Lazarus Machine, The (A Tweed & Nightingale Adventure): 1 (22 page)

The clerk frowned. “I…I think so, yes. That sounds like Mr. Almore.”

“What room!” demanded Tweed, slamming his hand down on the desk again.

“Uh…room 306.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” said Octavia, patting the clerk's hand then turning to the elevator. Tweed frowned at the clerk, then pointed to his own eyes, then at the clerk in an “I'm watching you” gesture.

He caught up with Octavia as the elevator arrived. They stepped inside.

“That went well,” he said as the doors slid shut.

“Jade Aurora?” said Octavia.

“Quite catchy, I think.”

“And am I right in guessing that you were about to call me a prostitute who had entered into a deal with Meriweather?”

Tweed looked shocked. “Perish the thought, Songbird. I would never do that. I respect you too much. As a person. As a
woman
.”

Octavia frowned, then squinted at Tweed. “Sebastian Tweed, I do believe you are loosening up a bit. Perhaps that explosion at the prison rattled some sense into that tiny brain of yours.”

“Hah. Not likely.”

“No,” Octavia mused. “Probably not. How did you know what Meriweather looked like?”

“Sound deduction.”

Octavia was silent for a while. “A picture of him on the Babbage computer back at the business register?”

“Possibly,” said Tweed, with bad grace.

The doors slid open and they hurried along the richly carpeted hallway and stopped before number 306. Tweed glanced at Octavia.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Ready.”

“Then let's finish this up. I really need some sleep.”

Tweed banged loudly on the door and leaned down to shout through the keyhole, “Fire! Fire!”

Octavia nudged him. “Not so loud. You'll have everyone up.”

Tweed lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “Fire. Fire.”

“Ha-hah. Very funny,” said Octavia, knocking rapidly on the door.

It was eventually opened by a confused and half-asleep Henry Meriweather. Tweed didn't even give him time to register their presence. He shoved the man back, pushing him into the room. Henry stumbled and fell onto his backside. Octavia closed the door behind them and Tweed pointed an accusing finger at the frightened man.

“There is one thing I want to know from you, and one thing only: Where did you build the new Lazarus Machine for Lucien?”

Meriweather's eyes widened. He tried to backpedal away, but Tweed bent down and grabbed him by the pajama top.

“We're not here to harm you. At least, not if you tell me where it is.”

“I…I don't know what you're talking about!”

“You do realize what they are using it for, don't you?” asked Octavia.

Meriweather glanced over Tweed's shoulder at Octavia.

“They're hatching a plot against the Empire. Against the
Queen
. You don't want to be remembered as a traitor to the Crown, do you, Mr. Meriweather?”

He shook his head.

“Then tell us where it is. We want to stop them. We'll keep you out of it, I assure you.”

“You're the only one left,” said Tweed. “All your old friends. All your old business partners—dead. Lucien and his goons are picking you off one by one.”

“Don't you think I know that? Why do you think I'm hiding here?”

Tweed looked around. “You could have picked a less conspicuous hotel.”

“I like my comfort,” said Meriweather defensively.

Tweed prodded him in the belly. “I can see that. Now come on. Tell us. Right now we're your only hope. If we stop this you won't be chased anymore. You can return to your old life.”

“What can
you
do?” scoffed Meriweather. “You're just children.”

“Is that right?” said Tweed softly. “Mr. Meriweather, if we—
mere children
—managed to find you, how long do you think it will be before Lucien does as well?”

Meriweather's face paled. His eyes flicked between Tweed and Octavia. “All right! Fine,” he said, pushing himself up from the floor and sitting on the bed. “The machine is below the new Clock Tower.”

Tweed and Octavia shared a confused look.

“Below the Clock Tower?” asked Tweed. “Why there?”

“The Lazarus Machine requires a lot of power. I mean, a
lot
. It had to be somewhere no one would notice. It was Lucien who put forward the plans for the new Clock Tower, you see, and Lucien who approved the designs. He's been planning this for years. The power the new clock draws will cover any uses of the machine.”

“How do we access it?”

“Years ago, the Ministry—well, Lucien—had a tunnel built beneath the river, leading from Westminster to the opposite side of the Thames. He said it was for security. In case they were ever attacked and needed to evacuate the government. That's how he got it approved.”

“That's…very long-term thinking,” said Octavia.

“Isn't it just?” Meriweather replied. “Lucien owns a shipping company on the opposite bank called Sherrinford Industrial, just before the Charing Cross Bridge. That's where the tunnel comes out.”

Tweed glanced at Octavia and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Let's go,” she said.

Octavia and Tweed drove across Westminster Bridge in the early morning chill, heading toward the docks and salvage yards along the south side of the Thames. They stared up at the new Clock Tower as they passed, a dark, ominous shadow against the grey sky. The rain started to fall. Not just a drizzle, but a heavy, monotonous downpour that soon had them both soaking wet as the water blew in through the broken windows.

“This is pleasant,” said Octavia.

Tweed turned to her and grinned. He wore small goggles to keep the rain from his eyes, but she could still see the manic glint in his gaze.

“Cheer up, Songbird! It's the endgame. We've nearly got him.”

Octavia said nothing, instead turning to watch the rain falling into the river. It was all right for him. Despite the obvious danger, there was every chance they were about to rescue his father. But her mother was still missing, and Octavia still had no idea where she was.

Tweed must have realized what she was thinking.

“We've got her records now,” he said, “everything they have on her, including who moved her from the prison. We'll find her, Songbird. Don't start getting all emotional on me. You're always telling me to stop living up here.” He tapped his head. “But the same goes for you. You have to stop living every moment in here.” He tapped his chest. “Use your head for once. She's alive. You
know
that. They're moving her around. That's good. It means there should be a trail. We'll get her back, Songbird. I promise.”

Octavia thought about what he'd said. He was right, in a way. She spent all her time chastising him for living in his head, making
all his decisions based on reason and logic. But she was the opposite, letting emotions do her thinking for her. Surely there had to be a middle ground.

Tweed steered off the bridge and turned left onto Belvedere Road. The street was pitted, filled with holes from the heavy carriage and steam engines that carried equipment and supplies to the wharves. They passed a number of timber yards, the high-pitched sawing and screaming of woodcutting slicing through Octavia's brain. How could anyone work in those places? It would drive her insane.

After the timber yards was the Government India Store depot, then just a short distance later they came within sight of the Charing Cross footbridge. Tweed slowed and then stopped his steamcoach.

They were silent for a while, staring out the window at the bridge. The metal of the structure glinted dully in the rain.

“Guess we should start walking from here?” said Tweed.

They climbed out. Tweed checked his Tesla gun and Octavia quickly did the same. Her stomach twisted in fear. She looked at Tweed, but he didn't seem frightened at all. Which was insane, surely. They were about to enter an underground tunnel that would lead them directly into the clutches of people who wanted to kill them. He
had
to be scared. He was just good at hiding it.

Octavia couldn't help feeling they were getting caught up in the flow of all this, like pieces of driftwood trapped in the currents, swept along with no way of controlling the outcome. Maybe they should take a step back to think about what they were doing and decide if it was the right course of action.

But one look at Tweed's face made Octavia realize there would be no talking him out of this. He would go in with or without her.

Which meant she
had
to go in as well, to back him up. If something happened to Tweed because she was too frightened to see this through to the end, she'd never forgive herself.

They walked along the embankment until they arrived at Sherrinford Industrial, a decrepit yard fenced off with old, moldering wood.

A locked metal gate barred their way. Octavia peered through the gaps in the fence. A messy yard lay beyond. In one corner was a pile of old, green- and brown-stained anchors, covered with dried-out barnacle shells. Iron pilings and girders lay scattered everywhere, rust eating flaking holes in the metal and staining the puddles brown. At the far end of the enclosure, built up against the embankment, was a large warehouse with wide double doors.

The gate was padlocked, but it was a matter of moments for Tweed and Octavia to climb over, landing with a muddy splash on the other side. Octavia looked warily around, but the yard seemed deserted.

There were two deep ruts in the ground. Octavia and Tweed followed them to the warehouse, where they found a smaller door built into the wall. Octavia tried the handle but it was locked. She put her shoulder against the wood and hit up against it. It didn't budge.

“Give me a hand here,” she said.

Tweed came to stand next to her, and they both raised their feet and kicked at the door. The lock splintered, the door shifting slightly. They kicked again, and the lock broke apart, the door banging open to reveal the inside of the structure.

A stained concrete floor stretched into the dim shadows. Holes in the roof allowed in the dismal grey light and rain, the steady
drip drip
echoing around the warehouse. Against the left wall lay piles of massive, rusted chains, the links almost as long as Octavia's leg. The center of the floor was clear, while the broken wood from smashed-up crates was stacked up against the right side.

They walked in and looked around. They checked the rear wall facing the river, but it was just a thin barrier riddled with holes, allowing them to look directly onto the rain-churned river.

Octavia and Tweed split up, walking along opposite sides of
the warehouse as they looked for the tunnel Meriweather had told them about. It would have to be big—massive, really—to get all the machinery through. How big was this Lazarus Machine anyway? She had no idea. They really should have asked.

The only logical place for a tunnel of any size was in the floor. Octavia moved to the center of the warehouse, checking the floor for any gaps or cracks. She glanced at Tweed and saw him doing the same thing.

About twenty yards in from the wall she saw a line in the ground. A deep groove that was filled with muddy water and dirt. She poked her finger in and wiggled it about. She followed the course of the groove with her eyes. It went around the floor in a large circle.

“You see this?” she called to Tweed.

Tweed was already moving toward the walls, heading for the pile of old crates. He disappeared behind them.

“Step back,” he called a moment later.

Octavia quickly jumped back out of the circle. As she did so there was a loud grinding sound. There was a puff of air, and muddy water jerked into the air. Then the circle dropped into the floor.

Octavia hurried forward. The huge circle of stone dropped just below floor level, then slid along underneath the floor until it disappeared from view.

A gentle ramp led down from the warehouse floor into the tunnel, easily a hundred yards wide.

Tweed appeared at her shoulder and took out his Tesla gun. Octavia reluctantly did the same as she said, “Tweed, I really wonder if this is the right thing to do.”

“Of course it is. We can't go to the police. They'll either arrest us or lock us in Bedlam. And we can't just do
nothing
. The Queen's life is in our hands, Octavia. We're the only ones who know what's going on. That means it's our responsibility to see this through.”

Octavia sighed. He was right. “Fine. Let's go.”

They descended into the tunnel. A continuous strip of small lights had been attached to the wall, not bright enough to illuminate everything, but bright enough that they could see where their feet were going. The lights stretched far ahead, appearing to come together at a point in the far distance.

“Long walk ahead,” said Tweed.

He was right. They hurried through the tunnel, but even so it took them about forty minutes before they saw any kind of change in their surroundings. Small rooms now opened up on either side of the tunnel. They checked each one, but they were just for storage: dusty crates of drills and hammers, spades and picks covered with tarpaulin…

They kept moving. After another ten minutes, Tweed put his hand in the air.

“What?” whispered Octavia.

Tweed pointed down. The path they had been following through the tunnel was a track gouged out by constant use. But right where they had stopped the track veered into the wall.

Octavia looked up. The wall was brick, just like the rest of the tunnel. Then she started to look to either side, searching for some sort of release mechanism.

“Look around for a hidden switch—a lever or something,” said Tweed.

Octavia turned from where she was already running her hands over the wall, giving Tweed her best “Really?” look.

“Sorry,” he said, and carried on searching on his side of the tunnel.

They searched along the walls and back along the track, eventually finding the switch behind one of the lights on the wall by the simple method of looking for footprints in the dirt. It was too high for her, so Tweed reached up and pushed the button.

A wide section of the wall swung back into a second tunnel. It was just as wide as the first, but less well lit. Octavia could only see three lights along the crudely carved walls, and one of them wasn't working properly. It flickered erratically on and off.

Octavia and Tweed entered the new passage. It carried on for about a hundred yards and ended at an iron door. This time they didn't have to search for any hidden switches. There was a long lever close to the wall.

Tweed released the break on the lever and pulled it toward him. The round door started to move sideways, sliding into the wall of the tunnel.

Bright light spilled out onto the earthen floor. Octavia fingered the Tesla gun, her index finger curling and uncurling around the trigger. Tweed hurried across to her and they moved to the side of the tunnel, where the door was disappearing into the wall.

They waited, the door trundling noisily only inches from Octavia's ear. The white light chased the shadows away, illuminating the passage almost halfway back to the main tunnel.

The door finally drew level with them, then slid neatly into the wall.

The first thing Octavia noticed were the two members of Sherlock Holmes's gang. The thin man with the metal discs over his eyes and one of the others who wore the long smoke masks. Except the mask was now lying on the ground, revealing an ugly, scarred face that blinked at Octavia and Tweed in utter surprise.

They carried a long box between them. It looked as if they were in the process of loading it onto a cart when the door had started to open.

The four of them stared at each other for a frozen second.

Then chaos erupted.

Tweed fired his gun. The bullet of electricity hit the wooden box the two men carried. They flinched and let go. It hit the ground edge first, the wood splintering and falling apart.

Revealing the ancient, withered body of Lucien.

The body slithered out of the shattered coffin onto the floor. The two men dived for cover behind one of the many boxes piled up in the room. Tweed fired again, running forward to take cover behind one of the larger crates just inside the door.

Octavia quickly followed after, hunkering down next to Tweed. He reached around the box and fired four more bolts of lighting. He tried again, but this time the gun did nothing. He cursed and quickly unfolded the small manual lever, winding it round and round as fast as he could to build up a charge inside the weapon.

Octavia peered around her side of the crate. She sincerely hoped that whatever was inside the crate was heavy—heavy and solid. Preferably made from steel.

“Did they have any weapons?” asked Tweed.

“I didn't see any.”

“So…should we rush them?”

Octavia looked at him to see if he was joking. He didn't appear to be.

“What?” he asked. “You just said they didn't have any weapons.”

“I said I didn't
see
any! That doesn't mean they don't have—”

Octavia saw a shadow moving on the wall directly in front of her. She craned her neck around the crate and saw the man with the scarred face rushing toward them with a heavy metal pole in his hand. Octavia flung her arm out and fired the Tesla gun. Electricity arced out, drawn to the pole. It coruscated along its length, then up along the scarred man's arm, crawling and wrapping around him like a net. The man stumbled to a stop, his limbs jerking uncontrollably. The pole went flying from his hand, spinning through the air and hitting the second man full in the face. The metal discs were ripped from his eyes, the blue light flickering and dying.

The thin man staggered into the wall, making a horrible
mewling sound. Octavia looked on in horror. He didn't have any eyes! Dangling from his sockets was some sort of thick wiring, pulled out of his head when the discs were broken off. His head jerked rapidly from side to side, twitching uncontrollably.

Tweed finished winding the Tesla gun and leaped to his feet. “Right. Let's get this fini—oh.”

He dropped the gun to his side. “You killed them all!”

“I did
not
. That,” she said, pointing at the man with the wires in his eyes, “wasn't even me. The other one did it. Anyway, they're not dead. I only shot him a little bit.”