The Dickens Mirror (38 page)

“Think you’re right.”

“Then it’s probably not her,” Meme said.

“Yeah, but it was loud, and loud means an open door,” he said—and then slapped a hand to his forehead.
“Shite.”

“What?”

Weber. He’s got keys, and he’s not in his rooms
. “Stay here, stay here!” Moving fast, he plunged into the tunnel. The candle snuffed instantly, but there was enough rock-glow for him to see. His boots clopped; he couldn’t help that, and from the sounds of it, whoever had screamed was probably beyond listening for footsteps. He passed the blank rectangles of one cell door after another. The nutters had started up again, their wails rising and falling in waves. But he was headed the right way. The screamer had switched to shouts now, and no doubt about it: this was a man.

As he turned a tight dogleg right, he spotted a pale yellow rectangle in the distance.
Light. Open door
.

“You’ve done it now, ya blower!” a man roared. “You’ve done it
now
!”

God, that was Weber. And
blower
 … 
He’s talking about a girl
. He vaulted down the tunnel. Air raked his throat.
Got to be Elizabeth, but then why isn’t she screaming?
Wheeling around the open cell door, he saw two things, both of which stilled his heart.

Weber, swollen face smeary with blood, astride her body, his meaty paws clapped round her throat … and Elizabeth, eyes starting from her sockets, as her feet twitched in a final, feeble judder.

And stilled.

Last Gasp

“NO!”
HORRIFIED, HIS
blood roaring in his veins, Bode ducked his left shoulder and launched himself. He crashed into Weber, a solid body blow that knocked the man sprawling to his left. Weber banged into padding, the impact forcing the breath from the man’s lungs in a loud
oomph
. Bode scrambled after, trying to work his way from his knees to his feet on the uneven mattress. He managed to set his right foot and was just beginning to push to a stand when Weber rolled onto his back and scythed a leg.

The cut was vicious, the angle perfect. Bode heard the whisk of air as something huge and blocky whickered for his head. In the next second, his face exploded as Weber’s boot clubbed the underside of Bode’s right jaw. A fraction of an inch lower and Weber would probably have crushed his windpipe. As it was, his head snapped back; bright orange flashes popped before his eyes. Pain erupted in his face, and there was suddenly the metallic cut of blood in his mouth.

Gagging, Bode tumbled left. The top of his head slammed
against a thin spot in the canvas and, beneath that, into solid rock. A lightning bolt of pain shot down his spine and spread through his limbs. For a second, he went stone-cold limp.

Where … where …
Stunned, his thoughts balling in a snarl, he couldn’t bring his head around. Gawping, pulling for air like a suffocating fish, he tried to bring up a knee, but his boot slipped and he flopped facedown on the canvas. A second later, Weber’s stubby fingers were crawling through his hair. For a moment, Bode thought Weber meant to wrench his head around and snap his neck.
No, no!
Panicked, he flailed, slapping at Weber’s hands, his arms. Cursing, Weber swatted Bode’s already yammering jaw with a fist. Gargling a scream, he felt Weber’s hand crush the scruff of his neck.

Then he was airborne as Weber heaved him clean off the floor. Bode was taller, but the thickset Weber had more weight and meanness besides. With a bellow, Weber drove Bode into the wall the way he would a battering ram.

No!
A split second before he hit, Bode turtled his shoulders around his ears and got an arm up. There was a sickening thud, and Bode choked out a scream as pain, hot as lava, raced up from his wrist to ball in his shoulder.

Weber loosed his grip. Bode flopped to the floor. His right arm was one long, bright shrill of agony. He could feel his mind beginning to slip, the way boots did on sheer ice.
Get up, get away, fight!
He would die here if he couldn’t get to his feet. And he’d failed, he’d
failed
her; she was dead, she was
dead
! Squirming, he pedaled, his boots sliding in an awkward scutter over worn canvas. It was like trying to work his way up a steep incline of naked stone.
Weber, where’s Weber?
Grunting, he planted his left hand. His arm trembled, weak as water.
Get up, come on!
If he
could only make it to the door, pull it shut,
lock
this monster in here, he could get help, he could …

A huge, crushing weight dropped onto his back, beating him flat. He let out a strangled, nearly breathless shriek. Weber was riding his back, and he was heavy as an anvil, his bulk driving Bode down. Bode’s face sank into a rank pocket of mildewed canvas and moldering horsehair.
Can’t b-b-breathe, c-can’t
 … Twisting to the right, he managed to clear a small corner of his mouth for a sip, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Enjoy that.” Perhaps no more than a minute had passed since Bode stormed into the cell, but these were the first words Weber had spoken. When his mouth moved, the slick exposed muscle beneath that torn flap of skin bunched and glistened. “You picked the wrong person to fight. ’member,
I
know you got Graves’s skeleton. It’s how you got down here, and then Elizabeth rebuffed ya, and you snapped. I’m sure Doctor will understand that I had to defend myself.” Weber’s lips parted in an orange grin. “Too late to save that poor girl, though. Pity that poor Meme. To think she was so sweet on you, too. I might have to comfort her.”

Meme
. Had she gone for help?
Too late; they’ll never get here in time
. “N-n-no!” Bode gasped. He had a sudden horrible sense of what Weber meant to do. Gathering himself, ignoring the yammering of his hurt arm, he tried bucking Weber off, but Weber’s weight was on his shoulders, and Bode had no leverage, nothing to push against. “W-Weber,” he said as the man clamped both hands to his head. “D-don’t!”

At the last second, his arms already pinned, Bode managed a quick grab of air, but that was all. Jamming Bode’s face into the mattress, Weber leaned in with all his weight.
Smothering me
,
pushing me into the mattress, got to get air, got to get air!
Struggling only used what little air was left in his burning lungs that much faster. For a wild second, he thought,
Play dead, go limp
. That idea lasted five seconds. The ferocious pressure in his chest exploded in a fireball that swamped him in a red blaze and scorched away reason. Fueled by pain and panic, his body didn’t want to give up, but nothing can fight forever. His thrashing was turning feeble; his boots drummed canvas. His mind was closing down, collapsing in a heap, like poorly balanced bricks tumbling from a rickety cart. There was a bucking, heaving sensation at his belly, but he was too far gone to understand if this was anything but his body mustering all its remaining strength in a last gasp.

And then everything was lost as his starved brain let go of a single, coherent thought:
Done for
.

THEN …

From very far away—so far that if the sensation were sight, he’d have been peering down the wrong end of a collapsible spy-piece—he felt Weber jerk. An instant later, the pressure on his head let up as Weber moved again, more violently and in a herky-jerky dance, like a marionette whose puppeteer has given his strings a sudden yank. The crushing weight on Bode’s back eased as Weber began to list in a slow swoon.

Bode didn’t stop to wonder or think. Pushing up on his good left arm, he bounced Weber from his shoulders. The man toppled like a burlap sack of potatoes and without a sound. Bode was beyond caring what had happened; what he needed was air, and now he dragged in mouthful after screaming mouthful. Over the
pounding of his heart, he heard something like the solid
chock
of an ax biting wood and then a sodden crackle.

What?
Still blinking away black spiders, he pulled his head around.
Who?
Then he thought,
Meme
—

But it wasn’t.

WEBER WAS DOWN
, on his stomach. The entire left side of his head looked like a boiled egg that someone had mashed with a heavy boot. His blood was dark as tar, and a slop of something gelatinous—probably brain—glimmered a dusky, faint purple. The only part of him still moving were his hands and booted feet, which jerked and fluttered, but Bode thought that would probably stop soon.

She was there, on her feet, swaying a little. A necklace of black bruises ringed her throat, and blood oiled from both nostrils and a corner of her mouth. She was staring down at Weber. Her expression was unreadable. But there was something about her that was … off, at odds.
The way she’s standing
. Or maybe it was the cock of her elbows, the set of her shoulders, and the way she gripped that metal jug.

“Elizabeth.” The word came out coarse as gravel. He swallowed, grimacing as pain lanced his throat. “Are you …” The words died as her gaze inched up from the twitching, dying muck that was left of Weber; and he actually felt himself flinch. Her eyes … so
dark
, darker than ever. “Elizabeth?”

“No,” she said.

The United
What
?

HER VOICE WAS
very strange, much lower and as raspy as a file on stone, but then again, she’d just had the life nearly crushed out of her. Her gaze sharpened, scraping over his features, as if going through a mental checklist, ticking off items that matched. Releasing a breath, she nodded and then straightened. Her posture relaxed, the tension draining from her shoulders. After a long, speculative look at the jug in her hands, she tossed it aside, then came to stand over him.

“Jesus, man, are you hurt?” Her eyes ticked to his arm. “Shit. Is it broken?”

“I …” Had she just cursed? Flabbergasted, he stared up at Elizabeth, who seemed now to tower. For the briefest of moments, he
almost
saw the ghost of a different face taking shaping beneath her skin. “What is this?” Though what he wanted to scream:
What are
you
? You realize you just caved in a man’s skull?
“Your neck … I thought …”

“Hurts, but she’ll be okay, I think.” Elizabeth gestured with her chin at his arm. “If you need it, I can bind that for you, but
you have to listen to me, man. This is important, and I don’t think I have a lot of time to explain.”

Bode blinked. “Explain what?”

“This girl?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I know what you think, but she’s not Elizabeth.”

“She … she’s not,” he said, carefully.
Christ, what have I gotten myself into?
She was mad; she really was. Beyond, at the threshold, he heard boots, and then saw Meme at the door.

“No,” Elizabeth said, still in her rougher, deeper voice. “And this is the thing, man. Neither am—”

Meme cut in. “Get away from him.” Before Elizabeth could reply, she darted in and came up with the jug. “Now,” she said, cocking her elbows. “
Stand
up and move away from Bode, or I swear to God, I will stave in her head and you will
all
be finished.”

“Easy.” Holding her hands out, Elizabeth slowly rose from her crouch. Her chin and neck were streaked with blood. “Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt any …” Then Elizabeth broke off as if she’d gotten a good look at Meme for the first time. “Oh Jesus.”

“You’re not going to hurt anyone?
Really?
” Meme actually laughed. “Tell that to Weber.”

Elizabeth’s lids fluttered. “Listen,” she said, still in that rough, odd voice, “he was
killing
her. He’d have killed Bode. I had to—”

“Shut it.” Meme used her chin to point at the cell’s far right corner. “Over there. Back up, hands out where I can see them.”

“Meme.” Bode goggled. “What are you doing?”

“Meme?” Elizabeth said, not moving a muscle. “That’s your name? Is that someone’s idea of a joke?”

“You find this funny?” Meme hefted the jug higher. “Move,
now
.”

“What if I don’t?” Elizabeth eyed the other girl. “What are you going to do? You really going to beat my head in? You think you can take me?”

“Do
not
try me,” Meme said. “That is still another’s body, and a weak one at that. I am taller, and have better reach. You would not be taking me by surprise as you did Weber.”

“Meme?” Bode struggled to his feet. “What is this? Someone, please tell me what’s going on.”

“I just did, Bode.” Elizabeth’s gaze suddenly seemed to turn inward. “She’s waking up anyway. Listen, Bode, I don’t think she knows I’m here. Tell her it was Eric. Bode, remember the name:
Eric
. Tell her. She needs to know.”

“Who?” Bode asked.

“Did I say you could talk to him?” Meme shouted. “I said
quiet
!”

“Eric. Casey too.” Hands up, face intent, Elizabeth kept an eye on Meme and another on Bode. “Rima and even Lizzie, we’re
here
 …”

“Rima?”
Bode said, as Meme cried, “Last warning!”

“We’re
here
, we’re
stains
!
Shadows
!” Elizabeth shouted. “Tell her, Bode! She has to know, she has to—”

“Not another word!” Starting forward, Meme would’ve swung if Bode hadn’t sprung up to snatch at her waist with his good arm. “How
dare
you?” Snarling, Meme rounded, jug upraised to strike. “Take your hands
off
 …”

“Then
stop
!” Bode shouted, his face an inch from hers. “Ain’t there been enough killing?”

“But you do
not
understand what
that
is!
I
am not even certain!”

“Then
tell
me what ya
think
.” He gave her shoulder a small shake. “But no more without just cause, no
more
! We’ve a dead
man here and more trouble to come without turning on one another.”