The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1) Page 19

  “You think the fellow has skeletons in his closet, then?”

  “In a way,” I admitted. “I think maybe you should check if he’s Enhanced or not.”

  Max stilled. “Would it make a difference to you if he were Enhanced?”

  As an educated woman, I knew that Enhancements did not fundamentally change who a person was. Sophie was a prime example that an Enhancement didn’t change personality. In some instances, the Enhancements were the only way to save a person’s life. Those with a more religious point of view argued that the Enhanced didn’t have souls, or if they did, the Enhancements corrupted their souls in some way. If only from my experience with Sophie I knew that was rubbish.

  I’d been accused of being Enhanced often enough that I’d tasted a tiny bit of what life for someone like that was like. Did it truly make a difference if Andrew were Enhanced or not? The logical, equality-minded part of me said no, but his other abilities were nothing like what one would expect from someone who was Enhanced... but what if he’d altered the minds of Max and the others? Lizzie had already been a victim...

  “There’s golden tracery on his chest, embedded in the skin,” I said, blurting out the words. “I asked him about it. He didn’t really answer me. I’ve no real proof, but...” I trailed off.

  “I see,” Max said, rubbing his chin. “Do I want to know how you got a look at his naked chest?”

  I felt the blush rise in my cheeks and cursed silently as Max watched my reaction to his question. “He wasn’t naked, for Heaven’s sake—“ I stammered. The fact that I had been in my nightgown at the time was something I thought better kept to myself.

  Max held up a hand to cut me off. “Leaving the ‘how’ of what you saw aside, I suppose I can see your concern,” Max said. “There are some folk who want nothing to do with the Enhanced, as we know, so knowing if Andrew is or isn’t Enhanced is good business sense.”

  I nodded, at a loss. That hadn’t been the reason for my awkward outburst, but it would have to do.

  Max leaned toward me. “You’re really troubled by something,” Max observed. “If he’s done some-“ he stopped, not liking where that statement would take him, and tried again: “If you truly don’t approve of Andrew joining the crew – “

  “No,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t know enough to have that sort of objection to his joining the crew. “That’s not what I meant. He hasn’t hurt me... like that.” I took a deep breath. “I have no proof that Andrew wouldn’t be good as a crew member, and he’s certainly proved his worthiness to the Bosch. It doesn’t matter if he’s Enhanced or not. Whatever other issues I have... I’ll talk to Andrew about them in private. They have nothing to do with the Bosch.” Or, at least I hope they won’t, I thought.

  “Well,” Max said, eyeing me and sensing my discomfort, “I’ll leave that for the two of you to sort out, shall I?”

  I nodded, ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. Now that I had, I couldn’t take it back.

  Max blew out a breath. “Soooo... um... I know you’re still recovering from your injury and you’ve still got the Tripos to study for. Despite that, do you think you could join us at the Club tomorrow evening, around seven o’clock so you can hear all the details of our new venture? A representative of the consortium will be there to hammer out the contract and give us our first job.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Yes,” I said, my mind churning. Andrew would be there. If I went, I could insist on an explanation and find out, finally, what was going on. “Yes, I’ll attend, though I’m sure you’ll understand if I ask for a lift, if the Rover’s available?”

  Max beamed and stood up. “I’ll make sure it is. Griff will be glad to act as driver. The old pirate has missed you, you know.”

  I thought about Griff and smiled as I also stood and we headed to the front door together. “Yes,” I said. “I’ve missed him, too. I’ve missed all of you.”

  I waved goodbye to Max as he headed down the street, then shut the door. I headed for the kitchen and the telephone. Perhaps Dr. Sanburne had an opening in the afternoon and I could get approved for studying, I thought. It was at least worth a try.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A telephone call later, I had an appointment to meet Dr. Sanburne at his office for three o’clock.

  Luckily, Cora didn’t have any classes that afternoon, and she agreed to escort me to the appointment. Then she’d head back to the house and send Gertrude to escort me home. I didn’t feel it was wise to go alone. We’d only have to walk to the cab station and go in the cab to Sanburne’s office. I still had moments of dizziness, though I had no intention of mentioning that to Cora or Sanburne, but I thought I could manage the walking I’d need to do to get to and from the doctor without taking a tumble.

  After I’d made the arrangements with Cora, I returned to my room to find Hugo perched on the windowsill, eyes closed, basking in the greyish spring sun. A quick look out the window confirmed an approaching rainstorm.

  “Cora and I are off to Dr. Sanburne’s office this afternoon. You’ll be coming along, I assume?” Hugo didn’t react. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to hand over my letter,” I ventured. He opened one eye, looked at me, and slowly shook his head. “Do you really understand what I say? Everything I say?” He closed the one eye, fluffed the feathers on the top of his head, and snuffled a bit.

  Not sure if that was an affirmative snort or not, I pulled out my desk chair and sat down. I reached out a hand toward one of the books on the left edge of my desk and started to pull it toward me. It was my translation of Euclid.

  Hugo growled from his perch on the windowsill.

  I leaned my head on the back of my chair and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, praying for patience. Fine, I thought. No reading. I brought my head back up, pushed the book back to the edge of the desk, and opened the drawer above my knees, fumbling about for paper and a pencil. Perhaps I could write.

  Hugo flew over to the desk and landed right in front of me, glaring first at me, and then at the drawer contents. I sighed and slid the drawer shut. So much for that, I thought, annoyed. Satisfied, Hugo hopped up, extended his wings and flew back to the windowsill.

  I waited until Hugo settled. I reached down to the left hand drawer that contained my tools and parts for the non-aeronautic devices I made. I looked down at the bits and pieces and thought about what had happened to me on the road. Memories swirled in my consciousness. I saw the cobbles rising before me, commanded by some force I didn’t understand. I heard Andrew speaking in that odd language, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  Whether it was Laufeson actively working to grab me or someone directing his actions, I’d been caught unaware by him twice. Cora’s comments about using the standard kit of a lady’s wardrobe as weapons for my own defense came back to me. I wondered if I could create something with my materials and my ingenuity that would keep me safe.

  Hugo growled again.

  “It isn’t reading,” I said decisively, setting my pliers, crimping tools and bits of springs and cogs on the surface of the desk. After a moment’s hesitation, I retrieved the box of scalpel blades from the drawer and placed it on the desk. Razor sharp blades incorporated into what I created could be helpful, in a murderous sort of bloodthirsty way. I knew at least Gertrude would approve.

  Hugo turned his head to look at me skeptically. “I can’t read,” I insisted, “or write, but I can tinker. Sanburne didn’t forbid that.”

  The black mound of feathers emitted a chuffing noise, then subsided into silence. I turned my attention to the tools and supplies in front of me, and the rest of the world faded away as I created protective devices bristling with hidden scalpel blades.

  By the time I had to leave to meet Cora and head to my appointment with Dr. Sanburne, I’d successfuly created three devices: a brooch with a glass cabochon that hid some very devious and destructive clockwork; a bracelet of gears, metal wings and spines woven together seam
lessly that became a spinning blade if it was opened a certain way, and a hair clasp of springs, blades and arcing copper wire that grabbed on to more than just hair if activated appropriately. I held them in my hands proudly and hoped I’d have no reason to use them.

  I applied the hair clasp to my hair, tucked the other two devices back in the drawer with my tools, and made my way downstairs with Hugo perched on my shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The weather turned wet and cold at about noon, and by the time Cora and I left Towson House a proper spring rain was in full deluge. We had umbrellas and our warmer coats, but the walk to the cab station was damp and chilly. Few people were out and about on our end of town, but I did notice a few workmen standing and chatting under umbrellas close to the cab station. Coat collars pulled up against the chill, they huddled and talked in an animated fashion as we passed.

  Hugo didn’t seem to be troubled by the weather and flew from tree to tree as we walked. Once we found a cab, we gratefully escaped the cold rain and Hugo followed us, flying and perching and flying again as we went. Ten minutes later we emerged outside Dr. Sanburne’s office, a brown house with a substantial yard a few blocks from Great St. Mary’s Church. Hugo fluttered down to a graceful landing on the roofline of the house. Cora ordered the cabbie to take her back to Towson and I entered the waiting area, the bell on the door ringing to announce my arrival. I shook out my umbrella and placed it in the stand near the door.

  The room was just a touch too warm, even after being out in the wet. I quickly removed my coat and hung it on the coat rack. The other door in the room, shut as usual, was the one that opened to the hallway that led to Sanburne’s examination room. I’d been to the doctor’s office a couple times before, and he tended to be prompt and on time for his appointments. I had no problem finding somewhere to sit, since I was alone and the room was stuffed with brown furniture, most of it uncomfortable. I sat and stared at the tan walls, which the doctor had covered in paintings of country scenes with cows, rivers, shepherds and large, old trees.

  At three o’clock on the dot, the door to the examination room opened and Mrs. Tirel, Sanburne’s nurse, beckoned me in. A blonde woman who reminded me very much of an older, settled version of Lizzie, Mrs. Tirel usually met all the doctor’s patients with a smile. When she called you back for your appointment, her brown eyes glowed with happiness or sympathy depending on how your health appeared to be. It was clear she greatly enjoyed her job. She made it a habit of talking pleasantly to everyone and had a gift for making nervous patients feel more relaxed. She was one of the reasons the women of Towson House used Dr. Sanburne when they had a medical issue.

  This time was no exception. We discussed the weather for a few moments. Then we made our way down the hall. Mrs. Tirel opened the door to examination room two and indicated I should enter it, which I did. “He’ll be with you in a moment,” she said pleasantly and shut the door behind me once I entered the room.

  I looked the room over to see if I noted anything amiss, Cora’s admonition to remain vigilant ringing in my ears. The examination room had a window opposite the door, the curtains pulled aside to give a view of the rain, the wet street and the neighboring red brick building that housed a solicitor’s office. Inside the room there was an examination table covered with a sheet, a cabinet on wheels that contained a metal tray with a bottle of alcohol, squares of gauze, rolls of bandage and steel instruments on it. The sight of the instruments turned my stomach. They were a nasty assemblage of sharp implements and knives, and I shuddered to think what Sanburne used them for. Between the window and the examination table was a white wooden cabinet that had a glass-windowed cupboard on top, showing jars of bandages and labeled bottles of unguents and tinctures in neat rows on the shelves. There were a series of drawers below, their contents neatly labeled with little cards in holders above the brass handles.

  To the left of the window was a cupboard and tabletop that held a pitcher and basin along with towels and a bar of soap for Dr. Sanburne to wash his hands. Beside that was a wheeled stool for Dr. Sanburne to sit upon, and next to that was the door to his personal office, from which he would enter to examine me. The remaining exposed walls were white, the floor below my feet was grey linoleum, and the room smelled mildly of fels naptha soap, bleach, and vinegar.

  I stood in the middle of the room, suddenly out of sorts and uncertain what to do. I rubbed my hands together, suddenly chilled. The door opened slightly and I jumped, startled. Usually, Dr. Sanburne knocked before he entered.

  Then the door swung open, and Dr. Sanburne entered, flushed and nervous. He was a tall man though he was very thin and balding. His clothes, usually pressed and impeccably neat, were wrinkled and mussed up. He shut the door behind him with more force than he intended, and winced as he turned to regard me.

  “Lady Ariana,” he said, breathless and clearly agitated, “my apologies. Something came ... er... up, as it were.” He looked back with concern at the door to his office.

  Clearly, something was wrong. “Dr. Sanburne, is something amiss? You seem quite troubled and distracted. Shall I come back at another time?”

  “No!” Sanburne insisted, rather loudly. I took a step back in surprise. He quickly realized his overstatement and put out a hand to reassure me. “No. You came to be examined, and I’ll examine you.”

  “As you wish, Doctor,” I said, still wary.

  He moved to the basin and started to wash his hands. “Let’s take a look at your head, shall we?”

  I took a seat on the examination table. Sanburne finished washing and drying his hands, then stepped over to inspect my wound. My sticking plaster removed, Sanburne exclaimed at how well the wound knitted up and took a quick moment to remove the stitches with snips of small medical scissors and quick tugs to pull the threads out. The feeling of the threads coming out of my skin made me mildly sick to my stomach, and I couldn’t help thinking of what I’d done to Sophie’s arm.

  After he removed all the threads, he felt for my pulse and looked carefully in my eyes. I had the feeling he wanted to keep me in the office, and my favorable condition was a bar to that desire.

  “I dare say, Lady Ariana... ah... other than the remaining bruise, you look quite well. Have you any other complaints? Any spells of vertigo?”

  “No, sir,” I said. It was a lie, but I needed to get back to my studies.

  “Indeed?” he looked genuinely perplexed. I saw the fear return. “I had a remedy prepared... it seems you will not require it?”

  I frowned. “No, sir,” I said. “All I need is permission to resume my studies. Since I have the Tripos exam coming up, I’m eager to get back to work. I’ve lost nearly a week.”

  “Ah,” he said, clearly at a loss. “If you... ah... allow me to administer the remedy, I’ll be... how shall we say... glad to allow you to get back to your mathematics, my dear.”

  “Are you sure? I’m doing quite well. Is it usual to apply a remedy when one isn’t needed? I confess,” I said, scratching the back of my head, “medicine isn’t my profession, but anything other than allowing me to return to my studies seems unnecessary.”

  At that, Dr. Sanburne became very angry, much to my great surprise. “You’ll have the remedy,” he said sternly, “and not question my medical decisions. Now stay here while I retrieve it.” With that, he turned and headed into his office, shutting the door behind him.

  I had no intention of waiting around. Hopping off the table, I went to open the door to the hallway. There in the hallway, directly in front of the door, was a large man who smelled of tobacco and gin. He wore dirty tradesman’s togs, including dark canvas pants, a worn linen shirt and brown canvas jacket with a wool cap, work boots, and an unpleasant smile on his bearded face. His eyes were like steel ball bearings in his eye sockets, with no pupils evident. He was Enhanced, and I stared at him for a split second, completely astonished. He looked like what I’d seen in the Times and how Sophie had described her former friends, but what was
he doing here? Then my mind and body caught up enough to register I was in danger.

  “Oh,” I said, moving quickly to swing the door shut again. “Wrong door! Pardon me!”

  The man stuck his boot in the doorframe, pushed the door aside and strode into the room. I backed up out of his way as fast as I could. He smiled at me, then shut the door. He stood in front of it, barring my escape.

  “Oh, I don’t think so, young miss,” the man said, looking me up and down proprietarily. “We followed you from the cab station just so’s we’d meet you proper like. No running off. You’re coming with us, once the Doc does his bit.”

  This was the second time in a week someone had attempted to abduct me. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anyone there to help me, and I wasn’t certain how my new hair clasp would work against the ruffian sharing the room with me. I put my hands up, fists clenched.

  “Now none of that, miss,” he warned, shaking a finger at me. “No use making a fuss. The Doc agreed to make you more...” he smiled, showing brown teeth, “...compliant? We ain’t allowed to bring you to our boss damaged, more’s the pity.”

  I backed up into the examination table and found my hand resting on the steel tray with the alcohol bottle, bandages, and sharp instruments. “Who the Hell are you?” I asked, a tremor in my voice.

  “Abe Drummond at your service, Miss. I work for... well... for someone who’s very interested in you,” he said. “You’ve got something he wants. So come along quiet-like, and no one gets hurt.”

  This was why Andrew had suggested I leave Cambridge. Damn and blast! What am I going to do now?

  Dr. Sanburne stumbled into the examination room, held by the scruff of the neck by another large steel-eyed tradesman, the twin of the one who held me at bay. In his right hand, the doctor held a syringe full of some sort of liquid.