Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure (11 page)

9.

Fortunately, Sigmund still had a trick up his sleeve, or rather, in his jacket tail. With a profession like his, he had to imagine that at some point something could go wrong and he would be caught. With that in mind, Sigmund had sown several handcuff keys throughout his clothing. The one most accessible now was the one hidden in the lower back of his coat tails.

He felt around with the fingers on his right hand, causing pain with every movement, and tried to locate the hidden pocket. It was much harder now than when he had practiced this before, although when he had practiced before he hadn’t just been blown up. Dazed, ears ringing, officer at his side with hand firmly around Sigmund's left arm – causing continuing pain in his left shoulder – he slowly moved his fingers around the jacket until he felt the telltale bump. Extracting the key was fairly easy, but twisting his wrists so that the key would fit in the keyhole was difficult. Without ever seeing the handcuffs he wasn't sure where the keyhole was - top or bottom, front or back. He slid the key around the surface of the handcuffs until he felt it sink into a depression. A little more wiggling and the key was in! With as much noise that was happening around him the sound of the lock releasing couldn't be heard. Careful not to move his hands much, for fear of detection and for fear of the pain from moving his shoulder, Sigmund was able to unlock the second cuff. His hands were free.

Now what?
He wondered, he still had a constable at his side.

Feeling the carriage tire against his back, Sigmund located a spoke and clasped one cuff around it. Now, he simply needed to get the other cuff around the officer. He thought first of grabbing the hand of the officer, yanking it down, and snapping the cuff around him quickly, but that led to too many things that could go wrong, besides, Sigmund wasn’t sure he was physically up to that challenge. Adding to that thought, this officer was not a small man, certainly no push-over. So, with the constable on his left, he carefully, and painfully, moved his left hand to gently loop the cuff around the officers belt. Gently closing the cuff, Sigmund felt, rather than heard the locking mechanism engage.

He felt bad for this officer, after all he was only doing his job. That said, Sigmund would have felt a whole lot worse getting hung for a crime he didn't commit. In a flash, Sigmund spun around and landed a right-handed blow to the officer’s stomach - quid quo pro. The officer had no chance to respond, so off guard he was caught. With the grip now loosened, Sigmund broke free and ran from the carriage towards the gathered crowd.

Behind him, the constable he broke away from was finding his voice. Calls of “Stop!” could be heard followed by a police whistle and then several more – a musical chorus of pursuit.

Moving through the crowd it was impossible to not bang his shoulder in to people – each collision hurt more than the next, the pain was nauseating. Sigmund’s current athletic state would not be enough to escape, he needed something more to help him. Taking in the scene around him Sigmund thought,
what I need is some added chaos.

“Oi! There’s another bomb!” Sigmund shouted and waved his good arm at the crowd in warning. “Run for it! Get back!”

The crowd that had gathered took only a moment to react to what was being said. They were so unnerved at what had already happened that it was easy to prey on their fear. Screams. Shouting. Pushing. Running. This part of Charlotte Street became an instant stampede. It was not unlike an anthill that just got kicked, causing a flurry of activity.

Police whistles still sounded but Sigmund was now among the scattering crowd. He would be hard to find. But Sigmund also realized that it was believed that he just murdered several people, including the Minister of Defence, and that no effort would be spared in capturing him. As if hearing his thoughts, the light from the dirigible swung over the running crowds, searching for one man.

The hunt was on for Sigmund Shaw.

The farther away from the hotel he moved, the more the crowd thinned out. He needed to get off the main street and find a place to hide. The sound of police whistles over the screaming crowd was more than enough motivation to keep moving. He ducked down an alley and went as quickly as he could into its darkness. Taking a moment to catch his breath, the adrenaline of the escape started to wane and his shoulder once again throbbed. He couldn’t keep moving, at least not as far as he feared he needed to go to be safe – if there was any place that even could be considered safe. He needed a place to hide, a place that wasn’t too far away, otherwise he would be a dead man.

Dead man?

That thought awoke in Sigmund a memory. A memory of a location that could help him. He took a moment to get his bearings, looked down the alley at the street, mentally creating a map of where he was, and figured he was about two blocks from potential help. He knew he couldn’t go far with his shoulder as it was but he figured he could make it two blocks, he had to.

Wasting no more time, he started again at a run – which turned into an awkward jog as he tried to minimize the impact to his shoulder. He reached the end of the alley and paused before the next street. There were less people here, no constables that he could tell, but he knew the police would be around soon. Waiting no more, he started across the street, heading at an angle to reach another alley. The hum of the police dirigible could be heard, while its light flashed back and forth over the street he was now crossing. A few of the people Sigmund passed stared at him – between his torn clothes, his strange movements, and probably blood, he was quite a specimen. But no one stopped him.

Reaching the alley, Sigmund looked back down the street one more time – mistake. He locked eyes with someone who just came out the alley that Sigmund had been at. That someone was a constable and they locked eyes for a moment.

Ignoring the disappointment that his look back caused, Sigmund turned and ran as quickly as he could – his shoulder rebelling all the while. He could hear a whistle start blowing behind him. Cursing his fortune, he reached the end of the alley and did not pause, keeping his momentum going. He knew that stopping, even for a moment, would end the escape attempt – if he stopped moving then the pain in his shoulder would subside some, and that little bit of relief would be too much to give up. He wouldn’t have the nerve to start running again and reintroduce the pain that movement caused.

Continuing down the street, there were probably people around him, maybe even police, but Sigmund didn’t care – he was fading fast and could barely comprehend anything beyond the ringing in his ears, the exhaustion of his body, the fogginess of his mind, and the almost crippling pain.
One more block
.

He knew that the constable that spotted him must have reached the street he was on and couldn’t be too far behind.

Half a block
.

His world lit up as the police dirigible light spotted him. Yells and whistles could be heard behind him. It was going to be close.

He could see the next alley that he had to go down. There were no people between him and his goal – just his shadow being cast by the police light. He picked up his pace, slightly, and started to make audible noised of pain with every step.
Almost there.

Turning down the alley, Sigmund didn’t risk a look behind this time. He knew the pursuers had to be near – sneaking a look back wouldn’t change that. The alley, like the others was bordered by multi-story stone building and littered with random objects and garbage. The walls would at least make it difficult for the dirigible to spot him. Along one of the buildings, there were recessed wells for basement windows – all dark. At the third basement window from the street Sigmund just came from, just behind a stack of crates, he stopped and kneeled. The window looked like any other but Sigmund knew better. There was a cleverly hidden lever – a lever that Sigmund had installed – along the side of the window pane. He pulled it with his good arm and the floor of the recessed well slid to the side. Below it was a metal ramp that led into darkness. Sigmund stood, thought about how painful this was going to be, took a deep breath, then jumped onto the ramp and slid down into the darkness below, tripping a mechanism that closed the opening above him.

When he reached the bottom, it was not a jolting stop but still caused him to roll off the ramp to the basement floor and grab his shoulder on account of the pain. A new wave of nausea struck Sigmund as he discovered that his left shoulder wasn’t where it should of been. With great control, he managed not to vomit again.

Lying on the cool basement floor, he tried to take in his surroundings, but the darkness was near absolute. Not moving, he listened for sounds around him, especially above him. As a few seconds passed, he wearily allowed the thought that he might have escaped – for the moment anyway, as he had traded one problem for another.

Out of the darkness, and from another room, he heard voices, footsteps, and the sound of a hand on a doorknob. Light spilled in as a door opened across from Sigmund. Hiding his eyes from the light, he could now see that he was in a small room. It was different from when he was here before. This room didn’t exist.

A silhouette in the door, backlit, spoke, “What is the meaning of this? Who are you?”

Sigmund recognized the voice, “Hello, Doctor Ferriss. It’s nice to see you again.” He winced as he tried to sit up.

The silhouetted man stepped closer, stooped down and said, “Mr. Shaw? Is that you? My goodness, what is going on?”

“I’m not entirely sure but I need your help. My shoulder is injured.” Sigmund slowly rose to his feet, gasping at the movement.

The doctor leaned close, reached up to his forehead, clicked a switch, and an electric light turned on. Sigmund could see that the doctor wore an elaborate, multi-zoom-capable pair of goggles on his head – complete with a portable electric lamp – popular among surgeons. After only a moment’s observation, Doctor Ferriss declared, “Your shoulder is dislocated. We need to put it back into place.”

Sigmund said nothing, just waited for the doctor to continue. And continue he did, “This can’t happen here, we need more room. Please, step into the theatre.”

The doctor turned and stepped to the doorway, holding a hand out as if to help Sigmund if he fell. Sigmund walked to the door and into the other room, looking down as the light still pained his eyes. The chemical fumes and smells in the theatre were strong, some antiseptic smells, some foul. Sigmund had to fight the urge to gag once again.

“Anthony,” said the doctor to someone else who must have been in the room, “please grab the ether and a handkerchief.”

Sigmund’s eyes started to adjust to the light, his nose still far from adjusting to the smells. He looked around and saw someone walking to a wooden cabinet along the far stone wall, Anthony probably, and two other men standing and staring at Sigmund. The brightest spot in the room was near the cabinet where there was a gas lamp along with three lanterns and several candles – the main object of illumination was a wooden table. The table was not bare, for on it lay a man, naked, and quite dead. Surrounding the table were wooden trays with medical instruments. This operating theatre was in session. Sigmund looked away from the grim scene in disgust. His senses were overwhelmed, he could barely comprehend any more what was going on around him – in this grim surrounding, he didn’t want to.

The doctor stood in front of Sigmund – who now noticed blood on the doctor’s apron – and gingerly felt around his wounded shoulder. Sigmund could see that the touch was gentle but it felt like knives of fire. He tried not to make too much noise, wincing and closing his eyes.

“Here you are, doctor.” Said the student, Anthony, and handed over a small bottle with a handkerchief.

“Jerome, Martin, I need you to stand on the other side of our patient. You will need to hold firmly his right arm.” The two students obeyed, moving around Sigmund and each grabbing his right arm. Knowing what was about to happen, Sigmund cringed. He knew it was for his benefit but he didn’t want to do it.

To Sigmund, Doctor Ferriss said, “Mr. Shaw, we need to put your shoulder back in its socket. It will be painful but this should help some.” From the bottle that Anthony had procured, the doctor poured a small amount of the liquid onto the handkerchief, and held it up to Sigmund’s nose.

Sigmund smelled a sweetish alcohol aroma and then his head started to feel dizzy while his stomach once again felt sick. He didn’t think he could stop from retching this time, “What is –”