Cultwick: The Science of Faith

by J. Stone

  “Hunting,” he said before quickly moving the conversation forward. “I need a new arm, Clover.”

  Ignoring him, the chromesmith nodded to Cassie and asked, “Who’s your friend?”

  She answered for herself. “Cassie. You’re Erynn?”

  “Ryn’ll do,” she replied. “How’d he get you involved?”

  “Other way around actually,” Cassie explained. “He’s helping me with some business in the city.”

  “Being led around by another woman, huh?” Erynn joked.

  Vincent groaned in response.

  Cassie smiled politely, but asked, “What about the arm?”

  “Yeah,” Erynn replied. “I think I could somehow stumble through something like that.” Looking over to Vincent, she asked, “Why me though?”

  “What do you mean?” he replied.

  The chromesmith smiled. “Experienced bounty hunter like you with lots of ingenious toys at your disposal, surely you’ve made plenty of contacts that could do that for you. But you came to me. Why?”

  “Just seemed easiest,” he said.

  “Easy?” Erynn seemed slightly offended. “I think we grew on you.”

  “He certainly was broken up to leave us,” Pearl agreed, smiling. “I even remember tears.”

  “What’ll it cost?” Vincent asked, ignoring their accusations.

  The chromesmith narrowed her eyes, thinking about it. “No price. Just tell me how you managed to lose the fleshy one.”

  “I’m not telling you about my arm,” he objected. “Tell me how much.”

  “I’ve named my price, Mr. Rourke,” she said with a smile.

  “You’re wasting my time, Clover,” he groaned.

  Cassie interjected, “He got shot. Twice.”

  “Twice?” Pearl asked. “Ya getting slow, old man?”

  “Old? I’m not old, and I’m sure as hell not slow,” he countered. “It wasn’t fair odds.”

  “And he was drunk for the first one,” Cassie explained forcing a bit of a smile.

  “Ah,” Ryn replied. “The plot thins. Booze. That sounds more like the bounty hunter I know.”

  “If you’re all done, can we get on with it?” Vincent implored.

  “Fine, fine,” the chromesmith replied. “Pearl, could you grab that pad of paper and take some notes for me? Rourke, you sit down. I’ve gotta take some measurements.”

  Erynn walked over to one of her shelves, sifting through its contents, until she found a retractable tape for measuring. Pearl, too, went and grabbed the notepad along with a short pencil and sat down at the table. Vincent sat across from Pearl on a stool, while Cassie remained standing behind him. The chromesmith soon returned with her tape and started to wrap the measurement device around him but stopped when she wasn’t getting the results she needed.

  “Lose the shirt and coat,” she announced.

  Vincent flopped off the duster easily enough and began unbuttoning his shirt, but it was slow going with just one good hand. Cassie reached over his shoulder and attempted to help him, but he brushed her hand aside.

  “I can do it,” he replied.

  “Shut up and let me help,” she said swatting his hand and pushing it out of her way.

  After finishing the last of the buttons, Cassie pulled up Vincent’s tucked in shirt and exposed the bandages still wrapped around his midsection. She next carefully helped pull the sleeve off his good arm, lifted it away from the other, and then folded the shirt over her forearm. Erynn and Pearl both stared at the absence of his arm. Hooke had apparently done the best he could, but it was still a fresh wound.

  “That looks awful,” Pearl commented.

  “Yeah, it looks pretty raw,” Erynn agreed. “You sure you don’t want to wait before we do this?”

  “Don’t have time,” the bounty hunter replied. “Take the measurements.”

  “Alright…” Erynn said, beginning to wrap the flexible tape around his shoulders, good arm, and what remained of the other. Pearl wrote down the various numbers, her companion read to her, and Cassie waited patiently behind him.

  Seeing Cassie smile along with Erynn and Pearl’s joking had been a nice sight for the bounty hunter. Ever since he woke up in Hooke’s bed wrapped in those bandages, he hadn’t seen the slightest bit of happiness from her. Perhaps there was some hope left for her after all. He knew that she wouldn’t find any peace, until the men who’d wronged her were in the ground though. A few minutes passed, and Erynn seemed to have finished with her measurements. She took the pad of paper from Pearl and began looking over the results.

  “Put your clothes back on,” she instructed, making some notes on the paper.

  “What now?” he asked, as Cassie helped him get the shirt sleeve back over his hand and arm.

  “Now,” she said, taking a pause after the word, as she jotted more on the pad. “Now, I build this thing. Give me some time.”

  “How much time?” Cassie asked.

  “Mmm, two weeks?” Erynn guessed.

  “Don’t suppose you could cut that down some?” she inquired.

  “Um…” Erynn looked up from the pad, staring at the ceiling, clearly thinking about something before answering. “Yeah, I guess I could probably do it in a week. Can’t go any faster than that though.”

  “Thanks, Ryn,” Cassie said. “This is a big help.”

  “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what it is you two are planning?” Erynn asked.

  “It’s probably better you don’t know,” Cassie answered.

  “C’mon, Cassie,” Vincent said. “We should get going. Other things to do.”

  “Yeah,” she replied. Turning back to Erynn and Pearl, she added, “It was good to meet you two.”

  “It’s mutual,” Pearl said. “I’ll show ya both back out, and we can let Ryn get to work.”

  She and Erynn exchanged smiles, and then Pearl guided Vincent and Cassie back out to the front door. The pair was soon outside the mansion and headed back into the downtown district of the city. They might have crossed off one minor piece of his plan, but there was still a great deal of work to be done. If they wanted to take down Graham and Maynard, they would need more than a mechanical limb.

  Chapter 12. Alice’s Quarry

  Tracking Hazel Weaver down had been strangely easy. Alice suspected that she were not even trying to hide herself. Weaver’s Circus was currently in Cultwick, and after a paltry amount of investigation, Alice discovered that Hazel would be performing there that evening. Her name appeared in thick, bold letters, announcing her as a main event of the night’s performance. Stricken with curiosity, the operative decided to take in the show, and see the woman for herself. If Hazel was still in possession of the mutation that Fiona had bestowed upon her, then she might be hard pressed to not abuse that ability in her performance.

  For the time being, however, the operative returned to her apartment loft for the first time since her rebirth. Standing in the doorway of the wide open area, she was comforted to find that everything was as she had left it. Though she had been gone for some time, no one had yet disturbed it or attempted to remove her things. She walked through the hard wooded room, her heels clicking on the floor’s surface. Everything in her home was neat and tidy. Nothing had been left out, as everything had its place and was properly stored. There were very few personal effects in the room - no pictures of family, no mementos given to her by friends, nothing to remind her of her childhood. Ever since leaving the orphanage, Alice had led a mostly solitary existence, but though she was alone, she was rarely lonely.

  Alice found herself quite tired, so she entered the bathroom intending to take a hot bath before going to the circus. Staring at herself in the mirror, she took off her dress, throwing it to the side and revealing her horribly disfigured body once more. Disgusted by the black lines crisscrossing her body, she set to work unraveling the remainder of the stitches, pulling them faster and harder than was necessary. As the black thread slithered out from her skin, blood splattered a
gainst the walls, floor and mirror, and she started to leave a pile of the discarded stitches on the bathroom floor. When she had finished removing the threads, her body was covered in dribbled blood, but she no longer required the thread to keep her body in one piece. She approached her porcelain white tub, twisted the gold knob at its head, and clogged the drain.

  Without waiting for the temperature to settle to a comfortable level, Alice stepped into the bathtub and sat curled in a ball at its base. The tepid waters flowed over her blood-drenched skin, washing away the sticky mess. The waters had risen nearly to the brim of the tub, so she grabbed a washrag hanging off the brim and submerged it in the water. Using the rag, she scrubbed away the blood from her wounds, slowly turning the color of the water a murky pink.

  With the water still running, she unclogged the drain, letting the water begin to flow out from the tub. She ran her hands under the water cleaning the last bits of blood off her and then stood, climbing out and onto a floor mat. Turning back, Alice turned off the water and grabbed a white towel from a handrail. By the time she had finished drying off, the towel too had turned a pink color from the residue of blood left on her skin.

  Dropping the towel to the floor beside the discarded gown and stitches, Alice walked to her closet. She clothed herself in a similar dress to the one she had taken off, but this one was sapphire blue. Alice wrapped the belt of vials around her waist under another sash, but decided that she would first inject herself with another shot. Taking the stitches out had left her bleeding quite a bit, and it was better to err on the side of caution. After injecting herself, she could feel the tears along her body mend quicker, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before she was fully healed.

  Walking to her window, Alice looked at the clock tower that was only a couple blocks away. The show at the circus was set to begin soon, so she gathered her shawl to keep warm and left the apartment. The circus had been erected in the center of Grand Adams Park, not beyond a short walking distance from her home. She took the stairs down to the lobby, where the doorman saw her for the second time. He looked just as surprised to see her up and walking as he had when she’d come in. The air outside was fairly cool, but there was very little wind. Alice found it to be quite comfortable, having always preferred the cold to the heat. After a few minutes, she found herself on the gravel walkway in the park and approaching the large arrangement of tents.

  Not wishing to draw any attention or notice, she purchased a ticket like a normal spectator and took a seat in the back rows. Alice watched the entirety of the performance that led up to Hazel’s act, viewing everything it had to offer. Most of the opening acts were the traditional ones, men breathing fire, jugglers, lion tamers, acrobats, clowns, and they even had a sideshow of monstrosities and abnormalities, where she saw what looked to be a potato with a mouth. The ringmaster announced the various acts, giving commentary on each of their performances and keeping the crowd involved. Finally, as Alice had been looking forward to, he announced Hazel Weaver as the final act of the night.

  Hazel came out dressed in a black corset over a silky green shirt and wearing a pair of loose-fitting black pants. She also wore a black coat with a pair of long tails hanging down nearly to the nooks behind her knees. A pair of thick, leather, black boots with a chunky heel crept out from under the pants. To finish off her outfit, Hazel wore a limp and crumbled steeple hat that was typically associated with the superstitious witchcraft of old. Alice knew better than to think the escapologist had anything to do with real magic. If she did have a gift, it was born from biosynthesis.

  Hazel started out with several simple illusions, some involving cards, coins, metal hoops, and animals appearing from seemingly out of nowhere. One trick saw Hazel impaled inside a box, similar to how she had killed Lord Reverend Blackmoore while under Fiona’s control. Though unlike Blackmoore, Hazel managed to survive the box unscathed. Another illusion saw her catch a bullet with her teeth that had been fired from a chromesmithing pistol of some sort.

  The young magician then performed a series of escapes, escalating in difficulty, danger, and theatricality with each attempt. The escapes were clearly her trademark, as Hazel and the circus pulled out all the stops in presenting them. Her first escape involved being locked inside an oversized safe. A rope was tied around the safe, and it was hauled up and dropped into a large pool of water. Hazel made her escape from the locked safe and out into the water after being submerged for several minutes.

  After drying off, Hazel’s feet were immediately strapped onto a heavy metal slab. She herself was placed inside a straitjacket, while the block was lifted up to the rafters of the circus tent. Once there, the slab was flipped over, hanging her upside down. A curtain fell down, completely surrounding Hazel. Meanwhile, a flame was lit below the rope that held her and the slab in the air. The fire burned through and several minutes later, the rope snapped. The block and curtain fell to the ground, smashing and breaking the chunk of metal. Pulling away the curtain, it was shown that Hazel had not been crushed by the fall. She revealed herself at the side of the stage, having already escaped before the rope burned through.

  Hazel’s final act involved being buried alive inside a casket and restrained by manacles around her ankles and placed inside a straitjacket, locked with further chains. Several of the other circus performers assisted in preparing the restraints and the coffin. Members of the audience were invited to come forth and inspect the cuffs and straitjacket, and all accounts seemed to indicate that everything was quite real. After the crowd’s validation, Hazel laid inside the casket, while the assistants nailed the lid shut. The crew then lowered the coffin into the ground and buried it at the center of the tent.

  A large clock descended from the rafters, and the ringmaster announced that she would escape within fifteen minutes or the oxygen inside the casket would run out. The crowd sat in anticipation, awaiting the woman to free herself of the grave. Time passed, and the clock stopped. The other circus performers and workers stood around, nervously shifting and checking their own watches. Far too much time had passed. She should have resurfaced. Eventually, the crew that had buried her was ordered to dig her back up. A few more minutes passed, and the crowd grew concerned and chittered in their seats, awaiting news. Finally, the casket was unearthed, and one worker with a crowbar pried loose the lid. Inside, there was nothing but Hazel’s shackles and straitjacket. The audience was in awe, as the crewman that had opened the coffin tossed off a trench coat. Hazel revealed herself, having already escaped some time previous. She took a bow to a roaring crowd that took to their feet in applause.

  Alice decided that it had been too many close calls and last minute escapes. She was either a spectacular showman, or Hazel still had access to her gift. She had to know which for sure. Once Hazel had taken her final bows, Alice stood and left the stands, making her way to the back of the circus. There, she knew Hazel would make her appearance on her way to her private tent. Eventually, the young woman appeared, in mid conversation with the ringmaster. Alice paused out of sight to listen to the pair of them speak.

  “You’re my daughter,” he said to her. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

  “I’m obviously fine, dad,” she replied.

  “That escape though,” he continued. “You were supposed to get out before the clock stopped. We all thought you were dead in there.”

  “You know I had more than fifteen minutes of air in there, besides, I thought the trick could use a little spicing up,” Hazel explained. “I didn’t tell you or the others, cause it needed to look real.”

  “But how did you even do it?” her father asked.

  “Same as always,” she replied.

  “No. You’re different now,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Since you got back,” he elaborated. “Your time under her control. It changed you.”

  “I’m fine, dad,” she said. “Like I said, don’t worry. I gotta go change.”

  Hazel c
ontinued on toward her private tent, while her father returned inside. Alice followed along behind the escapologist, avoiding detection. Hazel soon entered her tent, and Alice crept up behind it. Where it had come from, Alice couldn’t say, but a voice began echoing in her mind. Soft and muffled at first, it grew in intensity over time. The voice repeated the simple phrase, Prove your worth.

  The operative paused just outside the tent, unsure what was happening. She wasn’t sure if she was losing her grip on reality or if she was simply experiencing some adverse effects from her treatment. Her doubt and uncertainty on the voice did nothing to quell its repetition.

  Prove your worth!

  Had god decided to talk to her? Had he truly brought her back from death itself to complete some task? It was all that could possibly have made sense, she told herself. She would do as it instructed. She would prove her worth. Alice released one of her tentacles from under the folds of her dress, using it to lift up the tent flap, pull it aside, and follow the escapologist inside. Despite her attempts at stealth, Hazel had apparently seen Alice following her. When Alice entered the tent, she was greeted by Hazel holding a chromesmithing pistol at her head.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, waving the gun.

  Alice raised her hand exhibiting the tattoo marking her as an operative.

  “Why are you here?” Hazel asked. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You escaped from an experimental research facility,” the operative explained. “You really didn’t think someone would come looking for you?”

  “I didn’t escape,” the young woman protested. “They let me go.”

  Liar, the voice in Alice’s head hissed.

  “Nonsense,” Alice replied. “While I am required to bring you in, please know that I am a fan of your work though.” A smile crept its way across her face.

  “What does that mean?” Hazel asked.

  “What you’re capable of,” Alice continued. “It’s quite remarkable. Though, I can’t say I approve of how you came into it.”