The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead (42 page)

“Yes.”

“Dearest, once you escape and get a gun, please save two bullets.”

“Three!” Charlotte asked.

“Four,” said Earnestine.

The Graf had finished talking to the white coated orderlies and turned to them.

“To calibrate the process fully, I will need a corpse,” he said, “ah, but which?”

His revolver tracked back and forth, hesitating first on Earnestine, then Georgina, Arthur and finally Charlotte.

“Which one is the pluckiest?” he asked.

“They’re all plucky,” said Captain Merryweather.

They were in trouble, Georgina knew that from the way that Earnestine had narrowed her lips and from Arthur’s kind look in her direction. She knew that he would save her. He had a gun strapped to his ankle. He was just waiting for the right moment: any second now.

And she felt proud that despite their desperate straits, her husband was made of the right material, and he’d spoken the truth when he’d said they were all plucky.

The Graf fired!

Miss Charlotte

Charlotte jumped at the shot: she touched her chest and found she was unharmed. Glancing left, she saw that all the others were fine too, looking about like her to see where the bullet had gone.

“Oh my,” Merryweather said, “what jolly bad luck.”

A thin trail of vivid blood leaked out of his chest to soak invisibly into his scarlet uniform.

Georgina screeched: “Arthur!!?”

Merryweather turned away from his wife and looked directly at Charlotte.

He coughed up some blood as he tried to say something.

“Don’t,” Charlotte said. “Save your strength.”

“Emily,” he said. “Em… ily… I… slip… way.”

Charlotte reached out, he was just close enough, and put her hands on his shoulders, but his eyes rolled upwards and he flopped forward, gasping. The chain attaching them all together, and to the wall, jerked and strained as Georgina tried desperately to reach her husband.

“Put him on the table,” said the Graf. “And connect him up.”

“But, Mein Graf,” said the Doctor, “he is still alive?”

“Then finish him off.”

Georgina’s despair rattled in her throat.

The Doctor bent over the fallen Captain, wrenched him away from Charlotte, and then twisted the dying man’s neck around. Merryweather’s body jerked once and the Doctor, satisfied, signalled to the two orderlies. The white suited men did as they were told, neither looking any of the three sisters in the eye. Once they had removed his chains and dropped poor Merry onto the table, they connected up the wiring and emptied a liberal amount of chemical from the jars over his body. Finally, the surgeon stepped forward and cauterised the bullet hole.

“Leave him alone!” Georgina hollered.

The surgeon added a brass control box to Merryweather’s skull making a sharp noise like a brazil nut cracking. He checked his patient and then, satisfied, he nodded to the Graf. Zala waved them him and his orderlies away.

“Do not worry, her husband’s departure is but brief,” said the Graf. “In a moment the electrical pressure will reach a critical point and its artificial life force will run through the wires themselves. The husband will return to embrace his bride and eat his wedding breakfast.”

He chuckled as he left, slamming the door behind them and the lock turned with an awful finality.

Charlotte noticed the blood on her hands.

Chapter XXVI

Miss Deering-Dolittle

Earnestine considered the table, each wall, the ceiling and the floor, the door, the chains holding them to the pipes, the plumbing itself and finally the door again.

They had to get out, soon, sooner – now!

The strange apparatus fizzed.

The situation was desperate: they were chained up and captured by the Graf, who was in Earnestine’s opinion, quite mad. She had to think. And it was raining.

Soon this lunatic would harness the galvanic power of lightning, the charge would course down copper strips to activate thousands of corpses and the army of the dead would rise out of the ground to destroy London.

And they were chained up and captured and it was still raining. No matter how many times she checked everything in the room, nothing came to mind.

“We have to get out,” Earnestine said.

Charlotte ignored her: “Gina, Gina…”

For the first time, Earnestine looked at her sister. Georgina was shockingly white as if all the blood had been drained out of her rather than the poor unfortunate Captain. Her mouth was open, slack, and her eyes wide, utterly unfocused.

Earnestine interrupted Charlotte’s cooing: “Gina!”

There was no reaction.

“Ness, her…”

Earnestine reached over, clunking the chains as she did so, and struck Georgina across her face, the slap echoing off the cold white tiles.

“Bally hell, Ness!” Charlotte screamed at her.

“Language!”

“She’s lost her husband.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but we have to do something!”

Earnestine pulled her wrists and yanked the chains, dragging the other two down as she shortened the length available to them. Georgina moved for the first time like a lifeless puppet whose string had been jerked.

“If you both got closer to the end,” Earnestine said, “then I could reach the door.”

“And do what?!”

“I don’t know! Something! Anything!”

The apparatus crackled, energy sparking across the exposed wires and a streak of lightning arced across the upright terminals. The might of the thunder god was tamed within those metal rods. It glared, cutting the very air in two, and a taste of rust filled the cell.

Charlotte pushed her chain through the gap between the pipe and the wall, she pulled at Georgina’s bonds too and Earnestine could move, stand even, with enough slack to reach the door. She struck it with the palm of her hand, once, twice, and then over and over until it stung.

“Help! Help!” she shouted.

Then she remembered her medium kit bag. There it was on the side table containing its bounty of a penknife, compass, spare batteries for the flashlight, binoculars, spare buttons, spare socks and… Kendal Mint Cake, and none of it any damned use.

The electricity leapt up the wires, burning a line across their eyes, everything was crossed with an orange slash as the image was etched into their eyes. Captain Merryweather’s body jerked again, but this time in a strange parody of dying. His features were outlined in blue and white, bright marks, and his buttons glistened and sparked.

“Arthur,” Georgina murmured weakly.

Charlotte’s sobs became audible: “Oh please, Gina, don’t look.”

Georgina glared at Earnestine: “Arthur…”

There was a moment between the two sisters, each unable to tear away from the other’s accusing look. A moan issued from the corpse, a hollow and inhuman sound, as the hands spasmed and grasped.

Earnestine was all out of ideas.

Georgina spoke: “….has a gun in his sock.”

Earnestine estimated the gap between the metal hoop in the wall and the surgical table, measured the chains in her mind and knew that there weren’t enough links – nothing like enough – even as she scrambled towards the reanimating corpse. Her free arm thrust forward, her hand outstretched, but his leg was a foot away. She strained, the metal manacle cutting into her wrist: ten, eight inches away. The others yelped and Earnestine leant further, six inches… five.

Too far and too late.

The corpse came back to life.

Its leg hit her hand as the body turned and sat up. Earnestine fell to the floor as she scrabbled with its trouser leg to find the small revolver strapped above its ankle.

The monster turned its head down, its eyes red and inflamed. It looked at the prone girl and bared its teeth.

Her nails broke on the straps, her fingers bleeding as the metal object refused to come out. Merryweather’s cadaver reached down, its hands touching her hair, her head and then her throat.

“Arthur!”

The creature responded to the noise of Georgina’s cry, its yellow eyes focussing on her.

Earnestine found the gun, wrenched it free and slithered back, tugged along by the others pulling at the chain. She found the padlock, pushed the barrel of the gun right over the keyhole and squeezed–

Blind and deaf.

The blast at that range threw Earnestine into the air. She flopped awkwardly to one side. In the distance, seemingly miles away and underwater, screaming but unheard above a sound like rushing water, Charlotte was mouthing something.

The padlock was scorched, but it was a Yale and Towne and it was still in one piece.

“Only five rounds in the Bull Dog!” Charlotte shouted.

She fired again, braced and ready this time, and hearing the explosion. The lock jumped like a frog and split – thank goodness – and the chain slipped free.

The others must have been ready, for the metal links clattered like train carriages through the tunnel of her manacle and she was free. Earnestine dodged the attacking creature and made for the door, but it caught her.

The gun went off in her hand, smashing the white tiles on the floor as it ricocheted.

The monster stumbled.

Earnestine reached the door and deftly inserted the stubby British Bull Dog into the handle mechanism. It exploded, a single round doing for it completely. The air seemed to rush inwards as the door opened.

“Last round,” Charlotte yelled.

Earnestine turned, levelled the firearm at the abomination and–

“NO!”

“Gina, I must!”

Georgina stepped into Earnestine’s line of fire, the gun right up against her forehead.

“I must shoot him,” Earnestine shouted.

Distantly, trapped in the room, Charlotte screamed.

“He’s my husband.”

“There’s only one bullet.”

Georgina put out her hand: “Give it to me.”

Earnestine pushed Georgina out of the way, aimed and then changed her mind.

She gave her sister the gun.

Mrs Arthur Merryweather

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.”?

Miss Charlotte

The blood splattered over Charlotte’s face.

Georgina dropped the now useless gun to the floor. It clattered on the tiles.

“I loved him,” Georgina said.

“Yes,” Earnestine said. “He loved you.”

“Yes,” said Georgina and she looked accusingly at Charlotte. “Who was Emily?”

Emily?

“It’s just the three of us now,” said Earnestine.

“Yes,” said Georgina, as she allowed Earnestine to lead her out into the passageway.

“Get my bag,” Earnestine said.

Charlotte collected the canvas bag from the table and then saw the discarded revolver. Of course, Earnestine wouldn’t have bought any spare rounds, but there might be some ammunition somewhere to reload it. She picked it up: it was a good gun and she knew a fair amount about weapons from all those cadets and–

“Pass me the map.”

As Charlotte looked in the bag, Earnestine passed a lantern to Georgina, who took it automatically, and then Earnestine snatched her notebook. The shackle still on her wrist clanked with Charlotte’s. Charlotte checked in the kit bag and found a penknife. The attachment for getting stones out of horses’ hooves fitted the basic lock and some jiggling freed her. She moved to Earnestine’s.

“Ouch… oh, yes,” said Earnestine.

Charlotte got the thing off.

“I think,” Earnestine continued, “we’re somewhere here. Maybe that way is Junction Thirty–four.”

“You’ve written Ex, Ex, Eye, Vee,” said Charlotte, undoing Georgina’s shackle

“Yes, Charlotte, it’s Latin. They numbered the junctions, slipways and passages.”

“Emily… Em– il– y.”

“Not now, so down here–”

“Not Emily!” she said. “Em, el, ee!”

“I beg your pardon,” Earnestine said.

“What did Merry say?”

“Charlotte, I think for Gina’s sake–”

“What did he say – exactly!?”

Earnestine was clearly taken aback: “Emily, I slip away.”

“No, he said ‘I slip way’… the Ist slipway.”

“I’ve got the third and fourth, so the first will be…”

“Come on!”

“Where?”

“Emily!”

Charlotte went into the passageway. It was brick built, part of the sewers, with an arched roof. Charlotte moved quickly looking at the walls. High above she saw a sign nailed into the wall: ‘Junction XVII’.

“Here! Junction Seventeen.”

“Left,” said Earnestine, “no, your other left. Your other, other left!”

“Ness, there are only two lefts.”

“I mean straight on”.

Further on, there was ‘Junction XVI’.

She found another sign: “Passage Twenty Three.”

Earnestine came around to catch up, leading Georgina by the hand.

Charlotte pointed: “Ah!”

It was ‘Slipway II’.

“Got to be… yes.”

The three sisters went on, deeper it seemed, into the tunnels and passageways. Georgina held the lantern, its light gleamed off the slick and damp walls and reflected off the dark water to cast ominous shadows. Earnestine flicked her flashlight on and off, its yellow illumination pale and false against the honest fire of the lantern.

“Slipway I,” said Charlotte and she began to hunt around.

“There’s no–one here,” Earnestine stated, obviously. “Who are we looking for?”

Charlotte found a long metal box hidden behind a supporting column. She flicked the metal catch and flung it open.

“Emily: ‘M’, ‘L’, ‘E’,” she said. “The Magazine Lee–Enfield rifle developed by Mister James Paris Lee at the Royal Small Arms Factory, Enfield, ten rounds in the magazine, five shell charger clip, muzzle velocity of two thousand, four hundred and forty one feet per second, effective range up to five hundred and fifty yards.”

Charlotte flipped the weapon up and over, expertly, and then her dainty finger moved from the front to the rear as she explained.

“Fixed post front sights, sliding ramp rear sights, bolt action,” she clanked the bolt open and then rammed it home before bringing the weapon up to shoulder. “This bit sticks out when it’s cocked, then hard into the shoulder, feel it on your bone, and then you line this ‘V’ in the back sight with the foresight, target, the enemy, so aim for the head… squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it, gently squeeze… and–”