Brechalon (10 page)

He sat up and rolled out of bed. Taney was the
only other guard in the bunkroom.

“
Where’s Drury?” he
asked.

“
The filthy bastard’s got duty at
the loading dock,” came the reply. “I wouldn’t want to be one of
the boys working down there.”

“
Somebody should stop
him.”

“
Go ahead,” said Taney, “if you
want a knife between your ribs.”

Chapman didn’t want a knife between his ribs,
but he didn’t know what else to do, so he went down the ancient
spiral stone steps to the docks. Six boys were unloading a skiff,
but Chapman didn’t see any guards. But as he stepped out into the
open, he noticed something strange. There was a shadow in the
middle of the dock where a shadow had no right to be. As he stepped
closer, he realized it wasn’t a shadow—not in the real sense of the
word. It was a man-shaped blob of shadow, occupying the same area
that a man would occupy had he been standing there, but with no
mass and no substance and completely transparent.

“
What is that?” he
asked.

The boys stopped and looked at him.

“
What is that?” he asked
again.

“
What is what?” asked one of the
boys.

“
Where’s Drury?” he asked, his
voice rising.

“
He’s standin’ right in front of
you, you great tosser,” the boy replied, pointing at the shadowy
blob.

“
That’s not Drury! I don’t know
what that is!”

Turning, Chapman ran up the stairs, oblivious
to the open-mouthed stares of the boys. He ran past the bunkroom
and down the corridor to the north wing. He ran into the door of
prisoner eighty-nine’s cell, banging it with his fist, as if she
could open it from the inside. Finally he rummaged through his
pockets for the great key and unlocked the door, rushing
inside.

Chapman screamed. Karl Drury was hanging,
naked, upside down from the ceiling. His neck had been sliced open
and his blood had been drained into the piss pot on the floor
beneath him. His gut had been sliced open and long lengths of bowel
and a few internal organs hung down like ghastly wind chimes. He
had been castrated and his privates were shoved in his
mouth.

Chapman screamed again, as he felt the feather
light touch of the woman on his shoulder.

“
I needed more ink.” Her sultry
voice cut into his soul like a knife cutting through
pudding.

She stepped past him and picked up the bucket
of blood, tip-toeing like a ballerina to the north wall of the
cell, where she dipped her fingers into the gore and began painting
strange images onto the stone blocks. As she drew, she spoke to
herself. Chapman didn’t need to hear what she was saying. It had
been bouncing around in his head since he had gotten up.

“
One thousand nine hundred seventy
nine days.”

“
Stop it!” he shouted. “Stop it!
Stop counting!”

The woman turned toward him and grinned
fiercely. “Not much longer now— just a few more days. Go on back
now. Don’t want to draw suspicion.”

He crept out of the chamber like a dog that had
been beaten. He didn’t go back to the south wing though, instead
climbing the stone stairs until he found an alcove with a small
opening to the outside world. Here he dropped to the ground and
curled up into a ball and wept.

* * * * *

“
That’s pretty,” said Senta. “Is
that a sunset or a rainbow?”

She was walking down Contico Boulevard, hand in
hand with her cousin Bertice. Mrs. Gantonin who lived next door had
told Granny about a family whose boys had died and who were now
giving away their clothes. With a house full of children, free
clothes were not to be overlooked lightly.

“
What are you talking about, you
little bint?”

“
Up there.” Senta pointed off to
the right.

“
Didn’t you learn that the sun
rises in the east and sets in the west? That way is south. How
could it be sunset? Besides, it’s only half past four. I’d still be
at work if they hadn’t run out of number four thread.”

“
A rainbow, then?”

“
There’s no rainbow. There’s not
been a drop of rain for a week. How could there be a rainbow. I
don’t see anything at all.”

“
Well, I see something. It’s swirly
with red and yellow and blue and purple, like a storm that’s
coming, only made out of colors.”

“
You need to get your eyes fixed,
you do,” said Bertice, giving her arm a yank.

Chapter Seven: Victories

My Dear Miss Dechantange,

It was with deep regret that I left your
company on the twenty-fifth, but I ease the ache within me by
recalling the week that I spent with you. Surely no other fine lady
of the Great City can equal you in hospitality, graciousness, or
dare I say beauty.

The funds that you forwarded for the new
machine have been received and have put to good use. I have hired a
new assistant in whom I see a great deal of promise. With her
assistance and with the aid of Mr. Murty, of whom I believe I spoke
during our conversations, we should be ready to begin construction
within a matter of weeks.

I will of course keep you informed of the major
milestones as they occur, but I would very much enjoy a visit by
you to University Ponte-a-Verne. I believe you would find the
architecture and the gardens to your liking and the village has
many interesting sites as well. I would be more than pleased to
extend some semblance of the kind courtesy which you offered
me.

Eagerly awaiting your next letter,

Your humble servant,

Meced Baines Calliere Ph.D.

Iolanthe folded the letter closed and with a
satisfied smile, placed it in her letter box. Clearly the Professor
was smitten. She thought that he was someone that she could marry.
He was certainly interesting, from a well-placed if not wealthy
family. He was intelligent and relatively resourceful. Best of all
he seemed willing enough to be led, which would spare her from the
tiresomeness of a man who would pretend to be her master. That
there was no spark of passion, at least from her perspective,
didn’t bother her. She had never known it and she didn’t believe it
existed.

She placed the letter box in the bottom drawer
of her private desk just as the head butler entered, carrying a
silver tray.

“
The morning post has arrived,
Miss.”

The letter from Professor Calliere had arrived
on the evening post the day before. Iolanthe typically did not open
her letters until she was ready to reply to them, but she took the
bundle of envelopes, tied together with a bit of red ribbon, and
looked through them. There was a letter from Mrs. Godwin back in
Shopton, Mont Dechantagne, and there were several bills from the
carpenters that should have gone to her solicitor. Then there was
an official looking envelope with a golden wax seal, which when
opened, was revealed as a hand-written note from the Prime
Minister.

Dear Miss Dechantagne,

I have made the arrangements we discussed
earlier. The vehicle in question will be under refit for the next
nine months, so I suggest you plan your timetable
accordingly.

With Regards,

E. P.

“
Why Prime Minister, how very cloak
and dagger of you. ‘The vehicle in question.’ No one would suspect
that a vehicle under refit would be a ship.” She
laughed.

“
Muh… Miss?”

“
What is it, Zeah?”

“
Are um… are you really going to
Mallon?”

“
If I do, don’t worry. You shall go
with me.”

“
Muh… me?”

“
Of course, Zeah. Why, I wouldn’t
be able to function without you.”

“
But, what would I duh…
do?”

“
I’m sure we’ll find enough to keep
you busy.” She smiled. “Now, have the car brought around. My
brother and I are going out.”

Zeah raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t seen much
of Master Terrence at all in the three months he had been home. But
he hurried off to see that the vehicle was made ready. It was more
than simply bringing it around. Care had to be taken to see that
the boiler was filled with water and the fire box was filled with
coal and lit and that a good volume of steam was allowed to build
up.

Half an hour later, Iolanthe sat impatiently
behind the steering wheel. Her leather driving gloves just matched
her green day dress. The tall black top hat with white flowers that
she had chosen was tied to her head with a large strip of green
ribbon. Zeah, who stood on the sidewalk, watched as her eyes grew
narrower and narrower. He was very happy when at last Master
Terrence walked down the steps. Terrence wore a new grey suit with
a red plaid vest. He had shaved, but had dark bags under his eyes.
Rather than climbing into the passenger seat, he walked around to
the driver’s side.

“
Move over,” he said.

“
I’m driving,” said
Iolanthe.

“
No. No, you’re not.”

“
It is the year of our Lord
eighteen hundred ninety seven and women can drive.”

“
Some women can drive. Not you.
Scoot over.”

Iolanthe pursed her lips but moved across the
seat to the other side, careful not to smash her bustle. Folding
her hands in her lap, she waited for her brother to climb in and
get settled. He released the brake with his right hand and stepped
on the forward accelerator with his right foot, and they were
off.

“
Where are we going now?” Terrence
asked.

“
King’s Park Oval. You remember
where it is?”

“
Of course I remember.” He pressed
his foot down on the decelerator and whipped around the fountain of
Lord Oxenbourse and drove north up Scrum Boulevard. “Why are we
going there?”

“
West Brumming is playing Ville
Colonie.”

“
I thought you hated
cricket.”

“
I don’t hate cricket.”

“
Yes you do. You hate all
sports.”

“
I don’t hate sports.” Iolanthe
explained. “I just don’t see the point of watching a group of men
you don’t even know play at games, let alone of rooting for them. I
went to one or two games when I was at university.”

“
Well, St. Dante isn’t playing. So
why are we going now?”

“
I thought it would be good for you
to get out of the house for a bit. You’ve hardly gone out of doors
since you arrived.”

“
Hmm,” said Terrence
noncommittally. He concentrated on his driving but after a few
minutes felt his sister’s eyes on him. “What?”

“
Perhaps you should visit a
bordello.”

Terrence almost lost control of the vehicle and
swerved into another lane. “Kafira!”

“
I know men have needs.”

“
Iolanthe…”

“
Perhaps that’s why you’re feeling
poorly.”

“
Please stop talking.”

“
When was the last time you were
with a woman?”

“
If you don’t shut up, I may never
be able to be with a woman again.”

“
All I’m saying is that it may not
be healthy to keep things bottled up, so to speak.”

Terrence stamped down on the forward
accelerator taking the steam carriage near its top speed of forty
miles per hour, but had to almost immediately decrease the speed to
turn off onto the grassy drive to the cricket grounds. Thankfully
Iolanthe remained quiet as he parked the car at the end of a line
of similar vehicles. He climbed down and walked around to help her
down. She opened her parasol and took his arm and they walked
toward the bleachers.

“
Just think about it,” she
said.

“
Shut up,” he snapped, and then
muttered. “I shall be able to think of little else.”

Ville Colonie had been designated as the
visitors, randomly it seemed as this was the home grounds of
neither team. Ville Colonie was a village on the small channel
island of Petitt Elvert, while West Brumming was a small town about
fifty miles north of Brech City. The team members from the north
were dressed in white shirts and grey dungarees, while the team
from Ville Colonie, as might be expected from those descended from
Mirsannan immigrants were flamboyantly arrayed in bright blue
stripes. Next to the home team hutch were several dozen chairs
around tables with large parasols, where all of the women and the
men who were with them sat, while next to the visitors’ hutch was a
grandstand filled entirely with men.

“
Good heavens,” said Iolanthe. “I
had no idea that cricket was so popular. There must be four hundred
people here.”

“
I doubt there’s anyone left in
either of those towns.” Terrence led his sister to one of the few
remaining empty tables, pulled out a chair for her, and then sat
down himself.

The two team captains joined the umpire on the
pitch for the coin toss. It was determined that Ville Colonie would
bat first and the players took their positions. The West Brumming
bowler was getting his eye in as a heavy set blond batsman waited.
At last the match started as the bowler sent a beautiful bouncer
down the wicket, but a loud crack indicated a shot and the two
batsmen, including the big chap went running.