Dearly, Beloved (25 page)

“And I thank you for that, I truly do.” A pause, and then she said, “If I may … what
does
the house look like now?”

“Better than it did.” Lopez sounded reluctant to talk about it. “My late brother spent quite a bit of money hunting down all of the machinery that was gutted from it. I confess, I’ve not spent much time there, aside from his funeral.”

“I’m not sure I blame you.”

“On the day of the funeral, I did see that the Mermaid’s Ballroom is still incomplete. All of the automatons and chandeliers
are there, but the tank has yet to be repaired. The Whispering Garden was operational, however, and the Jewelry Box Room completely restored.” He laughed humorlessly. “I can’t believe I actually remember the names. I was only six when they tore everything apart.”

“It’s amazing to think any of it has survived. Do you not fear the government? What if they decide to—”

“Every day.” He recovered. “Forgive me, madam. You were saying something.”

“It’s no matter. At any rate, thank you for calling again, Lopez.” I knew that cue—that was the end of it. Indeed, their voices faded. We sat up and peered at one another, grief momentarily forgotten. Before any of us could say anything, though, Mrs. Roe called out, “Pamela? Isambard? Miss Dearly?”

We all straightened our clothes, grabbed what we’d packed, and headed downstairs. When we entered the foyer we found Mrs. Roe waiting. She immediately captured her son’s hand, her eyes focusing on his face.

“Are you all right, Mother?” Issy asked after a few seconds of scrutiny.

“Yes,” Mrs. Roe said, though her eyes were moist. She lifted her head, and I saw her throat move behind her highly knotted fichu. “Come. Let’s go.”

Once we were back in the Rolls and Alencar was loading the Roes’ boxes and bags, Mrs. Roe got right to the point. “Lord Lopez was here. He called at your house, Miss Dearly, and Dr. Chase sent him on.”

“That guy is
weird
,” Issy said. “A lord, and he does his own shopping? A lord, and he rents a flat in the city? A lord who doesn’t want to be called ‘Lord’?” The rest of us must have looked at him quite oddly, for he sighed. “I sound like the old Isambard, don’t I? It’s been a long night.”

“No, you sound like someone’s who’s been eavesdropping.”
Issy grimaced, and I turned around on my knees to look at Mrs. Roe. They were all in the backseat, while I was in the front. “Forgive us.”

“It’s no matter. What he has proposed
is
somewhat odd.” She waited until she had our attention. “In case you did not hear it, he has offered to take us in at his family estate. At least until things are back in order here.”

“Where is his estate?” Alencar slipped into the car and nodded at me, before starting her up and pulling out into traffic.

“Honduras. A place called Marblanco.” Mrs. Roe looked at me. “Do you know anything of him, Miss Dearly? Have you heard any gossip?”

“No, ma’am. Nothing.”

“What
is
Marblanco?” Isambard asked. “Yesterday you guys mentioned it, and you looked like you were talking about Chicago, or something. Atlantis.”

“Just … a house. It was quite something in its day. I never went there, naturally, but there were stories. They say it’s still the only great house in New Victoria without holograms. It was …” Mrs. Roe trailed off, again staring into space. Before any of us could call her back to earth, she roused herself with a shrug. “There were stories.”

“Could we?” Pamela looked up at her mother, her sweet, liquid eyes suddenly filled with longing. For some reason, it pained me to see. “Could we really go away? All of us?”

Mrs. Roe smoothed her hands over her face. “I don’t think so,” she said, so softly that I had to strain to hear. “But it was an exceedingly kind offer.”

“Why not?” Pamela asked. “It might be safer there.”

“We have no idea who this gentleman truly is, Pamela,” her mother said. “He has presented himself very honorably thus far, but after young Mr. Allister treated you so abominably? I’d rather not owe an aristocrat anything.”

Pamela flushed and went silent. I spoke up. “Mr. Allister treated
everyone
abominably, Mrs. Roe. Please don’t judge anyone else by his standard.”

She didn’t hear me. “We shouldn’t even be discussing this.” Mrs. Roe looked at Issy, a tear finally slipping free of her right eye. “I don’t care if the very sky tumbles down around my family, so long as we’re together. But if worse comes to worst, we’ll send Isambard away. The idea tears me apart, but if it would keep him safe …”

Pam sat back against the seat, the word “oh” writing itself across her face without escaping her lips.

Mrs. Roe sniffed and steadied herself. “But to simply live with a complete stranger, a
bachelor
, any of us—it would not do. It’d be far more prudent to stay with your aunt and uncle.”

“He’s not really a stranger,” Isambard said. “I mean, you let Dr. Evola stay with us, and he was a stranger before the night he helped me.”

“True.” Mrs. Roe smiled at her son, and moved to take him into her arms. “You’re such a good boy, do you realize that? You’re my little earthbound angel.”

Isambard lowered his eyes, clearly mortified. After a moment he said, “Do you think all of this is my fault, though? Because of what I am?”

“Not your
‘fault.’
Don’t use that word,” Pamela said, looking toward the window. Her tone was dull. It worried me.

A few minutes later we entered the Elysian Fields guardhouse and started down the long tunnel that led underground. As we descended, Issy’s phone rang. He answered it, before frowning and handing it to his mother. “It’s Mrs. Delgado.”

“Oh, is she ready to pick up Jenny?”

“Yes, but she also says her husband hasn’t been home all night.”

Mrs. Roe took the phone. The conversation picked up steam
as we entered the Elysian Fields proper, her eyes filling with worry. “No, we haven’t seen Mr. Delgado. When was he supposed to be back?”

Casting my eyes over the vacant, darkened subterranean streets, I realized that Papa was right. The city wasn’t safe for anyone. Pamela should go. I thought this even as I understood that no matter how ugly it got, I wasn’t leaving just yet.

Not without doing a few things first.

Upon waking, I wasn’t surprised to find that Isambard wasn’t in the room. He was a good kid, and that meant he’d be looking after his mother and sister in their hour of need, or helping his father. I quietly made up my cot, letting everyone else catch a few more minutes of shut-eye. As I did, I started mentally racking up jobs for the day. Foremost among them was going after the bastards who’d targeted the Roe family.

Issy and Lopez had mentioned the masks. It wasn’t hard to do the math.

I’d hated leaving Nora last night, but I figured Pamela probably wouldn’t want me around—and besides, I wanted to talk to Lopez while he was available. Our brief meeting had gone well. He seemed like a stand-up guy, asking, even in the midst of our current crisis, whether any of my men had been able to make it away the night of the Siege. When I told him many had, he seemed relieved. We traded numbers.

Bed made, I opened my trunk and started gathering clothes—and uncovered Jack’s old camera and my teddy bear in the process. Well, my little sister Emily’s teddy bear. Compelled to pick it up—mostly because I didn’t want to think about the fact that
the digital camera might’ve been smuggled south by none other than Samedi—I examined the patch of corduroy my sister Adelaide had sewn on the back, the wood button eyes. It was her parting gift to me. I’d been lurking outside her house, a monster keeping her family imprisoned. A monster her mother had shot in the leg.

Did she somehow know the monster thought he had no one to turn to? Did she think if he had a friend he could find the strength to walk away? I’d never figured that out.

Before I could shut the bear away in the trunk for another day, my phone went off. I found it in the pocket of the trousers I’d worn yesterday and opened it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Griswold, would it be possible for you to meet me outside the house in a few minutes?” It was Dr. Horatio Salvez, Dr. Dearly’s assistant.

Standing up, I dropped the bear back into the trunk. “Why?”

“Because … they’re moving Patient One. And I’m being sent to fetch him. Alone.” Salvez’s quiet voice betrayed his realistic assessment of himself, and echoed my initial thoughts—he was a taciturn gent, weak in body and gentle of character. And he was supposed to pick up a cannibalistic prisoner all by his lonesome?

And why was the prisoner being moved at all?

I decided not to grill him about the chain of events that must have led to this decision, because I was fairly certain I didn’t actually want to hear about it. Instead, I shut the phone and raised my voice. “Guys—we have work to do.”

I slammed the trunk shut, hoping the sound would rouse them.

Salvez swung by to pick us up in his food-wrapper-filled, mud-splattered carriage. He was a skinny fellow with gray-sprinkled brown hair and a beard, perhaps a decade younger than Dr.
Dearly. His eyes were red, and enormous bags sagged under them.

On our way to the EF guardhouse, we passed the Rolls headed in the opposite direction. Nora was in the front seat and turned to look at me, all eyes. I saluted and sent her a tight-lipped smile, hoping she’d understand that nothing was immediately wrong and that she shouldn’t worry.

Hopefully.

“Where are they moving him?” Tom asked Salvez once we were on the road.

“To the
Erika
,” he told us, eyes trained forward. “I just learned of it half an hour ago. The military’s finally taking him into custody. He’s been deemed a national security risk. They’re not telling many people. Trying to keep it quiet. Hence, me.”

“So what, the
Erika
’s a prison now?” I asked.

“That’s what I said.” At a red light he opened the glove compartment and grabbed a wrapped sandwich. “Apparently, protestors started gathering at the jail after his arrest a few weeks ago. Zombies who wanted him out on bail—like they’d let him walk right out the door? Then the politicians and lords started complaining, saying it was madness to keep him in the city proper. So they moved him to the prison. Drike’s Island.”

Tom leaned forward from the back. “And the problem is?”

“One of the wardens attempted to kill him last night.” Salvez got the sandwich unwrapped and took a nervous, squirrely bite as the rest of us exchanged glances. “And the prisoners know what he is, that he’s different. The guards are afraid a riot’s brewing. They want Patient One out.”

“Great.”

“I’m not happy either. But at least we’ll be able to study him in person.” He sighed. “Thank you for coming, lads. Dr. Dearly is busy. It felt odd going alone, even though they promised guards on the return trip. Safety in numbers and all that.”

“Sure. Anytime.” I felt for the guy, and had to respect the way he was at least
trying
to keep it together. “You know, as long as I get a few hours of sleep in, enough to keep sane, I can almost function twenty-four hours. You call whenever you need me, okay?”

“That goes for me, too,” Coalhouse added. His socket was empty, and I was glad to see him putting himself out there. Capable as he was, he had a tendency to take stuff personally and to seize onto perceived insults like an enraged monitor lizard, refusing to let them go. Sometimes it worried me.

Salvez smiled. “You boys are officers and gentlemen.” He exited onto the highway that led north along the eastern Nicaraguan coastline, and fell silent.

Drike’s Island hove into view before I saw any signs for it. It loomed in the distance, a dark building divided from the land by a stretch of deep gray water. I’d read in one of Dr. Dearly’s books that it was one of the first completely New Victorian buildings anywhere, constructed well after the founding of the nation—fitting that one of the first things they built should be a prison. But its fanciful window casements, intricately carved buttresses, and multiple turreted towers made it look more like a castle than a place where murderers and rapists were housed.

“Any of that holographic?” I asked. “It’s beautiful, in a way.”

“Oh, no. Not a bit of it. They wouldn’t waste holographs on prisoners,” Salvez said. “In fact, most of that was carved
by
prisoners. Hard labor meets occupational therapy.”

This info stunned me into silence. One of the first real, solidly crafted buildings I’d seen in months was a gigantic monument to backbreaking punishment.

Nora’s people were truly messed up.

We turned onto a sandy, tree-lined road leading to an iron drawbridge, and encountered protestors. Evidently moving Patient One to Drike’s hadn’t taken care of the first problem either.
Zombies shouted at our carriage as we rolled past and hobbled after it long after we were gone, carrying the same sorts of signs I’d seen during the riot a few weeks ago. WE ARE PEOPLE. THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A LIVING AND A DEAD HUMAN BODY. A skeleton crew of living constables tried to corral them behind wooden barricades set up for their protest, guns and electrified billy clubs on their belts.