The third floor lay still and very nearly dark. Topaz could sense the spirits of those who slept the sleep of the exhausted. She found if she listened hard she could identify Carlotta’s spirit among the others. But she shared a room with two other girls. How to get her away?
After some inner debate, she moved into the room soundlessly, laid her hand across Carlotta’s mouth and bent to whisper in her ear. “Be silent. Get up, gather your clothes and belongings. You can dress in my room. Bring your coat.” She added, for the sake of gaining the girl’s compliance, “We’ll go find Sapphire.”
She crept back out, not giving Carlotta a chance to argue. Soon the girl slipped through the door, clothing in her arms and her hair loose around her shoulders.
“Miss, what—”
“Hush! Just come.”
She half expected the strange woman to have fled for freedom. But she and Carlotta entered the room to find her standing clad in some of Topaz’s best clothing, working at her hair with those scorched hands.
Carlotta balked. “Who’s that?”
“Someone I’m helping.”
“One of your streetwalkers? Sapphire says you help a lot of them.”
“Yes.”
The woman drew herself up indignantly, but voiced no objection to the label.
“Get dressed quickly, please. We need to leave at once.”
“You’re taking me to Sapphire?”
“Yes.” Eventually.
Carlotta climbed into her clothes and turned to don a ragged coat.
“Here,” Topaz said, “that’s not warm enough. Wear this.”
She had a heavy jacket, now too small for her, that she thrust at the girl. She could still hear sleet ticking against the window, and wind rattled the glass.
“Now come, both of you. Absolute silence.”
“What about the steamie in the front hall?” Carlotta objected.
“We’re going out the back.”
“Through the kitchen? But they’re all—”
“On shutdown. Let me go in first; I’ll deactivate them. Now, not another word.”
Topaz realized she had begun listening with all her senses, the facility to use the sixth increasing as she went on. They passed through the throng of spirits outside her father’s door, and she listened within. The bright power of Frederick’s spirit lay banked, dormant. He slept.
She could feel the emotions of the two women who accompanied her—Carlotta quivering with anxiety and the other woman seething. Anger? Fear? Violence? Topaz couldn’t quite decide.
She left them at the kitchen door and went on into the cavernous room, where she flipped the switches on all the units. Only one roused before she reached it; she heard the tick as its boiler reignited, and it stared at her even as she thumbed its button.
Damn. It had seen her and would be able to tell her father. Not that he wouldn’t figure it out as soon as he discovered both Topaz and the woman from the cellar missing. As a last thought, she locked the cellar door and pocketed the key before collecting her charges and herding them out through the kitchen exit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Outside, the weather met them, a foul, black night full of driving wind and stinging sleet. Underfoot, treacherous ice caused Carlotta to slip almost at once. Topaz caught her arm before she went down.
Where to go? She could think of only one place, and they would never make it so far on foot.
“Come.” She took one of their hands in each of hers. Together they battled their way around the side of the mansion, keeping close to the privet hedge. If her father had a steam unit on patrol, it might not find them amid this melee.
Out on the parkway she paused. It must be all of four in the morning by now, and given the weather she despaired of finding a steamcab. But just then she saw one drop a fare down the street. When it approached, she let go of Carlotta’s hand long enough to flag it down.
“In with you.” She thrust both women ahead of her and told the driver, “To West Ferry Street as quickly as you dare.”
“Can’t drive very fast on this,” the cabbie objected. “It’s sheer ice.”
Topaz glanced over her shoulder at the house in time to see a single light come on in the front second-floor window—her father’s room. Her heart leaped sickeningly. “I don’t care.” She climbed into the cab. “Drive.”
The cabbie grumbled, but he put his foot down and the cab vibrated as the boiler flared. A gush of steam obliterated the view out back. Sleet prohibited much visibility in front. Wiper blades clattered against the windscreen, but ice had built on the glass so they mostly rode atop it.
“Where are we going?” Carlotta asked piteously.
“To the home of a friend.” Topaz just hoped to find him there.
“Who is she?” Carlotta stared at the other woman, who had taken the seat opposite her. In the close air of the cab a strange scent arose from her—not decay so much as a chemical overlay.
“You never did tell me your name.”
“Rose. I believe it’s Rose.” Flickering light from the street lamps beneath which they passed, distilled by the ice on the cab windows, threw her oval face into light and then shadow.
The cabbie turned his head. “I think we’re being followed.”
“By a vehicle?” Already? Topaz pressed her cheek against the glass and peered back. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Not a vehicle, a steam unit. A fast one.”
Topaz’s heart fell again, sickeningly. One of her father’s runners—that would be one of the two superior steam units he allowed into the cellar.
“What do you want me to do?” the cabbie asked.
“Can you outrun it? Or lose it?”
“Don’t know. The streets are pretty slick.”
“Try, please. Maybe you can make it crash.”
“Hang on.”
The cabbie turned right off the parkway onto a darker, narrower street. The cab slid dangerously before gaining traction. Carlotta pressed her face against the opposite window.
“I see it. Oh, God, miss! It’s keeping up with us and puffing like a train.”
“Faster,” Topaz called to the driver.
“Miss, this is as fast as I can safely go.”
“Go unsafely, then.”
The cab took two more corners at perilous speed and skidded sideways for some distance on the second. Carlotta swore, using a word she could only have learned from Sapphire, because it was one of his favorites.
Topaz, her fingernails embedded in the upholstery, shot a look at Rose. The woman sat with her eyes closed in an attitude of deep serenity.
Well, Topaz reflected, when one had already died once perhaps the prospect lost some of its menace.
Carlotta screamed. The steamie had caught up with the cab and now hung by all its fingers from the left rear door handle. Its visage—bright silver and set in an emotionless mask—seemed more terrible than a grimace, and tiny points of flame reflected from its eyes.
Carlotta threw herself into Topaz’s arms.
“Don’t let it get in!”
Topaz drew not her stiletto but the small side cannon she’d shoved into her coat before leaving her room. She didn’t want to blow the window out, but would if she had to.
“Faster!” she called to the driver. “Shake it off!”
He grappled with the wheel, throwing it from side to side as they barreled down East Ferry. The steamie pulled itself up and placed one foot against the window, preparing to kick in the glass.
Several things happened then, all at the same time: Carlotta screamed again, Topaz fired up the cannon, and the driver swerved, hit a patch of icy road, and lost control of the cab.
Topaz distinctly felt the wheels break traction. The cab sped up and the steamie flew off, its arms spreading out like the wings of a large bug.
Topaz dropped the cannon and grabbed hold of Carlotta, her one thought for the vulnerable life of her niece- or nephew-to-be. The driver hollered, the cab hit someth
ing, slewed sharply, and began to roll over sideways.
Topaz saw Rose fly from her seat and drew Carlotta closer. Then they were tumbling, tossed weightless, arms and legs tangling. Topaz saw the glass of the side window come at her an instant before everything turned black.
****
Floating in the depths of dark oblivion, the man calling himself Romney Marsh saw the single star to which he clung so desperately wink out.
He screamed into the void.
****
“Miss? Miss, can you hear me?”
Apparently Topaz could. The disembodied male voice descended from above her while she sprawled on her back, staring upward. Cold sleet pricked her face like repeated stabs from tiny blades, and from somewhere came the dirty light of a street lamp.
She gasped and tried to exert control over her limbs.
“No—don’t move,” the man said. “You’ve been in a bad accident. Your steamcab slid on the icy street. The ambulance is just arriving.”
“The girl who was with me…” Oh, God, Carlotta and her baby! Sapphire would never forgive her.
The voice made no reply. Topaz thrashed and tried to sit up. Hands pushed her back firmly.
“You may be concussed.”
“Get your hands off me.” She scrambled up and nearly went down again as she lost her footing. “Icy” didn’t begin to describe the street.
Desperately, she looked around. Her rescuer had stepped away as the ambulance with its strobe light inched up. The steam cab, nearly on top of her, lay on its side, all the windows shattered. She couldn’t see the driver, but Carlotta lay flung against the curb with another man bending over her. She didn’t see Rose’s form anywhere.
“Carlotta!” she called and felt as if her head would burst.
“Miss,” someone called, “don’t move.”
“There was another woman with us, in a blue coat.”
“We’re taking you all to the hospital.”
“All? Where is she?”
Misunderstanding, the man indicated Carlotta, whom the second fellow had covered with a blanket. Topaz’s heart stood still in her chest. Was she dead?
She hurried to bend over the swathed form, and it moved. “Carlotta, are you all right?”
Huge, panicked eyes sought hers. “I don’t think so, miss. My baby—”
“They’ll take you to the hospital. I’ll look for Sapphire. I can’t come with you—I have to find Rose and get her away.” If the police or the doctors saw those burns on Rose’s skin, there would be no way to explain.
“Yes, miss. Just so long as you send Sapphire.” Carlotta’s eyes filled with tears. “Before it’s too late. Is Rose all right? She flew…”
“I must go and see. Be brave.”
Carlotta nodded. Topaz straightened and walked around to the other side of the cab, where its overturned bulk cast deep shadow. Breath gusted in her chest when she saw Rose huddled against one wheel. Had none of the rescuers seen her yet?
Topaz nearly stumbled over a pile of twisted metal and recognized it, belatedly, as the steam unit that had pursued them. It lay barely an arm’s length from Rose.
As she knelt down, she reflected it might almost be best for the woman to be dead. But Rose’s eyes, full of wild light, flew open when Topaz touched her.
“How badly are you hurt?” Topaz asked.
“I don’t know. What happened?”
“The steamcab crashed. Do you think you can stand? We’d better not let them find you here.”
“Them?”
“Rescuers—on the other side of the cab.” Topaz could hear the voices now. In another minute they would round the cab and see Rose.
“There was another passenger,” a voice called. “Where did she go?”
“Give me your arm.” Topaz took Rose’s elbow and, both of them groaning, levered her to her feet.
“Can you walk?”
“Not sure.”
“Try. Here—between these two houses.”
“The steamie?”
“Over there. It’s dead.”
“I don’t want to go back to that house.”
“We won’t.”
“I hate this body. I want it to die, but I don’t know if I want that to happen here on the street.”
“Then come.”
A nightmare ensued, composed of cold, dark yards, darker alleys, and block after block of icy, glistening streets. Sleet dashed into Topaz’s face, and Rose grew ever heavier on her arm.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Rose gasped at one point.
“I hope so.”
At last, on a dim corner, Rose sank to her knees. “Can’t keep going.”
“Where are you hurt? Are you bleeding?” Topaz asked.
Rose laughed darkly. “Can I bleed?”
“Of course.”
“But what am I?” Rose stared up into Topaz’s face. “A reanimated corpse. I was like those two others, wasn’t I, before that Devil did whatever he did?”
“And a spirit,” Topaz told her. “Don’t forget, that’s the part that’s you.”
“Trapped in rewarmed flesh.” Rose gasped. “I’m in pain. I think something’s broken.”
“Listen, you can’t be found here. I don’t think we have to go much farther.”
“All right.”
By the time they crossed Richmond, Rose’s weight nearly had Topaz defeated. She looked at the slick faces of the houses, trying desperately to remember which was Patrick’s.
“There.”
She dragged Rose up the walk, her exhaustion almost lost in pain. Both her palms were skinned, and she felt blood dripping down one leg.
Please, she thought as she pounded on the door. Let him be home. Don’t let him be on duty this night.
The door opened.
“Pat!” She nearly wept. “Oh, thank God.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“We need to call a doctor,” Patrick Kelly said.
“No—no doctors.” Topaz reached out from the chair where he had put her—his big armchair—and seized his hand. They had placed Rose on the narrow settee, where she lay as if once more dead. “No doctors and no hospital.”
He hunkered down beside the chair, and she stared into his green eyes. She fancied she saw concern there. “Your friend is badly hurt, Topaz, as are you. You say your steamcab crashed?”
“Yes.” To Topaz’s dismay, she had to blink back tears. “My brother’s friend Carlotta was with us; they’ve taken her away in an ambulance. I couldn’t let them find—her.” She nodded at Rose. “She’s from my father’s cellar. Patrick, she’s…”
How to explain it to a man who wore his own dead skin? Perhaps he’d understand better than anyone.
She struggled up in the chair on a wave of pain. “She’s the result of an experiment, Pat—a successful one. Most of the others didn’t work.”
“You have discovered what is going on there?”
“Bits of it. I believe, when we’re able to talk to her, she will have more answers. You must see I can’t let her be taken by the authorities. Not before we learn what she knows.”
Patrick glanced at Rose’s motionless form. “Or at all. I do see that. But she needs care.” He hesitated. “Tell me again what happened.”
Topaz had blurted it all out, not very coherently, when they came through the door. Now, with her fingers still gripping his, she went through it all again, striving for calm she couldn’t quite achieve.
“We were pursued by one of my father’s steam units,” she concluded. “It caught hold of the cab. I think that helped trigger the wreck. But no,” she added wretchedly, “it was all my fault. I told the cabbie to lose the steamie. If anything terrible happens to Carlotta or her baby, Sapphire will never forgive me.”
“Are you saying this Carlotta carries your brother’s child?”
“Yes. He’s gone to procure them lodging and look for a job. Pat, we have to try and find him, tell him what’s happened. I promised Carlotta.”
“I can make queries, yes. But Miss Topaz, you must also let me summon medical care. Your companion is badly hurt—I think she may have broken bones. From my observation, you have some broken ribs, as well.”
“No…” Topaz began again.
He forestalled her. “The doctor I have in mind is nearby and discreet. I have used him before, when the girls—the streetwalkers—needed help and proved reluctant to get it elsewhere.”
“But how will we explain Rose?”
“He will require no explanations.”
“How can you be sure we can trust him?”
“He is not fully accredited and will not wish to be reported for practicing medicine.”
“A hack, then.”
“He is a good doctor who has not been given a fair chance. May I summon him?”
“If you believe it necessary.”
“I do. Trust me, Miss Topaz.” Patrick got to his feet. “Do you think you were followed here? If so, I will also summon the lads.”
“The lads?”
He made a soft grinding noise—a laugh. “Many members of the Irish Squad reside here in this house, remember, or nearby. I will send one of them for Dr. Rasmussen. I can ask the others to form a perimeter.”
“The steam unit was destroyed in the wreck, but there may be others.”
“One or two of the lads on patrol, then. You rest while I take care of it.”
Topaz subsided into a well of pain.
****
Pain. It remained always with him now, his sole companion other than the smothering darkness. The darkness would be the thing to unravel his mind—not the electrodes or the water or the fear of what else might be brought into play. Not even the disintegration he felt happening within himself. It would be the disorientation and the lack of air.
He shivered where he lay. The temperature in the cell had dropped as time passed, and he wore only his smalls. How long had he been alone? When would they come again?
Dread cramped his guts, and to distract himself he tried to remember. All those questions the evil rabbit had asked him: his name, his profession, his objective in leaving England.
England. He tried to picture it and won only an image of a great, trackless green marsh, sky of soft gray lowering over it all, and the sea beyond. He tried to convince himself he now floated on that sea, and failed. The darkness stole any such illusions.
Sheer Madness Page 13