The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (36 page)

A
MANDA NEARLY WEPT
with relief when the driver finally located Nicu’s maroon vardo. She had to shake Thornton awake. He’d been in and out of consciousness the entire trip, and his face was white with pain.

She helped him from the cab and, when his leg muscles refused to cooperate, nearly toppled under his solid weight. A few men passing by threw her looks of disgust or pity, but not a single one made an offer of help, the middle class dismissing him as yet another dissolute peer and her, with disheveled hair and a rumpled gown, as his mistress.

Amanda paid the driver, then handed Thornton his cane. He stood there as if frozen. A sheen of sweat dampened his forehead, and he surveyed the distance to the vardo‌—‌some five feet‌—‌as if a vast canyon yawned before him. “Let me help,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist, doing her best to steady him. His body tensed as he forced his bad leg to move, its foot refusing to cooperate.

At last they reached the wagon. Thornton looked at the curved wooden stairs that led to the vardo’s door and shook his head. “I can’t.” He reached out to balance himself on the back wheel. “Go,” he panted. “Find Nicu.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He nodded.

“Nicu?” she called, pushing open the slightly ajar door.

“Lady Amanda.” Nicu rose from a chair to great her. “How can I be of help this fine day?”

So he’d not heard about Luca. There was no easy way to broach her news, no time to cushion the impact. “We need to warn Nadya about Henri.”

He shook his head and frowned. “Warn Nadya about Henri?”

“Henri is the gypsy murderer.”

Nicu gave her a long look, then swore in Romani. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

She nodded. “Lord Thornton waits outside. He needs help. Now.”

“Why did you not say so? There are few such men who would lift so much as a finger to help a gypsy.” Nicu rose and headed for the door.

With her determination and the old man’s wiry strength, they propelled Thornton into the vardo and behind the partition separating the old man’s clockwork business from his personal living space.

They lowered Thornton onto the raised bed. Amanda dragged a low stool to sit beside him while Nicu lit a fire. “Warmth is good for the muscles,” he said, pulling up another stool. “Now, tell me, what is to be done?”

“Black. Get a message to Black.” Thornton spoke from between clenched teeth.

“Black?” Nicu looked at her.

“An agent of the Queen who can stop Henri,” Amanda explained. “We convey our suspicions to him. His agents will monitor both the greenhouse and the factory where the plant is known to grow. They will also protect Nadya.” She quickly informed Nicu of the plant’s significance.

“Nadya can identify this plant?”

She nodded. “She sent us to find it. We need to stop Henri from getting hold of the plant. Once he has it, he will disappear.”

“Disposing of my sister as well once she is no longer useful.” Nicu opened a box, pulling forth a sheet of paper and a pencil. He handed them to Amanda. “Write your note to this Black. I will see it delivered into the right hands.”

As Amanda scratched out a message, Thornton ground out directions as to how to contact Black or any one of his men. She handed Nicu the paper.

He stood. “A few minutes. I will be back.” Nicu caught Amanda’s eyes. “Then we discuss what to do about our other problem.” Almost indiscernibly, his head tipped in Thornton’s direction, then he was gone.

Amanda turned to Thornton, smoothing his hair from his forehead. She wished for cool water and a towel. “How bad is it?”

“Worse.” He dragged in a breath and the rest came out in a rush. “Can’t bear to be moved.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” she reassured him. “But I have more questions.” Ones she’d tried to ask in the crank hackney before he fell unconscious. “How long before the nerve is destroyed? A week?” She paused.

He shook his head.

“A day?” Nothing. “An hour?” Her voice sounded a touch panicked even to her own ears.

A ragged breath. “May be too late already.”

This was much worse than she’d expected. She’d counted on time. Time to test the neurachnid. Time for the
amatiflora
to be forced into bloom. Time, a resource denied to them.

If there was nothing to lose…‌

Nicu appeared in the doorway. “Now. What is to be done?”

Thornton’s face was contorted in a grimace, his breaths coming fast and shallow. Amanda stood and crossed to Nicu’s side. She pulled the neurachnid from her reticule and held it out to him. Quietly, she outlined their current predicament.

He took the spider gingerly in his arthritic fingers, examining it closely from every angle. A smile carved itself into his face. “I taught you well.”

“You did.” She glanced at Thornton. “His injury, while old, is not deep or extensive. I have the spider. I have the necessary Babbage card.” She shook her head. “I’m not certain if I have enough nerve agent, but the window of opportunity is closing.”

He nodded. “If not closed already.”

Doubt crept in, but she went bravely on. She loved Thornton and would do all she could to save his leg and see his career‌—‌in its entirety‌—‌saved. “What I do not have is a calm, relaxed patient. His nerves are irritated and his muscles are in a state of chronic tension and are becoming ischemic; no blood is flowing through them. For the spider to work, he must be relaxed.”

“Opium,” Nicu pronounced. Amanda stared in open-mouthed disbelief as Nicu turned and pulled a long pipe and a small lamp from a box. “I am an old man with many aches. Opium will relax. Calm. Stop the pain.”

Thornton moaned, and she turned. The effects of withdrawal had spread to his arms. Bent at uncomfortable angles, they seemed to hover above the mattress, locked in position. She lowered herself onto the stool once more, turning his face toward hers. Stiff neck muscles resisted her efforts. “Listen. I have all I need to attempt a repair of your leg.”

“No.”

She held his head tight as he tried to pull away. “Why not?”

“No nerve agent.” Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes over-bright.

Amanda pulled the vial from her reticule and held the green fluid before his eyes. “I have some. With the remaining extract, I mixed a small amount of the drug.”

His head jerked to the side, neck muscles in a spasm. “Probably won’t work. Not enough.”

“There’s no way to know without trying,” she insisted. How could he believe she would give up and let him lose the function of his leg without attempting the procedure? Her stomach clenched. Ned. She’d put her brother ahead of him. Never again. “I had a Babbage card designed to correct your specific problem.” Amanda thought it best not to mention that it was Olivia’s first foray into anatomical matters. He didn’t respond. “Nicu has some opium. Will you at least let us ease the pain?”

A jerk of the head. Yes.

The older man lit a small brass lamp and affixed a glass chimney to it. Amanda watched, fascinated, as he dropped a tiny amount of opium into a white, ceramic bowl attached to the long stem of the pipe and began to heat the opium. A sweet smoke began to rise from the pipe. He waved her away, taking her place by Thornton’s side. “Breath this in, my lord,” he said, holding the pipe to Thornton’s mouth.

As the minutes passed, Thornton began to relax, his body seeming to sink more deeply into the mattress.

“Better, my lord?”

“Much,” Thornton breathed, his eyes glassing over. “Thank you.”

Nicu nodded. “Now. About this surgery. Sometimes promises must be broken.”

“No.” His voice sounded empty, as if he had given up.

Amanda wanted to scream her frustration. The stubborn man.

“What have you to lose?” Nicu asked. “If you decline, you will depend upon machinery to move freely. My Amanda is brilliant. I believe in this spider, as do you, you who took her into your laboratory. Trust her. Let the spider do its task. She tells me it works quickly.” He shrugged. “What have you to do for the next few hours but lie about and wait?”

Thornton said nothing.

Nicu went on, “Would you leave me, an old man, to defend your woman while this Henri, this murderer, walks free?”

“Not mine.” His eyes closed.

Amanda stepped forward.

Nicu held up a hand and shook his head, telling her to stay back. “I am no blind fool. She is yours. Do you think to keep her safe this way?” He paused and waited.

Thornton said nothing.

“Then you are the fool.” Nicu pushed to his feet. “Leave the job to other men, better men. Sit back and wallow, while others do all the work. Perhaps the outcome will meet your expectations.”

A rumble started deep in Thornton’s chest. “Do it.” But he did not open his eyes. He did not look at her. How it must hurt him to cede control, a man used to giving orders, not taking them. Used to solving problems, not being one. Used to performing experimental surgery, not being the subject.

Nicu nodded. “Good. I began to think Lady Amanda chose poorly.” He turned back to her. “Now. What do we do?”

“He cannot move during the procedure; the spider must not be jarred. First, we make certain he’s comfortable, as much as possible. Then we must tie him down.” Together, they wrestled off Thornton’s coat. His muscles responded oddly. Some seemed fixed and tense. Others were strangely pliable. “The brace on his leg must be removed. We need a blanket to fold beneath his leg. Alcohol‌—‌vodka will do‌—‌and a sharp knife. A flame.” To both cleanse his skin and sterilize the blade. “And clean rags.” For the inevitable blood.

“More opium,” Nicu added.

“More opium,” she agreed. “As much as you have.”

She would never forgive herself if this didn’t work.

~~~

Thornton struggled to focus through the muddled haze that his mind had become. Between the aftereffects of the Somnic and the current effects of the opium, he could feel, but not move. Or, rather, move only with great effort and concentration and will.

But he was losing the will to try.

His arms were wrestled from his coat and bound to the bed. Sounds of fabric being rent reached his ears, and his lower leg met with warm air, then the chill of cold liquid. Vaguely, it occurred to him to be grateful that he’d instructed Amanda on the sterilizing properties of alcohol.

The pipe was pressed to his lips at regular intervals and he inhaled deeply, inviting in the sweet haze. Worry faded into soft bliss. Her soft hand was brushing across his damp brow, fingers threading through his hair. He smiled.

“Sebastian?”

“Mmm.” Never had the sound of his given name sounded so wonderful.

“It’s time.”

“Mmm.” Her fingers kept stroking his hair. It felt heavenly. All was right with her by his side. “Mine,” he said.

The fingers paused. “What?” she whispered.

“Mine,” he repeated, uncertain why he felt such a forceful need to claim her. “You’re all mine. No one else.”

The fingers began to move again. He struggled to move his arms, but couldn’t seem to pull them from his side. His side. That was where she needed to be. Always. He forced open his weighted eyes and found her staring down at him, her expression unreadable. “Say it. Promise me. You’re mine. All mine.” The room spun, a whirl of color.

“I’m yours, Sebastian,” she whispered back. She pressed a kiss against his forehead and his eyes slid shut. “Later we’ll discuss if
you
are to be mine.” Her tone grew harder. “This will hurt. We’ve bound you as securely as possible. Nicu will hold you still. Try not to fight him. Are you ready?”

“For?”

She sighed. “The neurachnid. The spider.”

Right. Gold threads. Missing eyes. Betrayal.

She moved away. Took away her soft hands. Her voice. Her presence. Hard, rough and calloused hands bore down on him, pressing him into the bed.

Then, for a moment, he felt her soft hands again on his bare leg. And then pain unlike any he’d ever known sliced through him. His heart pounded against his chest. Blood rushed past his ears and eyes, deafening him, blinding him. His lungs could not pull in enough air.

A pricking of the skin on his leg. Reason forced itself cruelly upon him. Amanda was repairing his leg. Or, rather, her neurachnid was. Tiny sharp needles seemed to grab hold, testing, prodding until they quite literally struck a nerve.

His eyes flew open, but saw only flashing lights and black spots. The pain was excruciating.

Then the spots spread like ink blots, melted into each other and began to flow across his mind bringing the blissful black of senselessness.

Chapter Thirty-Five