Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls (23 page)

He quivers under the bedclothes. “What do you want?”

My face is hard. “One fire burns out another's burning; One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.”

“Sarah.” He struggles into a sitting position. “You never would have been born if not for me. You owe me your life.”

“Life can be bitter to the very bone, when one is poor, and woman, and alone.”

“Your life hasn't been bitter, Sarah,” he says. “You have talents of which other people only dream. Surely you have enjoyed your abilities.”

Slowly, I turn the knife so that the room's dim light plays
off the blade like will-o'-the-wisps over a marsh. My reflection in Dr. Aldrich's mirror shows me the incongruity of my tidy business suit and the steely blade.

“All ambitions are lawful,” I say, testing the blade edge against my thumb, “except for those which climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind.”

Dr. Aldrich is awakening to an awareness that this is real, not a nightmare—that he is about to die. Behind me, in the hall, I hear Professor Isabella and Abalone talking with Midline. I wait until they join me and carefully take the baby from Professor Isabella.

At the sight of his latest creation cradled in my arms, Dr. Aldrich bites down on his lower lip until blood beads forth from the thin flesh.

“You've found him,” he says. “Give him to me! He's my last hope. They'll kill me if you take him. He's my property!”

His voice is tight with an edge that I have heard many times before in the Home. Tears overflow his eyes and mingle with the blood from his lips. A sour smell taints the air. Fear brutally breaks his mind in a way that neither guilt nor pity could.

Yet, despite the noise, the baby in my arms stirs only a little.

“Sarah,” Professor Isabella says, “we've done what we came for. Come away.”

I hand my nephew to her and motion for them to precede me from the room. In his bed, Dr. Aldrich burbles chaotically. I move as if to follow the others and then dart back into the room.

With one hand I grab his hair, twisting his head so that he is forced to face me. His eyes are mad, but not with the clean madness of Head Wolf or Jersey. This is self-interest so acute that it has driven him mad with horror.

Grasping my knife firmly, I thrust it into the pulsating hollow below his Adam's apple.

“How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is,” I say as I twist the blade, “to have a thankless child.”

Beneath my hand, blood runs bright. Aldrich convulses once and then is still. The pulse fades as suddenly.

A hand—Midline's—draws my hand away and the knife falls free.

“The bone is cracked,” he says gently. “Aldrich is dead. Not just from the knife wound, I think. His heart stopped from the terror. A good killing of one such as him.”

Aware of the drumming of my own racing heart, I retrieve my blade.

“There will be fingerprints,” Abalone says, “but that shouldn't matter. Right after we found the baby, I set up the heating system to screw up and start fires all through this building. Aldrich's research materials must be completely destroyed or someone else may try to duplicate his work someday.”

“If we're finished here then,” Professor Isabella says, “I think we should leave. The baby isn't likely to stay quiet forever, especially now that he's disconnected from that box.”

As if to confirm her words, the baby kicks against his blanket. Taking Betwixt and Between from Abalone, I put them on his chest and the chubby hands reach to grasp my dragon.

“Sing a song of sixpence,” I tell them, “a pocket full of rye. Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.”

“I always thought that was a really sick thing to sing about to a kid,” Betwixt comments.

“Oh, shut up,” Between replies. “You know what she wants.”

“Yeah, I do. ‘Rock-a-bye-baby'?”

Together they begin to harmonize sweetly on the lullaby. The baby's hands tighten and his expression brightens for the first time with something like delight.

Professor Isabella looks thoughtfully at him.

“I wonder,” she says, “if he can hear the way Sarah can? The records seemed to indicate that Aldrich was trying to create the same talent.”

Abalone looks at him and then starts shoving us down the hallway toward the exit.

“Of course, he can, can't you see? But, in case you've forgotten, we are in enemy territory and these”—the toss of her head indicates both the baby and Aldrich's corpse—“complicate things somewhat. I've called for the trolley capsule and signaled Peep and we really should be leaving.”

Midline sniffs the air. “And the fires are starting. We want to be away before they are noticed.”

“I did have the sense to cut the fire alarms,” Abalone retorts. “Sarah, put your suit jacket in your briefcase. It has blood on it.”

I obey, finishing before the trolley arrives. My hands are steady and, to my surprise, so am I. All my rage, frustration, and misery died when I struck out against Dr. Aldrich.

Despite Abalone's concern, our escape is easily managed.
Peep arches an eyebrow when he sees the baby, but his only comment is to tint the windows rusty brown. We speed by the attentive guard, but his attention is for his monitors, not for a single sedan.

Professor Isabella looks at me, her expression alive with concerns she won't admit.

“How are you, Sarah?”

I gesture to the receding Ailanthus compound, a wry smile bending my lips.

“Hating people is like burning down your own house to get rid of a rat.”

“Well, I didn't figure that you loved him”—Professor Isabella tries to smile—“but I didn't expect you to murder him.”

I reach out and touch the baby. He coos and with one hand lets go of Betwixt and Between to hold my finger.

“If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong,” I reply after a minute.

“I see,” Professor Isabella says, looking between the baby's face and mine. “You saw what Aldrich was doing to this child. Dylan was a slave all his life and, for all her apparent freedom, so was Eleanora.”

I nod, content to see some of her confusion leave, even if she does not completely understand.

“Don't forget what he did to Sarah,” Abalone adds. “Aldrich bred for her like he did for the others and so he created the block between her and true speech. She'll never escape his touch on her, no matter how good we treat her.”

“Maybe,” Professor Isabella says, a thoughtful look on her face. “I saw this child's files before we purged them.
Aldrich was working to negate Sarah's negative traits. Perhaps the baby will be able to talk both to us and to her.”

“Or at least hear what she does and share it more easily,” Midline agrees. “I like that.”

“Whatever the child may do in the future,” Professor Isabella says, patting the baby's rump, “we had better stop and get diapers before we return to the Jungle. He's wet himself.”

“Mowgli, the Frog, I will call thee,” I say, giggling. “He shall live to run with the Pack and to hunt with the Pack.”

“Mowgli, the Frog! That's good—he's all wet!” Abalone laughs and the rest join in. “I have money to get Mowgli diapers. I emptied Ailanthus' petty—well, not so petty—cash accounts while I was mucking around in the system. There's money enough for diapers and more.”

“After we get rid of this car,” Peep promises cheerfully, “we'll stop at a store for stuff for the
niño
. Will that be soon enough, Professor Isabella?”

“I suppose that it will have to be,” she answers.

The diaper, however, complains loudly. Only I—and Mowgli—hear. Smiling, I pat my dragons and they sing enthusiastically enough to fill our ears with silent song.

Looking over Peep's shoulder, I see the lights of the city spreading before us like a sea of diamonds. The sedan dips, angles, and we begin our descent.