Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One (24 page)

It was the
only explanation I had at hand that could account for her
extraordinary and peculiar abilities.

Yet if Twincy
Quinn did gain her strength and speed and her heightened awareness
from the effect of machines, where exactly were they? For every
other human being I had come across who had devices merged with
their body, looked, quite frankly, like a monstrosity. The addition
to human flesh of metal and light and movement was always at odds
with nature. It was always obvious. It was always gross and
misplaced.

Twincy seemed
entirely normal, apart from her abilities, that is. Yet the way she
moved, though exceedingly quick and agile, did not match the jerky
movements of a machine.

Things were
starting to come together in my mind, however slowly.

Though I could
not be certain, it made sense to believe that modernity had
something to do with this, though I say modernity, I mean the
modernity of Doctor Elliot Esquire.

His vision of
the future.

As soon as I
thought of his name, my mind naturally filled in the equation with
Lord Ridley. Lord Ridley, after all, was the reason Doctor
Esquire’s inventions blessed London. Without Lord Ridley's
influence and money, Doctor Elliot Esquire would not have the
resources to do what he did. Neither would his inventions have the
acceptance they had. Ridley was a powerful, powerful man in the
community. If he said jump, every other Londoner jumped. And if he
told you with a straight face to accept Doctor Esquire's latest
invention, then you accepted it.

The two men
were more than known acquaintances; they were like peas in a pod.
Esquire's inventions helped to underscore the power of Ridley, and
Ridley's money helped to fund Esquire's inventions.

Yet that
brought one uncomfortable fact to mind.

This morning
Lord Ridley had looked me straight in the face and had outright
told me to bring any clues of Twincy Quinn directly to him.

In fact, he
had all but manufactured the story around her. And if not
manufactured in whole, he had certainly added all of the details.
Her appearance, her height, her build, and yes, her waist
circumference. And though I shouldn't perhaps remember this, I
could imagine the circumference given was almost exactly the one I
had seen this morning as the elusive Twincy had walked by my
side.

All of this
meant one thing. Lord Ridley had seen Twincy Quinn before, and
perhaps more than simply seen.

Did they know
each other?

More to the
point, did Twincy know Esquire?

If she really
did have devices that assisted her to do the amazing feats she
managed, then it was logical they came from Esquire. Though other
scientists worked on this new wave of technology, Esquire was the
most prominent by far.

I was still
stopped, virtually frozen, midway through a turn. Though now I let
my hands unclench from behind me. It was a stiff move, and I
suddenly realised that I had let my very short fingernails dig far
too deeply into my palm. Shaking my hand distractedly, I brought my
gaze up and stared at my small window.

I needed to
meet her again. I had to find her. I had to question her. That was
going to be the only way I was going to figure this out, right?

I also had to
do something else. Something I decided quickly, a decision I had
technically already made, yet one I now reaffirmed. There was no
way I was going to give Lord Ridley any clues to my case, and I
certainly wasn't going to share any information I gathered on
Twincy Quinn. I was not going to march up to his palatial house,
knock on the door, and whisper to his butler that I had met Twincy
Quinn that day, and I had held a conversation with her.

I would keep
that to myself.

Close to my
heart, as it were.

I glanced over
at the clock above my small mantelpiece.

I had 40
minutes. 40 minutes to finish getting dressed, march out the door,
and meet Miss Stanton at our agreed-upon destination.

A restaurant.
An extremely fine restaurant. A restaurant that served undoubtedly
marvellous food. Though when I had begun my day, I had assured
myself that my evening with Miss Elizabeth Stanton would make the
rest of the day's miseries worthwhile, now I almost did not want to
go. What I wanted to do was clamber into my old, but well-shined
shoes, and pound the streets of London.

Looking for
her.

With my head
turned up to the rooftops, I wanted to lie in wait, I wanted to
hunker down, because I wanted, no needed, to catch another glimpse
of her dresses flaring out in waves of fabric as she moved quickly
and easily over the slippery slate.

Of course I
couldn't though.

It was too
late to cancel my arrangement with Elizabeth, and I knew it would
probably dishearten her considerably.

So I forced
myself to reverse direction, allowed a moment of deep frustration
where I swore at my well-worn carpet, and then I headed for the
door.

Tonight I
would go out to dinner, and despite myself, I would honestly try to
enjoy Elizabeth’s company. I would let that cherub-like smile of
hers and her quick wit distract me from my considerable and
mounting problems.

Or at least
that was what I told myself. The rational, highly observant part of
my brain knew otherwise.

All thoughts
would turn from the real Miss Stanton to the fake one.

Twincy
Quinn.

She had my
attention, and she would not give it back.

Twincy
Quinn

Though I had
changed into my disguise hours ago, I still had not left the
rooftop. Unfortunately as I had almost clambered my way down, I had
realised the streets around were unusually busy. Though I had bided
my time and waited for an opportunity, I had quickly given in.
Succumbing to the fact I had to hunker down and wait for night, I
eventually curled into a little ball, forcing the glum frown off my
face as I distracted myself by playing with one of my sleeves.

Yet finally
night had fallen, and thankfully I had not driven myself insane by
numerous guilty thoughts rising unbidden from the depths of my
mind.

Waiting for
relative silence, I made my way down from the roof and landed
quickly and expertly. Then I patted my skirts, paused as I listened
to the street, and came out when I knew nobody was turned my way.
Then I seamlessly integrated with the pedestrians out walking the
streets at this hour, not that it was late of course. It was early
evening, yet dark enough that I was sure the shadow the brim of my
hat cast concealed my eyes.

I was
unusually cold. It was unusual, because the devices within me
managed to regulate my temperature. I was designed to be hardy. Yet
perhaps I was not cold because the devices were playing up.

Perhaps I was
cold because my emotions were getting the better of me. I usually
managed to control them, all too well. I detached from the world. I
did what I had to. And when I stopped doing what I had to, I went
back to my small room, sat in my rickety rocking chair, placed my
sole memory of my parents on my lap—my silver mirror—and I stared
out my window.

But right now
I could not be detached, so yes, I felt the cold. It was almost
like a numbing sensation. I fancied it was drawing up my back
slowly, and washing out from my heart with every beat. In fact,
several times I placed a hand on my chest, pressing my fingers
against the tight fabric, and trying to still that frozen sensation
within.

Why did I feel
this way? Was it guilt? Was it fear? Was I worried that Michael F.
Stanford knew who I was, was tracking me, and would soon find my
house, find the children, and return me to Doctor Esquire?

It was
unclear.

I simply did
not know. All I could do was feel the sensation, and try to chase
it away.

Walking
quickly, I decided it was best that I head home as fast as I
could.

Or at least
that was the plan.

I hardly made
it several blocks.

Then I felt
it. It was such a sudden sensation that it sent my back snapping
straight, my head angling forward, my eyes pressing open with a
powerful flick.

The devices.
The technology of Doctor Elliot Esquire. The sense of it was
pressing in on me, moving down like a blanket smothering me from
above.

They were here. The
suitables
.

Though not
right in front of me, I could tell they were close. Perilously
close.

I jerked my
head from left to right, scanning the street as quick as I
could.

It was a large street, and there were numerous pedestrians out
and about. In short, it was not the kind of street on which you
would find
suitables
at such an hour. They were secretive. Though by and by the
doctor and his creations were coming more and more into the
public's eye, even Esquire wasn't so brash as to let his monsters
run freely amongst the fine folk of London. Or at least not
yet.

Yet I couldn't
deny it: the sensation that run amok over my heart, through my
back, wheedling deep into my mind. I could feel his technology. And
it was close.

Acting on
instinct, my limbs moving automatically, I went to follow. I knew
my eyes were riveted wide open, the skin of my cheeks and brow
plastered tight and hard.

My footfall
was quick, possibly too quick for a lady dressed as I was. It
didn't matter though. Nobody stopped me, thankfully, and I quickly
made my way in the most direct route I could find towards that
sense of Esquire's technology.

I patted my
lips with one gloved hand, letting my fingers press into my cheek,
then trail down my neck and clutch at my throat. Exactly where my
pendant would have been. That necklace had been a marvellous
distraction today, but perhaps too marvellous. I would have to get
John to redesign it. Though that would be a pity, as it was a
stunning piece of jewellery, I certainly could not afford to have
what had happened today happen again.

Making my way
quickly and expertly, my heels clicked out loud with every
stride.

It took me a
while, but soon I realised where I was headed.

No, that could
not be the case, I quickly told myself.

I knew the
suitables
, and I liked to think I
knew Doctor Esquire even better. I understood how he operated. And
one thing he did was never return to the scene of the crime, and
that included with his foot soldiers. If he failed to pick up a
prospective suitable, he would usually leave it.

Usually being
the operative word, however. For I could think of a prime case
where the doctor had tried and tried again until he had kidnapped
the target he was after.

Me. He had
lured me in for several weeks. I had always been a skittish urchin,
after all, and I liked to think that even at a young age I had
possessed a great deal of street sense.

Still, as I ran forward, and began to recognise the route I
was taking, I realised the
suitables
where most likely heading
back to Jennifer Fairmont's abode. And if not Jennifer Fairmont,
then perhaps a child living nearby. Yet my gut instinct told me
that was not the case.

The
suitables
were going back for Jennifer.

This was not
ideal. In fact, this was far, far beyond ideal. I could not think
of a worse circumstance. I had already had a trying day, one where
I had almost been discovered. I was still in my fine clothes,
albeit turned inside out, but I could not guarantee that if I ran
into a certain Michael F. Stanford again he would fail to recognise
me. If I had the time, I would go home, I would change, and secure
some other disguise.

I did not have
the time.

As I ran
closer and closer, that sense of the doctor’s technology roared
louder and louder in my mind. It was hard to describe how it
sounded. A little like metal under strain, the screech of bolts
ripping out from a wall, the sound of wood splintering.

It was enough
to send sharp, continuous shivers racing down my spine.

I did not have
the luxury of stopping, clapping my hands over my eyes, breathing
into my palms, and attempting to calm myself. For the closer I
neared the Fairmont's house, the stronger that sense became.

I ran faster
now, and stuck to the alleyways and side streets, and when I could
not traverse them, I made my way as discreetly as I could through
the main roads.

It took longer
than I liked, but I finally reached it.

I was still on
the ground, on the street, which was a strange feeling for me. When
I did the majority of my hunting and watching, I did so from the
rooftops. Not only did they offer the perfect vantage, they offered
a sense of security no other place could. I felt alive and free up
there; I felt trapped and hunted down here.

When I turned
the large corner that led onto the wide street before Elizabeth's
house, I did not quite know what to expect.

It was still
early evening, and the weather was tame enough that there were many
people out strolling. Granted, the streets were hardly crowded, and
one could go a healthy few paces without spying anyone, but the
point was, there were witnesses.

I knew Doctor
Elliot Esquire, and I knew how much he hated witnesses.

He preferred
the shadows, and so did his foot soldiers. So why, in all that is
holy, could I see one of his foot soldiers now?

I locked my
eyes on its back. It was all the way across the street, heading
away from me as it neared the Fairmont house. It sent such a shiver
down my spine to watch it walk. It was a distracting move, and for
all but a second it kept me from realising something important. The
creature before me did not look normal. It did not have that
characteristic bend in its back, its arms didn't move like
disconnected string at its sides and neither did its head snap up
at the strangest angle, one that would forever strain and damage an
ordinary human neck.