Hunter's Moon (18 page)

Thinking that Lucian might have gone back to the safe house, I headed there, but found it empty and Master Kinberg's shop closed for the night. I intended only to rest for a short while before going out again to search for Lucian, but was so exhausted by the events of the day that it wasn't till early morning that I opened my eyes again. After some thought, I decided I'd go back to Lucian's apartment. After yesterday's visit from the Special Police, I didn't really expect to find Lucian there, but I had a faint hope that the police had not found the photographs or, if they had, I hoped that they may have left them, not knowing of their significance. It was my one last chance at gaining evidence of Belladonna's crimes without having to expose the beggars.

I took out the dress Verakina had washed and patched – the dress I'd been wearing that terrible day when my friends, the outcasts, had found me – put it on, and flung over it the old cloak the innkeeper had given me.
I perched the wire-rimmed glasses on my nose and pulled up the hood of the cloak. Leaving the safe house, I made my way through the streets and approached the apartment cautiously, for I did not know if it was under police surveillance. It was not. Still, I thought it best to be careful, so instead of trying the front door, I got in the back way, through the alley that ran at the back of the house, and back up the steel stairs. Up these I ventured, carefully, till I reached an open window, through which I scrambled.

Once in the house – I was in a kind of box room on the first floor – I listened for any sound. But the house was very quiet. Not a soul stirred. Tiptoeing out, I made my way to the darkroom. By some miracle the photographs were still where I'd left them, and clear as day, too! Thrusting them hastily into my pocket, I was about to leave the way I had come when suddenly I heard voices downstairs. Clara. And Lucian!

Without stopping to think, I sped out of the room and looked over the railing in the void that dropped down to the first floor below. Lucian was in the hall, talking to Clara. I couldn't discern what he was saying, but he looked pale and shaken. I called down to him.

He looked up. ‘Bianca!' Breaking away from Clara, in a few long strides he was up the stairs and coming towards me. ‘Thank God you're all right. I thought they'd got you!'

‘I'm fine. And I'm so glad to see you are safe, too!'

‘Where have you been? I was so worried …'

‘I spent the night at the safe house … But before that, I went to the station to find you because Master Kinberg told me you'd taken the beggars to the Grand Dome
Station – but I couldn't see you at first – and then there were the police, and I –'

‘You were at the station?' he said, interrupting me. ‘But I didn't see you.'

‘I was just … well, hard to see.'

‘You were hiding?'

‘Yes.' I wasn't sure why I was reluctant to tell him about the old woman and her spell. ‘What about you? I looked for you at the coach stop but couldn't find you. And then I saw you, later …'

‘I was just checking everyone had got away safely,' he said, ‘but when I came back into the station, I saw the police and knew something was up.'

‘Did you see that one in the black?' I asked. ‘The Special Policeman? He tried to grab me but I got away. It was only then that the City Police caught sight of me.'

He shook his head. ‘I didn't see him. But some of those Special Policemen are even worse than the City Police. And I know there would be some working hand-in-glove with Belladonna – I heard she has informers there. But why did you leave here in the first place? That was so risky!'

‘I had to leave,' I said, and explained about the police coming. I added, ‘Why did they come, do you think?'

‘I don't know,' he said, ‘but they must suspect me, for some reason.' He looked quite pale. Taking my hand, he said, very seriously, ‘You need to leave, Bianca. You need to go at once. Far away. Far, far away from here. Forget Belladonna. Forget it all. Run.'

I stared at him, my heart sinking. ‘I can't do that, Lucian! You know I can't. She's got to be stopped. She's
got to pay for what she's done. I thought you understood that. I thought you felt the same way.'

‘I do, but …' Lucian paused, as if he were thinking hard about what he was about to say. When he continued, he spoke his words quickly, desperately, as if he were afraid that had he spoken any slower, he would hold the words back. ‘Bianca, there are things that are more important: your safety. I want you to be safe. Far away. It's over for now – the beggar killings, I mean. You should go, Bianca, while you can.'

‘How do you know that?' I burst out. How could this be the Prince I knew? How could the Prince, who would do anything to protect his friends the outcasts, ask me to abandon my own mission?

‘I went to that place, like you told me to,' he said. ‘Bianca – there was no crime scene there. Everything you told me you'd seen – it was gone. There was nothing! No cages, no strange implements, no body, no dummy, no Drago.'

It was what I had feared. Belladonna had acted quickly and erased the evidence of her crimes. ‘It doesn't matter,' I said. ‘She's not going to stop. She'll start again somewhere else. She'll hide whatever she's doing better this time. Whatever she's been doing – whatever ghastly experiment it is – she's only been interrupted, not stopped. How can we be safe? How can any of us be safe, while she is free and at large? We must bring her down, Lucian, we must!'

‘I'm not sure this is the right time,' he muttered.

I could not understand this reluctance, his excuses. Wasn't this was the Prince of Outlaws, a man who risked his life every day to help poor souls in mortal danger? What was wrong with him?

I took the photographs from my pocket. ‘She might have cleaned the crime scene. But I have these. We can use them as proof.'

He looked at them, then at me. He said, quietly, ‘These could just as easily be used against us, Bianca. Can't you see that? Even if they believe us, that this is the real work behind the “vampire” attacks, Belladonna could say
we
were the captors of those poor people. She could say this is evidence that
we
were the criminals.'

I looked at the photos and saw at once that he was right. How had I not seen that before?

‘But … But she's already told one version of the story; she can't change it now!'

‘You've seen what she can do – she'll manage it somehow.'

In that moment I made my decision. It was time to reveal myself.

‘Well, we still have a great advantage,' I said, ‘and that's me. She doesn't know I'm alive. We can take her by surprise if we go – not to the police, because clearly we can't trust them – but to the Duke himself, and tell him everything.'

He sighed. ‘And what if the Duke believes her, and not you?'

‘You forget – he thinks I'm dead, too. He believed her lying story about me, that I had committed suicide. When he sees I'm alive and well, he'll know Belladonna lied. And when I tell him that Belladonna was behind the beggar killings, and that there is something even bigger behind it all, then everything will be unravelled! I am the living proof of her crimes, can't you see?'

He gave me a long look. ‘So you are,' he said. ‘But for God's sake, Bianca! What's she going to do when she sees you alive?'

‘What can she do, once the Duke himself knows what she's done? She'll be arrested on the spot. This won't be like the ambush in the forest she had planned for me. This will be right out in the open, in front of witnesses, in front of the Duke. She can't touch me. Not there.'

‘I wouldn't be so sure,' he said. ‘Bianca, you don't know what you're up against!'

‘I understand that as the Prince of Outlaws, you do not want to be unmasked,' I said, containing the dismay I felt at his reluctance. ‘But for me, there can be no more running. No more hiding. I cannot bear for this wicked woman to continue unpunished, for her crimes to remain a secret for one more moment. I owe that to my father's memory, and to the memory of all those she's wronged, to all those who have paid for having loved and trusted her, and to all those innocents who have suffered at her hands.' I drew myself up. ‘If you don't want to come with me, that is your choice. But I am going to the Duke, no matter what you say to try to persuade me otherwise.' And so saying, I turned on my heel and made for the door, my heart pounding with the bitter knowledge that once again I was alone.

I had just reached the door when I heard his footsteps behind me.

‘Perhaps, after all, you are right,' said Lucian, ‘and there is only one way to find out. So let's go find the Duke.' And he gave me a smile which made my heart lift.

The Duke had only met me once, at the Presentation Ball. And even though he could not have failed to see my photographs in the paper, after my supposed drowning, I was afraid he might not recognise me. I was of the opinion that we should announce at once to the chamberlain who I was, but Lucian was of another opinion.

‘Better if it comes as a surprise,' he said, ‘because otherwise he might think it is someone playing a trick, and refuse to see you.'

So we did as he said. Lucian, being high-born, had excuse enough to visit the Duke, and to the chamberlain he introduced me as his cousin. On his suggestion, I kept the glasses on, so my identity would only be revealed at the last moment.

‘The Duke is in an important meeting,' the chamberlain told us, ‘so you will have to wait. In the antechamber, if you will.' He had shown no particular curiosity about us at all. Of course, the Duke saw several visitors
every day. Why would he think we were anything out of the ordinary?

We'd been waiting in the antechamber for quite a few minutes, neither of us saying very much, when a door opened down the corridor and the Duke's sister came out. She did not look to be in a good mood. Her face was red, her mouth twisted. She swept past without looking at us, muttering fiercely beneath her breath. I couldn't hear the words, only the tone, but it was enough. She'd just had some kind of quarrel with her brother. It would not be likely that he would be in a good mood either …

The door opened again and someone else came out. The Duke. I was about to jump up and go towards him when he turned back towards the door of the room he had just left and said, in a loud, carrying voice, ‘Come, dear lady. We will walk together.'

My breath froze in my throat, for who should come out of the doorway but Belladonna! The real Belladonna: living, breathing, smiling as the Duke took her hand.

This was the last thing I would have imagined and yet it should have been plain all along. Belladonna was a widow now; the Duke had always had an eye for the ladies. All she had to do was put herself in his way and he would become easy prey. Was that why the Duke's sister had looked so angry? Had she, for some reason, become wary of Belladonna?

‘We must go,' Lucian said. As soon as he had seen Belladonna, a terrified look had appeared on his face. I felt warm that he was frightened for me but I wasn't frightened. Not really. Horrified, yes. Disgusted, yes. Scared, no. Not anymore. It was better this way. She wouldn't be able
to escape. I'd reveal myself to the Duke in front of her and she would be completely powerless to stop me.

Ignoring Lucian's pleas for us both to leave, I strode up the hall towards the retreating couple.

‘Duke Ottakar,' I called, in a ringing voice.

Belladonna turned around at once, twisting her arm away from his like a serpent. I was fiercely happy to see that all the colour had left her face. She had recognised my voice, of course. And for an instant she seemed incapable of speech.

The Duke had turned, too. He looked puzzled as I approached.

‘Duke Ottakar,' I repeated, flinging off the cloak and pulling off the glasses I was wearing.

Belladonna went white. The Duke stared at her and then at me, looking even more puzzled.

‘Who are you?' he said. ‘Your face seems familiar …'

I opened my mouth to speak, but at that moment, Belladonna stepped up to me and placed her hand on my arm. At once, I felt as though my throat had closed up. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I tried to move, but could not. I was utterly helpless. My body was frozen, but I could hear and see everything.

‘Forgive me,' I heard Belladonna say. ‘It was … modelled on my poor lost stepdaughter, Lady Bianca. It was meant to be kept shut away. One of my servants must have bungled and brought along the box for this one, too. And it malfunctioned. They do, occasionally.' She shot me a blue glare then that was filled with something I could only describe as a kind of gleeful loathing.

The Duke stared at Belladonna. ‘You mean to say this is another of your automata?'

I tried desperately to free myself, but couldn't. I couldn't move. Not a muscle, not a nerve, not a twitch. I was trapped, shouting in my head, but could do nothing while she spun her web of lies. And now I knew the truth. She was much more than a murderer and a liar. She was a witch, and a powerful one, too. She had used magic, some kind of spell that held me bound, that rendered me helpless.

My mind worked to process what I'd just heard. ‘Automata', the Duke had said. I could only assume that was the name for those dummies Belladonna had made. But, unlike the mute dummies at the Ladies' Fair show, unlike the stationary dummy twin she kept of herself down in Drago's house of horrors, I had moved, I had spoken – and Belladonna's explanation hadn't baffled the Duke – which meant that she must have been creating more lifelike machines. For what purpose? And what did it have to do with the beggar killings?

‘Yes, your grace,' she said. ‘It is an automaton, like the one I showed you that was made using my features.'

‘Heavens above, my dear Belladonna,' said the Duke, sounding a little uncomfortable. ‘That one was startling enough, but this one – it is quite something. It's like seeing a ghost come to life.'

‘Oh, your grace,' she said, as her eyes welled with fake tears. ‘I am sorry it has disturbed you. It has given me a shock, too – because, you see, my poor stepdaughter – she … she modelled for it, in … in happier times. But now …' The hypocritical tears continued to roll down her
cheek. ‘Oh, I'm so sorry! How unfeeling you must think me, your grace! I
had
given orders for it to be packed away. I can't imagine why it was brought out!'

‘There, there,' said the Duke, awkwardly patting her arm. ‘Please don't cry. I certainly don't think badly of you. This … This automaton – it is a little … er … startling – but it is quite a tribute to your talents. And the fact that you didn't want it displayed shows your delicacy of feeling.'

‘I'll arrange to have it removed, your grace. It certainly should not be in the exhibition.'

‘Oh, I wouldn't say that,' said the Duke.

He walked up to me and touched me on the shoulder. I could feel his touch but was unable to react. I could not even move my eyes. I stared glassily ahead, like a dummy, like a veritable automaton whose clockwork had run down.

‘This one is really very lifelike indeed,' he continued. ‘It is the summit of your art. It is more amazing, even, than that very clever one you modelled for. It hardly even feels like it's made of wax.'

‘You are right. This is our prize specimen, your grace. And we have perfected the flesh tones this time, using the highest-quality wax.' She pinched my cheek.

It hurt, and although I could not react, in my heart, volcanoes of anger and hate and fear rumbled. Anger against Belladonna, but against myself, too. Why hadn't I listened to Lucian?

Lucian! Where was he? I could not turn around to see if he was here but I did not need to. If he were here, he'd have tried, somehow, to help me. Where was he? Where
had he gone?
Why
had he gone? I could feel tears at the back of my eyes but I knew they would not fall.

‘Yes, I definitely think you should show it,' said the Duke. ‘If you think you can bear it that is, my dear.'

‘I will do what you think is best, your grace,' murmured Belladonna, sweetly. She clapped her hands. ‘Take it away and get it ready!'

And so it was that I was carried away by the servants, like a block of wood, like a lifeless dummy, in fact, and packed into a crate filled with straw. As they prepared to slam down the lid of the crate, I tried once again to scream, to shout, but it was impossible; I could not even utter a whisper, not a sound. Nothing. Darkness rushed in at me as the lid came down.

After what seemed like an eternity of jolting and bumping, the lid of the crate was finally flung open. Dazed, I stared up into bright light. I still could not blink. The spell held fast, and I was powerless to move or speak. But as I was hauled out of the crate, I saw that I was in a long, large room, something like an exhibition hall in a museum. The hall was filled with rows of big glass boxes the size and shapes of coffins, with a panel opening at the top. The bottom of each glass box was lined with a long velvet cushion. A few were empty except for the cushion. In most, however, a lifelike dummy rested on the velvet.

The sight of these made terror run like melted ice in my veins. Were those stiff figures lying in the glass coffins actually dummies, or living people like me, trapped in a hideous spell? Only one of them did I recognise, and that was the Belladonna dummy, the one she must have removed from Drago's dungeon. All the others bore the
faces of strangers. At least there was no Lucian there, which was a relief.

I tried to summon up every reserve of strength I had to struggle free. But I could not make a single flicker of movement.

And then I heard her voice, commanding her servants.

‘Put it in that one, in the middle … Yes, the one on that low curtained platform. And be careful with it. It's the prize specimen, after all. The day after tomorrow is the public exhibition. I want them all to be in perfect condition for that.' Her voice was sharp, cold, impersonal, just as though she were indeed talking about a lifeless thing, not a person. I knew there would be no mercy from her. And with Lucian gone, there was no-one to save me, now. No-one to take pity. There was no escape. Until she chose to break the spell, I was completely in her power.

‘It's strange, this one feels somehow different to the others,' I heard one of the servants whisper as they hoisted me onto a trolley and opened the top panel of the glass box. His colleague said nothing in return, but only cast a wary glance over his shoulder to see if Lady Dalmatin had heard.

Please, I thought, desperately. Please, let the man be curious enough to come back later to investigate, to see why this automaton feels different to the others … But it was a very slender chance to pin any hopes on.

They lifted me in and settled me into the box, on the velvet cushion, then closed the glass panel. I was imprisoned, on display like an exhibit in a museum. The prize specimen … To all eyes, I must look like a perfect waxwork, so lifelike it was incredible, but an automaton only, a thing which only simulated life, whose innards
concealed only wires and mechanisms and gears, not the roiling mix of terror and rage that boiled in my poor human belly like the most virulent poison. I was to die here in plain sight, die slowly as the oxygen in the glass coffin slowly diminished, die under the eyes of the hundreds or even thousands who would file past the glass coffins and marvel at the workmanship that they would be told had been used to create me.

When the servants finished setting out the remaining few of the dummies, Belladonna sent them out of the hall and locked the door behind them. She came up the low step that led to the platform and opened the panel at the top of the box. She smiled in at me. That smile was the most terrible thing, for there was joy in it, pleasure, but of the cruel sort that chills the blood.

‘Well, you heard the Duke, my dear. You're to be the prize exhibit. I rather think you will be the talk of the town. Such artistry! Such a beautiful tribute to my poor dear stepdaughter so tragically lost! A little macabre, though, mind, but that is what makes you even more effective. Now, let's put you through your paces.'

She reached in a hand and touched me on the shoulder. I felt the touch like a jolt of lightning. She touched me again and I jerked up.

‘Out,' she said, and I found myself stiffly climbing out of the glass box and walking down the step onto the floor, as she beckoned me forward. I was unable to do anything but advance, unable still to speak, to make any movement of my own accord.

Belladonna kept talking, in a soft, gentle voice, her eyes fixed on my face.

‘Good. Very good. They will be astonished. They will come from far and wide to see such a lifelike doll. My dear, I hope it feels good to know that you will be the catalyst for the most extraordinary revolution in our land, even though you won't live long enough to see it. You see, these automata are not like the usual clockwork dolls, for their inner workings are powered by real human essence. Yet, unlike humans, they are infinitely controllable. I do not need to spellbind them by touch, as I did with you. They will do what they are ordered to, every time. I am creating the perfect helpers, the perfect servants. Soon, everyone will want one or two or three at home. The military will want them in the field. The industrialists in their factories. The merchants in their homes.

‘But the real catch? Each of them will be bound to me, for it is I who hold the secret of their manufacture. In time, I will have an army on which to call, an army which will obey me without question, for all the automata will be programmed to follow my commands, and mine only, when the time comes. Even the Duke will be powerless to stop me.' She put her head on one side and considered me. ‘I suppose you must wonder at that – my plans for the Duke. I'm sure you must see that I plan to marry him – but marrying him is only part of my strategy. He is an arrogant, foolish bully, but he has what I need for the moment: riches and resources, so that I can continue creating my automata. In time, he will have a regrettable fatal accident, and I will be sole ruler. As to Lady Helena, she has taken an annoying dislike to me – but no matter. I will deal with her in my own time. Perhaps in the same way as I dealt with you. That would be amusing, no?'

She is mad, I thought. Quite, quite mad. And treacherous. Vile treachery was what she was planning, against the country that had welcomed her, against the society that had welcomed her.

‘You, of course, my dear, I will retire gracefully. I will say my grief has made the simulation of you too painful to bear. I will remove you from display and release you, so that I can harvest your life-essence. It's taken me a long time to perfect the process, but I have invented a magical tool that can extract in useful form the life-essence of a person, that thing foolish people call a soul. That life-essence is the most powerful thing there is, for it makes inanimate things like my automata come to life. And I'm sure your life-essence will fuel one very powerful automaton indeed! You are strong, you are persistent, you are imaginative, bold and clever. You have many uncommon traits, my dear Bianca. So … I guess that I will not kill Drago for his disobedience. He did me quite a favour, letting you live, for your dead heart would not have been half as useful as your life-essence will be.'