Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (50 page)

The Scotsman again looked at his lap.

“It sounds like you just need a holiday,” Marcus replied. “Why not go spend some time with your family?”

“They . . . they’re dead,” Marcus caught a glimpse of the man’s reddened lower lid and a glistening in his eye.

“I am so sorry,” Marcus replied, empathizing with the man in their common grief. “Here, then—come to St. Thomas’ Hospital, near the river, once you settle in. I will see what I can do.”

The Scotsman hurried away without responding. Marcus did not see the man the rest of the trip, and the steady motion of the engine soon lulled him back into his unending grief.

Marcus bolted upright in his drab prison room as realization struck. The strange man, the talk of the hospital, the deceased family—they all suddenly made sense.

“The Scot!” Chin and Gordon started. “It is the Scotsman! I met him on the train. He—he wanted a doctor, and I told him which hospital I worked at. It must be him.”

Gordon and Chin looked at one another.

“What do you know of him?” Chin quizzed.

“He was from Dundee, I believe.”

Gordon nodded at Chin. “A Baurcat, jus’ like we thought. Near Dundee’s where I got mine.”

“Is there anything else?” Chin pressed.

Marcus’ eyes darted about as he thought. “Yes, his clothes. His clothes were rather small for him.”

“Ha! It’s gotta be a Baurcat.” Gordon slapped his knee. “He’s likely as bloody big as me by now.”

“I will tell Mr. Otto.” Chin rose from the table and quickly left the room.

“Won’t take long now, mate,” Gordon said mirthfully to Marcus. “Knowin’ where he come from, Otto will figure out who he was, and track where he started in the city. He’s smart like that, an’ Baurcats is easy to predict once you know that’s what they is.”

“What is a Baurcat?” Marcus asked, glad to be getting real conversation out of someone.

Gordon paused. “Well, Otto usually likes to do the tellin’. We ain’t even spos’ed to talk at all, ’til we sees if you can make it or not . . . But it’s so close, now, an’ if it’s true, then we’re practically brothers, you an’ me.” Pausing briefly, he raised his large arm into the lamplight. A sudden change came over the limb.

“A Baurcat’s what got me. It’s what I is now.” His hand doubled in size, taking on a savage new form, producing heavy claws at his fingertips. “An’ it’s what you’ll be soon enough.”

Marcus could not help but stare. His own voice sounded choked as he blurted out, “And the woman, Chin, is she also . . . ”

“Naw, she’s a werekind, but not a Baurcat. She’s what they call a Southern Harpy—hers make her fast an’ light, ours makes us big an’ strong,” Gordon explained before adding with a chuckle, “Jes’ don’ ask to see her beak or she’ll cuff you one. She don’ like showin’ that bit o’ the change.”

“But, how? What brings it on you? Is it an infection?” The physician in Marcus surfaced as he pondered the horrific revelation.

“Them’s bigger questions than I can tell. All’s I know is that ye get bit and it comes. Best t’ save that talk for Mr. Otto.”

“Can it be stopped? Can it be reversed?” begged Marcus.

“Only if we catch it early, Doc. Otto’s got a cure that’ll kill the thing inside without killin’ the outside. But, it’s too late for blokes like us. It takes a couple a months for it to set in, but even though yours ain’t come out yet, you’d be a goner wi’out what’s inside.” The large man’s hand returned to its normal size as he spoke. Marcus paused as he thought back to the mysterious injection the attack victim received under his care—certainly the work of Otto and his colleagues.

The door opened, and a new, unfamiliar man joined them, presumably a replacement for Chin. The conversation ended as Gordon pretended he had not been speaking with Marcus. He and the newcomer began discussing the events outside the room and how Otto was going to find the rampaging Scotsman. Marcus gathered that he was amongst a group of monsters led by the man Otto, and that they were hunting for some rogue of their own kind responsible for the recent murders.

His thoughts, however, focused on the revelation of the creatures themselves—and what it meant for him. It was the stuff of fairytale, of legend, of myth. But what he had seen in just the last few hours challenged everything he once thought he knew about fact and fiction.

With the image of Gordon’s grotesque change in his mind, Marcus inspected his own hand. The wounds from Otto’s claws had nearly healed in mere hours. Could the scar on his shoulder in fact be the bite of this Baurcat? As sleep overtook him and conscious thought gave way to dark and fearful dreams, he struggled to make sense of all the pieces.

A hand on his shoulder woke Marcus some hours later.

“Here, drink this.”

The warm contents of the tin cup forced on him carried a smell of strange herbs that stung in his nose. Otto’s familiar spectacles met Marcus’ gaze when he looked up from the mug.

Taking the cup, he blinked and wiped his face, pushing away the stupor of sleep.

“We got him,” Otto spoke in a hushed tone, “thanks to you.”

“The Scotsman, is he all right? Could you help him?”

The man looked at the floor, and chair behind him creaked as he sank down into it.

“It does not work like that,” he sighed. The oil lamp on the table, now turned down low, cast only a faint glow that left the walls in shadow.

“I hear you have been talking to Gordon.” Otto motioned to the corner where the goliath snored in his chair. Chin had returned as well, and was likewise resting. “If we can catch a spawn early enough, we can kill it safely. But, beyond a certain point, there is nothing that can be done. The werekind takes over, and the victim falls into madness.”

“But, what about Gordon? Or you? How have you escaped such a fate?” If Otto spoke truly, Marcus feared for his own condition.

“That is why you must drink,” Otto reminded Marcus. “If we cannot catch the spawn before it is invested, the only other choice is to subdue and control it before it controls the host. Then, the two can work as one. There is but one opportunity, and it is up to the host to seize it. It is up to you, for your time has come.”

Marcus looked at the contents of the steaming mug.

“The werekind has matured in you, and will be making its first appearance. It will put your mind to sleep while it reshapes your body and goes out in search of its first meal. That is, unless you drink.”

“The tincture will block the creature’s effects on your nervous system, allowing you to maintain—or rather, compete—for control of your body.”

Though not certain he could trust Otto, Marcus could not deny the strange new sensation growing within him. He brought the cup to his lips and allowed the bitter liquid to pass his tongue.

“But, what is it inside of me?” Marcus finally asked. “During my courses, I read of something called a ‘virus.’ Is it of that kind? Or is it some microbe?”

“No, my good doctor, it is neither of those.” Otto pushed his glasses further onto his nose as he poured a second cup. “While we are both men of science, my training was in engineering and physics. I cannot research the creatures as well as someone such as yourself, but I have traveled the globe studying the werekind, as best as I can, in all their varied forms.

“They are certainly a type of organism: multi-cellular, with a nervous system and circulation like ours. They enter the host and spread themselves throughout the body. Working all manner of wonders, they can change a man’s metabolism, enhance his immunity, and even influence his growth. They do not stop there, however, for in order to feed and spawn new generations, they add to the host’s body their own organs in secret. When matured, they emerge to redesign the host’s structure, transforming him into a veritable killing machine.”

A lump grew in Marcus’ throat as his nerves threatened to get the better of him. “But how can such a thing be stopped?”

Otto leaned forward in his chair to look Marcus sternly in the face.

“This is where you must be strong. The creature in you is alive—it has a mind, and it can learn. You must teach it to submit. You must be its master, or you will become its slave.”

“But how is that possible?”

“We will give you the tools at the right time. Now, rest, good doctor.” Otto poured a final cup of tea and sipped it himself.

Marcus sensed the strange feeling subsiding within him, but he had no intention of resting. Apparently finished talking, Otto enjoyed the remains of the bitter tincture while resting one ankle on his knee.

Marcus allowed the cracked, plaster wall to support his heavy head. He stared at the water stains on the ceiling and observed how they showed the outlines of the rafters above. His mind continued to turn over his future. Surrounded by kindly monstrosities, he could only wait to birth whatever manner of creature was inside of him. A sea of fear and curiosity overwhelmed his mind.

Again, his thoughts turned to Emily. How he longed for her, how he wished for the comfort that came from her smile. His hallucinations made sense now. Certainly, the work of the thing inside him wrought the visions of his late fiancée.

A tearing pain shot through his chest, causing him to convulse and cry out. Otto sat upright and the other guards stirred from their slumber.

“It is moving early,” Otto said. “Gordon, please fetch the generator.”

Marcus heard the creak of the door hinges, but the throbbing inside him consumed his attention. It felt as though his chest would explode. The throbbing turned to a steady pressure as his heart pounded in his ears. He cried out again as a tearing in his sternum began.

With a sickening clunk, his ribs separated and expanded, somehow locking into new positions. The burning remained, but the pressure no longer pulled at his chest. He felt himself taking terribly deep breaths and wondered if it was of his own volition.

“Oh, Emily! Emily, please,” he whimpered.

A tender hand rested on his back.

“Was this Emily someone important to you?” Otto asked.

Through the pain, Marcus tried to put words to his grief.

“My fiancée. That is where I was returning from on the train. She died in Scotland while I traveled to meet her. I—I never got to say goodbye,” he wept. It was the first time he had said the words out loud. Why the circumstances finally brought his grief to the surface, he did not know. Thankfully, the visceral pain had eased, at least for the moment.

“Be strong, Doctor, for her memory’s sake.”

With a knock at the door, Gordon entered, carrying a massive metal device. He bore a grave expression. The floorboards shook as Gordon dropped the machine. He immediately sought Otto’s ear for private word while Marcus pondered how the device would help him control the creature inside him.

“Another?” Marcus heard Otto’s shocked reply. “Are they sure?”

Gordon nodded.

Otto rounded on Marcus. “What of this Emily, Dr. Wells? Are you certain she died?”

“Of course,” he replied through the pain. “There was a massacre. They burned the building.”

“And you have seen no sign of her since? Not even a glimpse that could have been her?”

“I have had dreams, but nothing more. She died in a village outside Sterling; that’s where I was returning from on the train.”

“Sterling,” blurted Gordon. “There’s bloody Jagerunds in them mountains.”

Otto gripped Marcus’ arm and raised it to examine the cuff of his sleeve. It fit perfectly at his wrist, as it had always done.

“Damn! How could I be such a fool! This is no Baurcat.”

A deathly silence filled the room.

“Mr. Otto, the Jagerunds are savage. They have never been tamed.” Chin backed away slowly as she spoke. Otto held his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he hunched, staring at the floor next to Marcus.

“We cain’t do a Jagerund here, Otto. It’d ‘ave been bad enough with a Baurcat. We gotta finish him now,” added Gordon.

“Silence!” Otto shouted. He paused a moment more before looking up. “We now have two Jagerunds to consider. We are spread too thin to handle such a feral werekind on the streets of London. We need the doctor. He can do this; I know he can!”

Gordon begrudgingly approached and lifted Marcus into a chair. A new pain scintillated through his body while Gordon produced heavy straps and bound him in place. Otto pressed a hand firmly on his shoulder as he stooped to look directly into Marcus’ sweat-covered face.