The Affinity Bridge (29 page)

The creature he had been struggling with—the one that had formerly been a woman—was still trying to right itself, pulling itself up on its arms and finding that its legs would no longer support it. Relentless, it started to shuffle towards him, using its arms to pull it along the ground. It was an obscene gesture, and Newbury was unable to watch. He turned to look behind him, trying to work out where the cab was in the fog. He leaned on the cane for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Perhaps the other creature had slipped away, driven by the desire to find its own prey, when it looked as though its fellow had Newbury pinned to the ground? But that seemed unlikely.

He heard Veronica calling his name, somewhere behind him in the cloudy soup. He set off, staggering towards her voice, but stopped when he became aware of the shape of the other revenant, about ten feet away from him, silhouetted in the fog. It had its back to him. He edged around it, following the sound of the churning pistons nearby. Gingerly, he placed one foot after the other, doing his utmost to remain silent as he circled the monster. Then, stumbling on a loose stone, his foot scuffed on the cobbles. The creature twitched at the sound and spun around to face him. Newbury, exhausted, waved the cane from side to side, trying to hold it at bay. He didn’t think he had the strength to take another one down.

He heard Bainbridge calling to him from the carriage. “Newbury! Newbury! Use the cane.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at this most inappropriate advice. “I’m using the bloody cane, man!” He stepped back, trying to keep his distance from the creature. He knew it was likely to pounce at any moment.

Bainbridge’s disembodied voice came back to him. “No! Twist the knob on the end of the cane. Quickly!”

Newbury peered along the shaft of the cane. The bulbous brass knob didn’t look extraordinary in any way. Nevertheless, desperate to find a way out of his current nightmare, he swung it back towards him, clutched hold of the cold metal knob and twisted it sharply to the right.

There was a clicking sound from within the shaft itself. Clasping the knob, Newbury pointed the end of the cane at the revenant, unsure what he expected to happen next. The shaft twisted and then began to spin, sections of the wood unpacking along its length and folding out to create a kind of chambered structure along the middle of the cane. Brass filaments ran along the inside of this structure. The spinning reached a crescendo and, with an electrical hum, an arc of blue light spat from one end of the chamber to the other, fizzing along the length of the shaft and crackling at the terminus of the device, the small pointed section at the very end of the cane. Smiling, Newbury raised the weapon towards the revenant just as the creature decided to give up waiting for an opportunity to catch Newbury off guard and threw itself towards him, claws outstretched. The point of the shaft impaled the monster through the chest, and there was a loud
bang
as the electrical current flowed into the rotting carcass of the creature and fried what was left of its nervous system. The creature lost its momentum and dropped to the floor, dead for the second time. Blue light arced in its open mouth, and the blackened, dirty hole in its chest was smouldering, dark smoke rising into the air to mingle with the thick fog. Newbury’s lungs filled with the scent of charred meat. He looked down at the body. The electrical current had set the creature’s hair on fire, and little flames were licking at the edges of its tattered clothes. It wouldn’t be long before the flames took and the creature’s papery, rotten flesh became nothing but dry kindle.

He stood over the body and pulled the lightening cane free. Then, confident that the monster was finished, he staggered over to where the other one was still struggling to> pull itself along the ground and drove the cane into its back, just below the base of the neck. Blue light sparked dramatically. The creature thrashed around for a moment, before the twitching subsided and Newbury knew he had put it out of its misery. He stood for a moment, gathering his strength.

Then, not even bothering to deactivate the weapon, Newbury staggered towards the sound of his friend’s voices, hopeful that, this time, he’d be able to make it back to them unmolested.

Bainbridge and Veronica were waiting by the cab when Newbury staggered out of the fog. He was faint and bleeding from multiple injuries, the blue electrical light dancing and fizzing in the darkness along the length of Bainbridge’s cane. They both rushed towards him, their eyes flitting nervously from side to side, worried that more revenants may come hulking out of the fog at any moment. Bainbridge swept the weapon out of Newbury’s hand and twisted the brass knob, compacting the device so that it folded away neatly, dissipating the electrical charge and ensuring none of them would accidentally bear the brunt of its force. Within a matter of seconds, the peculiar device was nothing more than a cane once again.

Newbury, his vision swimming, practically collapsed into Veronica’s arms, and together with Bainbridge she lifted him up into the cab. They laid him carefully across one of the seats and Bainbridge used the top of his cane to rap on the ceiling of the carriage, letting the driver know they were all safely back onboard. A moment later the engines gave a wheezing gasp, and the vehicle trundled away into the rising dawn.

Veronica was on her knees beside Newbury, tearing strips off his shirt to use as makeshift bandages on his wounds. He looked a mess; his torso was covered in scrapes and bruises and he was pale from the loss of blood, which pooled on the floor after soaking through his torn clothes and running free. Veronica tried to stem the flow with her hands, applying as much pressure as she could to the tear in his shoulder.

“Oh, Maurice.” She seemed at a loss for words.

Newbury turned his face towards her. “I’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.” His voice was nothing but a croak. He cast his eyes at Bainbridge, who was sitting in the seat opposite them, leaning heavily on his cane. “Quite a contraption, Charles. Wish I’d known about it earlier.” His face cracked into a weary smile. “Where did you acquire it?”

Bainbridge shook his head, smiling in amazement that Newbury had even the strength to hold a conversation. “Dr. Fabian. Never had much chance to put it to the test, but the old girl seemed to do alright by you out there, didn’t she?”

Newbury nodded, wincing as Veronica tied a strip of fabric tight across the wound in his shoulder. “She certainly did.”

Veronica glanced at Bainbridge, concern etched on her face. “That’s the best I can do, here. We need to get him to a hospital.”

Bainbridge scoffed. “Might as well take him to a butcher’s shop. No, we need to get him to the Fixer.”

“The what?”

“The Fixer.” Newbury turned his head to look her in the eye. “One of the Queen’s surgeons…” He paused, shifting on the seat in an attempt to alleviate the pain. “Tell her, Charles.”

Bainbridge picked up the explanation. “The Fixer is one of the Queen’s personal surgeons, on hand to help Her Majesty’s agents in time such as this. He works for Dr. Fabian. He’s the best medical man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, and he’s got a place out in Bloomsbury, not far from the museum.”

“Does the driver know where to go?”

Bainbridge nodded. “Barnes? Yes, he’s one of ours. Why do you think he didn’t bolt when he had the chance earlier, when Newbury had those damnable revenants after him?” He paused, glancing over at Newbury, his brows furrowed. “I take it the two uniformed chaps weren’t so lucky?”

Newbury shook his head, but didn’t speak. Bainbridge knew this meant the worst. “Damn!” He rammed his cane against the floor. “Poor bastards.” He glanced at Veronica. “I do apologise, Miss Hobbes.” She waved her hand dismissively.

Newbury had closed his eyes. Veronica brushed his hair back from his face. She met Bainbridge’s stare. Her voice was only just above a whisper; as if she didn’t really want to know the answer to the question she was asking. “What about the plague? Doesn’t it spread when the revenants bite someone? Will he be infected?”

Newbury eyes flicked open again. He tried to prop himself up on one arm, but cringed when the pain in his side became too much. He returned to his previous position, prone on his back. He searched Veronica’s face with his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m immune to the plague. I won’t be infected.”

Bainbridge leaned closer. “Immune? How so?”

Newbury swallowed, then reached up and pulled at his ragged shirt, exposing a large expanse of his chest. It was streaked and matted with blood, but it was easy to see the sickle-shaped scar of white tissue just above his left nipple, even in the dim light. “I was bitten before.” Veronica’s eyes were wide with shock. “Years ago, in India. My family had purchased some land out there, just about the same time that I’d found myself enamoured with stories of the occult. When the opportunity arose to pay a visit, I jumped at the chance. I spent two years in Delhi, exploring the Indian myths, searching for truth in the ancient stories of their culture.” He sucked in his breath as the cab rolled over the uneven cobbles, jostling him in his seat. “At around the same time a plague was spreading through the slums, a virus that turned people into shambling cannibals, forcing their skin to stop regenerating and blowing the blood vessels in their eyes.”

He coughed, raising a hand to his mouth.

“The revenants.” Veronica mopped his brew.

Newbury nodded. “The revenants. I was out visiting a temple in the hills when I was set upon by one of the detestable creatures. It bit me here on the chest, but ] was young and quick-witted enough to be able to get away. I managed to find my way back to my family’s rooms in Delhi, whereupon they immediately called for the doctor. The Indian physician told us that his research had shown that the virus incubated in the brain for eight days before massively altering the physiology of the victim.”

“What happened?”

“They threw me in a cell and gave me nothing but bread and water to survive. For eight days I ran the most appalling fever, and then, on the eighth day, the fever broke and I began to recover. Soon after, the doctor sent me home. He told me I was one of only three people he knew who had survived the plague.” He glanced from Veronica to Bainbridge. “I’m convinced that this is the same virus, spread here from India, and that, provided my wounds don’t kill me first, I’ll live to fight another day.” He flexed his fingers, frowning at the pain in his shoulder.

Bainbridge nodded. “Of course you will, my man.” He looked serious. “Of course you will.” He patted Veronica on the shoulder reassuringly, and then looked up,, smiling. “We all know that the Fixer can perform miracles, don’t we.”

Newbury sighed. The cab trundled on towards Bloomsbury, and towards the mysterious surgeon who, Bainbridge assured them, would be able to make things right once more.

_{Chapter Twenty}

The sun had risen by the time the cab pulled up outside the Bloomsbury home of the Fixer, reducing the fog to wispy trails of vapour that seemed to linger in the air like white tendrils. Newbury had passed out a short while after they had set out from Whitechapel, and Veronica had continued to tend to him, staunching his wounds and trying to limit his blood loss by continuing to use strips of his shirt as makeshift bandages. She was covered in blood herself, now, her skirt, blouse and hands sticky with the gritty residue. Bainbridge thought it was a credit to her that she seemed entirely unfazed by this development.