Camera Obscura (24 page)

 
 

When Viktor was gone the chamber was silent. Milady, staring at the unseen faces in the shadows, said, "You let him escape."

  The Hoffman said: "I beg your pardon?"

  She said, "You wouldn't know how."

  His silence was an answer in itself. She said – demanded – "Why?"

  "Tômas still has his uses," the Hoffman said.

  "I killed him! He should be dead!"

  "He is not easy to kill. Neither are you, Milady."

  "Why did you let him go?"

  "He escaped."

  "I want to know!"

  "You will know what we want you to know," the Hoffman said, dispassionately. "But very well. A month ago we received a communiqué from the Man on the Mekong. He wishes to make the trade."

  "With France?"

  "With whoever bids the highest," the Hoffman said. "The primary object in his possession is a key, a thing of infinite value. While you were… resting, several expeditions were sent to locate the man in the hope of retrieving the object. We believe he was residing in a city deep in the Mekong Valley, in the lands of the Lao, named Luang Prabang. Unfortunately, such attempts as were made had… failed."

  She thought of her dreams again, the giant drum echoing in the night, the thousands of lights floating down the river, and a man preparing to depart in a steamer, the jade statue of a lizard keeping guard… She said, "He is moving."

  Was that surprise in the Hoffman's voice? "Yes," he said. "His message says he has decided to hold an auction for the primary. He has chosen the location well… He would not be easy to find."

  "And so you let Tômas escape? You would use him to hunt the Man on the Mekong?"

  "He is so very good…"

  "I'm better."

  "Indeed, Milady." A small smile played on the Hoffman's rubbery face, and then she understood: two sets of traps, one within the other – or was it two types of bait, thrown out on a single line?

  "There is a ship waiting for you at the docks in Marseilles," the Hoffman automaton said. "You leave with the tide."

  "Where?" she said, but something inside of her already knew, anticipated the single word that came, with the hiss of an old record, from within the Hoffman, as if she had known all along, as if her dreams already told her where the Man on the Mekong had gone…

  "Vespuccia," the Hoffman automaton said.

 
 

 

 

 
 

She woke up from uneasy sleep, dreams fading of a man travelling by ship through stormy seas. He'd been standing on deck and the green lizard statue was sitting in the prow and ball lightning danced around it as if the storm itself was in worship… She had stood on the deck and the man slowly turned and his eyes were on hers. He'd whispered something, but the wind snatched the words away.

  She woke up to the motion of waves, the rocking of the ship. Rain outside, darkness beyond the small porthole. She lay still on the narrow bed. Listening.

  Was that a rustle at the door? Was an unseen hand rattling the handle? Two days out of port and she'd been getting uneasy, listening out for the small noises in the night, the sounds that shouldn't be there.

  Beyond the door, the boards creaked. Was that just the stress in the hull? Or were unseen feet stepping across the corridor? She pictured drowned corpses crawling hand and foot across the lower deck, dripping salt water, their skin bloated and pale.

  She lay very still.

  On the way to France, all those years ago, she had not been alone, but they still died around her, and in her dreams the lifeless corpses were still flung overboard. There had been ceremony at first, with each loss of life, but as the journey progressed no one said a prayer, and the bodies were simply disposed of. Her mother…

  She closed and opened her eyes. Was that something fluttering against the window? A dark shape against the glass, or –?

  She swung herself out of bed in one smooth motion and when she turned to the porthole there was nothing there. She raised her gun arm and tiptoed to the door and yanked it open–

  Nothing beyond. She took a deep breath. The ship was working insidious fears deep into her mind, the way saltwater could drip, slowly, never stopping, until its touch became like acid, and it wore away body and mind…

  There was nothing there. Nothing beyond the door but an empty corridor, and nothing outside but rain clouds, and a gale – and a deep watery grave underneath.

 

From Paris to Marseilles by train, and to the docks, where the
White Worm
waited: an inauspicious name for a ship.

  "Woman on board brings bad luck," the captain said, and coughed out a globule of phlegm overboard, then laughed. "But this is a bad-luck ship."

  Captain Karnstein: tall and wizened and wrapped in a toolong, dirty coat that hung loose over his frame. His forehead was lined, the lines like scars, and a thick, black beard grew over his face like a gathering of molluscs stuck to a rock. She said, "When do we sail?" and the captain spat again and jerked his head at the shore and said, "When the cargo's loaded."

  She was going to say,
What cargo
? but just then a familiar figure appeared on the dock and she felt her gun hand twitch. Viktor stood down below. He had cleaned the blood from his face but still looked bad. There was a new vitality about him, she noticed uneasily. He practically shone. He looked bigger, bulkier than he had only hours before. When he raised his face his eyes met hers and she almost looked away. His eyes burned, and the smile on his face was ugly. The drugs, she thought. He must have used the Hyde formula – on himself.

  And how long has he been doing
that
for?

  Below on the docks, Viktor made a mock bow. "Milady de Winter!" he called up.

  She said, "Viktor." Her voice was soft. "You seem much recovered."

  "Rest…" his voice was like the rest of him – too loud, and at the same time brittle – "is always the best medicine."

  "No doubt…" She raised her voice. "What are you doing here?"

  "Supervising the cargo." His smile remained. Like Viktor himself, the smile stayed unpleasant.

  Some things simply didn't change.

  Behind Viktor, porters appeared. A grey mist lay over the docks, and the blowing wind was cold, easing frozen fingers through Milady's coat, touching her skin like the fingers of the dead. The porters were carrying long, heavy-looking casks. The solid wood was shut tight with iron. She took a deep breath, steadied herself. You could shoot Viktor, but you couldn't shout at him. She said, "What is this?"

  "Nothing that need concern you."

  Taking another deep breath, she walked down the gangplank to the wharf. "I won't ask you again," she said. Viktor took a step back. "Council orders," he said, sounding suddenly nervous. Good. She took a step towards him, and was gratified when he stepped back. "I have the paperwork!" Viktor said. "Here." He produced a sheaf of papers from a coat pocket and waved it at her. Around them, the porters swarmed, six men lifting one cask each, carrying it up the gangplank onto the dark ship. Milady was aware of Captain Karnstein's gaze from above. When she raised her head the captain only spat again, and the globe of mucus was swallowed by the sea.

  "Give me that." She tore the papers from his hands. "Biological
specimens
– hazardous?"

  "Nothing to be worried about," Viktor said reassuringly – which made her worry even more. "They're just samples for the research station on Scab. Send my regards to the countess, will you?"

  "What?"

  "Look!" Viktor said. "This is none of your concern. You're off to Vespuccia. Well, good for you." He grinned suddenly. "Did you know the lizardine court has asked for your extradition?"

  That hit her hard. For a moment she forgot about the cargo or its mysterious destination. "What… what for?" she said.

  "They said, and I quote: 'To assist Scotland Yard in their inquiries into the as-yet unsolved death of Lord de Winter'," Viktor said, and grinned.

  "Why would they do that?"

  "I sense that fat oaf Mycroft Holmes might have had something to do with it," Viktor said. "You seem to have a knack for making friends, Milady."

  "Is that why…" she said, and faltered. "The asylum?"

  "Keep you out of the way for a while, yes. The peace with the lizards across the Channel is fragile. They are too powerful for us to fight. What waits in Vespuccia could change that, however… which reminds me."

  Around them the porters surged, the sealed casks disappearing one by one up the gangplank. "You are officially a fugitive from justice," Viktor said. "The Council will deny all knowledge of you. According to the information being sent to the lizardine ambassador as we speak, you broke out of Charenton, destroying the asylum in the process and releasing a horde of dangerous criminals into the streets of Paris. No doubt they are already well aware of the situation. That fire you started could be seen for miles."

  For a moment she almost smiled. Viktor said, "You then took the train to Marseilles, and there found a ship to take you away from the continent, destination unknown. You're a fugitive, disowned by the Council. In other words, Milady – you're on your own."

  She shrugged, and said, "When has it ever been different?" The last of the casks had been loaded onto the
White Worm.
Viktor said, "Have a safe journey."

  The fog thickened around them. She could barely see his face. "What's in the casks?" she said.

  "Nothing," Viktor said. "They don't exist. And neither, any more, do you, Milady."

  She reached out for him but he disappeared, moving quickly, with a sort of animal grace, into the fog. She had to feel her way back to the gangplank. The chill was beginning to settle into her bones.
The research station on Scab?

  And she was a fugitive, she'd have no support once she reached the Long Island, once she landed in Vespuccia. Well, that, at least, was something she was used to.

  
Do not touch Tômas
, they told her, before she left. Yo
ur mission
is to obtain possession of the object. For the benefit of the Republic, for
the glory of France.

  They wanted her to lay off the Phantom, but she had her own ideas about that…

  From above, Captain Karnstein's scratchy voice punctured the night, with two words and a final stop ending, perhaps forever, she thought, her old life. She hurried up the gangplank, scrambling to get on board the
White Worm.

  "Tide's up," Captain Karnstein said.