The Curious Steambox Affair (27 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

November 21

Hyde Town House

Dear Miss Campbell,

I have been instructed that everything I write will be destroyed by you. I have been assured that you will speak to no one about what I have to say. I have been told to speak plainly to you, to give you a full accounting of everything that has happened.

My name is Dog Benge, and I am a friend to Alistair Purefoy.

He is a Warrior, Miss Campbell, someone who would be appreciated by the members of my tribe. Before I begin, you must understand that your man went through a very rough trial and yet he came through it with strength and honor. I am proud to call him friend, and I think you will be proud of having been his lady.

I know that you are aware of recent events, that there have been murders, and that Purefoy was falsely accused. My friends and I had been hunting down the true suspects and were involved in the investigations when the unthinkable happened, and your Mr. Purefoy was captured.

We know that the capture occurred late Monday night. Hyde knew that Purefoy was at Hay's Bookshop, securing an order. We know that he posted a letter to you. We know that he did not return home after being seen at the Air Station, and so we assume that the capture happened at that point.

He was assailed by chloroform that was soaked in a handkerchief and pressed against his mouth and nose. It would have been simple enough to do this. The pavements of Edinburgh are crowded, and it would be simple to make such an attack, with a man being pulled into a narrow close, with no one the wiser. We believe that is what happened, and then Purefoy was loaded into a carriage and taken away. Purefoy is a very strong man, and without the chloroform, it would have been close to impossible for him to be overwhelmed.

We found his cane at the foot of one of the closes. Our investigation focused there, and we immediately went into action. We are an investigative group, with our own specializations. Simon Trantham galvanized the police into conducting a proper search. Gordon MacBean alerted the Chevalier Cabinet, who arranged for airships to scour the city. Hamish MacBean and August Smithson began questioning everyone in the area, learning quickly that Purefoy had been seen, being shoved into a carriage. Hamish and Smithson got involved with following those leads.

A few days ago, I went on a long walk with Purefoy, in what should have been a bit of scenic exercise. It was, and yet I found myself constantly on alert. I was aware that recently, some mysterious stranger had made inquiries about Purefoy's whereabouts, which was cause for alarm. I am not a believer in coincidences, and the fact that he was present at several of the recent murder scenes gave us the idea that he was possibly being hunted.

And so I scanned the crowd of hikers as we climbed the mountain. I watched carefully at the tea shop. And when I saw a man behaving oddly at the summit, I thought it could not be coincidence.

I did not wish to alarm Purefoy, and so I disappeared briefly, moving through the fog unnoticed. I wished for a chance to observe the stranger, who was so concentrated on glaring at Purefoy that he was unaware of me. His hands were clenched at his sides, fury evident in his expression. He had eyes for no one save Purefoy, and I knew, without a doubt, that if there had not been a crowd of hikers present, then he would not have hesitated to harm him. I saw the man stare repeatedly at the edge of the cliff side. I saw him stare intently at Purefoy. When he finally focused on me, I was very nearly upon him, but he scampered away with a sharp cry of alarm.

I let him go, although I had committed his facial features to my mind. He was obviously someone familiar with Purefoy, and I had long ago memorized all the faces of those who shared either boarding house. This man was not from there. He was not from the restaurant we frequent. He was not from the tavern or bookshop. He was not police. So that left only the Doctoral Council.

My mind was preoccupied as we returned to Hyde's town house. I immediately excused myself and returned to my own home, lost in thought.

It was not until the next morning, Monday, that I decided to go to the Doctoral offices. I was refused entrance, but I contacted Gordon MacBean, who, as usual, was able to open all closed doors that were presented to us. The two of us demanded an accounting of all physicians and all assistants. We asked to see them all, and their protests were met by stoic disdain and disinterest from MacBean.

We paraded them through the Operating Theatre. MacBean and I sat in the lower observing gallery, while I looked at each of them. We were joined by Patrick O'Sullivan, and our friend, Anthony Martino, who had recently arrived from Venice. We filled them in quickly on my suspicions, and they agreed that this was a good place to start.

At this point, we had decided that the man on the mountainside was probably our culprit. If not, he certainly hated Purefoy with abandon, and none of us was willing to allow someone like that, murderer or no, access to our friend.

We are very fond of your Purefoy, Miss Campbell. We are his friends, and none of us will tolerate anyone bringing him harm. And we have already proven this, but I am getting ahead of my dismal story.

We ignored the irate complaints of the physicians and their assistants. The lower floor of the Theatre was full of them, loudly shouting that this sort of inspection was an outrage. MacBean calmly insisted that it was necessary and that if they did not watch themselves, he would have them all arrested for the obstruction of justice. His threat worked, as usual, and I was granted silence in which to continue my perusal.

I looked at them all but saw no evidence of the man I had seen. I asked if this was everyone, and to my surprise, Patrick O'Sullivan answered me.

“There is no Mr. Rose. He is not here.”

Surprised, I turned to my friend. I described the remembered features of the man at the mountainous summit. Sully nodded his head and said that it was, undoubtedly, Mr. Rose.

The euphoria we felt at finally making discovery was dampened by our learning that neither he nor his physician, Dr. MacDougal, were present in the Operating Theatre. No one was aware of their locations, and not even the threat of impending arrest made it otherwise. They truly did not know, and had not seen any sign of them in days.

Immediately, we changed tactics. The search for these two men began in earnest, and we were heavily involved in it, late into the evening, when we received word that Purefoy had gone missing.

You can imagine our alarm to learn this, and I wish to offer you my most heartfelt apology that it even happened. There was a gross misunderstanding among us. Everyone believed that someone else had seen to the security of Purefoy, but in the heat of the hunt, we had all thought that someone else was protecting him. The last we had seen of him, he was with Hyde, and it sickens me that I was so busy finding his threat that I allowed it to reach him.

Please forgive me, Miss Campbell. Forgive me for not protecting my brother Purefoy better. I take the responsibility upon my own shoulders, as do the rest of the Gentlemen. We believed he was to stay at the town house. We should have told Hyde to keep him close.

Instead, he was gone. MacBean contacted the Crown, who started the airship search. The others started questioning those who were close to the discarded cane. They searched Rose's quarters, as well as MacDougal's town house, but there was no sign of either.

Be assured, the seven of us tore the city asunder. We spent hours learning the usual haunts of these men. We then searched there. We left no stone unturned. August Smithson even went up the cliff-side pathway, determined to learn if Purefoy had been taken there. We scoured the docks at Leith. We used every resource available to us, determined to find Purefoy and find him swiftly.

The night passed and turned into a dismal morning.

And then Sully had the idea that eventually proved our salvation. He insisted upon the Old Physicians' Hall, which we had already explored. He said that we had to go back. Simon Trantham argued that we had already searched through the cavernous hall, but Sully said that he had a feeling, an intense feeling, that there was something there.

I am a Cherokee Indian. I was taught to never ignore a feeling, and so I agreed to go.

And so, I set out with Sully. Tony Martino came as well. The three of us left the cerebral search to the other Gentlemen, who are always better at making things happen within the proper channels. As I have said before, we each have our specializations. For me, for Patrick O'Sullivan, and for Tony Martino, it is better if we take a more active role.

We approached the quiet Physicians' Hall, and I will admit I felt a disappointment to discover that the floor and antechambers were still as empty as when we had first searched them. I was very aware that each passing moment, each hour, could be the last for my friend. I knew we were running out of options, out of places to look, and hoped that one of the other Gentlemen was having better luck in finding out news of where they could have possibly taken Purefoy.

Tony Martino has always been a master tracker. He is a Venetian count but possesses such similar tracking skills to mine own that we have often laughed about him carrying a hint of Indian heritage. It was he who noticed a slight discoloration in the wooden floor, close to the main fireplace. It was a small spot, easily overlooked by even the most expert of hunters, but we were unwilling to ignore it.

We took out our knives, and I managed to find the hidden trigger. The floorboard depressed slightly, and then caused the entire front of the fireplace to swing open, revealing a dark hallway beyond.

We took a torch, and shining it against the hallway floor we could see the marks of recent footprints. We could tell by the movement of the dust that something had been dragged. Something, or someone.

And so, without hesitation, the three of us walked into battle. We were armed. We held the torch above us, and we did not linger. We hurried through the impossibly tight passageway, feeling it descend into the netherworld. The air was damp with mold and disuse, but the footprints were still visible.

The hallway was soon bathed in torchlight. We could hear voices. Laughter. Pausing only to rid ourselves of our own torch and pull out our weapons of choice, we stepped through an open stone archway.

The room must have been an ancient cellar, buried deeply beneath the Old Physicians' Hall. The ceiling was high and curved, and the walls were composed completely of a very slick, very old brick. A second entrance to the room was revealed across the wide floor from where we stood. The sudden and intense light was nearly blinding, and we paused, just within the threshold, and took quick stock of what lay before us.

We saw MacDougal. We saw Rose. There were seven other men there as well, rough and sturdy and obviously hired as working muscle, probably from the docks. They milled about a medical examining table, upon which was laid a truly shocking sight.

I hesitate to tell you about it at all, Miss Campbell, but I have my orders to speak the truth. And I know it is what Alistair would want, should he know that I was writing you. I do, however, ask for your forgiveness in relaying such horror.

Upon the table was a gross collection of human body parts. They were sewn together in a terrible method, in a sick pretense of a normal human body. I know now that they were the bits taken from the different murder scenes, kept in cold storage, and attached together. Beside the table, there was a second table, its surface filled by a small wooden box, covered with brass handles and dials. Brass tubes were connected to the medical bed, and this contraption so captured the attention of the physician and his assistant that they were unaware that they had visitors.

The seven men were occupied elsewhere. They crowded around a man, around Alistair, who was hung suspended by ropes at his wrists. He was pulled upward, his bindings connected to a metal hook descended from the ceiling. The balls of his feet touched the ground, keeping him steady. He was without his shirt, and as we watched, one of the men slapped a wooden cane across his back.

Everything at this point becomes difficult to tell, Miss Campbell. Rage overwhelmed me, as it did my two friends. All I could focus on was the sight of my friend, of my brother, who was covered in welts and cuts. I could see what appeared to be a recently dug grave, just beyond where he hung suspended. I saw all of these things in the blink of an eye. I saw the marks upon his back. The bruises on his face. The soil that still discolored his skin, and I realized that he had recently been put within that grave.

In the next second, Alistair lifted his head. He looked at me, and my only thought was that he was still alive.

I threw back my head and let out my warrior's howl, and then the mayhem began.

I pause now. I take a drink of coffee. How can I possibly tell you what happened next? Hyde tells me that I must, and is threatening to do so himself if I do not continue. He says that you are a Warrior's lady, and that it is your right to know how we avenged the ills inflicted upon your man.

We massacred them. They are all dead. The room became red with the shedding of their blood. We were brutal.

I fought my way to Alistair. I fight differently than most, as do my two friends. I was ruthless with the dockworkers, showing no mercy. Sully fought at my side, his pistols firing.

We reached Alistair and cut him down. His shoulders and arms were damaged from being hung suspended, but he was breathing. He was covered in cuts, with marks across his wrists. He had been buried alive, pulled out just before he died. He had been beaten with a cane and with a whip. He was barely conscious as I cut away the ties that bound him, but he was alive. And to us, that was all that mattered.

Tony Martino saw to MacDougal and Rose, deciding to inflict a hint of the torture that they had bestowed upon our friend. He tied them up and began to extract their fingernails as they shrieked. It was he who learned of their diabolical plan to create their own human, using a Steambox as the catalyst for life. They had orchestrated all the recent deaths, wanting body parts for their creation.