Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5) (53 page)

The doctor was dressed in a fresh gray woolen suit with a white shirt. If it were not for the dark bruise around his left eye, a cotton bandage around his right hand, and a noticeable limp, Dr. Llwellyn might have looked the picture of health. Instead, he looked more like a portrait dedicated to the practical use of medical science.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were remanded to bed rest by that doctor at St. Mary’s Hospice?”

“Him?” Thorias snorted. “Bah, he doesn’t know an ear canal from a nose hair! Besides, whatever happened to ‘physician heal thyself’?”

Anthony chuckled, then returned his gaze to the work being done on the Griffin. “Quite likely the very thing that befell ‘a doctor makes the worst patient’.”

Thorias smirked, then joined his long-time friend next to the railing. They stood in silent observation and watched the work crews as they struggled to bring the airship back from near-death.

When the silence became overpowering, it was the doctor who spoke up first. “Has Arcady found you? He was bursting at the gears to tell you what he discovered. Specifically, what he snatched away from the flames.”

Anthony nodded. “Indeed. Diagrams, formulas, all manner of horrifically familiar designs.”

“How so?” the doctor asked. The captain gave his friend a surprised look.

Thorias shook his head. “I’ve not seen or spoken with Arcady since his little adventure,” the doctor explained. “I’ve been forcibly detained by exuberant nurses. They kept insisting on that mythical activity you keep referring to as ‘resting’.”

A brief grin touched Anthony’s face. “Ah, that explains it, then. While you were laying about on holiday, Arcady relayed to me, in detail, his expedition to locate Ian. From what I judge of the timing, he was well inside when you were wrestling with those war machines on the battlefield.”

“Ah, I see,” was all that the doctor said.

The captain clasped his hands behind him. “Inside the ruin, Arcady uncovered not one, but several small laboratories. Some no more than a nook with a still and chemicals, others much more elaborate in design.”

“In what way?” Thorias asked curiously. “Elaborate as in well stocked, or with a wealth of equipment?”

Anthony shrugged. “Given the detailed descriptions he recited, I’d be hard pressed to choose. Ghoulish things, operating theaters with all manner of experimental implants: highly advanced joint replacements with rubberized muscle tissue backed by pistons, clockwork hands with hidden compartments and detachable fingers, and multi-chambered pumps and valves designed to be nestled around a heart. He even managed to make off with a few diagrams that instructed on the best means of implanting these valves in the chest of a patient.”

The doctor briefly turned pale. He was silent for a full two heartbeats. “Pardon? Did I hear you clearly? Miniature valves implanted in a patient’s chest?”

“I thought that might stir your interest.” The captain said. “Yes, valves in the chest. The diagrams were not Fomorian design. They were postmarked ‘Edinburgh’.”

Dr. Llwellyn frowned. “So the Fomorians, evil-minded bastards that they are, had a correspondence with that beastly vivisectionist from Edinburgh?”

“Her or another like her,” the captain replied calmly. “A consistent and steady one, at that. Mostly comments on technique, mind you, but still.”

“You’ve informed Scotland Yard of this?” Thorias asked quickly, his constitution still shaken over the news.

Anthony Hunter let out a slow sigh. His eyes followed a stack of lumber hauled aloft by a crane; lumber specifically bound for a hole currently in the side of the Griffin. “Yes, I did. They appreciated the information, too. They felt it was in all good interests that I turned all of the papers over, and so on. It seems there’s a bit of difficulty around whether the Yard, its Special Branch, or a Naval inquiry will take the lead on this, and in what direction the investigation will go. They assured me the evidence would help immensely.” The captain let a meaningful silence drop between them for a moment. “I’m sure they’ll sort it out in good time,” he finally said.

Thorias watched his friend carefully. He was not sure precisely what gave him an uneasy feeling. Perhaps it was the tone in the captain’s voice, or even the guarded look in the man’s eyes. In any case, the sight of his beloved Brass Griffin in dry dock could not at all explain the unusual attitude. The doctor took an educated guess.

“You did leave the information Arcady brought back with the constables, yes?” Dr. Llwellyn’s question was tinged with suspicion.

“Of course,” Captain Hunter replied. “They have the original articles, and Arcady’s own recordings. Hopefully, they’ll not dismiss it out of hand due to his status as a thinking Clockwork.”

The doctor frowned at the comment. “Anthony, we are not constables. Why did you keep any of that?”

“I felt it wise to keep copies, because similar processes were described in the journal we found in the High Fens relay station. It seemed a sensible precaution to remain informed and prepared,” Anthony explained.

Thorias slowly shook his head in disbelief. “Informed? Prepared? Fine, I understand your reasoning about luring the journal’s actual owner out to see if other copies of that monstrosity exist. I question using yourself as bait, but we’ve beaten that horse to death at this point. This, however, strikes me as different. Just what of that information do you need to catalogue?”

“The progress being made on the process itself,” Hunter replied in a flat tone.

“The progress being made?” Doctor Llwellyn’s repeated, his words trailing off. “Anthony, this isn’t our problem to investigate, nor have we been asked to. That infernal woman has been incarcerated and will likely hang for those hellish vivisections she performed in Edinburgh. This correspondence with those drug-addled Fomorians will simply add nails to her coffin, and the impetus to round up the rest of the Fomorian rabble. It strikes me as a bit unhealthy to dwell on the progress being made on such a nightmarish idea.”

Anthony sighed again. “Thorias, humor me. I’ve not taken leave of my senses, nor have I become obsessed. It’s a private inquiry, nothing more. I know RiBeld is involved in this.” The captain held up a hand a moment to forestall the doctor’s rising objections. “Please, let me continue. If he wishes to make an issue of it, he’ll make himself visible and seek me out. At that moment, I’ll have crystal clear proof to hand to the constables. Proof they can use to actually keep RiBeld caged for what we all know he’s done.”

The doctor studied his friend for a long moment. “Very well. Just so long as you take one small matter into consideration.”

“Certainly,” the captain replied.

“RiBeld, as you’ve said, has done many vile things. He also has tried to kill you more than once, as well as attempted to destroy the Griffin and all aboard. So, believe me, I do understand your strong dislike of the man, and indeed share it in large doses. Just be certain of the reasons you do any of this. Are you trying to protect others? Or are you simply indulging in a selfish spot of vengeance? Which path are you following? Whichever it is, you take us with you. Never lose sight of that.”

Anthony watched the workmen continue their efforts on the Griffin’s damaged hull. “I understand.”

Thorias watched his friend, who looked as resolute as a stone statue. The doctor shook his head slightly once more. He flexed his sore hand when an ache reminded him of his current delicate condition. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the exertion has left me a bit fatigued. I’ll leave you to your thoughts, while I seek out a spot of tea.” With a last look at Captain Hunter, the doctor turned and slowly walked away.

Once the doctor was out of hearing, even that of elven hearing, Anthony set his mouth in a thin line, his face tense. “Which path, old friend? A very good question. I think to protect others against RiBeld, but in truth old friend, I can’t completely say I’m not motivated by some revenge as well.”

About the Author

C. B. Ash holds degrees as a Physical Scientist and Computer Scientist. Since college, he has run his own networking business, worked as laboratory technician, taught martial arts, and traveled for several years as a software engineering consultant. Currently he shares his time between software architecture, web design and slaving away over outlines for new manuscripts … when he's not keeping his cat off his keyboard.

During that time he has written several fantasy and science fiction short stories, a fantasy/murder mystery novel and several poems. One of which garnered him the Emily Dickinson Award in Poetry. His first novel,
Kinloch
, was published in May, 2004.
Tales of the Brass Griffin: Dead Men's Tales
is the fifth in the
Tales of the Brass Griffin
series. To find out more, visit:
http://BrassGriffin.com
.