The Eidolon

by Tiffany Dominguez

  He raised his gaze instantly to the doctor and growled, “What did you do?”

  The man removed his mask and smiled. He might mean to look reassuring, professional. About to explain a standard procedure to a nervous patient.

  Emil drew his sword.

  The doctor shrugged. “She was to be the first of her kind. It was for science, you understand.”

  Emil roared. “What was for science? This is torture! This is—”

  The doctor raised his arm, a long, wicked knife in his hand.

  The long cattail end of a whip came out of nowhere, knocking the blade out of the doctor’s hand. Emil stepped to the side and turned, just as the whip cracked again, this time wrapping around the man’s neck and yanking him to the ground.

  A figure, dressed in a gentleman’s towncoat, stepped forward and twisted the doctor’s neck, causing a loud crack. The assailant then swung his foot back and kicked the doctor clear to the other side of the room, a good twenty feet.

  Emil stepped forward, placing his body in between the assailant and Veronica. Waited, watched to see what the man would do.

  He dropped to his knee, head bowed, hand over his heart. Said nothing, simply remained submissive. After a moment, he raised his head and removed his hat.

  Emil drew his sword. This was not a man, it was a machine. Made of metal and gears. It’s eyes spun, faster and faster. It pointed at Veronica and then to itself, over and over.

  Emil glanced at Veronica. Her eyes seemed lighter, brighter in color as the machine frantically gestured at her. He certainly couldn’t ask her about the machine—whether or not it posed them any harm.

  He turned. He could ask it, though. “Do you serve the Lady Veronica?”

  The thing nodded vigorously, as it patted its chest where a heart would normally be.

  At least it was on their side, whatever it was. It moved with a machine’s precision, but Emil would swear the way it communicated was nearly human. As though it cared for its master. Fascinating.

  Emil turned back toward Ugly, sword still in hand. He couldn’t leave the man alive, not after what Ugly had done to Veronica…A memory arose in Emil’s mind. Master Craig as he clamped cuffs on Emil’s wrists. Cruelty marked a person, and it was unmistakable on Ugly. The choice wasn’t difficult. Emil ran the scarred man through with his blade and then wiped it clean on the man’s robes.

  Two deaths. It wasn’t enough to atone for what had been done to Lady Veronica.

  Emil grabbed a length of cloth from the surgical table and wrapped it around Veronica’s wound. He then lifted her into his arms. The machine followed him, completely silent. Good, at least it wouldn’t reveal them to any remaining Enforcers. They left the same way Emil came in. He didn’t know what to say to her, though his mind continued to propose ideas. Thoughts of comfort? Apology? Sympathy? Nothing felt right.

  He knew Veronica had secrets, hid them like Rosseau hid his French wine. But this? Dressing as a man and fighting Grillett’s thugs? Rescuing street rats she clearly cared for?

  Emil stumbled. A member of the most post powerful gentry in the world, saving children of uncertain parentage. Not only that, no one knew. She didn’t claim credit, of course, no one among her set would care. She would’ve had no one to confide in. Instead, ridiculed by all, Veronica had quietly endured it in order to deflect suspicion and do what she believed in.

  Veronica’s eyes blinked and her fingers brushed his shoulder. He glanced down at her. She seemed to be trying to tell him something but the stun from the Tesla-ray hadn’t worn off yet. He needed to get her back to his ship. Rosseau could help.

  He headed toward the entrance to the district. As he merged with one shadow and then another, dodging the street guard, once again his thoughts wandered back to the masque. His first society event and he’d danced with a woman who donned a mask to save children from The Grave. He’d wanted to kiss her.

  He should have.

  He glanced down at Veronica. Everything he dreamed of in a woman but never thought existed in all the world he’d seen and traveled—passion, fire, a drive to make a difference—lay in his arms.

  Lay bleeding in his arms, broken at the altar of greed and cruelty. He knew, he’d been sacrificed on that altar long ago. Aman Tanrım, he’d do everything he could to make this right.

  The gate opened and he slipped through. The alarm hadn’t yet been raised. Hopefully Ugly and the deranged doctor wouldn’t be discovered for a while yet. Emil slipped down the remaining streets to the spot where Rosseau waited.

  His friend eyed the bundle in Emil’s arms. Then stared at the machine. A smile of interest flitted across his face. He glanced upward and then back toward Emil. “A stretcher perhaps?” he asked.

  Of course, Rosseau had seen much stranger sights in their years together. A bleeding woman dressed as a man did not even make the list of oddities.

  Though this man made of metal certainly did.

  Emil nodded and Rosseau scrambled up the ladder on the side of the building until he reached the top where the dirigible lay in wait. It took several long minutes, where Emil kept shifting Veronica’s weight, hoping to somehow make her comfortable. After they managed to strap her onto the stretcher, Emil covered her in a blanket. He didn’t want the crew knowing he brought a woman aboard, much less the Eidolon. They managed to get her aboard. The machine man followed, concealed once again in a mask and hat.

  Emil carried her to his cabin. Rosseau followed, closing the door behind him. He helped transfer Veronica to Emil’s bed.

  “She is paralyzed?” Rosseau asked.

  Emil nodded. “Some type of stunning ray.”

  “A surgeon must be fetched, Capitan. This is beyond the basic stiches I perform for you.”

  “I trust no one in this cursed city,” Emil said as he eased off Veronica’s shoes and adjusted her into a position he thought might be the least uncomfortable. He examined her left hand more closely. A piece of metal jutted out from the stump. The pain must be excruciating. What purpose the metal served, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t dare touch it for fear of doing further damage.

  Veronica began tapping her good hand on the bed. When she saw she had Emil’s attention, Veronica moved her lips, but the sound hovered too quietly on the air.

  Emil leaned forward, hoping to catch the sound before it vanished.

  “Hoch.” The words emerged in a stream so faint, he nearly missed it.

  “That loony professor?” Emil shook his head. Dr. Hoch wasn’t a medical doctor. What would she want with him? He didn’t believe she trusted the man. Hoch had been all over the place at the Expo, muttering to himself, avoiding any type of eye contact. Rather like those factory kids who became institutionalized. Been too long at the same routine, the same deprivations, same tortures. Their minds snapped and broke into pieces, scattered on a foul wind. Hoch appeared to be a grown version of them.

  She blinked several times, then whispered, “Fake.”

  “Fake? Dr. Hoch is a fake?” Emil searched her face for clues, but her deep blue eyes couldn’t speak except to register her pain. Fake at what? Emil tugged at his scarf. He needed to think. Faster.

  Her brows wrinkled. She took a breath and exhaled, “Me.”

  “You? Ah, you mean he was faking it? The loony bit, just like you?” Emil asked. Her chin dipped down and then up very slightly in what must have been a nod.

  Of all the idiots she’d met, he must seem the worst of the lot. Of course, if Veronica could convince the world of her insanity, so could Dr. Hoch. Like her, he played an excellent part. Emil cursed his stupidity for the second time tonight. They might have been in on this together from the start. Dr. Hoch with his genius in mechanics—maybe the source of the Tesla-ray? And her with unlimited means and her unmatched intelligence.

  The machine stood in the corner all the while. Eyes spinning fast enough to make Emil dizzy. When he heard Dr. Hoch’s name, he stepped forward and pointed to himself, jabbing his chest.

  “Y
ou can fetch Dr. Hoch?” Emil asked.

  It nodded and then simply vanished, moving faster than anything Emil had ever seen. He thought it might’ve gone through a window but he couldn’t be sure. He blinked and then the thing was gone. It made Emil glad the machine was on their side.

  “I’ll fetch some, er, tools,” Rosseau said. He bowed and then left.

  Emil looked about the room. Did he have anything to give Veronica for the pain that she must be feeling by now? His eyes rested on Rosseau’s medical bag. He opened it. Powders of all sorts. Ah, opium. That would do the trick. He grabbed the nearby teakettle. Good! The sides were warm to the touch. He poured some into a cup and mixed the opium powder with it.

  He gathered clean bandages and a washbasin and knelt by the bed. Emil looked into Veronica’s eyes. They stared back unflinchingly. “I’m going to clean the wound and bind it. But first, I’d like to give you something for the pain.”

  She appeared to consider this for a moment, then her eyes clouded over and lines appeared on her forehead. Her lips moved but no sound emerged.

  She must be out of her mind with suffering. Emil cleaned his hands and tested the liquid. Not too hot. He trickled it into a syringe. He hated to inject it straight into her but anything else would take too long. He couldn’t risk the injured arm, so he found a vein and pumped the opium into her other one. After a few moments, her eyelids drooped shut.

  He began cleaning and wrapping her wound, glancing up at her face every few moments to make sure she rested. Emil wondered at his impulse to gather Veronica in his arms, press her to him and listen for her heartbeat. He couldn’t lose Veronica now that he’d just found her.

  He prayed to God to send Dr. Hoch soon.

  * * *

  “I should’ve brought more tools,” Dr. Hoch muttered. “This is not a simple surgery.” He bound his white hair in a leather tie and scrubbed his hands.

  “What do you need? I will have it fetched for you,” Emil said. Dr. Hoch had indeed arrived quickly, but Emil worried at the blood continuing to stain the bandages on Veronica’s hand.

  “This apparatus my deranged colleague shoved into her without thought, I cannot remove it. But, the good news is that it will stabilize the new hand that I will attach. One of my own design.”

  Dr. Hoch peeled back the bandage. “See, here, where the metal extends up into the arm. He must have been re-enforcing her bone structure. Such a procedure should be done so much more carefully, with greater precision.”

  Rosseau looked, horror plain on his large features. “Has such a thing been done before?”

  Dr. Hoch shook his head. “There’s been much discussion about the possibility, but it’s never been attempted. I dare not remove the metal now. It might trigger further bleeding. It’s small enough that she can heal around it. I have to get started. Now.”

  “Of course. Do what you must.” Emil’s chest tightened. He could have prevented this, could have saved her this pain, if only he’d been quicker. Instead, he’d taken his time, immersed in memories. He muttered curse after curse in Turkish.

  “I see Clank is still in one piece,” Dr. Hoch said as he began sterilizing his tools.

  “Clank?” Emil asked.

  Dr. Hoch pointed at the machine man. “An automaton. My invention. Bleeding brilliant one too.”

  “What’s an automaton?”

  “A machine made to move and look like a man. A bodyguard for the Eidolon. She’s become quite attached to him. And, oddly enough, he to her.” Dr. Hoch smiled like a proud parent.

  Emil studied Clank. The automaton had removed its hat and mask. It had a normal, human sized-nose. Metal lips. Gears for eyes. Its face was oval, chin more strong than aquiline. No hair. The shoulders spread wide, narrow waist, thin legs. It stood a few inches under six feet, a bit taller than Veronica.

  “How can he act so human?” Emil asked.

  “He watched. Imitates. He’s designed to act like one of us. He’s capable of learning, but not of disobeying orders. Unless his master becomes incapacitated,” Dr. Hoch replied, his tone cheerful.

  “Fascinating,” Emil muttered.

  The doctor set out his tools. They looked sharp and scary, every single one of them. Emil asked, “She won’t wake, will she? Should I administer more opium?”

  Dr. Hoch shook his head. “Only if she begins to stir. We don’t want to overdose her. I have a tisane that you can give her as soon as she wakes that will ease her pain.”

  Emil laid a palm against Veronica’s cheek. She didn’t move. Her skin felt warm and soft, in spite of her pallor. All the while Dr. Hoch worked, Emil kept his eyes on Veronica’s. She had to survive. He did, after all. Surviving was never the easiest option, but she wouldn’t give up easily. Emil would be there to make sure she had the best chance of doing so. There wasn’t another woman like her in the world, and he would not let her go.

  Unless…Durad’s easy grin rose in his mind. Blast. As he pondered his options, his heart twisted over and over, rung out like a wet sponge. Could he do this, steal the woman Durad had come to care for, the woman that would save Sombor?

  Emil sighed.

  But perhaps, before he handed her over to Durad, Emil would take just a few moments with the one woman in the world for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A new beginning

  The instant Veronica awoke, memories of Blackthorne, the doctor, and Mr. Marcovic flooded her mind with a force nearly painful. Her eyes flew open and she looked at her left arm. It was covered in a sparkling white bandage and rested on a silk pillow. Someone had put a glove on…her hand. Hadn’t the doctor removed it? She tried flexing it.

  White, blinding pain. Her entire body convulsed. She couldn’t think beyond what she felt. Blackness threatened and she tried to embrace it.

  A cup pressed to her lips. “Drink. It will help.” Mr. Marcovic’s deep, softly accented voice.

  Veronica willed her body still and took a few sips of the drink he offered. The liquid was smooth and warm. Even swallowing hurt.

  “It will take but a few moments.” A cloth, warm and smelling of rose water pressed against her cheek. She shut her eyes, the dim light in the cabin too bright for her senses. The numbing from the Tesla-ray had certainly worn off. She could feel everything. The slippery smooth sheets, the cold, damp air on her face. Her left arm burned as though a giant splinter wormed it’s way up to her elbow. She wanted to yank it out and see if it would ease the pain, yet feared removing the glove would make her nightmare reality.

  For the next few minutes, she focused on the simple task of drawing air into her lungs and expelling it. She winced with even that small movement—the upward and downward motion of her chest. Mr. Marcovic muttered something to himself in Turkish. She didn’t understand the words, yet she recognized the tone as bitter, angry even.

  In the next instant, a warmth flooded her senses, and the pain lifted, evaporating as though it might have only been an illusion. She opened her eyes and immediately shifted to a sitting position, using her right arm as leverage.

  Mr. Marcovic moved off the bed quickly—one moment he was there with his scented cloth, the next he was across the room. Oddly, Veronica had the presence of mind to be impressed by his quick reflexes.

  “It worked?” he asked.

  She nodded, feeling a smile nearly break her face in half. Blessed relief. “Will it last?”

  He shrugged and held up a small leather pouch. She wanted to snatch it from him. The thought of enduring that pain again made her more than a little mental. Surely he wouldn’t deny her?

  “I don’t know, but Dr. Hoch left plenty. How’s your hand?” He asked quietly, nodding at the blanket. The manner in which he stood, so stiffly, nearly made her wonder if he blamed himself for what lie underneath.

  That would never be true. Even now, moments after awakening, she knew she owed him her life.

  Veronica steeled herself and lifted the sheet. Her gloved hand lay still, an accessory but not part o
f her. She flexed her fingers. They moved, awkward and stiff. She tried again, this time using a bit more force. Her glove tore at the seams and fell away.

  For several moments, she couldn’t speak. Perhaps this was yet a dream. The one of Blackthorne had certainly felt real. She glanced up at her surroundings. Wood desk. Large canvas map. Sextant. Globe. Small dining table. Several hanging brass lamps. Curios—tribal masks, rolled papyrus, satchels of spices.

  Mr. Marcovic could be an apparition. She remembered the flash of his sword, how he’d killed the doctor and Blackthorne with an efficiency she’d never seen before. She remembered how he’d carried her, smelling of saffron, and strong arms erasing her terror at being utterly helpless.

  And Clank. He killed the…She glanced around the room.

  “Clank is fine. Dr. Hoch sent him back to Matilda,” Emil said.

  He approached her with slow, deliberate steps. He must see the fear in her face. What did he think of this misshapen, inhuman contraption she now wore? What would Durad think? The Duke? Alec? Though the metallic joints matched the length of her fingers, flexing and moving at her command, they felt awkward and stiff. Unnatural. Ugly.

  She trembled as Mr. Marcovic knelt beside her. He spoke her name softly, his accented voice familiar and calming. “Veronica—”

  “What happened to my hand? Is this Dr. Hoch’s work?” She lifted it from the pillow, barren now that she’d torn through the glove. She didn’t really want to know what he would say to her. The words would be falsely comforting or brutally honest. Either way held little appeal.

  Mr. Marcovic nodded, the scarf around his face fluttering. His black eyes stared into hers, soft and sad, as if trying to apologize for whichever path he would’ve taken. “The doctor at the orphanage didn’t leave anything…whole enough to save. Dr. Hoch preserved your arm and then by some miracle, produced this hand and attached it to your nervous system. Is it, do you have control over it?”

  Dr. Hoch had done that for her? He saved her am, and then restored function with this hand. It was, indeed a miracle. The thought of being without a hand did seem infinitely worse—even if it were not the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. But then, Veronica was used to looking less than her best.