Of Silk and Steam
Page 54
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“Give me your wrist,” Mina said, taking Blade’s hand.
Making a neat little slash in Blade’s wrist, Mina used one of Honoria’s syringes to pour his blood into the wound that Mrs. Parsons was hastily clamping together. It was a matter of minutes before the first thin layer of membrane began to almost visibly heal itself and Mina let out her breath.
“It’s working,” she said excitedly.
Blade looked up sharply. “You weren’t certain?”
“There’s always an element of risk.” Blade was a hard man to look in the eyes at such a moment.
Within half an hour Mrs. Parsons was placing silk sutures into the outer abdominal cut. The area around the incision was red and swollen, but so far the hastily mended edges of the wound seemed to be knitting together. Taking the cloth away from Honoria’s face, Mina prepared a mixture of laudanum, should Honoria need it when she came to.
Before long, her eyelashes started groggily fluttering against her cheeks. Sweat plastered her hair to her scalp and Blade gently brushed it off her forehead. As she and Mrs. Parsons cleaned up, Mina couldn’t help stealing glances at them.
The Devil of Whitechapel in his fiercest moment. She smothered a smile and went to answer the rap at the door. Esme beamed at her as she returned with the baby, newly cleaned and somewhat prettier to look at for it.
“How is she?” Esme asked.
“She’s taken some laudanum, but the wound appears to be healing well.” Amazingly well. There was almost no sign of an incision.
“What are we going to call her?” Esme said, crossing the room to the bedside.
“Emmaline,” Honoria whispered, reaching out to touch the baby’s head with a shaking hand. “Oh, she’s so tiny.”
“Emmaline Grace,” Blade repeated as Esme settled the baby in his arms and he held her down for Honoria to peek at.
Both Mina and Esme shared a glance as Blade swallowed the lump in his throat. Mina had never felt a stronger sense of satisfaction, though a little part of her remained aware that of this group, she was the one standing on the outside, looking in.
Sixteen
“Pull back!” Leo bellowed, waving his arm at the line of men behind him. A bull of a man that Rip had introduced as Dalloway cupped his hands around his mouth and trumpeted the same words, making nearby men wince.
Leo looked up at the roofline and flicked two signals that Rip had taught him. Dozens of lads appeared in the smoky shadows, brandishing nets. Made of tightly woven metal strands, they were heavy, requiring two men to drag them, but as they arced up into the air and dropped over the horde of metaljackets pressing him and his sortie of men, their use became swiftly apparent.
Metaljackets went down, entangled in the mesh.
The rest of the rookery gang moved in with brutal efficiency, wielding the short, heavy metal clubs the rookery lads seemed to favor. Leo instructed them to aim for the back of the metaljackets’ helms, where the control chip was located, and the knees, to shatter the joints. Anything to keep them out of action.
“Spitfire!” Higgins roared, darting out of a nearby alley. Fire bloomed, spewing forth from the alley and catching his sleeve. Higgins screamed, dropping to the ground as the greenish flames licked up over his skin and clothes, igniting like a match set to dry tinder.
Nothing to do for him, not now, but Leo clenched his teeth and beckoned his men out of the way. A glance at Charlie confirmed the boy was ready. Leo scrambled up onto the roof behind him, trying to keep up. As blue bloods, the pair of them could move faster than any human—and could heal from things no man here could.
No point going after the spitfire. The rookery men scattered, using diversionary tactics as the huge automaton clanked out of the alley, its flamethrower cannon lifted in front of it. Instead, Leo spied the trio of metaljackets carefully guarding a handler. The man worked his control device, twisting dials and flipping a couple of switches to make the metal automaton turn and clank after Leo’s lads.
Charlie sailed across the gap of the alley, landing on the rooftop opposite them and crouching low. The handler never looked up.
It was done swiftly. Charlie sent a metaljacket staggering into the others, and Leo used the opportunity to grab the handler and slide his knife up between the man’s ribs. The handler gurgled and quivered in Leo’s arms, his weight slumping. Leo held him for a second longer, then let him drop, slipping the device from his lax fingers.
Charlie kicked the back of one of the metaljackets’ knees out from under it.
“Don’t destroy them,” Leo snapped. He twisted a dial and looked at the metaljackets expectantly.
One of them swung an arm directly at his head and he ducked to the side.
“Give me that,” Charlie said, tugging the device from Leo’s hands. He darted back out of the way and started fiddling with the controls. After several seconds—and helpless jerking moves—one of the metaljackets strode toward the wall and punched it, brick dust coughing into the alley. It drew back, repeating the gesture again and again.
“This row controls this drone,” Charlie said, turning his attention to the second row. The metaljacket behind Leo lurched forward, and he had to step aside. “Sorry,” Charlie muttered. He corrected a dial. The metaljacket straightened up and turned to attention, both of them falling in together.
“Now for the main one.” Charlie’s eyes gleamed as he turned his attention to the spitfire.
He only burned one building before he managed to figure out which button not to press.
Charlie swung up onto the spitfire’s shoulders, his legs dangling down over its chest and his elbows resting on its helm as he wielded the control device. “Lark is not going to believe this.” He grinned. “Tally-ho!” One flick of his fingers and the spitfire lurched forward, Charlie riding him into battle with the pair of metaljackets clanking along behind him.
“Don’t let him get hurt,” Leo snapped at a pair of men, who turned and trotted after the boy.
Seventeen
Nobody was watching her this time.
Mina asked for a change of clothing to clean up, and Esme found an older shirt, short coat, and trousers that belonged to Charlie.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” Esme said. “You’re much taller than Honoria or me. I’m afraid there’s little else to be had at the moment. However, I could send—”
“They’re perfect,” Mina interrupted, barely able to contain her glee. Washing up by herself, she swiftly dressed and cracked open the door. Nobody lurked nearby.
Making a neat little slash in Blade’s wrist, Mina used one of Honoria’s syringes to pour his blood into the wound that Mrs. Parsons was hastily clamping together. It was a matter of minutes before the first thin layer of membrane began to almost visibly heal itself and Mina let out her breath.
“It’s working,” she said excitedly.
Blade looked up sharply. “You weren’t certain?”
“There’s always an element of risk.” Blade was a hard man to look in the eyes at such a moment.
Within half an hour Mrs. Parsons was placing silk sutures into the outer abdominal cut. The area around the incision was red and swollen, but so far the hastily mended edges of the wound seemed to be knitting together. Taking the cloth away from Honoria’s face, Mina prepared a mixture of laudanum, should Honoria need it when she came to.
Before long, her eyelashes started groggily fluttering against her cheeks. Sweat plastered her hair to her scalp and Blade gently brushed it off her forehead. As she and Mrs. Parsons cleaned up, Mina couldn’t help stealing glances at them.
The Devil of Whitechapel in his fiercest moment. She smothered a smile and went to answer the rap at the door. Esme beamed at her as she returned with the baby, newly cleaned and somewhat prettier to look at for it.
“How is she?” Esme asked.
“She’s taken some laudanum, but the wound appears to be healing well.” Amazingly well. There was almost no sign of an incision.
“What are we going to call her?” Esme said, crossing the room to the bedside.
“Emmaline,” Honoria whispered, reaching out to touch the baby’s head with a shaking hand. “Oh, she’s so tiny.”
“Emmaline Grace,” Blade repeated as Esme settled the baby in his arms and he held her down for Honoria to peek at.
Both Mina and Esme shared a glance as Blade swallowed the lump in his throat. Mina had never felt a stronger sense of satisfaction, though a little part of her remained aware that of this group, she was the one standing on the outside, looking in.
Sixteen
“Pull back!” Leo bellowed, waving his arm at the line of men behind him. A bull of a man that Rip had introduced as Dalloway cupped his hands around his mouth and trumpeted the same words, making nearby men wince.
Leo looked up at the roofline and flicked two signals that Rip had taught him. Dozens of lads appeared in the smoky shadows, brandishing nets. Made of tightly woven metal strands, they were heavy, requiring two men to drag them, but as they arced up into the air and dropped over the horde of metaljackets pressing him and his sortie of men, their use became swiftly apparent.
Metaljackets went down, entangled in the mesh.
The rest of the rookery gang moved in with brutal efficiency, wielding the short, heavy metal clubs the rookery lads seemed to favor. Leo instructed them to aim for the back of the metaljackets’ helms, where the control chip was located, and the knees, to shatter the joints. Anything to keep them out of action.
“Spitfire!” Higgins roared, darting out of a nearby alley. Fire bloomed, spewing forth from the alley and catching his sleeve. Higgins screamed, dropping to the ground as the greenish flames licked up over his skin and clothes, igniting like a match set to dry tinder.
Nothing to do for him, not now, but Leo clenched his teeth and beckoned his men out of the way. A glance at Charlie confirmed the boy was ready. Leo scrambled up onto the roof behind him, trying to keep up. As blue bloods, the pair of them could move faster than any human—and could heal from things no man here could.
No point going after the spitfire. The rookery men scattered, using diversionary tactics as the huge automaton clanked out of the alley, its flamethrower cannon lifted in front of it. Instead, Leo spied the trio of metaljackets carefully guarding a handler. The man worked his control device, twisting dials and flipping a couple of switches to make the metal automaton turn and clank after Leo’s lads.
Charlie sailed across the gap of the alley, landing on the rooftop opposite them and crouching low. The handler never looked up.
It was done swiftly. Charlie sent a metaljacket staggering into the others, and Leo used the opportunity to grab the handler and slide his knife up between the man’s ribs. The handler gurgled and quivered in Leo’s arms, his weight slumping. Leo held him for a second longer, then let him drop, slipping the device from his lax fingers.
Charlie kicked the back of one of the metaljackets’ knees out from under it.
“Don’t destroy them,” Leo snapped. He twisted a dial and looked at the metaljackets expectantly.
One of them swung an arm directly at his head and he ducked to the side.
“Give me that,” Charlie said, tugging the device from Leo’s hands. He darted back out of the way and started fiddling with the controls. After several seconds—and helpless jerking moves—one of the metaljackets strode toward the wall and punched it, brick dust coughing into the alley. It drew back, repeating the gesture again and again.
“This row controls this drone,” Charlie said, turning his attention to the second row. The metaljacket behind Leo lurched forward, and he had to step aside. “Sorry,” Charlie muttered. He corrected a dial. The metaljacket straightened up and turned to attention, both of them falling in together.
“Now for the main one.” Charlie’s eyes gleamed as he turned his attention to the spitfire.
He only burned one building before he managed to figure out which button not to press.
Charlie swung up onto the spitfire’s shoulders, his legs dangling down over its chest and his elbows resting on its helm as he wielded the control device. “Lark is not going to believe this.” He grinned. “Tally-ho!” One flick of his fingers and the spitfire lurched forward, Charlie riding him into battle with the pair of metaljackets clanking along behind him.
“Don’t let him get hurt,” Leo snapped at a pair of men, who turned and trotted after the boy.
Seventeen
Nobody was watching her this time.
Mina asked for a change of clothing to clean up, and Esme found an older shirt, short coat, and trousers that belonged to Charlie.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” Esme said. “You’re much taller than Honoria or me. I’m afraid there’s little else to be had at the moment. However, I could send—”
“They’re perfect,” Mina interrupted, barely able to contain her glee. Washing up by herself, she swiftly dressed and cracked open the door. Nobody lurked nearby.
