by Gareth Ward
Afterwards they sat in the doctor’s office sipping Earl Grey.
“It makes you think, doesn’t it, Sinclair?” said Hotchin.
“What does, sir?”
“Seeing the likes of Miss Gordon. She knows she’s going to die, but she’s not giving up. I saw the same in India with wounded soldiers. Some would pass without a fight, others, they simply refused to go, said they had unfinished business in this world.”
“Do you think there’ll be another war, Doctor?”
Hotchin blew on his tea. “There’s always another war, Sinclair. It’s just a question of how far away it is.”
* * *
The workhouse quietened down after supper, save for the occasional wail of a mournful inmate. Sin drifted towards Velvet’s room. No one had told him he wasn’t allowed to visit but, unlike COG, the workhouse was strictly divided into male and female sides and Sin suspected his presence would be frowned upon. He knocked lightly on Velvet’s door. There was the creak of bedsprings then the door opened. Velvet scanned the corridor then ushered him inside.
Her room was bigger than Sin’s and in better repair, with no mould or damp. Beneath her window was a small mirrored dresser on which sat an array of glass bottles. Hanging from each bedpost was a pomander that gave the room a strong scent of lavender.
“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” said Velvet.
“Not supposed to do a lot of things but it don’t stop me. Besides, I came to see if you found anything.”
Velvet pulled open a drawer in the dresser and took out a cardboard box.
“I found this,” she said, handing it to Sin.
He flipped the lid open. Inside was a chocolate eclair.
Velvet smiled. “Although I found that at Marmadukes. Unfortunately, Harris returned too quickly for me to have a proper search of the office. What about you?”
Sin bit into the eclair. There was something different about Velvet now that they were away from COG. Gone was the petty bickering and the arrogance. Instead, she was focused on making things work. Determined to complete the mission. He swallowed and said, “I didn’t find much. Harris smelled of cigarettes.”
“And?”
“He smokes Salmon & Gluckstein Dandy Fifth. That’s proper gentry tobacco, not the floor scrapings you’d expect a workhouse porter to be burning.”
“You think someone’s bribing him?”
“Harris must see everyone who comes and goes in this place. Perhaps it’s an incentive to turn a blind eye.”
“Indeed, but to what?”
“Could we have a look at the file cabinet now the office is closed?” said Sin, flicking one of the pomanders and sending a shower of lavender over the bed.
Velvet shooed him away. “No. Harris sleeps right next door so there’s even less chance.”
“How about if I create some sort of misdirection to occupy Harris tomorrow? Could you use the time to check the files?”
“That might work. What kind of misdirection?” said Velvet, picking lavender from her covers.
Sin smiled. “Something they’ll get all steamed up about.”
CHAPTER 33
AN UNHAPPY REUNION
Steam spouted from the ruptured pressure pipes with an enraged hiss. Sin lead Harris through the sauna-like fug to a complicated control panel hanging half-off the basement’s wall. Its fascia was covered in circular brass gauges, the needles of which oscillated wildly. Thick copper pipes sprouted from the panel in all directions. The largest pipe, the diameter of Sin’s arm, ran from the bottom of the panel to a spherical boiler in the basement’s corner. Halfway along the pipe a large valve-wheel dripped water. A metal plate hung on a chain from the valve, on it the words DO NOT TOUCH.
“Someone’s tried to wrench it off the wall,” said Sin, neglecting to mention that he was the someone in question.
Harris ran a hand over his bald head, which was turning a vivid pink colour in the heat. “Better turn off the main pressure from the boiler,” he said uncertainly. His chunky fingers wrapped around the valve wheel and he began to turn.
“NO!” shouted Doctor Hotchin, appearing through the steam. “There’s important medical equipment connected. It can’t lose pressure.” The doctor ran to the panel and tapped some of the dials. “Only the pipes to the workshop are broken. We can reroute them.” He moved away from the panel, tracing a pipe until it reached an inline gauge. The needle on the gauge was slowly dropping. He pointed to a brassanium valve. “Sinclair, you’ve got the return bypass. Harris, the auxillary frunge wheel. I need you to both turn them off when I say.”
The doctor returned to the control panel. “Three, two, one, now.”
Sin’s muscles strained as he worked the valve wheel. It was rusty and grated with each turn, seeming to fight harder against him with every revolution. He glanced up at the doctor who scrutinised the panel, feathering a lever as the gauge’s needles played back and forth.
“My valve’s closed,” shouted Harris.
Sin turned the wheel twice more until it refused to budge any further. “Mine’s closed too.”
The doctor moved a handle on the control panel and the escaping steam stopped. He dashed to the gauge on the pipe and watched the needle climb.
Sin looked from the doctor to where the pipe ran through the wall. The brickwork appeared new, not having yet succumbed to the workhouse’s melancholy and the pipe was shiny and untarnished. It seemed strange that the doctor was familiar with the boiler and control panel. On their rounds Sin hadn’t seen any medical equipment more complex than the endoscope, certainly nothing that would require steam power.
Hotchin scribbled a note in his diary. He ripped out the page and handed it to Harris. “Take this to Pratt and Witney Boilers and tell them we’ve got an emergency.”
The doctor hurried to his office with Sin in tow. “I need to check on the Rat Pox patients,” he said. Donning his respirator, he took the large brassanium key from the dispensary trolley. Sin reached for his own mask and Hotchin blocked him. “Wait, Sinclair. I need you to stay here in case …” Hotchin’s gaze darted about the office, coming to rest on the business card from Blackman and Bell, “… in case they need to collect the casket. Harris normally deals with it but you’ll have to manage.”
“Shall I come and get you if they turn up?”
Above the leather mask strapped to his face the doctor’s eyes widened. “No. It’s vital that I work undisturbed. Just stay here.”
Sin relaxed back in his chair. He put his arms behind his neck and lifted his feet onto a stool as if settling in for the afternoon. Hotchin checked his mask was secure then rushed from the office. Sin waited a moment then pulled open the doctor’s bag. It was curious Hotchin hadn’t taken it with him to check on the patients. From inside he retrieved the endoscope and shoved it into his pocket. With a footpad’s stealth he eased the door open. The corridor was deserted and he slunk to reception undetected. Harris’s normal space at the counter was empty, but Sin heard the rustling of paperwork from somewhere inside. The reception door was locked so, quiet as a cat on the prowl, he vaulted the counter and stalked into the back office.
Velvet hunched over the filing cabinet, riffling through paperwork. Sin’s shadow fell across her and she jumped, spilling a sheaf of papers onto the floor. Her head snapped up. “Piston heck! What do you think you’re doing?”
“I thought you might need a hand.”
“I was doing dandy until you showed up and nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Found anything?”
“For sure. I need to do some crosschecking.”
“Seriously, though. Can I help?”
“I don’t mean to be rude but these records are pretty complicated and not for the semi-literate.”
For once Sin got the feeling that Velvet wasn’t putting him down, she was simply stating a fact. “I’ll leave you to it. I think Hotchin’s up to something. I’m going to check it out.”
Velvet reclaimed the sc
attered papers. “Let’s meet up this evening and share what we’ve discovered.”
* * *
The infirmary’s foul stench assaulted Sin’s nose and he wished he’d thought to wear his mask. The patients moaned and groaned but paid him little heed as he approached the copper-plated door to the Rat Pox ward. He kneeled down and removed the endoscope from his pocket. Pushing the disc covering the keyhole aside, he threaded the endoscope into the hole. Fortunately, Hotchin had removed the key from the lock and, with some gentle coercion, Sin guided the endoscope clean through. He lowered his eye to the optics and saw a circular section of the Rat Pox ward. For some reason the endoscope had turned the image upside down but the detail was clear enough, the bodies strapped to the beds, the shelves of equipment. No Hotchin. Sin manoeuvred the endoscope sideways, panning his view back and forth in case he’d missed the doctor. Other than the patients, the ward was empty.
Sin pulled the endoscope clear and thrust it into his pocket. He needed to get back to Hotchin’s office in case the doctor returned. As he reached the infirmary door, a voice behind him said, “’Ere, I knows you.”
Sin turned to see a young scraggy-bearded man eyeing him from a rag mattress on the floor. “I couldn’t place you earlier, been spinning me cogs trying to remember. You’re one of the Fixer’s lads.”
There was something familiar about the man. Sin tried to picture him without the beard. He had a horrible suspicion the man was right; their paths had crossed. Still, he had to try to bluff his way out, convince the man he was wrong or the mission would be blown and he’d be out of COG for sure. “I do believe you’re very much mistaken, sir,” said Sin in his poshest accent.
“No, it’s you all right. You running some sort of scam for the Fixer? What is it? Nicking drugs?”
Sin raised a hand to his mouth, pretending to be shocked. “I say, how dare you?”
“Bet the doctor don’t know. Bet he’d make it worth me while if I told him. Unless of course you wanna make it worth me while not to?”
Sin raised his eyebrows. “Really, sir. I don’t know you, I don’t know this Fixer and I don’t know how you can suggest such a thing.”
The man grinned and tapped a finger against his temple. “I can suggest such a thing ’cos I used to run with the Barrel Lane crew and ’cos I stabbed you in the arm.”
CHAPTER 34
AN UNWELCOME GUEST
Sin walked closer to the man. He was perhaps five years older than Sin and, despite being in the infirmary, he had a wiry strength to his frame. Sin suspected he wasn’t even ill merely on the wag, dodging work and getting extra rations of food. Sin remembered when they’d fought before. The man had been a right handful and Sin didn’t fancy his chances now. He was only going to get one shot at this.
He eased the endoscope from his pocket and, behind his back, wrapped it around his hand, forming an impromptu knuckleduster. Punching from his waist and twisting his hips like Eldritch had shown him, his fist connected with the man’s chin and he collapsed onto the mattress.
“That’s for stabbing me,” whispered Sin to the unconscious man, then louder so the room could hear, he said, “This man has been abusing Doctor Hotchin’s kindness. Don’t let me catch any of you causing trouble or you’ll get the same.” He thrust the endoscope into his pocket, then clutching one end of the rag mattress dragged it and its occupant from the infirmary.
Sin’s legs screamed in complaint by the time he reached his room but with a final effort he pulled his cargo inside. The man moaned groggily and Sin knew he didn’t have long before he regained full consciousness. He tore strips of material from the mattress and bound the man’s limbs. With a scrap of rag rolled into a ball he made a makeshift gag, which he forced into the man’s mouth. It wasn’t pretty but it would keep his prisoner silent and secure while he figured out what to do.
The situation had turned to horse dung. When things went south the Fixer always said the sweetest flowers grew from the biggest piles of crap. Even so, Sin struggled to see how was he going to come out of this smelling of roses.
He hurried back to Hotchin’s office and eased the door open. The doctor hadn’t returned yet and all was quiet save for the gentle tick of the infirmary cabinet’s clockwork rewinding. Sin slid the endoscope from his pocket. Superficially, it appeared undamaged, but the tinkle of broken glass that came from within told another story. He returned the endoscope to the doctor’s bag and latched it closed, hoping Hotchin wouldn’t have cause to use the instrument in the near future. Sitting back in his chair, he tried to relax, as if nothing had happened. But his mind wandered to the man in his room, while his eyes seemed unnaturally drawn to the doctor’s bag.
The office door swung open. Sin’s heart leaped but he forced himself to remain still, outwardly presenting a facade of the bored assistant. Velvet stepped into the room. “Some men from Blackman and Bell are at reception for Doctor Hotchin.”
Sin sucked in a deep breath and stood. “We’ve got a problem,” he whispered.
Velvet glanced down the corridor. “What have you done?”
“It weren’t my fault. A patient knew me from the gangs.”
The sound of the door to the Rat Pox ward clanging shut echoed through the infirmary.
“That’ll be Hotchin,” said Sin. “We’ll have to sort it later.”
“Sort what?” hissed Velvet, but before Sin could reply the doctor stepped into the corridor.
Velvet straightened and squared her shoulders. “Thank goodness you’re here, Doctor. I have two tradesmen at reception to pick up a casket.”
“I’m afraid they’re going to have to take the sealed casket back too.” Hotchin turned to Sin. “And I need you to go with them, Sinclair. Tell Mr Blackman we’re going to need that special casket after all.”
* * *
Sin returned with the undertaker’s assistants and the special casket just before tea. It looked like a normal coffin but was about a hand’s width deeper and had an additional set of locks to secure it closed. Mounted on a clockwork-powered trolley it was easy to manoeuvre despite its additional size and weight. Under Hotchin’s direction they wheeled it into the infirmary and positioned it by the door to the Rat Pox ward. Hotchin withdrew a purse from his pocket and handed each assistant a shilling for the extra trouble he’d put them to. Doffing their caps, they departed, their normal sombre demeanour replaced with large smiles.
“I’m going to need your help with this, Sinclair, and I’m afraid it won’t be pleasant,” said Hotchin, handing Sin his respirator.
“I’m getting the impression that not much of your job is pleasant, Doctor.”
Hotchin smiled. “You’re a quick learner, Sinclair.” He secured his own respirator across his face and withdrew the brassanium key from his pocket. He opened the door and Sin wheeled the casket inside and next to Patient Three. It had only been a day since he’d helped Hotchin examine Miss Gordon with the endoscope, but what lay in her place was an unrecognisable mess of pustules and bloody burst boils. Sin understood now why Hotchin gave them numbers. It was hard to think of the corpse as human, let alone a particular person.
“This can get icky so we’ll need the gloves,” said Hotchin.
Sin wriggled his fingers into the black rubber, grateful that the long gloves extended almost to his elbows. He wasn’t a stranger to death but what he saw on the bed wasn’t death; it was an abomination.
Hotchin unfastened the casket’s lid and lifted it upwards. Hinged on one side and aided by chunky internal springs it swung easily open despite the copper-plated lining. The springs vibrated, making a boinging noise that would have been quite comical in any other situation. “We’re going to wrap the body in the sheet and lift it into the casket,” directed Hotchin. “You get the feet.”
Sin untucked the bedsheet from under the mattress and folded it over the body’s legs. Hotchin did the same at the head end, cocooning the remains in a makeshift shroud.
“Two, six, lift,” he said and be
tween them they heaved the morbid parcel into the casket.
“Why ‘two, six’?” asked Sin. He’d heard the term used before and it hadn’t made sense to him then.
Hotchin pulled the casket’s lid closed. “It’s a military term. Six men to a steam-cannon gun crew. Numbers two and six lift the shell into the breach.”
“Where did you serve?”
“I had a short stint in a field hospital attached to the King’s Steam Cavalry. Then the Tea Wars ended and I returned to civilian life. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve often thought about joining up,” lied Sin.
“Well, don’t.” Hotchin gestured to the patients in the room. “I said earlier there aren’t worse ways to die, and that’s the truth, but from what I saw in the war there are worse ways to live.” He leaned on the casket, a haunted look in his eyes. “I can finish up here, Sinclair. Go get some supper before the kitchen closes.”
Sin placed his gloves in the bucket of bleach and Hotchin ushered him from the room, locking the door behind him. Sin walked noisily away in case Hotchin was listening, then crept back to the door. He peeked through the keyhole but without the endoscope he could see nothing. Resting his head against the copper plates, he pressed his ear to the keyhole and listened. Inside, he heard a scuffing noise and then the boing of the casket’s springs as the lid was reopened.
CHAPTER 35
COFFIN FIT
Sin let Velvet into his room. The man lay on the floor. An additional rag strip now covered his eyes so Sin didn’t have to face his accusing stare. The man tilted his head, listening to the peal of bells that rang out across Coxford as myriad church and college clocks struck eight.