dragging the ground.
“Why, Lord Pembroke,” Adam said. “You bring such interesting gifts.”
“She’s been dead forty minutes, more or less.” Halliday was red-faced, and out of breath, but had a look of determination that Adam had seen in the mirror once or twice, before he’d had the good sense to get rid of all the mirrors in his living space. “Died from inhaling too much ether. Can you do what you promised?”
“It is possible, in theory.” He paused. “I have only actually accomplished it with dogs, and it’s hard to tell how much reason a dog retains after death, as they have precious little to start with. But I am eager to try with a human subject. Even a failure could be instructive. Bring her, and place her on my table.” He led the men down the brick-lined corridor to his laboratory, and they wrestled the woman’s lifeless body onto the same table where her sister of the streets had been so recently. Adam considered his tools. The bone saw, of course, but it might be better to prepare the nutrient bath first—
“If that’s all, gents, I’d best go report to Mr. Value,” Big Ben said. “Though I’m not sure what I’m reporting.”
“Tell him the killer got away, and that Mr. Adams is examining her body for evidence that might reveal the miscreant’s identity.”
“That is a tale that has the advantage of truth.” Adam pulled a leather apron on over his head. “You might wish to step away, gentlemen. Time is of the essence, so I must value haste over neatness.”
“I’m on my way then.” Big Ben gave Halliday a nod, cast a worried look at Adam, and hurried back down the tunnel. Adam didn’t bother to watch him go. Ben had sense enough to make sure the door—disguised as just another filthy bit of wall on the other side—was firmly closed. He’d been here before, carrying other victims, and not just those who’d fallen victim to this new murderer. Adam had been about his researches for a long time, and there were always dead young girls to be found in London.
Halliday stepped back, but didn’t turn away, watching with an interest that Adam perceived as more than morbid curiosity. Halliday was a man who sought to understand the world. He was a fool, of course, and ignorant, as all normal men with their pitifully short lives were when compared to Adam or his patron. (How hilarious it was that Halliday thought Value was Adam’s patron, when in truth Adam and Value both served the same, far greater master.) Still, Adam’s reflexive contempt was softened a bit by Halliday’s clear-eyed willingness to watch this procedure.
“You seem rather more sober today than you did yesterday, Lord Pembroke.” Adam busied himself preparing the nutrient bath, filling his largest glass vessel with the component fluids.
“I do enjoy a tipple from time to time, Mr. Adams, but when pursuing a murderer, it is best to keep one’s mind clear.”
“I did not say you seemed entirely sober, sir. The alcohol on your breath is merely fainter today.” The smell of the brandy appeared, to Adam, the color of pale green grass.
“A drink can give one the courage to pursue a murderer, too.” Halliday spoke without apparent shame. “You have a good sense of smell.”
“All my senses are highly developed. I was endowed by my creator with marvelous gifts.”
“Such modesty.”
“It is modesty, in fact. My gifts were given to me—I am due no credit for them.”
“I see. All glory to God, indeed. But surely you were the one who developed those… gifts. With hard work, and study? One does not attain all this”—to his credit, Halliday’s voice betrayed not a hint of sarcasm as he gestured at the dank subterranean laboratory—“without sustained and serious effort.”
“We are all just machines, Lord Pembroke. Created, presented with a certain set of initial conditions and constraints, and set on our courses, which we follow unerringly.”
“Surely you don’t believe we have no
“Why, Lord Pembroke,” Adam said. “You bring such interesting gifts.”
“She’s been dead forty minutes, more or less.” Halliday was red-faced, and out of breath, but had a look of determination that Adam had seen in the mirror once or twice, before he’d had the good sense to get rid of all the mirrors in his living space. “Died from inhaling too much ether. Can you do what you promised?”
“It is possible, in theory.” He paused. “I have only actually accomplished it with dogs, and it’s hard to tell how much reason a dog retains after death, as they have precious little to start with. But I am eager to try with a human subject. Even a failure could be instructive. Bring her, and place her on my table.” He led the men down the brick-lined corridor to his laboratory, and they wrestled the woman’s lifeless body onto the same table where her sister of the streets had been so recently. Adam considered his tools. The bone saw, of course, but it might be better to prepare the nutrient bath first—
“If that’s all, gents, I’d best go report to Mr. Value,” Big Ben said. “Though I’m not sure what I’m reporting.”
“Tell him the killer got away, and that Mr. Adams is examining her body for evidence that might reveal the miscreant’s identity.”
“That is a tale that has the advantage of truth.” Adam pulled a leather apron on over his head. “You might wish to step away, gentlemen. Time is of the essence, so I must value haste over neatness.”
“I’m on my way then.” Big Ben gave Halliday a nod, cast a worried look at Adam, and hurried back down the tunnel. Adam didn’t bother to watch him go. Ben had sense enough to make sure the door—disguised as just another filthy bit of wall on the other side—was firmly closed. He’d been here before, carrying other victims, and not just those who’d fallen victim to this new murderer. Adam had been about his researches for a long time, and there were always dead young girls to be found in London.
Halliday stepped back, but didn’t turn away, watching with an interest that Adam perceived as more than morbid curiosity. Halliday was a man who sought to understand the world. He was a fool, of course, and ignorant, as all normal men with their pitifully short lives were when compared to Adam or his patron. (How hilarious it was that Halliday thought Value was Adam’s patron, when in truth Adam and Value both served the same, far greater master.) Still, Adam’s reflexive contempt was softened a bit by Halliday’s clear-eyed willingness to watch this procedure.
“You seem rather more sober today than you did yesterday, Lord Pembroke.” Adam busied himself preparing the nutrient bath, filling his largest glass vessel with the component fluids.
“I do enjoy a tipple from time to time, Mr. Adams, but when pursuing a murderer, it is best to keep one’s mind clear.”
“I did not say you seemed entirely sober, sir. The alcohol on your breath is merely fainter today.” The smell of the brandy appeared, to Adam, the color of pale green grass.
“A drink can give one the courage to pursue a murderer, too.” Halliday spoke without apparent shame. “You have a good sense of smell.”
“All my senses are highly developed. I was endowed by my creator with marvelous gifts.”
“Such modesty.”
“It is modesty, in fact. My gifts were given to me—I am due no credit for them.”
“I see. All glory to God, indeed. But surely you were the one who developed those… gifts. With hard work, and study? One does not attain all this”—to his credit, Halliday’s voice betrayed not a hint of sarcasm as he gestured at the dank subterranean laboratory—“without sustained and serious effort.”
“We are all just machines, Lord Pembroke. Created, presented with a certain set of initial conditions and constraints, and set on our courses, which we follow unerringly.”
“Surely you don’t believe we have no
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