by Marian Gray
I entered the living room. From the little light provided by the streetlamps, it looked as it always had. There was no sign of struggle or a fight. “Dr. Raby?” I called out.
He didn’t respond, but I heard his voice coming from his study on the third floor. At least, I thought it was his voice.
“Dr. Raby?” I yelled a little louder.
“Zuri, is that you?” He shouted down at me. “Come on up and lock the door behind you.”
I shut the front door and bolted it as he had instructed. “Is everything okay?” I asked as I began my ascent.
He didn’t answer me.
“I took the last ferry from the island to get here. I have no way of getting back, but I was so worried that I came.” I rambled on as my foot struck step after step. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
Just before I reached the door to his study, I stopped. Unprovoked dread buried itself in the pit of my stomach. It was my intuition screaming at me, not that it hadn’t already been trying to get my attention when Raby hadn’t answered the front door.
I peeked through the crack, but the study looked just as it always did. The firelight pouring out from the door made the splints on my fingers glint and shine. I was powerless, but I knew I had to go through the door. Something had happened to Dr. Raby, and I had to do whatever I could to save him.
I pushed through the door. My limbs felt like ice, attached but numb.
My head turned to the right, and the scene before me slammed the wind right out of my chest. Atop Raby’s medical table, laid Idris, strapped and dazed. His head a flopped to the side, and his eyes met mine, but there was nothing behind that green gaze. He didn’t even recognize me.
I gasped, clasping my palm to my mouth.
“I know it’s a bit shocking,” Dr. Raby said, standing by the hearth. “But I believed it imperative you be here for this one.”
“This one?” My jaw shivered.
“It didn’t sit right—-me being the one to harvest his hands when he’s your archenemy. I felt it would be extremely disrespectful after the bond we’ve built.” He turned, gripped his small metal table of instruments and wheeled it over to where Idris lay. It was toppeded with all sorts of knives, medical tweezers, and other equipment. “Now, I don’t expect you to perform the full amputation. I think that’s asking a bit too much from you but maybe a ceremonial slice? You did remarkably well with your own hands a few weeks ago.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re the Hand Collector?” Pressure built behind my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
He paused, and his brow lifted. “I thought you knew? You’re a very clever girl, Zuri, and I thought something like this would be obvious to you. I’m sorry if this comes as a shock or you find this revelation disappointing, but I’m sure you can understand my reasoning behind it all.”
I had half a mind to turn and run out of his house, but I couldn’t leave Idris laying on his table. Considering how dedicated I knew this man to be to his work, there was no way he’d let Idris go without losing a hand or two if he knew the police were on their way. He would sooner chop them off than run.
“No, I don’t understand.”
The Dr. Ravi I knew was compassionate for the weak and a champion for those who had been unfairly shut out and demonized. He had lifted me up and saved me when I was most desperate and afraid. He encouraged me, talked to me as though I was his peer, no less nor smaller. I saw him as a mentor. The only adult here in Lilledoorn that I trusted and felt true friendship.
How could this man be the Hand Collector?
He sighed, glancing down at his feet before raising his dark eyes to meet my own. “I do it because they’re trying to take everything from us.”
“Who? The party? The Sightless Sons?”
He shook his head. “No. Don’t you see? The mechanism that makes the party a foul beast are the ones driving it—the whitehands. Seventeen blackhands murdered in Easternboar and what’s the punishment? How was it ever addressed? What regulations were passed in order to protect us? When we did the same, the party decimated our community. We lost the Imperial Black and Blacksaw.”
Even though I was scared stiff, I knew it was imperative that I continue with his line of logic that I was on his side. As much as I wanted to run from him, I wouldn’t turn tail and watch Idris lose the one true thing he loved.
“So, Harley Wilson and Alexander Godkin makes sense, but what about Amber and Kayla—my chambermates? They were blackhands.”
“They were ink-traitors. You told me yourself. They were courting whitehands. There’s more of them than us. We can’t let them breed us out of existence.” His weight shifted from one foot to another.
“I didn’t know that. I always just assumed our numbers were equal.”
“And that’s why it’s important that you’re here. You need to learn the ugly truths of our reality if you intend to be the next blackhand leader. The people need to know that you see what’s going on and aren’t fazed by the games the other side plays. You need to be able to draw back the curtain when they try to smother you with it.”
“I agree, but how does chopping off somebody’s hands have anything to do with that?”
“It’s a message. It’s not about causing the most damage but striking fear that promotes conversation and recognition of our struggles. It’s the whole reason I took those three pairs of hands back when I was a fourth-year student 1994. We weren’t being heard by the party or the school. They were giving preferential treatment to whitehands in order to make the numbers at Blacksaw more equal, while Pale Mary University was openly discriminating against us, keeping the student population at eighty percent white and…”
Couldn’t believe the things that were coming out of his mouth. The extreme sentiments and desperation weren’t what surprised me. Those two things had been bubbling under the surface ever since I stepped on the stage, but to hear that type of pain and vitriol from Dr. Raby—I didn’t know what to make of it. I was sympathetic to his suffering but punishing others wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.
“Cum lux abest, tenebrae vincunt,” He said.
“When light is absent, darkness prevails.” I repeated Ross’s own words.
His eyes lit up and he smiled, nodding with pride. “Exactly. When light”—he pointed to Idris with his hand—“is absent, darkness”—he then pointed to me—“prevails.” He retrieved a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on his hands as I had seen him do countless times before. “Are you with us or not?”
I nodded. “I’m with you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be snuffed.”
He grinned and stepped to the side. “I was hoping you’d say that. Grab yourself a pair of gloves.”
I did as he requested, carefully fitting a large pair of gloves over each of my splinted fingers. I expected him to ask me questions about why my hands were injured, after all it was his own precious work that I had potentially destroyed, but the man was too enraptured by his current undertaking.
He lifted and observed the tattooed feathers on Idris’s hands. I prayed that Idris would snap out of it and launch an assault on Dr. Raby, but whatever drugs he had him under were strong. While Idris’s body lay on the table, his mind was a thousand miles away.
“Would you prefer to make the first cut?” Dr. Raby asked.
My mind sprinted with replies. I didn’t want to have any part in this, but with my hands in tatters, I didn’t know how to end it either. “No, I’d rather watch. I’ve heard from one of the inspectors of the Sightless Sons that your work is rather remarkable. That’s how they knew it wasn’t a copycat.”
I couldn’t see the smile behind the mask, but his eyes lit up. “I take great pride in my work, you know this. I’ve always been obsessed with precision and perfection. And Mr. Young deserves no less from me.”
His hand lowered to the metal tray, and he lifted a small scalpel. “We first start with an initial incision.”
He turned and bent over t
o begin, but my eyes were locked onto the table. There, shining up at me, was an array of blades. One knife in particular seemed trustworthy in this situation. The blade was long and sharp.
It was the amputation knife.
“Could you hand me some gauze?” Dr. Raby asked. “The bleeding can be quite excessive in the beginning, and I’m not a fan of blood-stained floors. It leaves an unsightly mark.” He pointed to the inch-long cut he had already made oozing with bright red blood. “Just hold it here, please.”
He bent back over to continue with his decision, and my hand lowered to the metal tray on the medical table. But instead of the gauze that he requested, I snatched the amputation knife and swung upward.
It struck Dr. Raby in the side of the neck at an awkward angle. His entire body went stiff and jumped at the same time.
Just as I reeled back, he turned and faced me. His eyes practically popped out of his head and his teeth clenched. I struck again, catching him in the belly.
With his hands in a pair of latex gloves, he was unable to pull essences. But he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Dr. Abby swung his arm and caught me in the shoulder with his scalpel.
I howled from the pain. It burned and radiated with an unbelievable force.
Screaming like a banshee, I shoved him, the amputation knife still buried in his stomach. He fell back, colliding into his dusty bookshelves. Blood poured from the hole in his neck.
He pulled himself back onto his feet and charged me. His outstretched hand caught me by the neck and pinned me against the wall. I pulled the scalpel out of my shoulder and hacked away at his arm, but it didn’t faze him.
He leaned his weight onto me, closing my windpipe. My vision dimmed as I gasped for air. My muscles throbbed, and my heart beat with such a pound.
His teeth grit as he summoned all his strength into his hands, strangling me as hard as he could. The once crashing pulse in my ears began to slow. My vision popped with small circles of unusual colors.
I dropped the scalpel, my arms felt like a hundred pounds each. My hand reached for the blade sticking out from his stomach and with every last bit of will I had, I pulled it out. Another spout formed, and the sudden loss of blood made him falter.
Unable to regain his balance, he stumbled back, losing his grip on my throat. I fell to the ground coughing and wheezing. My lungs were on fire, and my mind was up in the clouds.
Then, without warning, I keeled forward and my brain shut off.
Chapter Thirty-Five
That first breath hit my lungs hard. My eyes whipped open and I stared at a white vaulted ceiling with thick chunky beams for rafters. I didn’t know where I was, but it was light out—daytime. My last memories were of pain, yet I felt nothing but an internal lightness. It was almost euphoric in nature.
Voices, footsteps, and the trickle of water slowly bloomed to life in my ears. I rolled my head to the side and watched as a nurse marched to my bedside. She had a sweet, serene smile stamped across her weathered face, and she walked with her two black-inked hands clasped before her.
“How are you feeling, dear?” She asked.
I shifted in the bed. “All right, I think. Where am I?”
“St. Benedict’s Hospital in Lilledoorn. You were rushed to us a few hours ago when two apprentices showed up at Dr. Maxwell Raby’s home for work.”
The entire night flooded me. Finding Dr. Raby standing over Idris with a scalpel, reaching for the amputation knife, driving the blade into Dr. Raby’s neck, the tussle and blood—it all replayed in my head like a scratched movie reel. But whatever drug they had pumped in me dammed my emotions. “Am I going to live?”
She nodded with a smile, pulling her lips wide. “Yes, but you’ve lost a bit of blood. The stab wound in your arm was rather deep and nicked an artery, and you’ll have some nasty bruising around your neck for the next couple of weeks to months.”
“Do my uncle and aunt know?” I wanted nothing more than to see my mother, but I knew it was impossible. I had only spent one night with her over winter break—New Year’s. Now it felt like it wasn’t enough. Uncle Hank and Aunt Margot were the next best things.
“Yes, both the authorities and Chancellor Day have notified them. They took the first tram out of Rotterpool this morning and should be here shortly.” She peered down at me with all the sympathy a human could muster. It verged on pity.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
She placed a gentle hand on my arm. Her touch was warm. “Do you need anything? Are you thirsty or hungry?”
“No.” I just wanted to lie there and feel nothing.
“All right. I’m going to go notify the doctor that you’re awake. Don’t be afraid to call if you need anything.” And with that, she turned and walked away in her gray scrubs.
I closed my eyes and settled in my bed. It was over. It was actually over.
The Hand Collector had been discovered and defeated. Idris and I were still alive. The Sightless Sons were now free to leave the school, and I could return to my studies. The only trouble left to sort out was my uneven hands. With Dr. Raby no longer in my life, I didn’t know how I was going to accomplish that. The theoretical valve in my right hand was clearly more open than my left, but what did that mean in the end? I would have to learn how to manage this until another solution could be found.
“Zuri, are you dead?” Idris whispered.
My eye whipped open, and with some labored effort, I sat up to spot him caddy corner from me in his own recovery bed. The ward was empty, save the two of us and ten other beds dressed in white.
“Not yet,” I answered. “What are you doing here?” The only injuries he had sustained was the cut along his wrist.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not injured enough for you? Are you trying to gatekeep the recovery ward?” He winked. “Possible concussion and loss of blood. Plus, they aren’t exactly sure what was in the cocktail of drugs that Maxwell Raby gave me. So, I’m in here for the day for monitoring.”
“Do you remember anything?”
He shrugged. “Not much, but I know you saved my money-makers and possibly my life as well.”
“Ugh. Don’t say it too loud. Someone might hear you.” We both chuckled.
But when the laughter trailed to an end, he stared at me. There was something in his gaze that I had seen once or twice before, yet it still stunned me when it appeared. “Thank you. I really mean it. I can’t imagine where I’d be right now if you hadn’t showed up.”
His face softened, and there was an undeniable tenderness. His jade green eyes searched my face as his smile slackened, longing glowed in their depths. It was a sobering gaze.
“It was nothing,” I mumbled, my tongue slack.
He cleared his throat. “I guess this means our truce has been upgraded? Maybe we can start negotiating a peace treaty?”
I blew a long sigh. There was nothing else I wanted more, but I had learned my lesson with the Hand Collector. I had once believed the only thing I stood to lose by associating with Idris was respect from the highborns and my peers, a scandal or two, and some nasty remarks from whitehands. It was apparent now that I was wrong, so incredibly wrong. It was almost frightening how naive I had been.
The whole reason Idris was targeted and captured by Dr. Raby was because of me. Before Idris’s disappearance, Dr. Raby had asked me about the circulating rumors that concerned the pair of us. He didn’t hide his disapproval. It was the same pattern with Amber and Kayla. I confided in him, waxing poetic about my desire to have a boyfriend as well as my feelings of inadequacy. It was my words that inspired his hunt. Even my falter over the mention of ‘septa’ that tipped him off and led him to entering my cluster unopposed.
I had never spoken to him about the hallway incident with Harley Wilson though, but Professor Claassen witnessed it—maybe he was the missing link there. It wasn’t far-fetched to believe that a stiziology professor and medical researcher would interact semi-regularly, especially if they were both devout to thei
r own factions. Surely the two would have bonded over their hate for whitehands, and Claassen’s refusal to hide his bigotry would’ve been like a beacon in the dead of night for Dr. Raby. In the end, my minuscule involvement with Harley Wilson led to her loss of limbs.
I believe Professor Alexander Godkin was the only one not touched due to my careless tongue. His downfall was his mere existence. In the eyes of many, Blacksaw was a refuge for blackhands. It was created to serve as a sanctuary in a time of dominion. A whitehand highborn teaching on its grounds was sacrilege.
Idris receiving his education within Blacksaw’s walls potentially carried the same gravity as Professor Godkin’s presence had. Any relationship between was would eventually become lethal.
“No, let’s stick to the original agreement. Our truce was made solely to defeat the Hand Collector. That goal has been met, and it’s time to return to normalcy.” It took more strength to speak those words than it had to drive the knife into Dr. Raby.
He sat still and quiet for a moment before he shook his head and confusion percolated across his face. “What? Why would you say that? We can’t simply go back after everything we’ve been through.” His face hardened. “Even if we wanted to, it’s impossible. You can never reverse time in a relationship. Things have been done; words have been spoken; and emotions have been felt.”
I turned my head, staring out the canal below through the window. I couldn’t bare to look at him. “Well, then I guess we just return to adversaries who had the luxury at peering inside their enemy’s head.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” His confusion burned into frustration and anger. “One of your conditions for this truce was that I not court Mercedes Montcroix—seems like a rather personal demand for someone intending on things remaining fractured between us.”
I had to bite my lips to keep the guilt at bay. “I’m sorry I led you on.”
“You… why are…” He perked up, and deep lines formed on his forehead. “Are you doing this because you somehow believe you’re responsible for what happened to me? Do you think by pushing me away you’ll be protecting me in some Hollywood-esque manner? Because that’s ridiculous.”