica laughed, softly. "And I'm very glad that you survived at all." Her voice was barely a whisper, as if she didn't want Bainbridge to overhear their conversation. She put her hand on his arm. "I thought after yesterday..."

  "I know." He looked pained. "I'm sorry I put you through all of that. I'll be well enough with a little time."

  Veronica shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Sir Maurice! It is I who should be thanking you. Your efforts against the revenant creatures were enough to save all of our lives." She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek, her lips leaving a cool, damp impression on his skin.

  Newbury cleared his throat, embarrassed. "In that case, Miss Hobbes, after the manner in which you found me in my study the other morning, I do believe we're about equal." He offered her a wide grin. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I really must attend to my wounds. I fear this suit is already beyond saving, but I'd like to give it my best shot all the same."

  Veronica laughed, this time not bothering to hide her amusement. "You'll find some fresh bandages in the cabinet underneath the sink."

  Newbury stepped into the bathroom and clicked the door shut behind him. He listened to the sound of Veronica's footsteps disappearing along the hallway before undressing in the mirror, setting the tap running, and tending to his raw and bloody wounds. It was only just after ten o'clock in the morning, and already it was proving to be a long, painful day.

  —— Chapter Twenty-Six ——

  The sun was a watery, baleful eye that glared down at the Thames through a bruised eyelid of rain clouds as Newbury, Veronica and Bainbridge rolled over the Chelsea Bridge in the back of the police carriage, on their way to Battersea and the Chapman and Villiers manufactory.

  Newbury watched Bainbridge leaning out of the carriage window, straining to take in the sight of the embankment as it hove into view. He followed the other man's gaze. The scene across the river was murky, the mist and rain forming a thick veil across the landscape. The rain had begun to fall not long after they had set out from Veronica's apartment, and the three of them had quickly decided to huddle together in the waiting vehicle. Bainbridge had stopped only to send word to Scotland Yard, requesting uniformed assistance, but they all knew it would be some time before the Yard were able to muster their men. In the meantime, Newbury had been anxious to press on, to head directly to Battersea and confront Chapman and Villiers, before the two of them realised the police were finally on to them.

  Newbury looked up at the dark clouds that were scudding across the sky, brooding with intent. The rain would continue well into the afternoon, if he was any judge of the weather.

  Across the river, the warehouses of Chapman and Villiers were squat mounds of red brick, imposing even amidst the industrial buildings that sat to either side of them. A number of airships were still tethered to the roofs, tousled by driving wind and precipitation. They bobbed fluidly but remained fixed in place by long coils of rope.

  "Impressive, isn't it, Charles?"

  Bainbridge turned to look at him, his expression fixed. He nodded. "Bigger than I had imagined."

  "Indeed. Wait until you see inside. The manner in which they construct the new dirigibles is magnificent." He allowed his eyes to wander to the floor, biting back his enthusiasm. "If only they'd contented themselves with that, eh, rather than trying to revolutionise the world with their clockwork men?" He shook his head.

  "Newbury, people like that will never be content with their lot. Whatever they say, it's not about changing the world. It's about wielding power. They may call themselves philanthropists, but in truth they're just as greedy as the rest of us, just as hungry for money and validation. In this case, probably more so."

  Newbury met his friend's eyes. "You're right, of course. About Chapman at least. But I think Villiers is a different matter entirely. I don't see that he's at all interested in money or validation. I think he sees his work as a personal challenge. He has no grand schemes to change the world; he wants only to be left alone to his amoral experiments, as terrible as they are."

  Bainbridge sighed. "That may be so, but it doesn't alter the fact that together they've committed the most heinous of crimes. There's no redemption to be had here. They're both for the noose."

  Newbury nodded and leaned back in his seat. He glanced at Veronica, who had been listening to the conversation from her place beside him. She didn't seem to have anything she wanted to add to the discussion and instead turned away, pretending to distract herself with the view out of the window. He wondered for a moment about what she was thinking.

  Newbury closed his eyes, lulled by the motion of the carriage. His wounds ached desperately. He hoped that the affair would be over soon so that he could spend a few days holed up in his lodgings, convalescing in his study. For now, though, he had work to do, and he knew that whatever evidence the three of them had at their disposal, Joseph Chapman was not going to willingly accept his fate.

  The cab rolled on, its wheels clicking loudly on the cobbled road as they neared their destination.

  The reception area of Chapman and Villiers Air Transportation Services was devoid of activity when Newbury burst in, followed by both Bainbridge and Veronica. Chapman's clerk, Soames, sat in his usual position behind the mahogany desk, his hands forming a thin steeple on the desk before him. He glanced up nonchalantly as the door clicked shut behind the visitors.

  "Ah, good day to you, Sir Maurice." The man's eyes flicked over the faces of three newcomers, like a lizard assessing its prey.

  "I am afraid that you will find Mister Chapman is unavailable today. I hope you have not had a wasted journey." He offered Newbury a sickly smile.

  Newbury turned to Veronica, inclining his head in the direction of the stairs. She grasped his meaning immediately and crossed the room in a few quick strides, mounting the bottom step and starting up in the direction of Chapman's office.

  "Really, Sir Maurice!" Soames stood, placing his hands on the desk befor
e him. "I assure you that Mister Chapman is not here. There is no need to contest my word on the matter."

  Newbury glared at him but said nothing.

  A moment later, Veronica appeared at the top of the staircase and gave a curt shake of her head. Chapman obviously wasn't in his office. Still, Newbury couldn't find it in himself to trust the clerk.

  "Where is he?"

  Soames looked exasperated. "I honestly can't say. He arrived this morning as usual, took his tea in his office and then went about his business. I haven't seen him for at least two or three hours. He told me to keep his diary free for today."

  Newbury clenched his fists, exasperated.

  Bainbridge put his hand on Newbury's shoulder. "What now?"

  Newbury shrugged. "Villiers, I suppose."

  Soames sighed dramatically. "Gentlemen, without an appointment, I really must insist—" He stopped short when Bainbridge raised his cane, leaned over the desk and placed the tip of it against the man's chest, tapping it gently as if weighing how much force he would need to shatter the clerk's breastbone.

  "Look here. If you have any sense about you at all, you will stop with your insipid drivel and make haste away from this place before you find yourself implicated in affairs you'd rather stay out of!"

  The clerk looked appalled, then stepped back from the tip of the other man's cane, his legs bumping into his chair behind the desk. He opened and closed his mouth as if unsure how to respond to the threat. "I...oh..."

  "Shut up, man! My name is Sir Charles Bainbridge and I am a Chief Inspector with Scotland Yard. My colleagues and I intend to locate Mister Villiers for an interview. You can either assist us by pointing us in the right direction, (or you can choose to create a situation for yourself. I fear the latter option will not work out for the best."

  Soames shrivelled away from the Chief I Inspector, clearly terrified by the man. "I believe you'll find him in his workshop on the other side of the manufactory site, sir."