Scavengers: August (2 page)

“And you said
that you are transporting them safely to the university?” James
inquired, as they were walking down a clean, white corridor. “Who
would take on such a task?”

From the
whispering that followed his question, he recognized that other
members of this party were wondering the same thing.

“I’m happy you
asked, sir,” their guide smiled, turning into a spacious corridor
with a chequered floor and tall windows. The light inside was dyed
by colorful stained glass images depicting important concepts and
personas from the history of medicine. “Thankfully, London has a
varied population and the recruitment was not difficult at all.
Some are even working today,” he explained.

“On a Sunday?”
James raised his eyebrows suspiciously. “Are they godly
people?”

The professor
shrugged. “They are, but their beliefs are somewhat different from
ours,” he explained. “And they have a day off on Saturdays.”

“Jews?” asked
Lady Shelley blinking in surprise. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Until a few
years ago the Jews enjoyed a growing tolerance and some even worked
in Parliament, but with the Plague it all changed. From just a few
pieces of gossip, to then hateful articles in the newspapers, the
Jews became suspected of causing the horrible illness in an attempt
to bring the Messiah to earth. Many claimed they were just as
depraved as the Johners. Because of the hostile attitudes, most of
the Jewish population in London started keeping to themselves,
moving into particular districts, even though it was not enforced
by law. They still could practice their religion legally, but all
persons of Jewish origin have been abolished from public
functions.

This once,
James had to agree with Juanita. “That does sound extremely
dangerous. What if they decide to release the undead in the city.
Somewhere in the Christian districts. You don’t know what to expect
of these people!” he said, extremely worried. Police reported
numerous conflicts between Jews and Christians, especially in less
affluent areas. Lord Barnett lobbied to pass a law constricting the
former to Bylondon, parasitic districts growing on the outer side
of London’s protective walls. This suggestion didn’t go through in
the parliament, but still gained more support than Barnett’s quiet
advocacy of Johners.

“Oh come on
now, Hurst!” one of the older Lords said, accompanied by some other
men. “Its the nineteenth century! We are not living in the middle
ages anymore!”

“I just want to
raise the issue,” murmured James, pouting a bit.

“You are only
saying that because you live far away from their district, Lord
Meldrum!” exclaimed Juanita, “But you certainly would not employ
one of those people!”

“Or allow your
daughter to marry one, right?” James smiled with a bit of
satisfaction, straightening his back and walking behind the
professor.

His opponent
drew in a deep breath, speechless for a short moment. “I would not,
because she will marry her social equal! You know very well a
shopkeeper or sailor wouldn’t be good enough for her either!" he
spat.

“I’m sure the
men we recruited are quite well adjusted to polite society!” the
young professor said, trying to lead them further down the
corridor. He sped up to open a large, wooden door. “I think you
will want to use this menthol salve under your noses,” he proposed,
opening a small jar and smearing a little over his upper lip.

Why? Does it
smell of ‘Jew’?
James thought, but managed to keep it to
himself while doing as the professor suggested. The salve stung his
skin but it was bearable.

A thin hand
brushed along his cheek. “I hope I can count on your help in case
someone doesn’t know how to behave in the presence of a lady,” he
heard Juanita’s suggestive voice.

James smiled,
but fortunately Lord Meldrum was the first one to say: “Absolutely.
I would not let anyone disrespect you, Lady Shelley!” His voice
eager, even though they were on different sides when it came to
discussion. James knew the older man was a widower, but apparently,
Lady Hunt was not interested, as her delicate arm encircled his
own.

“That is too
kind, Lord Meldrum. Thank you.”

The professor
pretended not to listen and led them through a reeking corridor.
James tried not to think about the cause of the putrid smell, but
in those times, hardly anyone was spared from encountering human
cadavers. “The morgue is to our left, hence the smell,” he
explained, leading them to a large door on the right. “This is the
so called ‘Great Prosectorium’. Several autopsies and surgeries can
be performed at the same time,” he said with enthusiasm, leading
them to a large hall with tall, narrow windows, which reminded
James of a chapel. From wooden beams hung banners depicting human
body parts, cross-sections and skeletons. On the wall opposite
them, there was a long, wooden plaque with the motto of St
Catherine's: "A conscious mind knows no boundaries".

There were
several operating tables made of shiny steel, large enough for a
few people to use at once, each equipped with a standing lamp
resembling a giant rotten flower. Its thick shaft was made of dark
wood and strengthened by several iron braces. Black cables grew
over it like a wild creeper, going all the way up to the massive
circular shade hanging over the tables like over mature fruit. Two
moving bodies laid on the tables, tightly bound with steel cuffs
and leather straps.

Lady Shelley
made an inarticulate noise and held onto James a little stronger as
if fainting. He felt sorry for her and patted her hand in a
delicate manner as they walked along the long wall.

“Is this how
you keep them?” James asked.

“Oh... no,” the
professor shook his head, “they are kept in a special cage, but
tomorrow’s anatomy class starts at six in the morning, so we
prepare the specimens the day before.”

“Will they not
get free somehow?” asked another member of the group.

“Oh no, that is
out of the question”.

“Unless some
ungodly man frees them,” Lady Shelley whispered.

James did have
to nod at that comment. He was all for experiments and developing
medicine, but the undead, in the center of London made him nervous.
Even now, after a month had passed, he wasn’t comfortable looking
into the rotting gray faces on the operating tables. Their mouths
moving beneath the muzzles moaning and gritting their teeth... “We
just have to hope that the security at the university is very
tight...” he said, aiming his comment at the professor.

“It is, and
those rooms are secured by several doors and special locks,” he
explained as a small door on the other side of the hall opened to
reveal a female zombie in rags being led into the room by a
catchpole. The rod was about 5 feet long, which allowed a uniformed
man to avoid the creature’s claws and teeth. The technician was
dressed in a black set of pants and shirt, additionally covered by
a leather apron. He was bald, tall and muscled. There was something
almost painfully familiar about his strong form. It took another
glance, as James wasn’t sure at first, but when he realized who he
was looking at, his mouth fell agape, as if he had seen a ghost.
Momentarily, all his insides shrunk and he felt hot and cold at the
same time. Ira Russell, the man who had helped him retrieve the
treasure from his mansion, the man who had burnt his face, the man
who had taken his virginity... was leading the zombie to a free
table, his gaze fixed on the floor. James felt an insane urge to
touch him, but instead, he kept staring as if something had screwed
his feet to the black and white tiles...

When did this
turn sour?

*

July 10th,
1893

Warm sunlight
caressed James’ body as a sharp movement of the train jerked him
back to reality. He immediately recognized the steady rattle of the
moving wagon, which had easily swayed him to sleep shortly after
boarding. The man felt a pleasant touch of a firm male body lying
along his own and he smiled. It was tight on the narrow bed, but he
didn't mind. The closer they were to London, the closer they were
to separating. He didn’t know what to do with this...
‘situation’.

“You slept
well, boy?” he heard as a warm, rough hand traced the side of his
face, now securely dressed in a clean bandage.

“We really
needed that...,” James said, nuzzling Ira with his nose. He felt
happy and secure in this moving train and gentle embrace.

“Yea,” Ira
agreed, cradling him closer with his muscled arms as he brushed his
lips along the other man’s jaw line in a tender caress.

“Careful!”
James warned, thinking about the red burns on his skin. “You are an
amazing man, Ira Russell,” he said seriously, looking him in the
eyes.

A dark gaze met
his own and Ira smiled slightly. “Bullshit,” he laughed, “You just
try to flatter me.”

“We have to get
up though,” James said, turning his eyes away and sitting up
slowly.

“Yea, we’re
close to London, “ Ira agreed, stretching his body and getting up
from the bed. They were in a first class compartment, decorated
with floral wallpaper and rich, gray curtains. It was small, but
cozy and elegant.

“We are,” said
James, increasingly worried. What would happen now? He couldn’t be
seeing him as a lover. Someone would find out and he’d be hung. And
even if he himself would find a way out of the accusation, Ira
would definitely be the scapegoat to pay the price for their lust.
James had only decided on those sinful pleasures, because he
thought he might be dead tomorrow...

Ira adjusted
his suspenders and flexed his neck with a snap. He looked at his
companion with a smile. “Nervous, eh?”

“I am,” James
agreed with a sigh, “and I was thinking... you know, about you and
me?” He started dressing very fast.

Ira pouted,
studying him intently. The train started to bend, changing its
direction. “What ‘bout us?”

James cleared
his throat and tied a luxurious piece of silk beneath his neck,
standing straight as an arrow. “Maybe, if you like—, if there is
any ‘us’, then maybe...” he swallowed, “we could see each other...
once, every... three months? That sounds quite reasonable, right?”
James smiled nervously, but his expression faltered when he watched
Ira’s face tensing, his jaw muscles visibly flexing.

“You fuckin'
with me?” the man hissed in a low voice.

James made a
step back, almost hitting the wall. The compartment suddenly seemed
far too small. “Sorry,” he muttered, lowering his gaze. His heart
sunk, when he started realizing that they might not meet again.

Ira paced
towards him, his whole body tense. “I’m no toy!”

“I
understand...” James said, furrowing his eyebrows. The treasure
hunter placed his hands on both sides of his head, towering over
him in an intimidating manner.

“Once every
three months? Fuck you, toff!” he spat, smashing his fist into the
wall.

“I have
obligations!” whined James, leaning against the wooden panels. “And
it’s a sin, and I shouldn’t have in the first place, but I still
really, really want to!” he exclaimed. His body was shaking from
the stress of what was happening. He needed to have some kind of
arrangement with this man! There was no way back now! He wouldn’t
allow it!

Ira withdrew
from him suddenly, spreading his arms in an angry gesture. “Well, I
am no man-whore! Not gonna dance like ya want!” he exclaimed.

“What are you
suggesting!?” cried James, feeling a flush on his face. To his
despair, the train stopped, which meant they have arrived in
London! He needed time!

Ira laughed,
shaking his head in disbelief. He intertwined his fingers on the
back of his own neck. “We either meet when we wan' or we
don’t!”

“So we can!”
James nodded quickly, already hearing people in the corridor,
rushing to the exit. He caught Ira’s hand with his own. “Just...
not very often...”

“Why?” sighed
Ira. “We both wan' it,” he said, pulling him closer and almost
brushing his lips on the other man’s.

“I can’t give
into it, Ira. Sinning like that a few times a year seems reasonably
forgivable, if I also lead a good life...,” he said, without the
willpower to move away. It was all too overwhelming.

Ira shook his
head. “You got what ya wanted,” he commented, backing off and
gathering his belongings without looking at James.

“Please don’t
be like that!” said James in panic, touching Ira's tattooed arm.
“This could really work out!”

“Stop insultn'
me!” growled the treasure hunter, brushing him off.

“And you don’t
want to see me again...?” James whimpered, looking for attention
like a scolded puppy. He had felt they had a connection, an
understanding that they could nurture. He grabbed his own bags and
made sure the suitcase was locked.

Ira breathed.
“Not the way you proposed,” he said, exiting the compartment.

“No, no, no!”
James exclaimed and followed him instantly. “Ira, please!” he
lowered his voice, not to draw attention. Fortunately, most
passengers already left their wagon.

The treasure
hunter stopped with a loud sigh, his broad back arching.
“What?”

“Don’t leave me
with... this,” he whispered, clenching his fists. He had always
felt so alone with this problem. And now that he met someone like
himself it only seemed natural that they should stick together!

“Well, what
d’ya want me to do ‘bout it?” Ira asked, turning towards him with a
neutral expression on his handsome face.

“Just... visit
me a few times. I’m not asking for a lot,” he whispered in panic,
noticing the familiar face of his wife through the window.
Katherine was already on the platform with their son, Henry.