Corpse & Crown

by Alisa Kwitney

  Aggie had been expending effort not to think of Dodger. This was much easier. She pictured him tipping his top hat to her and offering to show her the way; pouring water over her hands at Jenny’s flat; moving to protect her from Oliver Twist the day her eyes were injured. Feeling a mixture of tenderness and guilt, she thought of Dodger with his head in her lap, gazing up at her with his weirdling eyes.

  Then, with a jolt, she felt the dizzying shift of perspective as she found herself looking out of Dodger’s eyes: sunrise. Cobblestones. A porter with a walrus moustache.

  “Aggie?” Lizzie’s voice called her back into her own body. “Did it work? Do you know where they are?”

  “I think so,” said Aggie, replacing her spectacles. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was headed, but even with the visual link broken, she still felt some faint connection that said warmer, warmer, warmer as she moved down a corridor and turned a corner until she reached a door.

  On the other side of the door, under a blue May sky, six or seven Bio-Mechanicals were standing very still, as though under some sorceress’s spell. Three of them were holding large metal pestles over wooden mortars, but they had paused in their pounding. Another had been chopping firewood for the kitchen but was now leaning on his axe, while a hunchbacked fellow had set down his sacks of bone meal and was listening to something with a rapt expression. A heavyset porter with a big walrus moustache was watching, but for some reason, he was not shouting at his charges to return to their jobs.

  Aggie and Lizzie stepped around the Bio-Mechanicals and now they could see the queen, still in her mobcap and nightdress, leaning on Dodger as she ran her fingers over one of the Bio-Mechanical’s electrodes.

  “Behold,” she said softly, “the Corpus Victoriam. Subject or object?”

  The Bio-Mechanical, who had a thick scar running down his forehead, just looked blankly ahead.

  “Object,” said the queen, with an air of resignation. She looked up at Dodger. “What say you, my thieving magpie boy?”

  Dodger bowed his head. “Loyal subject, Your Majesty.” Then he looked over his shoulder at Aggie and gave her a wink. “Think we’ve been twigged, ma’am.”

  The Queen scowled. “Witch doctresses abound.”

  Aggie dropped into a curtsy. “Come on, Your Majesty. You must be famished from all your walking. Wouldn’t you like a cup of tea and a nice bit of buttered toast?”

  The Queen brightened. “With sausage?”

  Aggie smiled down at the petite monarch. “I think it can be arranged.” Then she met Dodger’s gaze and even behind her tinted lenses, she could feel the pull of him.

  “Seems our beloved Queen’s right fond of Bio-Mechanicals,” he said, cocking one eyebrow. “Wonder why that is?”

  She had no easy answer, not out here in the open, but as Aggie led the queen away, just before the door closed, she heard the Bio-Mechanical with the scar down his face say, “Subject.”

  Aggie felt a lurch in her chest. Suddenly it all seemed perfectly obvious. The Queen’s jumbled speech wasn’t a sign of a disordered mind. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  Like the Roman emperor who had survived by pretending to be a fool, Victoria was hiding in plain sight.

  28

  The Queen was a Bio-Mechanical.

  More than twelve hours had passed since he had discovered the shocking secret, but Dodger couldn’t get over it. All day long, he had been waiting for someone to talk to him about what had happened, but instead, he appeared to have been forgotten in the final hours before the kaiser’s arrival. There had been no brain-tuning session and no hard labor. For the first time, he had been given a piece of meat with dinner.

  “We’re building up your strength for your showdown with the kaiser’s bruiser,” the porter explained, setting the mutton down in front of Dodger.

  “It’s a demonstration,” he told Wiggins. “Not a fight.”

  “That’s what they tell you,” said Wiggins. “But think about it. Once a man has a new kind of weapon, he immediately looks for an excuse to pull it out and use it. And not in a demonstration—in a fight.”

  Dodger felt sick. “Bloody hell,” he said. “You have a point.”

  Wiggins had surprised him by giving him some salve for the seeping blisters on his hands. “Try not to fret,” he said before locking the door. “You might want to emulate your cellmates and live in the moment.”

  Unfortunately, Dodger did not have the luxury of ignorance. Unable to eat more than two bites of the tough mutton, he had fallen asleep thinking of expensive horses and how they were coddled by their trainers, before realizing that he had never actually spoken to a horse. Perhaps they had some complaints, as well.

  Then, still bone tired, he had woken up with an abrupt start, unsure what had roused him. Was it the pain in his hands and the ache in his shoulders and back, or the snuffling, snorting noises of his sleeping roommates? Perhaps it was the frantic scrabbling of rats inside the walls—but he should be used to that.

  Turning over on the thin, lumpy straw mattress, he had looked up and gasped when he realized that the Queen of England was perched on the edge of his straw pallet, dressed in her nightcap and gown.

  “Corpse walker?” she inquired. “Shambler? Abomination?”

  He nodded, still groggy from sleep. “Your Majesty?” He’d sat up, reaching for his workman’s cap. He was painfully aware he was undressed beneath the threadbare blanket, but there wasn’t much he could do about that at the moment.

  “Bestir yourself,” said the queen, hoisting herself upright. “We shall inspect the corpsemen.”

  Intrigued, he had managed to get his britches on under the covers. Well, fancy that, he thought. The richest woman in the world is a daft old bat. Suppose it’s up to me to keep the old bird safe till someone official comes along to claim her. It was his duty as a patriotic British citizen, after all.

  Besides, there might be some sort of reward involved.

  “At your service, Your Majesty,” he said, standing up and executing his best court bow. Then he had looked at her properly, and his eyes had focused on the slight ripple in the lace at her throat.

  Electrodes. His weirdling eyes homed in on them, showing him a close-up of the telltale metallic rods.

  Corpse walker. Shambler. Abomination.

  She hadn’t been asking him to identify himself as a monster. She had been asking him to confirm that she was like him—reanimated.

  Later, after the queen had been rounded up by her keepers, and with nothing in his cell to distract him, Dodger had spent most of the day worrying about how badly he was going to lose to the German corpse walker, and what Moulsdale thought to do with a disappointing Bio-Mechanical. Now, stomach growling with hunger, he lay down on his pallet and wondered if Queen Victoria’s secret was the kind of information that could get a fellow sprung from a cage—or get him killed.

  He closed his eyes and tried to work out the angles but found himself thinking about Aggie instead.

  He had been thinking of her a great deal since he’d discovered how they were connected. Sometimes he could feel her thinking about him, a sensation like the barest brush of mental fingertips. At other times he could slip in as subtle as a thief and ride around in her head, seeing what she was seeing. A patient’s nervous smile; a livid red burn on a smooth, pale arm; a teaspoon of sugar being emptied into a cup of black workman’s tea.

  A sharp jab in his side made him open his eyes. Wiggins was standing over him and prodding him with his stick a few moments later. “Lady wants to see you,” he said. “Hold out your hands.”

  Dodger yawned and gave a big stretch. “But I’m knackered,” he complained, stalling as he reached under his straw mattress for the tiny bits of wire and the dented needle he’d stashed there.

  “You’re breakin’ my heart.” Another prod, this one harder. “Come on, sit up.”
>
  Dodger sat up and extended his hands. “Is this really necessary?”

  Wiggins clicked the handcuffs shut. “Don’t want to get in trouble if you forget yourself.”

  This was new. For a moment, he wondered if it was Lizzie, come to visit him without Victor. But no, he knew better. He could feel the connection, opening up. It was Aggie, and she was close by. “Just don’t lose the key.”

  Wiggins patted his pocket reflexively. “No worries on that count.” He yanked the chain, hauling Dodger to his feet. “Ready?”

  Dodger, pulled off balance, nearly fell on top of the porter. “Sorry.”

  “Watch it.”

  “Can you just scratch behind my ear? Whenever I can’t use my hands, I feel an itch.”

  Wiggins cuffed him hard enough to make his ears ring. “That better?”

  “Not really.” Walking in front of Wiggins, though, Dodger allowed himself a smile. He had the key to his handcuffs up his sleeve, and whatever Wiggins had packed in wax paper for his supper tucked into his trousers. Ahead of him, he could feel Aggie as if she were a magnet, pulling him toward her.

  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with all these props and guides, but that was all right. He was an improviser, and his best plans always unfolded in ways that surprised him as much as everyone else.

  29

  It had been less than forty-eight hours since Aggie had discovered that Dodger was alive, but it felt like much longer.

  She sat in the supply room Victor and Lizzie had commandeered as their office, nervously adjusting her dark spectacles as she waited for the porter to bring Dodger back. I shouldn’t be here, she thought. There was a very long list of things she ought to be doing—tending to the queen, checking in on Justine, possibly even eating something or catching up on some sleep. She was expected to start helping the queen an hour earlier than usual, to be ready for the kaiser’s arrival tomorrow.

  Instead, she was waiting for Dodger, stomach knotted with nerves or anticipation or both. Remember what you’re here for, she told herself. This wasn’t a social visit. She was going to make a clean break and get her life back. She’d thought about him almost continuously since discovering he was alive. They were connected. But if she were to have a life of her own, the one she thought she’d recovered with the return of her vision, she had to resist his pull and listen to her more disciplined self.

  The porter pushed him into the room, then turned to Aggie. “You want me to stay, miss?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary, Wiggins.” She had cleared the room a little, so she could sit behind the protection of the desk when Dodger came in. Not that it was any real protection, but it made her feel more in control.

  “As you like.” With a knowing grin that was more in his eyes than in his mustachioed mouth, he doffed his cap at her. Lord only knew what he thought she liked. She waited till the door was shut, wondering if Wiggins was the sort to wait outside, peering through keyholes.

  There would be nothing untoward to see if he did.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” she said, as though this were a job interview. “We didn’t get much of a chance to speak earlier, what with all the to-do about the queen.”

  “Ah,” said Dodger, with a faint look of surprise. “Well, it weren’t no trouble to come. Nothing better to do, besides looking forward to the big day when I’m to be paraded in front of the kaiser like a prize pig.”

  As if to prove his point, he wobbled and knocked into a small medicine cabinet, causing a few vials of chloroform to rattle out onto the floor. With a pang of guilt, she wondered if the other Bio-Mechanicals felt exhaustion, as well, but just didn’t have the language to express it. “I won’t keep you long, then. But—would you like to sit?” She gestured to a chair, and Dodger peered at it with interest.

  “Indeed I would.” Yet he continued to stand in front of her, looking relaxed but respectful with his hands clasped together. It took her a moment to realize that his hands had been cuffed in front of him.

  Oh, dear Lord. She was going to have to help him—which meant touching him. This had to be some kind of divine punishment. “Do you need assistance?”

  He looked abashed, as if admitting it embarrassed him. “If it’s not too much bother. My back’s so sore. Not used to all the lifting.”

  “I’m sorry.” Pushing her chair back, she pressed her skirts down and maneuvered around the desk to where Dodger was standing. She hesitated a moment before touching him, then gripped his arm and his waist, guiding him down into the chair. He leaned back a little too quickly, bumping into her.

  “Sorry! Little light-headed, I suppose.”

  Funny, but she felt the same. “Have you eaten?”

  “No, but there’s a sandwich tucked into my trousers, if you can reach it?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “Come on, now.”

  He gave her his most earnest face, not an easy thing with these strange new eyes. “Thieves’ honor.”

  “I swear to God, Dodger, if this is a trick...” She reached just under his waistband, no funny business. Located the sandwich with a crinkle of wax paper, brought it out and handed it over with a surprised lift to her eyebrows. “Well...here you go, then.”

  He raised the sandwich as if he were toasting her. “Ta, lovely.”

  “I probably shouldn’t ask, but is there a reason why you’re carrying a sandwich in the waistband of your trousers?”

  Dodger grinned at her. “They serve us workhouse rations, but I, er, managed to liberate that from Wiggins.”

  “That’s terrible.” She couldn’t help answering his grin with one of her own, but as he started to fumble, trying to use his bound hands to unwrap the sandwich, she felt embarrassed for him. “Do you want me to...?”

  “Ta, luv.”

  She took the sandwich from him and peeled back the wax paper.

  “Ham and cheddar on rye,” he said approvingly. “Go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Right. Of course.” She held out the sandwich and instead of taking it in his hands, he took a bite, looking her in the eyes till the last moment.

  “Go on,” he said, swallowing. “You must have had a reason for this change of heart.”

  She held out the sandwich again. She often fed patients, but this felt different. Despite his bound hands, he didn’t seem helpless at all. If anything, she was the one trembling. “When we first saw each other again, you said I had stolen your eyes.”

  He chewed and swallowed. “Sorry about that. I realize it’s not your fault, now.”

  “Oh.” It was odd—the longer she spent with him, the more comfortable she felt. This close to him, she couldn’t help but recall their two forays into the rookeries. He had liked her. More than liked her. And she had liked him.

  “There’s a serious look,” said Dodger. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, of course not.” She offered him the sandwich a third time, but he shook his head.

  “What is it you want, Aggie?”

  Now, that was a loaded question. Suddenly aware of how close to him she was standing, she retreated a step, rewrapping the sandwich and placing it on the desk. Be bold, she told herself. No point in observing the niceties, given the way they were linked to each other. “I want to know how we’re going to handle this—this connection between us.”

  “How d’you want to handle it?”

  She felt the tug of an invisible string, as though speaking the words out loud strengthened the bond. He’s trying to get into my head, she realized. And strangely, dangerously, it didn’t feel like an intrusion. It felt like joining up with a lost piece of herself, which made no sense at all.

  Because it’s his feeling, not mine.

  Aggie thought of Shiercliffe and steeled herself against the treacherous longing to be closer to him. Moving back to her seat behind the
desk, she cleared her throat. “I want you to leave me alone. And I pledge to do the same with you.”

  * * *

  Dodger felt the quick kick of his pulse. Leaving Aggie alone was the last thing he wanted, but he knew better than to say that out loud. “Fine, then. Cards on the table?”

  “Please.”

  “Seems to me you’re asking for me to give up the only advantage I have in this game.”

  He watched her as she opened her mouth to defend herself, then looked at his shackled hands and changed her mind. “I can see why you would think that,” she allowed. “But in a sense, both of us have been altered in ways we didn’t choose for ourselves.”

  “You’ve got my eyes, you mean.”

  She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves, clearly discomfited by his directness. “And in return, you have implants that give you extraordinary abilities.” She was gathering her courage, and Dodger was surprised to find he admired her for it. Don’t be too sympathetic, mate, he reminded himself. This is a negotiation.

  “I see where this is headed.” Dodger leaned back. “You want to make a trade. I get my old peepers back, you get these little beauties.”

  “Very funny.”

  He shrugged. “I try.”

  Aggie sat up straighter. “All right,” she said. “I’m going to be blunt here. I can’t function if I know you can just spy on me whenever you please.”

  Dodger winced. “That’s a strong word. It’s not like I’m peeping on you when you’re getting ready for bed. Although, now that I think about it...”

  “It’s not funny. How can I relax, knowing you can watch me undress anytime you feel like it?”

  “How do you think I feel, knowing you can watch me in my birthday suit?” He brought his manacled hands up, as if trying to conceal his nudity.

  He could tell from the expression on her face that this thought had not occurred to her before, but she recovered quickly. “Please be serious. I would never spy on you like that, and you know it. I need to know you’re going to respect my wishes.”