Onyx City (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 3) (16 page)

After breakfast on the following day, they were taken to a wide area in the complex that appeared to have been some sort of underground goods yard. Lines showed in the ground where the tracks had been ripped up. A regiment of troops was going through drill in their uniforms of grey and red. Several mannequins of sand-filled sacks were strung up on a petty gallows for the men to practice their bayoneting.

The drill instructor was a broad-shouldered man with a thick moustache. By his brisk way of talking, Lazarus could tell that he had been in the military—though for what misdemeanor he had been drummed out of the army for and into the laboring world from which he had been plucked, Lazarus could not guess.

“You’re the new drill instructor, eh?” the man said, shaking Lazarus’s hand. His eyes fell on Mr. Clumps. “I say, he’s a big ‘un! He an instructor too?”

“Of sorts,” Lazarus said. “He’s mainly here as my assistant.”

“Right-o. Well, as you can see, the lads are getting fairly good with the old bayonet. I’ve been teaching them how to do horses too, although we don’t really have weapons long enough for it, of course. So, tell me about your service years. Soudan wasn’t it?”

Lazarus spent the afternoon making up lies about his heroics against the followers of the Mahdi and going through drills with his new troops. Their training may have left much to be desired, but he was surprised by the quantity and quality of their equipment. As well as the rifles and carbines churned out by the gun shop, there were pikes, demolition kits and barbed anti-cavalry obstacles known as
Cheval de frise
. But most alarming of all were the armored vehicles dreamed up by Pedachenko’s engineers.

They were kept in a storeroom that lay on the other side of a culvert spanned by an iron bridge. Lazarus commented on the gushing water that rushed beneath them as they crossed it to view the war machines.

“That’s where we get our fresh water from,” said the drill instructor. “Clean as rain. It comes into the city from the reservoirs, and is carried through culverts to the pump works and city reservoirs before being dispersed among the populace. We just get to help ourselves directly from the source. If you want an example of the proletariat taking what’s owed them by bypassing the capitalist masters, look no further than this culvert.”

Many of the war machines were still being worked on with spanner and welding iron. Lazarus recognized the two men they had seen in Pedachenko’s office among the mechanics. The machines were the size of Brougham carriages and entirely plated in iron. Instead of wheels, they had bands of continuous track on either side, fashioned from metal segments. A narrow slit in the fore served as a window for the driver and a capsule on top seated a gunner who would control the twelve-pounder gun.

“Great, ain’t they?” Lazarus’s guide said. “Nothing like them this side of the Atlantic. The designs are based on stuff used by the Americans, but the Doc’s designers have put their own spin on them. Fantastic articulation. The gunner can turn his turret around three-hundred-and-sixty degrees and hit just about anything. And they’re fast too, not to mention agile. They can rumble over barricades and damn-near plough through buildings. With these in our army, we’ll be invincible!”

Lazarus thought that a bold claim, but he had to admit his worry for the British Army should they have to go up against these mechanical monsters.

It was a little after noon. Lazarus was beginning to wonder when the lunch hour was and what sort of food might be served to officers and troops, when a message came down from headquarters that he and Mr. Clumps were to report to the Doc immediately.

As soon as they entered his office Lazarus knew that the game was up. Sitting on a chair, her hands bound and her eyes defiant through the barest dampness of tears, was Mary Kelly. Levitski stood by, his face severe with either anger or embarrassment. A revolver was in his right hand.

“I always knew that the government would try to penetrate our security down here,” Dr. Pedachenko began. “I knew that they would use common laborers posing as socialists, but I must admit, I didn’t imagine that they would employ whores as their go-betweens.”

Lazarus didn’t try to deny he knew the girl. Levitski had seen her leaving their lodgings on the morning of the riots. He could only direct his anger at Mary for getting involved in all of this. “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded of her.

Levitski answered for her. “I found her snooping around outside our house in Winthrop Street.”

“How did you know about that?” Lazarus asked Mary.

“I followed you,” she said, keeping her voice slow and steady. It was clear she was frightened but she seemed angry too, angry at him. “I knew there was something rotten about you.”

“Mary, all this, this isn’t what you think. I’m not...”

“No, I’m afraid it is worse than you think, my dear,” interrupted Pedachenko. “This man is an agent for either the police or the government. He has deceived you and you have become yet another victim of the state’s lies. He has been using you, as they use all of us, to his advantage. I don’t know if he told you if he is an anarchist, a socialist or a revolutionary, but he is, I am afraid, a spy.”

“I know,” Mary mumbled. “I wasn’t talking...”

But Pedachenko cut her off. “These people have infiltrated us, Levitski, and you were the one who brought them here.”

Levitski was visibly sweating. “
Komrad
, I...”

“Don’t worry. You are too valuable as a procurer to be disposed of just yet. And everybody slips up sometimes. This is not a problem that does not have a solution. Fetch some men and take these two away. You know where.”

Relieved, Levitski moved to the door and poked his head out, calling to someone in the corridor.

“And what of the girl?” Lazarus asked Pedachenko.

“She stays with me,” the doctor replied with a smile. “Her crime is not yours and so neither shall her fate be.”

Two burly soldiers entered the office and stood either side of them. As they seized Lazarus by the elbows, Mr. Clumps lumbered forward and sent one of them tumbling across the room. The other cocked his rifle and Lazarus cried out, “No, Clumps! Now is not the time!”

He did not doubt the big lug’s willingness to clear the room and smear the walls with the blood of Pedachenko and his cronies but there had to be a smarter way. He still had his Bulldog revolver in his breast pocket, but he didn’t want Mary to be caught in the crossfire. There would be another chance. There had to be.

Mr. Clumps allowed the revolutionary behind him to pound him over the back of the head with the stock of his rifle. When that did not have the desired effect of felling him, the soldiers seized him by the collar and pulled him from the room. The mechanical was entirely biddable, rendered meek by Lazarus’s wishes.

Levitski pointed his revolver at Lazarus. “Come on,
class-traitor
. Let’s be off.”

They wound their way out of the office complex and down onto the tracks, which they followed for some time. In the enveloping darkness, Lazarus tried to think of some way of breaking free, but before any plan could be drawn up in the interior of his gradually panicking brain, they emerged into a storage yard, lit by shafts of daylight that seeped in from vents in the roof.

The stench in the place was awful. Detritus was littered about, and as Lazarus inspected it he could make out bones, rags, clumps of matted hair and skulls. This was the killing fields; Pedachenko’s refuse pile for all the unwanted or troublesome members of his revolution.

“Kneel,” Levitski said, jamming the barrel of his pistol into the small of Lazarus’s back.

“No,” said Mr. Clumps. “Me first.”

“As you wish, the Russian said.

Lazarus watched, helpless as the big man knelt down on the gravel, his massive arms still raised. One of the soldiers lifted his rifle and took aim at the spot on the back of Mr. Clumps’s head where the hair showed between the steel mask and the brim of his hat.

“I’m going to hang that mask of yours on my bedroom wall,” Levitski said with a smirk. “Once I’ve washed the blood off of course, and taken a good hard look at that rotted face of yours. I’ve been wondering what that looks like.”

The chamber resounded with the deafening shot but the bullet ricocheted upwards, scoring a deep, bloody line in the back of Mr. Clump’s skull. He rose.

Levitski and his soldiers gaped in disbelief. The one who had fired desperately tried to chamber another round, and the second soldier lifted his own rifle. Lazarus saw his opportunity and seized it.

With Levitski distracted by what was unfolding, Lazarus was able to move out of the line of his gun. He quickly brought his own revolver to his palm and aimed it at the second soldier. The bullet left its barrel just as Mr. Clumps swung around, balling his fist as he turned. It struck his target in the temple as Mr. Clump’s meaty fist connected with his would-be executioner’s jaw. It was no light tap this time. The force of the blow caved the man’s teeth and jaw in and lifted him off his feet.

His body and the body of his comrade, shot through the head by Lazarus, hit the ground almost simultaneously. Levitski gibbered with fright at this sudden turning of the tables and fumbled with his revolver, firing off two shots, both going wide. In a panic he took off back down the tunnel, leaving Lazarus and Mr. Clumps in the chamber of death that smelled no sweeter for the fresh blood that now spattered its gravel floor.

Chapter Fifteen

In which our heroes return to the world above

November 29th, 1863

The palace is swept by a feeling of fresh air such as after a humid storm or the first scent of spring after the snows have melted. The bodies and blood have been cleared and the gates are under repair. There is to be a great celebration tonight in honour of the loyalist victory and of those who died to achieve it.

I was shown to my new quarters this afternoon and it is here that I write as dusk touches the rooftops of the city below me. I will not have time to write more this evening. I am to be honoured as well in the celebrations tonight, and my Siamese regalia is laid out on the bed ready for me to put on. The king himself granted me this estate in the city as his thanks for my help in defending his throne. It is a large place with several rooms already filled with furniture of fine craftsmanship. The house looks out over the thatched roofs of the bamboo huts below, framed by the peaks of the mountains.

I have servants too; men and women I have not the slightest idea what to do with, especially as we do not understand each other. Further gifts from the king have made me a man rich beyond my dreams; clothes of fine silk, chests of rubies and gold and enameled charms studded with diamonds, gilded statues of Hindoo gods, gold plate and other treasures. This wealth and estate surely mean that I have been given some noble rank by the king.

It is more than I could ever hope for in a lifetime. And yet, how can I remain here? Sarah and Michael await me in Bangkok. I cannot desert them for a life of luxury here. Besides, I do not speak the language and my noble rank will surely entail some sort of duty to my king, which I would rather avoid. I must return and yet I do not know how. I have not a hope of finding my way across Isan towards the coast without help, but who among my new friends will guide me when I am now a vassal of their king?

If only I could bring Sarah and Michael back here, we might live out our days in a far more comfortable fashion than we could ever hope to back in England. But how to explain to my king that I wish to take a leave of absence so soon after his most generous gifts?

So many problems and so many possible answers! I have not time to write more. I must prepare myself for his Majesty’s celebrations. All I know for now is that I must remain here for a time and try to learn the language, so that I may explain my predicament and hope to gain the king’s sympathy.

“If we head down the tunnel in the opposite direction we should find some way out,” said Mr. Clumps.

“Undoubtedly,” Lazarus agreed. “But we’re not leaving without Mary.”

“That is very unwise.”

“I don’t care,” Lazarus replied irritably. Mary had got herself into this mess by her own meddling but he could not leave her in Pedachenko’s clutches.

“She is not essential to the mission,” Mr. Clumps stated.

“Then you head off on your own if the blasted mission is all you care about!”

“No. My orders are to protect you. Where you go, I go.”

“Then come on!”

As they jogged down the tunnel back towards the complex, Lazarus knew they were heading into danger so great that it may be considered suicide.
Well, damn anybody else’s opinion
.

“Are you in love with her?” Mr. Clumps asked, barely out of breath.

“No! Why do you ask?”

“This sort of irrational behavior indicates an infatuation with her that overrides your sense of logic.”

“Overrides my...? Let’s get one thing straight, Clumps. I am not you. I don’t run on a furnace and cogs. I’m a human being with human feelings of empathy and compassion. I haven’t got a mechanical heart.”

“Actually, my heart is...”

“Oh, come on!”

They scrambled up onto the platform and instantly found themselves under fire from the guards who were watching the exits. Lazarus flung himself against the brickwork as bullets chipped off chunks of the platform. Mr. Clumps stood stock still and let several shots tear holes through his clothes and flesh while he drew his Webley.

Two guards fell dead in a matter of seconds and a third hightailed it into the complex, crying out the alarm. Mr. Clumps holstered his smoking gun.

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you come in with me,” Lazarus told him. “Stay here and keep the exit open. I don’t want to have to fight our way through a company of men on our way out.”

Lazarus removed his cap and jacket and ruffled his hair before heading towards the gun shop. Soldiers pounded along the walkways above him towards the exit, and he heard Mr. Clump’s Webley speak out several times. A worker wearing a red velvet navvy jacket stood with his back to him, working hard at his bench. Lazarus tapped him on the shoulder and offered his own coat, plus the three shillings that was in its left pocket, in exchange for the tattered red garment. The deal was made and Lazarus slipped further into the shop, hatless and sporting a different attire.

He headed for the offices, confident that he had not been long enough in this underground kingdom for anybody to recognize his face at a glance. Some of the soldiers he had been training that morning might pose a problem, but they were surely still going through their drills on the parade ground.

He arrived at Pedachenko’s office and hugged the wall. By peering in through the window he could see that the office was empty. Where had he taken her?

He crept along towards the corner, his fingertips brushing the wall. He nearly leaped out of his skin when his hand touched bunches of what felt like curly hair and he drew his revolver instinctively.

“I thought you had been executed!” Mary said in a voice that did not suggest she was particularly relieved to be wrong.

“We persuaded them to give us a stay of execution,” Lazarus told her. “What on earth are you doing crawling around here on your hands and knees?”

“Trying to stay out of view of those windows! Get down before you get us both shot!”

“They won’t know me from any other worker in this place. Unless I run into Pedachenko or Levitski.”

“All right for some. I don’t think I could pass for a rundown seamstress even if I did pinch mesself a new coat and bonnet.”

“How did you get away from Pedachenko?”

“Gave him a nasty sting!” she held up a bloodied penknife triumphantly. “Always carry one after that business with the High-Rips. He was trying some of his brain-mangling nonsense on me and was so caught up in his own babble that he didn’t see me cut my ropes until it was too late.”

“Brain-mangling?”

“He’s a hypnotist like Miss Buki. He’s got half the soldiers here under his spell. Makes sense, really. I can’t imagine why anybody would stay in this dump unless their brains were scrambled.”

“Good God, do you think he was involved in whatever happened to Mansfield?”

“Lord knows. If he wasn’t, then hypnotism is a trend that has really taken off in London.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Wish I bloody did. I stuck him in the shoulder and while he was moaning and shrieking I got away. I hid around the corner and watched him stagger off to summon his cronies. Thought it best to stay put until the way was clear. But to be honest, I didn’t have much of a plan beyond that.”

“We’ll get out together. Clumps is holding the door open for us. We only have to get through the workshops without being seen.”

“Easier said than done. By the way, did you come back just for me?”

“I did.”

“Well, that’s gentlemanly, I must say, but you’re still a filthy liar.”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all this but it really wasn’t your business. I didn’t want you caught up in it...”

“I don’t mean all this. I always knew you were a copper. I’m talking about you letting your friend—the Ripper—go scot-free.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“When I left your place that day I gave you the bottle of ointment, I tried to get home but got caught up in the mob. I stuck with them for a time—strength in numbers—that sort of thing, but when they started looting shops I took to my heels. That got me in worse trouble; a girl on her own, ’specially one in my profession. A gang of men chased me and nearly got hold of me, but I doubled back for your place.

“When I got there I saw you two leaving with that... that monster, with no chains on him! I saw you get him into a cab and take him up west! I couldn’t believe my eyes! After all your promises of doing your best to keep me and other girls safe, all your claims to want to keep him contained! I knew then that you were a liar when I saw you taking him off to his jolly freedom. Where is he now? Ripping up girls in the West End? Out of sight, out of mind, is that it?”

“Mary, it’s the ointment that is his stimulus. Without it there is no Hyde. No Ripper. The safest place for him is in his hotel, well away from the East End and its... well, its ladies.”

“The safest place for him is Colney Hatch. Or Brookwood Cemetery.”

“I don’t have time to discuss the ethics of it all with you now. We need to get a move on. Put your shawl over your curls—they’re your most striking feature.”

“Blimey, d’you think so?” Then she remembered herself. “Don’t try to flatter your way out of my bad books!”

Lazarus ignored her and they headed out onto the shop floor, conscious of the clattering of boots on the walkways above. The tailors were so concerned with their work that none noticed them slipping between their ranks. Nevertheless, they hadn’t gone more than a few yards when Mary began to have serious doubts.

“We’ll never make it!” she hissed. “We’ve still got the gun shop to get through. We’ll be spotted for sure!”

“Just keep calm and don’t draw attention to yourself. Keep pace with me. Don’t rush.”

They made it out of the garment sweatshop and into the munitions factory. They got halfway across the floor and could see the arched exits at the other end when they were rumbled.

“Halt!” bellowed a soldier on the walkway above.

The entire shop stopped what they were doing and a deathly silence fell over the room.

“Turn around!” came the command.

Cursing their bad luck, Lazarus and Mary slowly turned to face the rifles trained on them from above. A door slammed open at the rear of the chamber and Dr. Pedachenko strode out onto the walkway, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeped through his white frock coat.

“Are you still with us?” Pedachenko asked Lazarus. “Excellent. Miss Kelly can watch you die before she faces her own execution. Bring them to me!”

The soldiers began to descend the stairs, keeping their rifles trained on them. Suddenly, two shots were fired in quick succession from the direction of the exits. Two of the soldiers tumbled headlong down the steps, both struck by bullets.

The workshop erupted into a furor of screams. All eyes were on the figure of Mr. Clumps as he strode the length of the room, firing shot after shot at the men on the walkway. Answering rounds thudded into him, wholly unnoticed by the mechanical. Lazarus grabbed Mary and dragged her behind a workbench.

A bullet struck Mr. Clumps in the face and the clasp that held his mask on snapped. The steel face clattered to the floor and there were further cries of alarm as those who dared peep from cover saw the half-face of livid flesh, glassy eyes and missing jaw.

“Saints preserve us!” said Mary, gaping at the mess of pipes and tubes that formed Mr. Clumps’s speaking apparatus. “What is this friend of yours?”

Pedachenko’s laugh rippled in the air above them. “A mechanical! My dear boy, you’ve brought me a mechanical! And how cleverly disguised! I had no idea they could be so inconspicuous. Mechanite powered? But of course. The real question is how and why the American governments let the British have one of their precious slaves. But it is mine now. Imagine what we could achieve with a few grams of mechanite, comrades!”

“You’ll have to pry it from his lifeless shell and over my dead body, Pedachenko!” Lazarus called up.

“This is where I’m supposed to say ‘as you wish’ or some dime novel cliché like that,” Pedachenko retorted. “But I’ll go one better. Listen to me, comrades! I want all three of these intruders dead and the brave ones who do this for me will receive double food rations for two weeks and halved working hours! Put up your rifles, men.”

The soldiers on the walkway fell at ease. Lazarus looked around at the workshop. Men and women were beginning to emerge from their cover, eying them. Nervous hands fingered heavy tools.

“He’s got them so starved and overworked that they’d rather kill us for a few extra scraps in the mess hall than fight for their own freedom!” Lazarus told Mary. “So much for socialism. This is slave-to-the-wage pure and simple.”

“Get up and get behind me,” Mr. Clumps said, his voice strange now it was no longer muffled by the mask.

They fell into a tight triangular formation, each protecting the backs of the other two. Mary had only her knife, which she held out like a toasting fork. Lazarus didn’t doubt her intention of sticking anybody who got too close.