The Affair of the Porcelain Dog (30 page)

"Is there something the matter with your feet?" Acton asked.

"Blisters...canal water...it's none of your business, really. We had a bargain."

"Then give me the papers."

I slipped my hands into my pockets, caressing the documents with one, and the pistol with the other. There was no one else in the room except for Lazarus, and he was in no position to object to a bit of instant justice. Between his dead weight and my increasingly useless feet, though, I wondered how far we'd get before the sound of gunfire brought Acton's men running. Lazarus shivered violently. Cursing under my breath, I thrust the documents toward him.

"Well, Mr. Turnbull was certainly busy," Acton said as he examined one of the letters. "
I'm gon tell em all startin wiv the Times.
Charming."

My heart stopped when he glanced at the ledger, but apparently it hadn't occurred to him that there could be more than one. He slipped it into the pocket of his robe without comment.

"There are letters here to every major newspaper," he said, looking up. "I am truly in your debt."

"Just get the antidote."

My teeth were starting to chatter, though the night was far from cold. All I had to do was get Lazarus to the carriage, and I'd be in a hot bath before the hour was out.

"Wouldn't you care for a cup of--" Acton began.

"Now," I said.

Only after I'd drawn the pistol did I understand the gravity of my error. The last time Acton had seen me with a gun, his man had been taking it away from me. Now he looked from it to me, his face darkening with rage.

"Where's my driver? Where's Mrs. Wu?"

"You might ask Morrison that," I said. "He took her out of my sight. Moments later, I heard gunfire. I assumed that I was next. I was forced to take matters into my own hands, but I did keep my end of the bargain. You will give Dr. Parker the antidote, and you will give it now."

"And if I don't?"

Sweat seared my eyes. My shirt felt damp beneath my arms, but I kept the gun trained on Acton as he circled around toward Lazarus's chair.

"I've killed three people tonight," I said. "Four is a nice, round number."

"My men will be on you like flies on a corpse."

I thought I detected a quaver in his voice, but one couldn't be sure. Lazarus twitched again, and a sudden stream of blood ran down from his nose to his chest. I tightened my finger around the trigger.

"Mrs. Wu was part of the bargain," Acton said. "You're not getting the antidote. Leave now, and we're even."

It took an unprecedented act of will not to shoot him where he stood. But if I had, then neither Lazarus nor I would have left that room. If I did as Acton said, however, there was a chance that I could get Lazarus to a hospital, and that someone there might be able to help him. If the hospital stocked antidotes for the venoms of rare Asian vipers, that is, and if it wasn't already too late.

"I'm taking him with me," I said, stepping toward Lazarus.

Acton laughed. "Be my guest, Mr. Adler. There's no sport in tormenting a dying man. You'll save me the trouble of disposing of his remains."

He moved aside as I tottered to the back of the room. Still keeping the gun pointed at Acton, I looped Lazarus's limp arm around my neck and lifted him to his feet. I'd no idea how such a slight man could be so heavy, and even less idea how I'd manage to shift him all the way to the carriage without assistance. The first numb-footed step almost sent us both to the floor. The second step was only slightly less excruciating. Leaning against his desk, his lips curled with amusement, Acton watched us make our pathetic way toward the door.

"I do believe, Mr. Adler," Acton said as we reached the hallway, "that I'll leave your discipline to Dr. Goddard. That is, if the infection of your feet doesn't solve the problem for him."

∗ ∗ ∗

I stumbled twice as we descended the front stairs. The second time, Lazarus slipped out of my arms, which was actually a blessing; it was a lot easier to just roll him the rest of the way down and to the edge of the pavement. He was starting to come to as I heaved him onto the running board of the carriage, or perhaps it was convulsions. Either way, between my pulling and his flailing, I managed to get him onto the carriage floor. I leaned against the open door and mopped my face with my sleeve.

"Don't worry," I said. "We'll go straight to London Hospital. Someone will remember you. Someone has to be able to help."

Every inch of my body was aflame. I was dangerously light-headed. When he spoke, I was half-convinced it was hallucination.

"Home," came his dry hiss of a whisper. "Just take me home."

"But--"

"Home, Adler," he said. And then he said no more.

I drove the horses hell-for-leather to St. Andrews's Baker Street residence. When the butler came to the door, hair askew, a robe covering his pajamas, he looked as if he'd have been happy to give me a good thrashing. But at the mention of the doctor's name, he came to the carriage without delay or complaint. I opened the door, petrified of what I might find.

What I did find was Lazarus perched on the edge of the bench, eyes tired but bright, his shirt-sleeve stained by his attempt to clean the blood from his face and neck. He winked at me.

"Fenwick," he said, with a weak smile, as the butler offered him a hand. "Completely unnecessary for you to come all the way down the stairs." He stumbled on the running board, then gratefully took Fenwick's proffered arm. "But welcome, nonetheless."

"What in blazes?" I demanded as they began the long creep up the front stairs.

Lazarus turned, a spark of mischief in his eye. "I've been injecting myself with small amounts of venom from the carpet viper since I returned from Afghanistan. The immunity isn't perfect by any means," he said, dabbing at his nose, "but I'm happy to see that, despite ruining a shirt once a month, the experiment ultimately paid off. Sorry to have frightened you, Adler. Do come in for a moment. You look as if you're about to drop."

I followed them up the stairs on numb feet. Now safe, the surge of energy that had brought me this far began to drain away. I shut the front door behind me and slumped against it. Goddard and St. Andrews had similar taste in vestibule furnishings. Chinese vases, colorful fish, grandfather clock. I wondered what Goddard was doing right then. I hoped he was well.

"Ah yes, your ring," Lazarus said as I absently fingered the golden snake. He was looking almost chipper by that point as he hung his jacket on the rack. "The jeweler was unable to give us any additional information about Mr. Turnbull's watch, as I predicted. However he could say with confidence that your ring had been cast last December. It caused quite a stir, as you can imagine: a copy of Her Majesty's, but with, as you pointed out, more expensive materials. You have quite an admirer, it seems."

His voice sounded far away, but the note of envy was unmistakable. No matter. My business with Lazarus was over. I had to get the statue back to Goddard.

I reached behind me for the doorknob, but somehow my arms had become tangled in the strap of Mrs. Wu's bag. I struggled to free myself, but found myself sliding toward the floor instead. There was no time for this nonsense. I had to get home. But my body simply wouldn't obey. My knees buckled and I went down.

"Adler?"

Fenwick wasn't quick enough to stop my fall, but he did slow it considerably. He laid me gently down beside the coat rack.

"Adler?"

"Extraordinary, Tim," I mused. The floor tiles were so cool against my cheek. "I can't feel my feet."

I didn't object to the laudanum upon which Lazarus insisted prior to removing my boots. By the time it took effect, my feet had swollen to the point that poor Fenwick was sent to fetch the garden shears. The next few hours passed by in a blur of cold, carbolic-laced baths, dubious herbal concoctions, and leeches. I rather hoped that the latter was a figment of an opiate-addled imagination, but knowing the good doctor's vigilance regarding bad blood and every other manner of impurity, I suspect that it was one of the most real things that happened that night. At last, having been half drowned in frigid, tarry-smelling water, bandaged to within an inch of my life, swaddled in one of St. Andrews's outsized robes, and liberally dosed with a foul-tasting potion, I was put to bed, where I remained, gratefully.

When the smell of bacon and coffee pulled me out of my dreams two days later, my first thought was of Goddard. According to Lazarus, he had commissioned the ring seven months ago--which meant that he'd had it made for me and me alone. And while I'd been lying abed in the home of Goddard's enemy, Goddard was on his side of our bed, injured, and wondering where the devil I was. These thoughts caused me to nearly bolt through the door, and I would have, had Lazarus not been walking through it at that very moment with a tray piled with enough food to fortify the British army.

"I thought this might bring you around," he said.

He set the tray on the bedside table, removed a newspaper, a silver coffeepot, and two china cups, then placed the tray over my lap. In addition to half a pig, sliced and fried, there were three poached eggs, two kinds of fish, and a mound of buttered toast. As he poured my coffee, Lazarus hummed a little tune. He'd cleaned up quite nicely. Between his starched white shirt, pressed waistcoat and trousers, and freshly shaven chin, one would never guess that he'd not three days ago been tugging at St. Peter's hem.

Once he'd creamed and sugared my coffee, he crossed the room to address the curtains. I winced as searing midmorning light poured into the chamber. When he opened the window itself, I groaned.

"Current wisdom holds that fresh air and light are the worst thing for a patient, but I've found their effects to be quite salutary. Behave yourself, and you might even get out for a walk this evening."

"I have to go home," I said.

His cheerfulness vanished, and was replaced with a disappointment so unexpected and so deep that it was painful to behold. Poor Lazarus. He didn't belong there, surrounded by St. Andrews's fussy clutter of lace and antiques. And yet I couldn't picture him installed in some house in Brixton with a wife and a new baby every year. Perhaps this was what our previous association had represented to him--the opportunity to create something new and unprecedented: a place where he truly belonged. Perhaps having me under his care had stirred up these thoughts once more.

"Of course," he said. He cleared his throat and rearranged his features into a professional mask.

"Thank you for everything, though. You can tell St. Andrews that Sinclair is dead. I'm sure he'll be relieved to hear it."

"Good news, good news. And the porcelain dog?"

"It's safe," I said.

Specifically, it was safe in Mrs. Wu's sack, which Fenwick had stowed with my coat, wherever that might be. But I wasn't about to tell him that. I'd nearly lost my life so many times over that blasted thing that I'd be damned if I let St. Andrews get it now.

"I see," he said.

"I'll dispose of it as soon as I'm able. Tell St. Andrews that he has nothing to fear from us."

"I'm sure," he said coldly.

"Tim--"

"Eat your bacon."

St. Andrews's cook had outdone herself. Not even released from Goddard's strict rules regarding healthfulness and frugality could Eileen have prepared such a feast. And not even Lazarus's sulking could impede my enjoyment of it. I was a little more than halfway through, when Lazarus said,

"The newspaper may interest you almost as much as the food, that is, if you haven't devoured it in your haste."

I dabbed at my mouth with the napkin and glanced toward the bedside table.

"I wouldn't have thought that St. Andrews would dirty his fingers with
The Daily Telegraph
," I said.

Lazarus shrugged.

"He usually reads
The Times
. But in this case, he thought that you would prefer to receive the news from a source more familiar to someone of your background."

When I read the headline, I nearly choked on my haddock.

M
IDNIGHT
M
OB IN
S
T
. J
AMES'S

Late last night, a group of enraged citizens armed with truncheons and broken bottles broke down the doors of the East India Officers' Club, and dragged Dr. Edward Acton from the building. Documents first published in these pages had accused Dr. Acton of providing children for purposes too vile to detail here, to highly placed members of government and the aristocracy. The police were summoned, but arrived too late to prevent the mob from carrying Dr. Acton off. Scraps of clothing, flesh, and hair have been found, but it is doubtful that enough of Dr. Acton's remains will be recovered to provide positive identification.

My heart stopped. I'd instructed Pearl to distribute Nate's documents to the press and police, in the event that Lazarus and I failed to show, and she had done just that. I should have at least sent word to her when we arrived at St. Andrews's home. On the other hand, given Acton's connections, what were the chances that justice would have been done, had justice been forced to grind through normal channels? The thought of Acton sliding through the system on greased palms made me grit my teeth. The world was a better place without him.