The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

              “What happened?” Erasmus gasped as he ran up the steps.

              “Did you hear the gun shots?”

              “Amadeus? Is it Mother or Father?” he swayed on his feet, trying to reconcile his marinated body with motionlessness.

              “No, they’re out. It’s Quintus.” Just as he turned to go in, Erasmus stayed him with a firm if uncertain grip on his arm.

              “It’s not only him, Magnus,” he slurred slightly, “Who’s that?” he pointed to a heap of a man in the bushes opposite the one Quintus used for cover. Magnus went and rolled the body over. He quickly stood up.

              “Come on, help me get him inside. I think he’s a miner I met.”

              “Meeting miners, gunshots fired. You seem to be coming along rather nicely, Mag. Next thing you know you may actually have a girlfriend.”

              “Magnus?” Minerva asked from the door way. Erasmus’s eyebrows shot up, though not precisely in tandem.

              “Well would you look at that, you’re practically human!”

Chapter 56:

Magnus dragged Craggs inside, with Minerva supporting the staggeringly drunk Erasmus, to the latter’s considerable pleasure. Once inside the foyer, they saw that half of his face was bloodied from a shot that hit his neck. He mumbled something as the last of the blood dribbled out and his eyes slowly glazed over.

              “What was that? What did he say?” Minerva leaned over the circle of Cogspeare men.

              “I think he said ‘Mary’,” Erasmus replied. “Who is Mary?”

              “His daughter,” Magnus and Minerva replied in tandem.

              “Severed jugular, I’d say. Damn good shot. Do we care about this man?” Erasmus wavered, clearly beyond inebriated and well into sloshed territory.

              “He must have had something important to tell you if he came all the way from Port Prudence,” Minerva said. She noticed then that Magnus looked slightly ill.

              “Well, can’t do anything for the poor blighter now except tell his family and give him a decent burial. Steamins!” he called out, “There's a dead body in the hall!”

              “Would you shut up? I let him go off duty after dinner.”

              “Well, that wasn’t very bright of you, was it?”

              “I wasn’t expecting a dead body to turn up, was I?”

              “Erasmus! We need you!” Amadeus called out from the drawing room, fearing lacing his words. They ran.

Although the lighting was dim, everyone could see that Quintus, lying on the settee and barely conscious, was gravely injured. Without hesitation, Erasmus went to him and began ripping off his fine jacket, waistcoat and shirt.

              “Give me that napkin over there!”

              “It’s mother’s needlepoint,” Magnus commented as he handed it over.

              “Then the blood will be an improvement. This is a bad wound; the bullet is probably lodged in his scapula, and may have nicked, or even broken, his second or third rib. I need more light, lots of boiled water, some of Father’s small, sharp knives, and a couple bottles of whiskey.

              “Minerva, how are you around blood?”

              “I don’t faint, if that’s what you mean.”

              “Good. I prefer to have a pretty nurse around when I operate.” He got up off his knees and began rolling up his sleeves, but Magnus jerked him around.

              “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t operate on our brother, on the settee!”

              “Would you prefer I did it on a bed, because that could be arranged!”

              “Damn it, Erasmus, you’re not even a fully qualified doctor!”

              “Magnus, do you see our brother bleeding out? By the time any doctor that you would want to operate on Quintus could get here, it will be too late. I’ve stitched up patients before, and getting the bullet is just a matter of following the hole it’s made.” His eyes became hard emeralds. “Now, get the hell out of my way, or I will punch you.” He didn’t wait, but instead moved around Magnus and, with Amadeus’s silent help, hauled up his brother and made to go to the hallway.

              “Wait!” Magnus called out. “The light is best in the dining room.”

              Minerva ran to boil the water downstairs, while Magnus took the stairs three at a time to his father’s lab. He grabbed a few of the tiny, sharp knives the scientist used to cut delicate wires and separate fine particles, and he hoped that they were relatively clean. On the way back down he raced into the nearest bedroom and stripped a fine linen sheet off the bed. Flying down the stairs, he caught a whiff of Minerva’s scent, and realized with a jolt that he was holding her bedclothes.

              The dining room was in a blaze of light, every luminescence tube and lamp in the house was centred on the dining room table. The few remains of their dinner had been swiped to the floor, and Quintus was stretched out on the table. Though he was deathly pale, he was awake. Amadeus poured a long stream of whiskey over Erasmus’s hands, and each of them took a swig.

              “You can’t be drunk and operate on our brother!”

              “It’s better than the alternative, to operate being hung-over.”

              “It’s alright, Magnus,” Quintus said woozily, “I trust him.”

              “That makes one of us.” He threw down the knives and disinfected them with the decanted whiskey. Minerva returned and took the sheet from Magnus, ripped it into rough strips, and began to swab down Quintus’s chest.

              “This really is flattering,” he sputtered, blood foaming at the edge of his mouth. Magnus bit the flesh between his right thumb and forefinger to keep from crying out loud.

              “Right, now Quintus, I’m not going to lie,” Erasmus loomed over him with the decanter, ready to disinfect the wound, “this is going to hurt.” Quintus braced himself.

              Erasmus punched him out cold.

              “Shitting Tesla! What the hell did you do that for?”

              Even though he was already picking up a knife, Erasmus deigned to reply to his frantic brother, “He’s already had some alcohol tonight, correct? If I gave him anymore, his blood would become dangerously thin and he would bleed out faster. At least now he’s out for the count. About fifteen minutes, I’d say,” he shook his hand vigorously to remove the sting. He began with a small incision.

              Magnus had no head for blood, and so took a swig, or two, to stave off fainting. He stood at the end of the table by Quintus’s feet, Minerva and Amadeus to his left, Erasmus to his right. He silently passed the bottle to Minerva, and she took a swig. The bottle made a round, then two.

              He tried not to look at the wound that was still bubbling blood, but he couldn’t help see that, even drunk, Erasmus worked quickly and with a delicate hand. After ten throbbing minutes, the scrape of metal on bone rattled the room, and Erasmus smiled triumphantly as he held up the bullet glistening with gore.

              Magnus dropped to the floor.

              “I thought he’d never pass out,” Erasmus said, relieved. Amadeus shook his head, smiling, as Minerva quickly went down and tended to the barrister.

              “I need-”

              “-Mother’s sewing kit,” his twin replied, already rushing to the drawing room and coming back with her basket.

              Erasmus efficiently closed up the wound, so that by the time Magnus was back on his feet, albeit rather unsteadily and mortified that Minerva was holding him up, there was only a neat row of stitches and the bloodied sheets, shirts and hands to show that they had performed an operation.

              “Pink thread, Erasmus, really?” Magnus managed to raise his eyebrow.

              “A surgeon without a sense of humour would be too scared to pick up a knife, or so says Dr. MacHatten, my professor of surgery. Besides, knowing Quintus, by next week it will be the height of fashion.” He took a large swig of whiskey. “I’ll make sure to tell MacHatten to order some.”

              “Can’t you be normal and serious for one minute?”

              “I just had to save our brother’s life by operating on the dining room table while our parents are out at the opera. What’s so damn normal about that?”

              “Boys!” Minerva shouted, finally getting their attention after a few attempts. She had slipped away and came back again without their noticing. “That man that was killed? He’s still outside in the foyer. Perhaps he should be moved someplace cooler? I doubt anyone will appreciate a decomposing body in the entryway.”

              “Good Lord, yes,” Amadeus exclaimed. “I shudder to think of Mother’s reaction to a corpse on her beloved Persian carpet.

              Leaving Quintus with Erasmus, who was currently rather attached to the second decanter of whiskey, the three of them went out.

              “Oh my God,” gasped Minerva.

              “Holy Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” breathed Amadeus, crossing himself quickly. “That’s not supposed to happen, is it?”

              “Definitely not,” Magnus replied, stunned.

              The corpse formerly known as John Craggs, sprawled on the very splendid, very beloved and now, very ruined carpet, was steaming a noxious red gas.

Chapter 57

“Holy shit!” Erasmus surveyed the corpse in the foyer. “Why the hell did you bring him inside?

              “Well we couldn’t very well leave him outside and call attention to him now could we?” replied Minerva matter of factly. “Do you know what’s wrong with him? What causes this?”

              “Jesus,” Erasmus shook his head. “I have no bloody clue. I’ve never even read about this, let alone seen it.”

              “Would your mentor know?” asked Magnus.

              “No, he would have told me of such an interesting pathology. Does anyone know who he is?”

              Magnus proceeded to tell Erasmus and Amadeus about his and Minerva’s expedition to Port Prudence and meeting John Craggs.

              “And you say he had a sickly son?” Erasmus interrupted him.

              “Yes, it was quite appalling,” Minerva added.

              “Tell me more.” So Minerva did, describing the sickly boy in detail.

              “Oh, shit,” Erasmus shook his head.

              “What?”

              “Well, until we know more, we’re going to have to be quarantined.”

              There was silence for a heartbeat, and then Amadeus, Magnus and Minerva all started yelling at him.

              “Would you all shut up!” he shouted. “This is our only option. From what you’ve both said, he probably contracted this from his son. Perhaps his death was inevitable. We don’t know if this,” he pointed to the body, the steam slowly dissipating, “happened to Junior as well. But until I run some tests, we have to protect the others from this. From us.”

              Amadeus sighed. “Mother is going to kill us.”

Chapter 58:

“What the hell do you mean?” Cornelius slammed his hand against the window. Ordinarily it would have shattered with the force of his under-exercised temper, but thanks to his blast-proof modifications it barely trembled. Not so for Sebastian and Edwina, who were practically fluttering with hysterics.

              Magnus sighed and held up the piece of paper from the other side of the window.

              “What does a dead miner have to do with quarantining all of you?” Erasmus grabbed the paper and began to write furiously. When he held up the paper, all anyone could see were scribbles.

              “When can you come out?” asked Sebastian.

              “We’re coming in!” exclaimed his mother. Everyone behind the glass waved their hands furiously, no!

              “I didn’t know you can read lips,” Minerva said.

              “It’s a little thing, but you’d be surprised how often it comes in handy to see what the opposing counsel has to say behind your back.”

              “This isn’t working,” said Amadeus, taking the pen and paper. He wrote and showed it to the outsiders. They read it and ran.

              “Where are they going?”

              “Around to the mews to use the pneumatic tubes; at least then we can have a civilized conversation.”

              “Good,” Erasmus clapped his twin on his shoulder as they all went to the hallway, where a secret panel revealed a horn-like speaker and matching receiver. “Then you can break the news about Quintus.”

              The horn suddenly blasted and Amadeus flipped the level activating the pneumatic tubes.

              “Hello? Hello?”

              “Son? Is that you?” said a small, tinny rendition of Cornelius’s furious voice. 

              “Yes, specifically Amadeus, father.”             

              “What the devil is going on over there? And what’s this about a dead body? I thought I told Erasmus to keep his examinations confined to medical school from now on? And where is Quintus?”

              “Noticed his absence, did they?” grumbled Erasmus, taking a swig from the third decanter, usually kept in an ugly sideboard. He knew that there were at least two more hiding about and was determined to find them.

              Meanwhile, Amadeus told the audience in the mews an abridged version of the night’s activities, merely saying that Quintus was a bit banged up and was lying down.

              “I knew that something wasn’t right when the door was locked!” Edwina cried, now openly sobbing through the tubes. “How could you let this happen, Magnus? First the explosion, now this! It’s really unconscionable, and especially with a guest! Why, what Minerva must think of us. And it was such a lovely opera this evening too and…”

              “Mother, that’s completely unfair!” Amadeus hollered back. “Magnus had nothing to do with it, except for it being his case, and all the time he’s been very responsible. Now you should really calm down, because we’re all fine-” He was gently pushed out of the way by his father.

              “Told you I could get in quickly. Good job with the talking distraction, my dear. Now Edwina, just make sure everyone stays in the mews, and tell the staff what’s happened.”

              “Father!” gasped Magnus, “what are you doing here? I mean, how did you get in?”

              “Son, I built this house, twice. If I want to get in or out, I will. We shall re-communicate in one hour.” He flipped the switch off.

              “Right, now tell me the whole story, lads.”

              “Well…” they all began, and continued to talk, discuss, debate and interrupt until Cornelius held up his hand.

              “I do believe I have a general understanding of what’s been happening. And as much as I would like to say you were overcautious, you showed good judgment, Erasmus. Erasmus? Erasmus!” he yelled, jarring his son awake from where he was leaning on a pillar, lightly snoring.

              “We are going to do some tests to see if, and how, contagious this is. Erasmus and Amadeus, take Mr. Craggs upstairs to my lab.”

              “But that’s on the fourth floor!”

              “Erasmus, I don’t think you’ll be feeling any pain for a while. The fourth bottle is behind the mantelpiece.” And as his son went to get another libation, Cornelius, Magnus and Minerva went to check on Quintus.

              After his intense operation, the patient had been moved back to the drawing room, where the lights were low and the fire built up to keep him comfortable. He was deeply asleep, though restless. Cornelius put a large, scarred hand on his forehead.

              “Who could have done this, Magnus? Who would have wanted to kill Quintus?”

              “I’m almost positive that Craggs was the intended target, sir.”

              “Then why would they shoot again at Quintus?”

              “Perhaps they missed?” Cornelius paused, then added, “You boys look so alike, particularly in the dim light of Tungsten Square, that I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the target, Magnus.”

              “Oh, that’s a comfort,” Minerva interjected, surprising both father and son. “But in either case, you must at least suspect that Clinton is behind it.” Magnus tried to act surprised, but his gut told him there was a very real possibility that it was the truth, based on Clinton’s attitude, power and funds. And he very much doubted that the miners had even remotely similar resources.

              “In any case, we’re housebound until we can figure out what happened to Craggs. I would make yourselves comfortable.”

Chapter 59:

Dawn was thinking of making an appearance when Minerva jerked out of an uncomfortable doze. She looked around blearily, and realized that she was in Quintus’s room. The patient was on his bed, sleeping deeply. Magnus was standing by the window with his back to her, watching the smog become redder in the morning light.

              “Did you sleep at all?” she asked with a scratchy voice. He turned and shook his head.

              “I was just about to go up to see if they’ve made any progress with their tests,” he lied, having been perfectly content to watch her sleep. “Do you need anything?” Already half-way out the door, Minerva suddenly called him back.

              Quintus had begun to stir, and though his eyes were unfocused, he gasped Magnus’s name.

              “Here, drink some water,” Minerva held a glass to his lips. He drank a little, but then pushed it out of the way once Magnus came to the other side of his bed. He grabbed his brother’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

              “How is Craggs?”

              “More importantly, Quintus, how are you feeling?” she quickly intervened.

              “Craggs is dead,” Magnus answered, getting a dark look from the lady.

              “Damn,” Quintus sighed. “I was afraid of that when I didn’t hear him move after the shots. Look, he came here because he needed to see you, Magnus. He said that his son died, and that he could be free to help you now.”

              “Did he say anything else, Quintus? Anything at all?” he demanded.

              “Now that’s enough, Magnus! Can’t you see that he’s hurt and needs to recuperate in peace and quiet?”

              “Then damn it, he’s in the wrong house!” he swore. “And just because you’re together doesn’t mean you need to fawn over him. Anything else at all?” he turned back to the sick bed. Quintus shook his head.

              “Alright, get some rest, then.” He left the room, but not without Minerva hot on his heels.

              “What the hell is wrong with you, Magnus?” she stormed as soon as they shut the door. “Your brother’s just been shot and you were interrogating him like…like a-”

              “- like a lawyer, Minerva. That’s what I am, and I need all the information I can get before I make a decision.”

              “I was going to say that you’re acting like a policeman, but now that you mention it, you are acting like a lawyer interrogating someone on the stand. But he’s your
brother
!”

“Don’t you dare suppose that I’m unaware of Quintus’s status” he shot back, “but it isn’t acting. I
am
a barrister; this is who I am.” He quickly turned as he felt a wave of anger rise, but he couldn’t take a couple of steps before Minerva’s words halted him.

“What do you mean? We’re not together. Why would you think that?”

“You were both so ‘tired’ the other night, and I saw you slip out…I deduced that you two were…” She snorted.

“I find Quintus amusing but I would never see him in that way. My God, Magnus, why are you like this?” He spun around, and his eyes were dense steel. She took a step back.

“You ask too much,” he whispered.

“No, I don’t think anyone has asked you enough. I’m a barrister too, and this is what we do, isn’t it?” she threw his words back at him.  “Was it the explosion? The deafness and scarring? Because others are much more disfigured and not so heartless.”

“The explosion was just the beginning!” he snarled. “Do you know what they did to me after the explosion, after the dozens of doctors and nurses prodded me and sewed me and scared me until I couldn’t breathe. Do you know what they did?”