by wildbow
They weren’t focusing this much on Shirley because she was dangerous, of course. They were focused on her because she was pretty, and as far as I could tell, this band of merry men were all men.
To her credit, she was standing tall. She was using tricks I’d taught her to look confident. The tilt of her head, the look in her eyes, and the faint look of frustration was a look I’d had her practice in the mirror. Neck drawn out longer, breathing deep, I’d told her to imagine a feral cat.
“They treated me as well as can be reasonably expected,” she said, and she said it as well as I could’ve hoped. Her hand jerked where one man was gripping her wrist, before he reasserted his hold, leaving finger marks where his fingers had been. The gesture that went with her hand movement was a ‘no‘.
A lie.
“That’s good,” I lied. “Sorry about all of this. We’ll see about getting you out of here.”
“Thank you, Sylvester,” she said. She closed her eyes a moment. “Thank you for coming. Did Pierre make it out alright?”
“He made it out of the city without a problem. No signs of plague just yet, but it’s unpredictable.”
“I know. I remember Tynewear.”
I nodded. I turned the other way and said. “Otis? Sporting a bloody nose there, friend.”
“I don’t do well with being confined,” the man said. He was the oldest one present, by roughly ten years, but his life had been one of hard living, and he looked and sounded more like he had fifteen or twenty years of seniority.
“Is it going to be forgivable if we make our way out of this city and we take these guys with?”
Otis shot me a look, like he really didn’t want to say yes.
“Say yes,” I told him.
“Sure,” he said. “World’s gonna keep turning if you let ’em go.”
I nodded. “Archie?”
Archie, tall, long-haired, with the brown skin of an indian, was uninjured, but he looked a little angrier than Otis had, strangely enough.
“You want the honest answer or do you want the lie?” he asked.
Alright, he was a lot angrier than Otis had been.
“Lie,” the leader that was slouching in the chair said.
“Lie,” I said.
“All’s well,” Archie said, in the most unconvincing manner possible.
He gestured as he spoke. He’d picked up the vocabulary, but that was maybe a bad thing. As he carefully chose the words, he moved his hands in a deliberate, mechanical way.
Enemies. Hurt. Girl.
They’d hurt Shirley. But I’d known that already, in a general sense.
One of the other rebels standing near him reached out, seizing Archie’s hand, gripping it hard enough to bend fingers the wrong way.
“You casting a spell or something?” the man asked.
“What’s this?” the leader asked. He rose out of his seat a little, twisting around and resting one arm on his knee. “Spell?”
“Don’t know what he was doing. He was moving his fingers all creepy-like.”
“Nervous habit,” Archie said, sounding far more convincing than he had.
“Yeah, you weren’t nervous up until now, red?” the fellow that held Archie’s fingers asked.
“No,” Archie said, and he made it an insult or an epithet.
I sighed a little to myself.
“You know what that’s all about, boy?” the rebel leader asked.
“Communication,” I said. I held up my hand, gesturing. “Time. Short. Escape. Window. Closing.”
The corresponding gestures really meant, Enemy rebels here die today.
“Talking with your fingers?” someone asked. “That’s bullshit.”
“Fucking trickery,” the soldier who’d held Archie’s fingers said.
He hit Archie hard across the face.
The man in charge of him didn’t seem to care. No, the rebel leader was more interested in my reaction.
I mimicked him, copying some of his mannerisms, including his eerie coldness. I made it appear like I didn’t care much.
“I came here with the expectation of giving you all a deal,” I said. “These are my terms. You’ll give that suit to Shirley. I promised someone I’d give it to her and get her safely out of the city. You don’t hurt any of my people. In exchange, I get you all clear of this city. If anyone catches the plague, I can try my hand at cutting it out. I’ve done it before. I’ll get you all clear of trouble.”
“No can do,” the leader said.
“No can do?” I asked.
I’d offered an out, he’d refused, and his men didn’t look as dismayed as they should.
“Does your reasoning have to do with the good Professor?” I asked.
“The words ‘good’ and ‘Professor’ don’t go hand in hand,” the leader said. “That’s a man who needs to die.”
Even if it means the rest of you die? I thought.
“I’ll get him, but I want to bring him with. I’ll question him, then hand him over to you before midnight. If you judge that he needs to die, then you can handle it. We’ll part ways then,” I said.
“You’ll get him? Just like that?”
“I can move mountains, apparently. I can do this,” I said.
I was cognizant of the time limit.
He rose to his feet. “Then let’s see you move mountains, boy.”
We had to pass up two flights of stairs. Each floor, it seemed, was arranged so that the stairway rose up through the middle, an ornate cage separating it from the hallway. The first floor had been facilities like the dining hall. The second floor was twelve or so apartments, the third floor was six. The fourth floor had four apartments, one in each cardinal direction. From what I could see as I glanced upward, the top floor was a penthouse suite, fit only for the uppermost of visiting nobles.
But we didn’t go that far. We exited the stairwell into the fourth floor. There were more of the rebel soldiers here.
The heavy door and the walls to either side of it had bullet holes in it. They’d fired indiscriminately. It didn’t look like most shots had had the power to penetrate wood, thick wall, and exit the other side. Some had, however. I could peer through some holes and see light on the other side.
“Stand back,” I said. I cracked my knuckles.
Amazingly enough, some did.
“Door’s barricaded on the other side,” one of the rebel soldiers said.
“I figured that much out,” I said.
I crackled my knuckles again for emphasis, and then I rolled my shoulders, before drawing in a deep breath.
“Professor,” I called out. “It’s Sylvester Lambsbridge.”
There was a pause.
“I believe we’ve met?” I tried.
“We’ve met,” came the voice on the other side. “Sylvester. Didn’t think I’d meet you here. Wrong coast, for one thing.”
“Well, being where you’re not expected to be is part of being a fugitive of the Crown.”
“Been taking your Wyvern, I assume?” he asked.
“Regularly enough,” I said. I wondered why he’d asked. “You’ll have to remind me of your name. There are a few professors you could be.”
“Professor Berger.”
I had no idea who that was.
“Yeah,” I said. “You know how these things go, and you know me. I have a vested interest in getting you out of here alive, getting some answers from you. Dots I need to connect. You know what it means if you stay. You’ve seen more quarantines than I’ve seen years on this planet.”
“I can see out the window. There’s an army on our doorstep.”
“They don’t care about whether you live or die. You were the Duke’s attendant. You’ve seen battlefields aplenty. Does that army look particularly motivated? Or are they planning to wait until they can just say you probably died to plague, they tried their hardest, but there was no saving you?”
“I think they’re motivated enough, Sylvester,” Berger said.
“Professor,” I said, exasperated. “You’re a smart man. You know how things are, I know how things are. Let’s accept that. Let’s not lie to each other about the simple things.”
“The building is reinforced,” he said. “It might last the fire.”
“If that’s true, I’ll let you stay here,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s true. Or it might last the fire, only for them to unleash other measures to be sure the plague is gone, and you’d be caught by that. Open the door, professor. Come out. I’ll take you hostage, ask you some questions you won’t particularly mind answering, no need for torture. You’ll be alive.”
“And then?” he asked.
I’d known he was going to ask that, but I left the ‘then’ out to prompt the question, getting him to buy into the narrative a bit, to wonder on the future and be on the same page as me for one moment.
“Then… I’m not sure. It’s up for negotiation,” I said. Another way of getting you to buy in. “Ransom you to the Crown, perhaps.”
“I’d need more assurances.”
“It’s about project Caterpillar,” I said. “Expiry date is fast approaching. The Duke showed interest in Caterpillar. Several times. I’m thinking you’ve at least read up on it.”
I thought of the Duke standing in the room when I’d first lost Jamie.
“I’ve read up on it.”
“I need you alive if there’s any chance you can provide some answers on that. Right now, I think I’m the only person who needs you alive.”
“No,” he said. “No, not the only person.”
But the door latch clicked.
I knew the rebel leader was about to execute the professor the moment he saw him. He had no reason to do otherwise.
I knew the professor that was cooped up in that room was being very incautious, considering that the rebels here had opened fire on the door. Why hadn’t he asked about them?
He’d asked about my Wyvern formula?
He hadn’t asked about them because they weren’t a consideration.
I pushed the door open, and I stepped clear out of the way.
They sprung forward like grasshoppers, or pellets from a slingshot. Too fast to follow with the eye, each one the size of a human hand.
Two of them latched onto me, leaving bloody marks as hook-like feet caught on the skin of my arm for footing while they launched forward to their next vantage point.
They went for the spine, one crawling beneath coat, sweater and shirt to find the small of my back, the other finding the nape of my neck.
They bit, and I felt all sensation leave everything from the shoulders down. I fell to the ground, my entire body paralyzed.
Long seconds passed, and the mandibles came free.
Sensation came back in a pins and needles fashion.
Berger stood over me as I found my way to my feet. He watched with cold eyes. He was an older man, approaching fifty, his hair shorn short, a bit of stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were the longest hairs I could see on his head. He had lips twisted into an expression I couldn’t read, possibly disgust, and eyes that naturally glared.
I looked at the rest of the Little Castle rebels who had been in the hall. They lay sprawled on the carpet, massive bugs latched onto their spines, mandibles and limbs latched in. Half of them were actively pissing and shitting themselves.
He approached one rebel and bent down. Fingers hooked on ring-like growths on the back of one of the bugs. He pulled back, and there were silken strands between ring and bug.
Moving one, he made one of the young rebel’s arms move. Moving another, he moved a leg.
The man grunted.
“Cooperate,” he instructed the fallen rebel. “Stand.”
He moved the strings. The rebel flopped like a fish on dry land.
“Cooperate,” Professor Berger told the fallen rebel, once more.
Again, he moved the strings.
He apparently didn’t like the result, because he pulled back on another ring with silken strand attached. The rebel made choked, strangled sounds as his body contorted to the point I thought things would break or dislocate. Within two seconds, the rebel’s face was red, veins standing out, spittle frothing as he pushed it out between clenched teeth.
The Professor eased back on the string, and the man relaxed correspondingly. His breathing returned to what seemed to be an overly regular pattern, but the recent stress gave those regular breaths a whiny, panting note.
“Cooperate,” the professor said, moving strings.
The man still flopped like a fish on dry land, but the professor seemed to appreciate his efforts more, because there was no punishment this time.
“In case the implication isn’t clear,” the professor said, “we’re not working alongside these rebels.”
“I had no plans to. On that note, it might be better to do something with the rebel leader,” I said. I indicated the man in question.
Berger looked over, then came to a decision. He pulled back on the string, forcing the convulsions, and then pried the bug off.
The bandit he’d been working on seized, the process not stopping, as Berger knelt by the bandit leader.
“This should do,” he said.
“Sure,” I said. I was still recovering, myself.
“You’ll get us out of here. I’ll supply what you need for Caterpillar. You’ll let us go, rather than ransom us.”
“Us?” I asked.
He turned his head. I looked.
Standing in the doorway, watching, were two small children. Eleven or so. One boy, one girl, roughly the same age.
“Yours?”
“My daughter and nephew,” he said. “You’ll save them or you won’t get my cooperation on any front.”
“There are others to save,” I said. “I have comrades downstairs. They’re captive, and watched by a crowd.”
“If I thought I could deal with all of the rebels I’d seen before retreating to safety up here, I’d have done it myself. We’re not equipped to deal with a small army. Reconsider,” the Professor said.
I wondered if Pierre had caught wind of the children. It was no secret I tried to protect children when given the chance. If he’d told me, combined it with the knowledge that this was an Academy professor with valuable information…
I was disappointed he hadn’t told me.
“We’ll save everyone we can,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I was.
“As you wish,” Professor Berger said.
“I don’t suppose you can make him say what we need him to say?”
Professor Berger shook his head.
Then, while his daughter and nephew watched, he pulled on a string and gave the instruction, “Cooperate.”
Previous Next
Head over Heels—16.6
“Cooperate,” the professor murmured.
He pulled the strings of the rebel leader, and the leader found his way to his feet, moving like a stitched might. I could see his expression now that he wasn’t face down on the ground anymore. His face contorted and his head leaned over to one side, the side of his face grinding hard into one shoulder.
“Good,” professor Berger said. It was the first thing he’d said that wasn’t ‘cooperate’ for several minutes now.
I was getting rather sick of standing here, and the smell of it was getting to me. I had endured foul places, and had even made my way through sewer drains, but shit was shit, and far too many of these men had shit and pissed in their pants
“Good?” I asked. “What are our limitations here?”
“Limitations?”
“What’s he good for?”
“He walks and moves at my allowance. Each string controls a limb. Feedback on my end in the form of tension and vibration suggests just how he is moving that limb, and I can stop him. He either elects not to move at all, or he moves the way I want him to.”
“Can you make him point?” I asked.
“I can. The act of pointing to
something specific is trickier but doable.”
I studied the bearded rebel leader, rubbing my chin. “Can you get him to stop doing that thing with his head?”
Strings were manipulated. The leader tensed up, face turning red for a moment, and then he relaxed. He started to move his head in that direction, his shoulders tightened, and he stopped.
“Good,” I said. “We should get two more. Then I think we can crack this. Will it take long?”
“Not long,” Berger said. “Charles, come here.”
The Berger’s nephew approached. The boy was small, with large eyes that made him look younger than he was, black hair neatly parted. He wore a crisp, thoroughly-starched shirt with a sweater vest and wore slacks with shoes, not boots, despite the weather outside.
At his uncle’s instruction, he reached overhead and took the strings.
“If you relax them, he’ll collapse. If you pull back on them, he’ll have more range of movement. Given a choice between the two, if your arm gets tired, make him collapse. Understand?”
Charles nodded, solemn.
“If he fights you, or if you feel the strings moving because he’s trying to move, if he starts making noise, often a squeal, or if there’s any other trouble at all, you pull back on the middle one. Everything connected to his nervous system will seize. By all reports, it is indescribably painful. At that stage, we can let him die or I can take over again.”
“What if I can’t?” Charles asked. “What if I can’t pull?”
Berger reached over, and he ran his fingers through the front of Charles’ hair, as if to fix the part, when it needed no fixing. He said, “I would be immensely proud of you if you could, Charles. So would your father, were he with us. If the need arises and you cannot manage your patient, I’m sure Sylvester would keep him from getting too far.”
“Sure,” I said.
“I’ll see about our second patient, then. Would you keep an eye out for trouble while keeping an eye on Charles and his patient?”
“I can,” I said.
Berger knelt by another ‘patient’, and he started work.
I turned to Charles. “Spending time with your uncle?”
Berger was the one who answered. “My duties being what they are, I don’t often have time to look after the children. My extended family steps in and does what they can, but I’m between appointments, and I saw an opportunity. They’re old enough to start thinking about which Academies they will attend, and I needed to see some people in various Academies. We’re on our way back from the Cape of Flowers.”