Lazarus Machine, The (A Tweed & Nightingale Adventure): 1 (19 page)

“So what did he want you for?”

Barnaby reached through the hole in the door and gripped Tweed's arm. “I did it for you, Sebastian. They said they would kill you if I didn't do what they said.”

Tweed stared into the tired, shadowed eyes of his father. “What? What did you do?”

“Last night they blindfolded me, took me to somewhere. Sebastian, they had their own Lazarus Machine…” Barnaby trailed off. “The Prime Minister was there. He was unconscious.”

“Barnaby…”

“I destroyed the Prime Minister's soul!” shouted Barnaby. “It's gone. And I put Lucien's soul into his body.”

Tweed took a step back.

Everything made sense now. That was why they'd seen the Prime Minister at the Clock Tower after they'd witnessed him being kidnapped. It was part of the plan all along. Except it hadn't been the P.M. but rather Lucien now in the Prime Minister's body.

“You're telling me Lucien is now the Prime Minister of Great Britain?”

“Yes! I had to do it, Sebastian! I had no choice!” He choked back a sob. “But there's more. Lucien told me he's perfected the technique to duplicate souls. He says he has big plans for me. That I'm going to help him rule the world.” Barnaby pushed his face against the gap. “Sebastian, we have to stop him!”

Tweed turned away from Barnaby and gripped the railing, staring down into the deep shaft. Everything was coming together, things beginning to make a sick, twisted sense. Lucien wanted immortality, but he couldn't use his own simulacra because every time he grew one, it had the same cancer. So why not pick someone who was powerful, someone who had the position he had always wanted? Prime Minister Balfour was still relatively young. He had a long life ahead of him. By switching bodies, Lucien had extended his life by a good forty or fifty years. And after that? Well, who could know where the technology would be by then. Tweed was sure Lucien would keep at it, keep pushing ahead with the experiments.

And he was using the damaged Holmes to do his dirty work, since everything he was doing was off even the Ministry's books. It never had anything to do with Moriarty. He really was dead, just like everyone first thought.

The Babbage engineers! Of course. They had all worked for the Ministry when they were younger. They must have been responsible for building the original Lazarus Machine. Lucien then tracked them down and used them to build his own version of the machine, hidden away somewhere in London. And Holmes had been murdering them to make sure they couldn't talk.

Lucien had been following his own agenda for years now,
decades
. And that was why Barnaby was kept alive. He had been the one to imprint on Lucien's soul. Lucien needed Barnaby to effect the soul transfer. He'd done it now either because the sickness had become too advanced or because it had taken him this long to actually find Barnaby.

As Tweed stared down into the blackness there was a sudden noise. He looked up and saw the elevator swinging around, sliding back up the pole to the top level.

“Stepp?” he whispered. “Is that you?”

“Is what me?”

“The elevator just went back up to the top of the shaft.”

“Nothing to do with me. I'm still trying to get the bloody door open.”

“Then there's someone else here.”

“Tweed,” whispered Barnaby furiously. “No one comes down here except for Lucien and Holmes. You have to hide.”

“I'm not going to let them take you.”

“Don't be an idiot!” snapped Barnaby. “I brought you up to use your head. If you're killed we can't do anything. Hide away, then follow us. There's more chance of you rescuing me on the outside than there is in here.”

He had a point. Problem was, there wasn't anywhere
to
hide. He pushed on the cell next to Barnaby's. Locked. The next one as well. And the next. He threw a quick look over his shoulder. The elevator was descending. Tweed could see a flickering blue light shining from inside the cage. That meant it was Sherlock Holmes with one of his lackeys.

Tweed moved faster. Next door. Locked. Next. Locked. The elevator was almost low enough that its occupants would be able to see the floor he was on, see him running along the walkway. He pushed the next door. Locked. The next.

Open.

The door swung slowly inward, revealing a tidy, unused cell. Tweed quickly slid the panel open so he could see out, then darted in and pushed the door nearly closed, leaving a small gap between the door and the frame.

Tweed peered through the gap, watching as the elevator stopped
and Sherlock Holmes stepped off. He was accompanied by the man with the strange discs over his eyes.

“Good evening, Barnaby,” said Holmes. Tweed could clearly hear his voice echoing around the vast space. “Seems to be a bit of a commotion upstairs. Fires breaking out, unauthorized intrusion into the Ministry systems and such. Lucien—sorry, I really should get used to calling him the P.M. shouldn't I?—thinks we should take the precaution of moving you tonight. Just in case it has something to do with your good self.”

“Where? Where are you taking me?”

“This all works rather neatly into my own humble plans, actually,” said Holmes, ignoring Barnaby's question. “I was already planning on moving you tonight. But now it's all official. The final part of the plan is ready, Barnaby. Time for you to go to work.”

“What plan is this? What do you want me to do, for God's sake?”

Clever old man, thought Tweed. Barnaby was doing this for his benefit, hoping Holmes would say something that would give Tweed a clue. But the simulacrum didn't seem to be falling for it.

“You'll see soon enough,” said Holmes.

“I won't. I will refuse to cooperate. You'll have to kill me first.”

“I see. I have to say, I'm looking forward to testing you on that. I've found that people's convictions tend to waver a bit once they lose a few fingers. Tends to clear the mind.”

Holmes took out a small rectangular card from his inside pocket. He held it against the panel to the side of Barnaby's door, then typed a number into the keypad.

Barnaby's cell door swung open. Holmes grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into the elevator.

But Tweed wasn't really paying attention to that. At the same time that Barnaby's door unlocked, the door to Tweed's cell swung closed and the locks engaged with a very solid-sounding
thunk
. Tweed stared at it in horror then frantically tried to push it open. It wouldn't budge.

Tweed backed up and stared around him at the cell. He was trapped! It must have been some sort of security measure. Before any cell door opens, all the others lock themselves down. Clever. Stopped all the prisoners from escaping at once.

But it meant Tweed was now trapped in a Ministry cell with absolutely no hope of getting out.

“You're
what
?” shouted Stepp.

Octavia tried to peer over her shoulder while simultaneously dodging the Ministry steamcoach that was trying to shove her off the road. The Ministry carriage clipped the side of an automaton, sending it flying into the air to crash up against the wall of building. Octavia saw the æther cage smash open and the soul flicker and die like smoke wafting into the air.

She angrily spun her wheel, trying to knock the steamcoach off the road, but this driver wasn't as easy to get rid of as the first. He jerked his wheel to avoid Octavia's sideswipe.

“What's going on?” she shouted.

“Sherlock Holmes has taken Barnaby and Tweed's got himself locked inside a prison cell!” shouted Stepp.

Octavia's mouth dropped open in shock. How on Earth did all that happen in such a short space of time? “Can you get him out?”

“I can't access the locks. I think they might be on a different Babbage system than the rest of the security programs.”

Octavia's mind raced. There was absolutely no way they were going to leave Tweed in there. They had to get him out. But how?

The Ministry cab swerved toward her, but Octavia now considered herself a master at the technique and easily swerved aside. She quickly jerked her wheel left, slamming into the steamcoach and taking the Ministry driver by surprise.

She looked forward. They were approaching a tram line that intersected their street. There were no other carriages in front of them, steam-powered or horse-drawn.

Octavia glanced left and saw one of the Ministry goons actually lean out of the passenger window and level a gun at her. Again with the shooting! Octavia snarled in anger and braked hard. The steamcoach slowed to an almost complete stop, eliciting another shout of anger from Stepp. The Ministry carriage shot ahead. Octavia released the brake, pumped the lever, and pushed the steamcoach forward again. By this time the Ministry carriage was slowing down in response.

“Hold on!” she shouted.

Then Octavia winced, prayed, and smashed right into the back of the steamcoach.

There was the terrific crash and squeal of crumpling metal. The front screen shattered completely, glass flying through the air. Octavia was thrown violently forward. She bounced painfully against the steering wheel, then back against the seat. She heard Stepp cursing her name from the back.

Octavia didn't stop. She pushed the carriage forward, still tight up against the rear of the Ministry's steamcoach. They were locked together, the collision bumpers on their carriages entwined from the crash. Octavia peered ahead. She could see a huge, steam-powered tram approaching the intersection. She pumped the lever some more, getting an extra burst of speed out of the steamcoach. The Ministry driver tried to turn, but he couldn't do anything with Octavia pushing from behind. She simply corrected in the opposite direction.

They were only about twenty feet away from the intersection now. The tram was nearly there. She had to time this perfectly…

“What are you doing?” shouted Stepp. “There's a tram coming!”

Octavia watched, gauged, lessened her speed a bit. Too much.
A bit more power. The tram's whistle exploded, piercing the night air. A bit more speed. Nearly there…

Octavia nudged the front of the Ministry carriage onto the tram lines, stopping Tweed's steamcoach just beyond the lines.

The tram hit the Ministry carriage, wrenching it away from their crash bumper, sending them juddering away to the side with the force of the separation. The Ministry carriage launched into the air, spinning over and over before smashing down onto the tracks. The tram smashed into it again, shoving it along the tram lines, sparks exploding up into the night air.

A terrific screeching wail cut through the street as the tram applied its emergency brakes. More sparks sprayed out from under its metal wheels as it lurched and shuddered to a stop.

Octavia glanced over her shoulder to make sure Stepp was all right. The eleven-year-old girl stared at her with horrified admiration.

“That,” she said, “was
insane
!”

Octavia gave her a shaky grin. “It was, rather, wasn't it?” She pumped the lever to see if the steam carriage was still working. It was, but it didn't sound too healthy. “Stepp, I've had a thought. Actually, wait, have you found my mother yet?”

“Not yet, no. I've been rather busy.”

“Then start searching. I need to know if she's in there. Please?”

“
Fine.
”

“Thank you. Now, can you still not access the locks?”

“Afraid not.”

“Then can you get inside their automata, the ones that are used for security?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I'll tell you in a moment. First we need to find Jenny and Carter.”

The couple said they would be waiting in the same alley they had used while Tweed and Octavia picked their target outside the Ministry offices. Octavia parked the steamcoach and turned to Stepp. “Still no luck?”

“None.” Stepp slammed her hands down on the typing keys. “I really thought I could crack this. I have to say, I'm quite annoyed.”

“I'm sure Tweed feels the same.”

“Good point. So I take it you have some kind of plan?”

“Pass me those maps.” Octavia pointed at the plans and maps Horatio had given them. Stepp gathered them together and passed them over.

“What do you need those for?”

“Never mind that. Now, when you hear the signal, I want you to…do whatever it is you do with your Ada and send the automata crazy.”

“What do you mean, ‘send them crazy’?”

“I mean,
send them crazy
. Make them fight each other—actually, can you do that? Probably not. Make them walk into walls then, make them knock a few Babbages over. Just make sure they're not doing the job they're meant to be doing.”