The Dickens Mirror (25 page)

“Right away, ma’am.” His right pocket felt heavy, and too late, he remembered the lemon and Kramer’s odd purple spectacles. By now the landing was as deep with shadows as most of the rooms, so he hoped the doctor wouldn’t notice the bulge. Dropping his hand to his waist to better obscure his pocket, he said, “Ma’am? Sir?” He listened as Graves repeated what he’d already overheard. Kramer’s behavior, though, was very strange; not bothering to
acknowledge Bode, the man moved from window to window as if following someone’s progress along the front lawn.

“And when you’ve finished with those rats, I want you back here immediately, is that understood?” Graves looked ready to take a bite out of his backside.

“Yes’m.” Scuttling for the door, he was so anxious to be gone that he was nearly halfway down the hall before he remembered and turned back.
Oh, that was a close one; might ’a gave myself away otherwise
. Theoretically, he didn’t have a key and so no way to let himself in and out. If he
had
gone off and then reported that he’d done what she asked, she’d know he had her old skeleton. “Might I have the key for the storehouse, Mrs. Graves? So’s I can let in the rats?” While Graves fussed, Bode’s eyes darted down the hall to the landing where Kramer paced, lamp in hand, like a lighthouse keeper waiting to direct a wayward ship to shore. What was he fuming about? The man was an absolute black study. God, he hoped Kramer wouldn’t take it out on Meme. The thought prompted another hot rush of shame.
Oh yeah, like I’ll do anything about it
.

“There.” Graves slapped her key into his hand. “Go. And I expect that back within the hour.”

“Yes’m.” Ducking his head, he hurried for the stairs. As he circled a newel post, Kramer rapped in a stentorian tone, “Hold on a moment.”

Bloody shite
. Stifling a groan, he craned back up. “Sir?”

“Those rats.” Lantern in hand, Kramer pointed. “That … 
boy
. Do you know him?”

“Sir?” A spike of alarm. Following Kramer’s gaze, he saw three figures. Two, he knew; the third was smaller, though. A girl? “No, they’re just … you know,
rats
.” The less he talked, the
better.
But what’s he want with them?
Kramer has specifically asked about that
boy
. Why the interest in Tony?

“I want to speak with them. Bring them. I know … promise them a meal. Do whatever you must, but I don’t want them leaving the grounds. I would send someone else with you, but I don’t want to frighten them.”

Uh-oh
. Curiosity was one thing.
But Kramer
really
wants them, has his eye on Tony. Why?

“Doctor?” Graves looked as confused as Bode felt. “What could you possibly want with—”

“Mind your place, Mrs. Graves.” Aiming a finger at Bode. “You, bring them at once.”

“Yes, sir.” As he took the stairs, though, he thought,
Bloody snowball’s chance in hell of that
. A knee-jerk reaction and probably unwarranted, but Kramer’s sudden interest was a little scary. Maybe best for Tony and Rima and whoever that new kid was to back slang it off grounds, skirt the old criminal wings. Hurrying through the asylum’s darkened kitchen, he headed for the back. Supper was long over, and the cooks were all gone. Prime foraging time, but with Kramer waiting, he had to get a move on. The outside air was so cold he felt the draft through the keyhole. When he opened the door, a balloon of snow swelled on a gush of frigid air. The sky had lightened to the color of tarnished silver, enough so the night was no longer pitch. (He
hated
that. Couldn’t take anything for granted anymore.) Tugging the door shut, he wallowed along the cut in the snow from earlier that day, before Elizabeth’s fit, when he and Weber humped bodies for safekeeping to the far storehouse. In the distance, the faint suggestions of outbuildings—storehouses, an old greenhouse, staff cottages that were no longer in use—wavered through rippling curtains of
thick snow. The rest of the grounds were lost to distance and the general gloom. Everything always seemed … muzzy, not quite filled in, something he always chalked up to this ceaseless bad weather. He glanced back over his shoulder. The asylum loomed, a blue-gray hulk, pressing against his back.

Maybe he was worried over nothing. So, Kramer met them, what of it? He was worrying over the frayed phantoms of a nightmare. He’d be a fool to let his chuckaboos miss out on tea and a chance for more food, even if it
was
as bad as those biscuits.

Really: it wasn’t as if the world was their oyster and they’d only lost the fork.

She’s
Here

ONCE THEY’D CLEARED
the west wing, the back grounds spread in a great expanse studded with dim gray-blue cubes: storehouses, staff dormitories, and other defunct structures. Rima couldn’t recall the last time she’d actually seen the buildings in any kind of detail. Very far away and cloaked in snow and gloom, the crumbling edifices of the asylum’s derelict criminal wings reared like ancient castle ruins.

As they neared a large storehouse to the right of the main building, the gloom suddenly lightened, the smoky gray sky that passed for night brightening to dirty white. False dawn: true sunlight was as much a fugitive as news of the outside world. Rima couldn’t remember now what the sun truly looked or felt like.

“Hate when the sky does that.” Grimacing, Tony spat. “You know, my mouth
still
tastes like I’ve been sucking on a sewer drain.”

“Yeah, that toffee was pretty terrible.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Maybe it spoiled. Think the other candy’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t want to bet on it,” Rima said. The constable’s
candy had been too great a temptation, and they’d paused along the way to share a bit of toffee. What a disappointment. Her tongue was coated with a taste like dog shite smelled. Eating dirt would be easier.

The storehouse was a sorry pile. A portion of roof had slumped and caved, probably from the quake. Another few tremors like that and this would be just another derelict. As they reached the side door, there came the rattle of a bolt being thrown. The door swung in, and Bode appeared, lantern in hand.

“Good to see you, brother.” Bode pulled Tony into a one-armed hug, then nodded at Emma. “Who’s the kid? What happened to her chin?”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Emma said.

“What?” Then, as Jack’s head poked from between burlap sacks, Bode said, “Is that a
cat
?”

“He’s mine,” Emma said, then added, “And you can’t eat him either.”

“What, have you all gone nutter? That’s
meat
.”

“Off-limits, brother,” Tony said.

“What’s got into you?” Bode gaped. “What you listening to a kid for? What’s so special about the cat? How’d she even manage to hang on to it this long? How come you two haven’t put it in a pot?”

“It’s a long story,” Rima began, but Emma interrupted. “What’s wrong with you guys? He’s
mine
. You want to talk about
my
cat, you can talk to me.”

“You got a real mouth, don’t ya?” Scowling, Bode looked the girl up and down. “And what’s that accent? Where you from?”

“Wisconsin,” Tony said.

“What’s that?” Bode said.

“It’s a
state
. Do you guys, like,
not
study geography or something?” Emma asked.

“Pardon?” Bode said.

Rima held up her hands. “Shall we start over? Emma, this is our friend, Bode. Bode, this is—”

“Emma.” Something flickered through Bode’s face, but so quickly Rima wasn’t sure if she saw only surprise. “
That’s
your name?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Emma looked disgusted. “
So?
What, you don’t like my name either?”

“No. It’s …” Bode put a hand to his lips as if to stop himself saying more.

“Bode?” Rima put a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

“What?” Blinking, Bode tried tacking on a smile. “Oh … fine. Sorry. Just … name reminded me of something, is all. Sorry. Ah, how ye do, Emma?”

“I’ve been better,” Emma said, darkly.

“I’d say that goes for all of ya.” After a last longing look at the cat, Bode eyed Tony. “
You’re
thinner, brother. Is that blood on your mouth?”

“Nosebleed,” Tony said, briefly, though he knuckled his lips. “I’m all right now.”

“Mmm.” Leaning in, Bode sniffed and then recoiled. “God, what you just et?”

“Would you believe toffee?” Rima said. “From a constable. The cart tipped at the gate, and he helped, him and an inspector.”

“Ah, yeah. The inspector’s Battle. Doyle, though … he’s a queer duck. Twitchy, and the cheesers he let go … ohhh.” Bode waved a hand before his nose. “Lucky I didn’t go blind. Got himself a little tore up, though. One of the doctors tended to him.”

Twitchy
. Rima thought back to their fleeting contact.
Morphia? Cocaine?
She wouldn’t be surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought toffee could go off, but they taste terrible. You want some?”

“I thought he was your friend,” Emma said.

Bode arched an eyebrow. “Dash my wig, she’s got quite the tartur-trap, don’t she?”

“And then some,” Tony said, but he was trying not to grin.

Definitely not amused, Rima said, “
Fine
. There’s humbugs, if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Bode said. “My mouth’s rank.”

“I wouldn’t,” Emma said, as Bode fingered up a peppermint.

“Full of opinions, aren’t you?” Popping the candy into his mouth, Bode sucked experimentally, then wrinkled his nose. “Well, if there’s peppermint, I can’t taste it. Not
terrible
. Just … nothing.”

“Told you,” the girl said.

“Emma.” After a warning glance, Rima spied a blotch on Bode’s jaw. “You’re bruised. What happened?”

“Long story. Got myself cuffed, that’s all.” Tonguing the humbug into his uninjured cheek, he said to Tony, “But that don’t answer my question, brother. Why you bleeding?”

“How should I know? I’m fine now,” Tony said, pointedly not looking at Rima.

Bode arched an eyebrow as if to say,
Tell me another
. “Well, come on.” Bode jerked his head for them to follow. “Just me tonight, but ain’t got but four.”

“Where’s Weber?” Not that Rima was
heartbroken
. The man was a pig. His specialty was sandwiching her to a wall as he passed and calling that an accident.

“Given the night off,” Bode said, leading them from this entry
and down a short corridor. At a large double door, he fished out a key. “Good riddance, too.”

“I’m not arguing,” Tony said as they followed Bode into a high-ceilinged storeroom. Once used for putting up what was grown in the asylum’s gardens, the room was now empty of barrels of preserved pickles, boxes of potatoes and beets and turnips in straw, clutches of onions, ropes of braided garlic, and dried herbs. The air was cold and smelled faintly of brine and dust. Spooling from a burst pane of the room’s one window, a tongue of snow had settled in a long drift over the cobbled floor. In the center of the room, four bodies, done up in burlap, had been laid on a low table. “What happened?”

“Too much to explain.” Bode’s face darkened a moment. “I’m not sure I understand it all myself, but a patient … a girl … took a bad turn. I’ll check on her later.” He shook himself free of whatever he was thinking. “They’s a sack in the fourth bag. Some bread, cheese.” He hooked a thumb at her. “Mittens for you, Rima.”

“Oh.” She felt a leap of relief and hurried over to tug open the sack. Reaching in, she pulled out a pair of brown wool mittens. “
Thank
you.”

“Wait,” Emma said. “You put
food
in with a
body
?”

“Best way to smuggle it out,” Bode said. “Not to worry; she wasn’t one of the bloody ones. A girl what hanged herself, is all.”

“That’s
gross
,” Emma said.

“Well then, I guess you don’t need any of the victuals now, do ya?”

“I didn’t say
that
.”

“What?” He cupped a hand behind one ear. “Say that again?” Grinning, he pointed. “Got a few bags o’ mystery in there, too.”

“What?” Emma asked.

“Sausages,” Tony said.

“Oh.” Emma frowned. “Why don’t you just
say
that? What’s so mysterious about a sausage?”

“Oh, plenty, my little chuckaboo.” Bode waggled his eyebrows, which made Emma giggle. “Cook swore they was dog, so they’re likely rat and cat … uhm …” He gave Emma an apologetic shrug. “Cat’s meat really is quite good, you do it up right.”

“As long as it’s not Jack.” Emma looked at Rima. “I’m not saying that this isn’t übergross, but can we eat something now,
please
? I’m
really
hungry.”

Rima was about to agree to a bit of cheese and bread when Bode cut in. “I can do one better,” Bode said. “I’m to bring you for a little sit-me-down. There’s a meal in it.”

“What?” Rima exchanged a puzzled glance with Tony. “With whom?”

“One of the doctors … Kramer?” Bode eyed Tony. “He’s
very
keen on you.”

“Me?” Tony frowned. “What for?”

“Damfino,” Bode said.

That light in the window
. Rima’s heart gave a sick lurch. “Something’s wrong with his face, isn’t there? This doctor?”

“Yeah. Rot took half,” Bode said.

“Rot?” Emma’s nose wrinkled. “Like what you guys said—those worms?”

“Squirmers,” Bode said.

“Yeah, those. Like it rotted off? Gangrene and pus and stuff?”

“Worse. Got this tin mask?” Bode cupped a hand before his face to illustrate. “Gives you the jimjams to look at it.”

“Yes, that’s the man,” Rima said. “He kept an eye on us and … Oh.” A white bolt of shock jagged through her, and she put a hand to her mouth. “Oh God.”

“What?” Tony’s brows knit. “Rima, are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, trying to quell the shake in her voice.
God, no;
now
I remember
. There had to be a connection. “Bode, what’s this doctor want with Tony?”

“What you worried about?” Bode said. “I’ll be right there. What could happen?”

Plenty, if I’m remembering right
. “What if we don’t go?” Rima asked.