Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure (13 page)

Sigmund spent the next two weeks working in the basement on a hidden door – so thieves wouldn’t take advantage of it – and a slide mechanism for the boxes to make the journey from street to basement.

When completed Doctor Ferriss paid Sigmund for the job and then paid extra to request that Sigmund forget that he ever did the job. That struck Sigmund as strange until it dawned on him what the medical equipment that was being delivered was going to be – bodies. These designs would allow for a quick drop off of a body – a questionable but necessary evil for doctor’s and their students. Sigmund had often wondered that if he knew the purpose ahead of time, would he have still built it. Did he actually know ahead of time and ignore the obvious or was he that naïve? Grave robbing was hard to stomach, but once a person was dead did it really matter? Could the lessons and discoveries from these stolen corpses help people – people like his niece?

Sigmund tried to shake these thoughts out of his head – but couldn’t. He couldn’t shake his head at all. It took a moment to realize that it wasn’t due to a physical problem, his head was strapped down to the bed he was on. He tried to reach up to release the strap but found that his hands were bound at his sides. Even his legs were strapped down in some fashion. He was completely immobilized.
What on earth?

“Doctor Ferriss! Doctor!” Sigmund cried out, although it was more of a croak. He waited a few moments and then yelled again. This time he heard footsteps from above him – dust falling from the rafters as the steps shook it loose. He traced the noise with his eyes until they went beyond his limited view. He then heard a door open and steps coming down the wooden stairs.

In a neutral tone Doctor Ferriss said, “Ah, you are awake.”

Sigmund couldn’t see him yet as he was still out of his restricted field of vision. “I am, but why am I strapped down?”

“The reason is two-fold. One, it would be best for your shoulder to not move through the night.”

Sigmund’s shoulder felt much better, he had nearly forgot about the injury. The doctor continued, moving closer, coming into Sigmund’s view, and said, “And two, because you are a criminal.”

Sigmund thought for a moment, not knowing how much Doctor Ferriss knew about last night, and finally said, “I didn’t do it. I was setup.”

Doctor Ferriss leaned over Sigmund and presented a scalpel. He held the shiny blade close to Sigmund’s eye, letting Sigmund see the sharpness, and said, “We shall see, Mr. Shaw.”

11.

Doctor Ferriss rotated the scalpel between his thumb and forefinger before moving it out of Sigmund’s sight. This did not comfort Sigmund as now he didn’t know what the doctor was doing with it. The unknown threat was worse than the visible one.

“You see, Mr. Shaw, after your unexpected arrival, and I might add, receiving of my help, I had several visitors throughout the night, police type, constables and investigators. All very interested in the whereabouts of an escaped dangerous criminal named Sigmund Shaw. No need to tell you that I am a person who does not like the attention of the authorities, my practice is not understood by all. It was at this point that I strapped you down to the cot you are currently on.”

“Doctor Ferriss, please allow me –”

Ferris quickly leaned in and held the scalpel firm against Sigmund’s cheek and demanded, “Quiet!” spraying saliva in Sigmund’s face. Sigmund immediately stopped talking and could feel a warm bead of blood crawling down his cheek. Doctor Ferriss continued, a bit more in control, “Then I read the
Times
this morning and it turns out that you are not just a criminal but a murderer and a traitor to the Empire. Now some would think me a most fortunate man. I have the most wanted man in all of England, why, I could be a hero. But you see, this is where my problem continues. If I were to turn you in, what would prevent you from telling the police what I do here? Things could get most… complicated.”

Risking talking again, Sigmund said, “I’ve never breathed a word about your practices to anyone.”

“That is something that has not gone unnoticed. That is one reason I haven’t injected you with a poison that would have kept you from ever waking up. After all, I can always use another specimen to teach with.” Then after a moment’s consideration, “Although, I am a doctor, a healer and have never taken a life. But under the circumstances I think I could manage. If not, one of my students would fulfill my wish. The other reason that you are conscious and not a specimen is that when we previously met you struck me as a good man. Of course, I could have misread you. The police were most adamant.”

With a desperation born from facing death, Sigmund pleaded, “Doctor Ferriss, I promise you that I killed no one and I certainly did not betray the Empire. I was there and the bomb blast knocked me unconscious. I did not place that bomb. I’m fortunate that it didn’t kill
me
!” Then, trying to think of a way to persuade the doctor that he was innocent without having any evidence to actually prove it, he said, “I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles.”

“A stack of Bibles?” the doctor responded incredulously. “I think not. I’m not much of a religious man and do not have the time nor the care to know if you are. But there is something that may convince me. You see, as I mentioned, your silence about the work you did for me and the work I do here was noticed but I remember something else, something that made you memorable. Tell me Mr. Shaw, how is your niece?”

“Sarah? I don’t understand?” Where was this man going with this question?

“When we were last together I was touched by your concern for her. She was unable to walk, if I remember right. You had asked me about research I had done, knowledge that I had, and if there were any possible cures. Her condition now?”

“She is still unable to walk. Amazing in mind and spirit, but no improvement physically.”

“You said you would swear on a stack of Bibles to prove your innocence, however, Mr. Shaw, would you swear on your niece’s life?”

“She’s a young girl! You threaten her? You are out of line!”

“No harm will come to her if you tell me the truth. The situation is simply this: if you are guilty, then you will tell me. I will not turn you over to the police, at least not until I’m done with your body. Yes Mr. Shaw, I will kill you, but if you are guilty you must agree that you deserve no less. If you are not guilty, you will swear on your nieces life and I will let you go. But if it ever comes to light that you have lied, I will have men procure your niece and she will become one of my teaching specimens. Her condition would prove enlightening to many students. So you see Mr. Shaw, her health is dependent on your honesty. There is no threat whatsoever as long as you tell me the truth.”

Sigmund considered the offer, disgusted by the mere hint of violence toward his niece, but said confidently, “I am innocent. And if I was guilty, I would take your ultimatum and face the death I would deserve. And to be perfectly clear, I would die willingly, innocent or not, to protect my niece.”

“Very well then, Mr. Shaw, I believe you. I will let you go with these three conditions: You continue to keep my existence a secret. If you are found to be guilty or lied to me in any way, your niece will end up on my table. Lastly, you will do me a favor.”

“Favor? What kind of favor?” Sigmund dreaded the answer.

“That is yet to be determined, Mr. Shaw. But when called upon, you will perform the required task without question. Do we have an agreement?”

There was little for Sigmund to bargain with – agree or die. “I agree.”

“Very well.” Doctor Ferriss removed the head strap on Sigmund allowing him to move his head left and right – which he did to remove the stiffness he felt. The doctor proceeded to remove the chest strap and then wrist restraints – never putting down his scalpel, Sigmund noticed – and soon Sigmund was free.

Swinging his legs over the side of the cot, he winced as he sat up. His shoulder did feel better but it still hurt, especially when any pressure was put on it. He looked down and noticed the source of the sour smell, vomit caked the front of his bloody and torn shirt. The doctor noticed Sigmund’s discomfort and said, “Your shoulder needs rest. I will give you a sling so that you don’t move it unnecessarily. After a week or two and you should be able to do most things. A few more weeks after that and you will likely forget about the injury altogether.”

Sigmund was hardly able to keep up with the differences in Doctor Ferriss – he helped, he threatened, and now back to helping again. Sigmund gave a hesitant, “Thank you.”

This was the first time since waking up handcuffed that he’s been able to take in his situation without great pain or fear of discovery. The calm of the situation didn’t seem deserved for some reason.

He took stock of himself first. He was banged and bruised, his clothes torn, blood spots staining his jacked, shirt and pants. The physical ailments he could deal with – after last night, he viewed his current state as the picture of health – but the clothing was going to be a problem. He couldn’t walk around London looking like this.

“Doctor, may I trouble you a little more. You wouldn’t happen to have some sort of clothing I could use?” Sigmund sized up the doctor, a full head shorter than Sigmund, and felt very doubtful.

The doctor, in turn, sized up Sigmund. “Hmmm. I may have something for you.” Then walking over to a trunk against the stone wall, he opened it, rummaged through it and pulled out a white shirt, a pair of brown pants, and matching jacket. Turing back to Sigmund he said, “May not be a perfect fit but I believe it will serve your purposes.”

Sigmund gingerly removed his shirt and jacket, his body rebelling at the movements – especially his shoulder. He ripped the lining of the jacket and removed a set of lock picks he had hidden there. Next, he undid his pants – dried blood sticking to his skin. Taking the pants the doctor had laid beside him on the cot, he put them on and smelled a faint but very unpleasant aroma.
How long have these clothes been in that trunk?
Grabbing the shirt and jacket, he cautiously put them on, moving slow as if he was underwater. The smell increased, almost nauseating.

These things smell like something died in…

Sigmund froze. He understood where the clothes came from. These were the clothes of one of Doctor Ferriss’ specimens. Sigmund’s skin crawled at the idea and wondered what the previous owner had died of – and if that ailment remained in the clothes. He tried to take deep breaths to calm himself but the smell was too revolting. Even breathing through his mouth wasn’t enough, he could taste it.

“You are looking quite pale, Mr. Shaw,” Doctor Ferris commented. “Perhaps you should sit down?”

“No thank you doctor.” Sigmund wanted out of this place. Wanted, needed to get to fresh air. “I think I’ve inconvenienced you enough.”

“That you have. Very well, allow me to show you to the door.” Doctor Ferriss then led Sigmund up the stairs and straight to his entrance. Before opening the door for Sigmund the doctor turned and said, “Remember our deal, Mr. Shaw. I am a man of my word.”

“As am I.”

A nod and the doctor opened the door. Sigmund took a step towards the exit but stopped and turned around. As much as he wanted to leave and as much as he had to figure things out, he didn’t want to lose any opportunity to help his niece – even with this ghoul. Looking at Ferriss he asked, “Doctor, before I go, I would like to ask you a question. As I said, my niece has not improved any. Have there been any advancements that could help her? Perhaps an Italian doctor that is known to the rich?”

Ferriss pursed his lips and squinted his eyes, apparently his thinking face, and then answered, “I don’t know of any treatment. However, I have read some publications that have focused on a promising approach, not an Italian doctor, an Englishman I believe. He’s an expert on physical movement and structure, both of humans and animals, and has been posturizing that modern mechanics could possibly interact with the human machine.”

“Who is this expert?”

“I believe his name is Sutton. Most interesting thoughts.”

“Thank you doctor.” Sigmund then walked out the interior door and into the building’s foyer as Doctor Ferris closed his door behind him. The side of a stairway leading to the second floor was in front of Sigmund and the exit was to his left. He looked over himself once more and decided that he looked decent enough to not draw attention, but still had to fight down the impulse to gag. There were textured windows on either side of the door that let in light but provided only the murkiest of views to the outside world. Sigmund pulled the door open a crack, taking in the view, looking for anything of concern – mainly the police. Seeing nothing except average Londoners walking about on what would be, under different circumstances, a beautiful, sunny mid-morning, he opened the door and joined them on the sidewalk.

Once walking, Sigmund pulled out his father’s watch, still working somehow, and saw that it was just after 11:00 am. He probably should be hungry but his stink kept his appetite at bay. Walking at a comfortable pace, despite his urge to run, he tried not to get too close to anyone so that his smell wouldn’t draw attention. After a few steps he realized that he didn’t know where he was going. He was so focused on leaving Doctor Ferriss’ that he hadn’t figured out a destination – just that he couldn’t stay with the doctor any longer. Obviously he couldn’t go home. He thought about his sister but her home would likely be watched – besides, he didn’t want her involved. He could probably get passage on a ship, get away from London for a few months, but he couldn’t leave, his entire life was here. No, he had to find out more about what was going on. So, stay in London, but where? As much as he didn’t want to include anyone he knew in this mess, he reluctantly concluded that he needed some help. His face was no doubt the most known in London, so renting a room wouldn’t be too good of an idea, he needed to be separated from people. He needed someone who he could trust, someone that he wasn’t related to, and that person was Harry Thorpe.

It bothered Sigmund to bring these troubles to Harry. The man had given so much already, and now Sigmund was going to ask for more. He hesitated before deciding absolutely, running through any other options one more time but there wasn’t anything better, Harry was Sigmund’s reluctantly best option.

Sigmund checked his pockets – well, not exactly his pockets – and they were empty. Not that he expected to find anything but figured he had to try. No money meant that he would be hoofing it to Harry’s. Keeping his head down, he turned at the first corner and was welcomed by a warm breeze. Walking against the breeze helped wash the dead smell behind him – a small gift that allowed him to take his first deep breath in what felt like ages.

Making his way through the London streets, he kept to less crowded alleys as much as possible, looking over his shoulder at every turn. Now having a destination in mind, Sigmund starting thinking about next steps. He would have to tell Harry everything – absolutely everything. There was no way to explain without talking about how he supported his sister through tough times, by thievery.