Lazarus Machine, The (A Tweed & Nightingale Adventure): 1 (11 page)

“Don't even
try
to figure her out,” said Carter, shrugging into his jacket. “
I've
never been able to. Make yourselves at home. There's food in the kitchen, whatever you need. See you later.”

He left the room and the front door slammed for a second time.

“Interesting friends you have,” said Octavia.

“Indeed,” said Tweed, getting to his feet in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “We should get some food. Prepare ourselves for tonight.”

An hour later, Tweed was seated on the window seat in the front room, staring into the night. The fog was much thicker now, grey-white tendrils that he could clearly see scudding past the yellow sodium glare of the street lamps. A horse-drawn trundled past, the wooden wheels spraying up streamers of muddy rainwater.

How did Octavia do it? Her mother had been missing for over a year, yet she still had faith she was alive. Barnaby had only been missing for two days and already Tweed was finding it difficult to stay positive.

Barnaby had always trained him to rely on logic, and logic told Tweed that if Moriarty hadn't killed Barnaby back at the house, then they needed him alive. But for Tweed, knowing this in his head was a thousand miles away from believing it in his heart.

And the doubt was getting to him, eating away at him. It shouldn't
be
there. His mind had always been in charge, but now he felt it was letting him down. It wasn't strong enough to control his emotions, his fears. And it
should
be. After all, the mind conquered all.

So why was it not conquering this?

“Are you all right?”

Tweed turned to find Octavia standing in the door to the front
room. He shrugged, then nodded. “Yes. No. I'm…not sure.” He turned back to the window. He hated this! It was weakness. Lack of control. His father was alive. He
knew
that. Why couldn't he
feel
it?

He saw Octavia's reflection in the window as she approached.

“You're allowed to feel scared,” she said softly. “He's your father. It's understandable.”

“You don't understand. I'm
not
allowed. I was raised to control my fears. To take emotion out of the equation. Emotion clouds judgment. It makes…” He trailed off, trying to formulate what he felt into words.

“Makes you human?” said Octavia.

“No,” snapped Tweed. “It makes you
weak
. Emotions take control. They dominate your life. Making decisions based on emotions is wrong…”

Again, he trailed off.

“I think your
father
was wrong,” said Octavia softly. “Emotions are what let you
enjoy
life. They're not…irritations to be brushed away. You can't look at the beauty of a sunset logically. You have to feel it. I mean, what goes through
your
head when you see something beautiful?”

Tweed thought about it. When was the last time he even noticed something beautiful? He was rather shocked to realize he didn't know. He couldn't remember. Or he simply spent so much time in his head that he didn't notice.

“Do you truly believe your mother is still alive?” he said, ignoring her question. “After all this time?”

“I do. I
have
to. It's what keeps me going.”

“But
how
? How do you do it?”

“You can't break everything down into patterns and logic, Sebastian Tweed.” He saw her reflection turn away, then pause. “Sometimes you just have to have faith and
feel
life.
Experience
it.”

An hour before midnight.

The fog was thick and cloying as they left the house. It drifted against Octavia's face, wafting before her eyes like lace curtains undulating in a breeze. It deadened the air, turning what was a chill night into something clammy and oppressive.

They climbed into Tweed's steamcoach. He pulled out into the street with a slow, lurching movement that only gradually picked up speed. Octavia watched him pump a lever, twist knobs, and smack pressure valves as he tried to coax some momentum out of the machine. She thought they'd be better served with a couple horses pulling them along, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Tweed seemed to have a fondness for the vehicle. He'd only be offended if she said anything.

He took them onto Regent Street, then turned right into Piccadilly, moving through the slow-moving traffic until they reached Saint James's Street. Octavia knew from past visits to the park that St. James's Palace was somewhere off to her right, but she couldn't catch a glimpse of it in the murky fog.

Tweed stopped his carriage alongside the fence to St. James's Park. They disembarked and moved through the gate that led directly onto the Mall, the long stretch of walking ground shaded over with elm and lime trees. Octavia had been here a few times in the past with her mother and father. The park was a favorite spot for picnics, and the massive lake that took up most of the grounds was used for skating every winter. Octavia could almost smell the roasting chestnuts and taste the drinking chocolate costermongers sold along the shore.

She wondered if she would ever feel as happy as she had then. So free of worries.

She sighed unhappily, then turned to Tweed. He hadn't said much since their conversation back at the house. Octavia wasn't sure why this was, so she had just let him be. Maybe he just needed to sort things out in his head.

“It must be about half an hour before midnight now,” she said, looking left, then right. She couldn't see much of anything. There were lamps placed every twenty feet or so along the Mall, but the fog made it difficult to see anything. Octavia was rather pessimistic about tonight. They might not even be able to see what was going on, never mind warn whoever it was that they were in trouble. Moriarty might be no more than ten feet from their position and they'd never even know it.

“We should probably just take up position halfway along the lane,” suggested Octavia. When no response was forthcoming, she turned to face Tweed. “What's going on with you?”

Tweed blinked at her. “Sorry? What?”

“You haven't said a thing all the way here. Where are you?”

“Um…Up here. Thinking.” He tapped his head.

“Yes. Well, I think we can both agree that you spend rather too much time up there.” Octavia tapped his forehead hard with her index finger. He jerked back, looking at her with an affronted expression on his face.

“Oh, don't look like that. I think I'm figuring you out, Tweed. You like to think of yourself as oh-so-rational, oh-so-clever. You like to think you've got everything figured out, that you can deal with anything so long as you just think about it long enough. But you can't. You're no different from the rest of us. Trying to figure life out as we go along. That's called
living
, Tweed. You do it out here—” Octavia gestured around her—“not up here.” She tapped her head.
“Now, I would appreciate it if you would get your act together and ready yourself for what lies before us. Because I, for one, do not wish to be toasted to a crisp with one of those Tesla weapons. Yes?”

Tweed stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Splendid,” said Octavia. “Now, I suggest that tree over there.” She pointed to a huge elm just to their right. The trunk was thick enough that they could hide behind it and keep an eye on the lane while still being close enough to the exit in case they needed to make a quick escape. “What do you think?”

“I think it's as good a tree as any,” said Tweed, moving toward it.

Octavia watched him go until he was almost swallowed up by the fog, then hurried after him. She rounded the trunk to find him leaning back against the bark.

“You'd better not be sulking,” she said to him.

He blinked at her in surprise. “I'm not sulking. I'm pondering.”

Octavia let him ponder all he wanted while she peered out from behind the tree, keeping an eye on the just-visible lane that stretched the length of the park. She was surprised at how many people were out at this time of night. She saw an old couple out walking their dog. She saw four tramps ambling along in tatty clothing. Two of them drank from bottles and had a slight stagger to their walk. One of them was talking to himself, mumbling about the youth of today having no respect. The fourth was slightly better dressed than the others, so much so that he was approached by a woman wearing a low-cut top that directed eyes straight down to her cleavage.

“Lookin’ for a good time, squire?” she asked the man.

He turned to her in surprise. Octavia could just make out the figures through the mist. He bowed low. “Madam, I am already having a good time, I assure you. The attentions of one such as your good self while no doubt increasing my enjoyment of the evening
air will leave me feeling empty as my purses. In short, I have not the money.”

The prostitute waved her hand at the man in irritation and walked off. The tramp chuckled and disappeared into the mist.

Octavia fished around in her jacket and pulled out her pocket watch, flicking it open. “Almost midnight.” She closed the lid with a sharp click and looked around uneasily. “What exactly are we going to do to stop Moriarty?”

Tweed pulled something out of his coat pocket and held it up to her. It was a weapon similar in style to her own Tesla gun, but rather more basic in design.

“Where did you get that?” she asked in surprise.

“Carter's house. Hopefully I won't have to use it, though.”

They waited some more. Tweed shifted impatiently from foot to foot, rustling the grass. Octavia tried to ignore the sound, instead focusing outward, listening for anything that sounded out of the ordinary.

Like a scream.

The sound pierced the night, coming from off to their right. Octavia and Tweed exchanged glances, then set off at a run trough the trees, ducking beneath low branches that loomed suddenly out of the fog.

The scream echoed through the night again, much closer now, then the sharp crack of a gunshot cut it off.

Octavia slowed slightly, pulling her own Tesla gun out of her pocket. They moved more cautiously, trying to stay off the fallen leaves.

Octavia peered through the fog to her left and saw a familiar-looking black carriage. Moriarty. She stopped behind a tree and peered out. Tweed joined her. A woman lay on the ground—the woman Octavia had seen earlier on talking to the tramp. Her chest was covered in blood, her sightless eyes staring upward.

Octavia heard a scuffling sound from the other side of the carriage, then two figures staggered into view. One was Moriarty. He still had the mask covering his face. The second figure was tall and distinguished, dressed in a smart suit with a black overcoat and scarf.

The tall man had Moriarty's hand in a tight grip, trying to keep the gun Moriarty held away from his face. The two men staggered back and forth, each trying to wrest the weapon away from the other.

Then Moriarty shoved forward. The man slipped, his back leg giving way. Moriarty used his weight to drive the man to the ground. As he did so, they both swung around so that Octavia and Tweed could get a close look at the victim.

Tweed gasped in surprise. Octavia felt her mouth drop open in shock.

The man Moriarty was attacking was none other than Sir Arthur Balfour, the Prime Minister of Great Britain!

Balfour flailed with his hands as his attacker leaned over him, and he grabbed hold of Moriarty's mask. He dug his fingers in, obviously trying to go for the eyes. Moriarty jerked his head away, and the mask was pulled from his head.

His back was to them, so Octavia couldn't see his features, but Balfour could. He stared up into his attacker's face, his eyes widening in shock. That moment of distraction was all Moriarty needed. He yanked his gun hand free and swung the weapon hard against the Prime Minister's temple. Balfour's head jerked hard into the ground and his body went limp.

Moriarty let go of his victim and stood up. He knocked on the carriage door, and a second later two of his gang came around the side and grabbed the Prime Minister's unconscious body, lifting it into the carriage. Moriarty stepped into the center of the path, looking around to make sure no one had witnessed what had just happened.

Octavia was able to get a close look at his lean face. She noticed
the eyes first, sharp and piercing, taking everything in. Then the hawklike nose and square chin, the dark hair swept back from his wide forehead.

Octavia blinked, not quite believing what she was seeing. She turned to Tweed, and by the shocked expression on his face, he was thinking the exact same thing she was.

The man standing before them wasn't Professor Moriarty at all.

It was Sherlock Holmes.

Octavia felt Tweed grip her arm, pulling her back into the trees. Octavia hesitated, doubting her own eyes even though she was actually standing there. Surely it couldn't be him. It simply couldn't. Sherlock Holmes had been dead for over four years.

Then Holmes turned away, watching the two men throw the body unceremoniously into the carriage. As he did so, Octavia saw that the right side of his face was hideously scarred, as if it had been burned in a fire.

Tweed's fingers dug painfully into her arm. Octavia grimaced, trying to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. She finally tore her eyes away and turned around.

Only to find the fog behind her glowing with a pale blue light.

The light grew stronger and a second later the Gibbering Man stood before them, twitching and jerking. Electricity zipped around the strange top hat. The fog hissed as it touched the blue light. Octavia smelled burning tin. The Gibbering Man reached up and touched something on his hat, grinning at them while he did so, and the lightning shot around even faster, leaping and sparking when it hit the copper wire at the front.

He held up the metal tube and slowly licked it. Then he pointed it at them.

Tweed slowly raised his hands in the air. The Gibbering Man grinned even wider, his lips twitching every time the electricity jumped into the air.

Octavia tensed, raising her own hands. But when they were halfway up, she suddenly dropped them and pulled the trigger on her Tesla gun. A bolt of blue lightning zipped through the mist and hit the man's top hat. It flared brightly, a blossom of white light. The electricity coruscating around the metal frame spat and jumped erratically, the lightning searching for a place to ground itself. It crawled rapidly over the rim of the hat, writhing across the Gibbering Man's face.

He screamed in pain. The electricity arced into his mouth and danced across his eyes until they glowed blue, two unearthly orbs shining in the night.

He turned and ran. But he didn't get far before the electricity started crawling over the strange contraption on his back. There was a hiss, a strange burping sound, and a second later the Gibbering Man exploded.

Bits and pieces of him flew through the air, slapping wetly against the trees. His top hat whirred through the fog, spinning straight at Octavia. She jerked away, the lethal projectile missing her by inches. As she did so, she saw Sherlock Holmes striding toward them, peering into the fog.

Octavia shoved Tweed and they both staggered into the fog as a shot rang out behind them. It hit the tree right next to her. Fragments of bark spun painfully into her cheeks.

Octavia grabbed hold of Tweed's hand as they sprinted through the trees. They had to stay together. If they became separated now it would be the death of them. She heard Sherlock Holmes and his men running after them, their heavy footfalls echoing across the ground. Trees loomed out of the fog, appearing only an instant before they had to duck to avoid the branches. Whereabouts were they? Close to the gate? She had no idea. The fog was so thick they could be running in totally the opposite direction.

A moment later, Tweed yanked her to a stop and pulled her behind a huge tree. His face loomed close to hers and he put a finger to his lips.

Quiet.

The running footsteps came closer. Octavia could just see around the trunk, and she saw Holmes dart past, his face a twisted scowl of anger. She swallowed nervously as he vanished into the fog.

Seconds later the other two with the smoke masks lumbered past.

Then silence.

They waited, then Tweed pried his hand loose from hers. She released it, embarrassed. She hadn't realized she was still holding it.

He pointed behind them then moved quietly away. Octavia followed. They crossed the Mall, then slipped quickly through the gates and into Tweed's steamcoach.

They exchanged glances. Octavia could see the same feelings reflected on Tweed's face that she was experiencing herself.

Confusion, puzzlement…