The Clockwork Wolf (10 page)

I recognized it, and heard the sound it made, and still I didn't believe it.

As the beaters flanked me I shook my head. “Do you see it?” I tried to stand again, but my legs had gone to jelly, and the beaters had to grab me as I fell. “Do you hear it?”

The wretched sound kept time with the pounding in my head, growing softer and more distant as the night closed in. From a distance I felt myself lifted off my feet, and then I fell into the shadows and knew no more.

“She should be dead,” a stern voice said somewhere close to me. It sounded very much like Chief Inspector Doyle. “She took on two of the bastards alone, with nothing more than her wits and a peeler.”

“With that she could conquer a small nation,” a second, dry voice observed, and that I knew at once to belong to Lucien Dredmore. “Has she been examined by the physick?”

“Aye. She's all over bruises and scratches, but nothing worse. He won't give her anything for pain until she wakes and he can assess her sense.” He made a rude sound. “Not that she has any.”

I didn't feel any pain, but then I wasn't precisely awake. I felt like the old lady's animech butterfly, floating somewhere between Doyle's and Dredmore's voices, away from my body, or perhaps above it. I was reasonably sure I wasn't dead, but making certain seemed too much trouble. By comparison being a butterfly, even a tin one, was much more pleasant.

“I should like to have a moment alone with her, Inspector,” Dredmore said.

“Leave her alone and unconscious with a deathmage who appears out of nowhere but half an hour after she's attacked and near torn to pieces by two monsters?”
Doyle's tone went frosty. “I'm thinking never, milord.”

“Charmian is under my protection.” Now Dredmore sounded ready to exercise his official powers. “The shock of the attack has bruised more than her body. Her spirit is untethered and trapped between here and the Netherside. I can bring her back, but I must be alone with her.”

No magic worked on me, so that had to be a lie. But why would Dredmore want to be alone with me?

“You're an assassin, not a healer,” Doyle said, but he sounded less certain now.

“The longer her spirit drifts, the more difficult it will be to wake her.” Something thumped. “Damn it, man. If I don't bring her back soon she may never wake again. Is that what you want?”

Doyle's voice became a disgruntled murmur, and whatever Dredmore replied dwindled to a hum. I lost interest in them and glided through the dark toward a cool, blue light. It looked like a veil made of the thinnest silk, each strand illuminated from within, and as I grew closer it stretched out, impossibly long and heavenly wide, and when I reached for it I could feel the brilliance of what lay beyond it tugging at me with a million little silvery hooks.

A shadow welled up round me, blocking the light and enveloping me. It was as thrilling as the veil, but warmer and closer, and definitely darker.

Charmian, you must return. It is not your time to cross over. Your body is still alive.

The words hurt my heart, and I tried to shrug away the shadow.
I don't want to. Those things. They were horrid.

I know they hurt you, but you are stronger than this. Your work here is not finished.

Work. That was all I ever did there. Work and struggle and suffer and despair, and why? I was alone in the world. There would be no little Charlies for me. Those women on the tram, they'd sacrificed me. That was all I was good for—being thrown to the wolves.

No, Charmian.
He was angry and kind, all at once.
You are wrong. You have me. I am yours. You come back to me.

I opened my eyes, and the light was no longer cool and blue but golden and flickering. It gilded the midnight eyes looking down into mine, glinting off the fine, straight black lashes and softening the slash of his brows. In the lamplight Lucien Dredmore looked like a much younger version of himself, a handsome boy. For a moment I was so enchanted I lifted my hand to touch his face.

Deep, throbbing pain raced up my arm into my shoulder and skidded down my back. I felt as if I'd been dashed across a brick wall, and groaned as I tried to sit up and made it worse.

“Be still now.” His hand came over my face, his fingers spreading out as his warmth sank into my skin. “Your spirit was battered out of your body. It will take a few moments to enmesh yourself.”

“Just shut up and kill me,” I begged. I'd have bitten his hand but I thought my teeth might fall out, my jaw was aching so. “The women and the kids on the tram?”

“Hysterical, but safe.” He stroked my forehead, and everywhere he touched the pain diminished. “You are not to think about it.”

“I don't want to.” The horror of what I had seen bloomed back in my mind, however, and I had to tell him. “They were like animals, Lucien. Wolves with the bodies of men. But it wasn't natural. Someone made them. They made animech beasts out of those men.”

He hushed me and pulled me close, and only then did I realize he lay beside me on the bed, our limbs entwined and nearly every part of us touching somewhere. Even his hair had tangled with mine, falling against my cheek like black and brown silk.

I drew back, looking at him. “You're in bed with me. That can't be right.” I turned my head to see a room very much like the one in which I visited Docket. “Hospital?”

He nodded. “When they couldn't rouse you the beaters brought you here.” He moved his hand over my shoulder and along my arm. “I nearly lost you twice in one night. You should be locked up for your own good.”

I should have pushed him off the bed for that, but the effort required was beyond me. “Why was I floating off like that?”

“You're spirit-born, Charmian. In times of great duress part of you will always seek out your other kind and their realm.” He lifted his head. “Your friend the inspector will be rejoining us in a minute. Is there anything I should know before he does?”

“I didn't kill the Wolfmen. They killed each other.” I shuddered as I added, “One of them was named Akins. Until this morning, he was Lady Bestly's footman.”

•   •   •

Dredmore departed with a promise—one that sounded like a threat—to return, ignoring Doyle entirely as he
stalked from my hospital room. The chief inspector came to sit at my bedside, looking more troubled than annoyed.

“You have interesting friends, Miss Kittredge.” His fair hair glinted as he turned to regard me directly. “How are you feeling?”

“Knocked about, but I'll live.” Carefully I moved onto my side so I could face him. “Your men in the alley, they were very kind to look after me.”

“They say you deserve a medal or two.” Instead of taking out his notebook or spouting something official, he reached for my hand. “Do you feel well enough to tell me what happened, Kit?”

I didn't, but I did. Describing what I had seen sounded ridiculous, even to my own ears, but I gave him nearly every detail, leaving out only two facts: what I'd seen just before I'd fainted, and the fact that the second Wolfman had been the footman sacked earlier that day by my new client.

To his credit, Doyle didn't laugh at me, although when I spoke of the physical transformations I'd witnessed his expression grew doubtful.

“I know it sounds like something out of a bad dream,” I said once I'd finished. “I can't tell you how they did it, or God knows why, but their bodies changed shape. I could hear their bones cracking. And they were so fast, and so terribly strong.”

“My men said as much, at least the ones who survived.” His jaw tightened. “Those bastards killed six of them in the streets before they got to you. It's a miracle you survived.”

That hadn't been my doing. “Why did they fight each other, Tommy? Why didn't they both attack me?”

“Those men were insane, Kit. You'll never fathom it.” He gave my hand a squeeze and stood. “I have to go now and see the families of the men who died. Try and get some rest.”

What I wanted was to get up, get dressed, and get out of here—and never to sleep again. Fortunately my body would have none of that, and after a few minutes of fighting to stay awake I nodded off and slept without dreams, nightmares, Doyles, or Dredmores.

Sometime later a sister woke me for the physick's exam, which was a quick but somewhat painful business.

“No signs of addlement or rupture,” the iron-haired, hatchet-faced surgeon told the nurse, who jotted the same down on the chart she carried. “I am Mr. Brecourt, Miss Kittredge. I expect you in some amount of pain, given the buffeting you've taken. You may have some opiate if you wish.”

What polite names doctors had for ruddy joy. “It's tolerable, sir, so I'd rather not.” He must be a surgeon; they were called Mr. instead of Lord like other doctors because they were obliged to use their hands to work on patients, and no lord performed manual labor. “Is there some question of surgery?”

“Not at present. When you came in I was obliged to extract some splinters of wood from your back and buttocks,” he said bluntly. “They were not lodged very deep, however, and the wounds should heal in a few days.”

That explained why my back was sorest of all. “When can I be discharged?”

He considered that. “You lay senseless for most of the night, and there is always the possibility of relapse. You also cannot reach the wounds on your other side, and such are prone to turn septic. I would keep you at least three days more. Why do you frown?”

I told him the truth. “I appreciate your concern for me, sir, but I can't afford that long a stay.”

His expression cleared. “That is not a worry, my dear,” he advised me. “Your account has already been paid in full.”

Doyle couldn't have managed it. Dredmore could. “By whom, sir?”

Brecourt glanced at the nurse, who consulted the chart before she said, “There is no name, sir, only a notation that it was a grateful mother.”

He nodded. “I understand this morning many mothers are grateful to you, Miss Kittredge. Now, Nurse will change your bandages and see to some breakfast for you. I will look in on you during my afternoon rounds.”

Brecourt left me with the sister, who helped me to lay on my front while she dampened my dressings with warm water before carefully removing them.

“You're a very good healer, miss,” she said. “Most of these gashes are beginning to mend.” She gasped, and I felt her touch a tender spot. “Goodness, this one's already closed over.”

I'd always healed very quickly, but I couldn't tell her having an immortal Aramanthan grandfather was the reason for it. “I'm sure it was just a scratch.”

“As you say, miss.” She finished her work quickly, however, and after replacing my bandages she practically
ran from the room, nearly bumping into someone who was coming in.

I eased over onto my side to see it was Docket, who gave me a sheepish grin as he produced a bouquet of wild lavender. “Heard you'd taken a leaf from my book.” His voice dropped to a softer register. “How are you doing, love?”

“I've had better nights.” I pillowed my head on my arm and watched him arrange the fragrant bunch in my water carafe. “They tell you what put me here?”

“You playing catch-me with two Wolfmen, beaters said.” He dropped into the chair beside my bed. “You look awful, but they're much worse. Made me vow never to get on your bad side.”

“You saw the Wolfmen?” I sat up. “When?”

“Just before I come up to see you. They brought the bodies here, and I know the cutter down in the morgue. He let me have a look.” His expression grew serious. “I know you didn't do all that to them. Were someone too wicked for words.”

“You saw the mech, too.” I sat up quickly, biting my lip as my body punished me for it. “I thought I'd gone daft. Did you recognize what it was put there for?”

He moved his shoulders. “Didn't take that close of a look.”

I eyed the wheeled chair sitting in the corner. “Can you help get in that, and push me down there, to the morgue?”

He sighed. “Now why would you want to look at dead monsters, best forgotten? Good riddance to the rubbish.”

“I need to talk to your cutter friend. Please, Doc,” I tacked on when he shook his head. “It's for a case I have going. I need to learn as much as I can about these Wolfmen, and by the time I'm released the bodies will be gone and buried.”

He pursed his lips. “The sisters'll have me head and hide.”

“They're too busy serving breakfast to the other patients. I'm a patient, not a prisoner. If any of them ask I'll say I needed some air.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Please, Doc. Help me. Can't do it without you.”

“So you're always nattering. Very well, stay there.” He retrieved the wheeled chair and positioned it beside me, and then helped move me from the bed to its caned seat. He then realized my bare legs were poking out from under the knee-length gown and snatched up the blanket from the bed, swaddling me with it. “If they haul me off to lockup for this, you're bailing me out.”

“In a heartbeat,” I said, gritting my teeth against the pains stabbing my back and bottom. “Oh, you should say you're my da, if they ask.”

“If I were your da, I'd give us both a proper thrashing.” He pushed me out of the room.

My guess that the sisters would be too busy to notice us proved correct; only one glanced our way as Docket wheeled me down the hall.

“She should be in bed,” the nurse said as she shifted her tray to one hip so she could open a door.

“Getting my gel some fresh air,” Docket said, pushing my chair a little faster.

He wheeled me to a cage-front box and lifted the
cage. “This is the lift they use for downstairs,” he said. “I'll lower you and your chair down in it and then take the stairs myself. Unless you want me to carry you?”