9. The Constants of Existence

Holly stroked the girl’s thin hair as the carriage rocked and jostled them, hoping to give some small comfort to the urchin. Opposite her, Dr Vonken slouched against the lumpy seat cushions, his head turned toward the window, dark lenses concealing his eyes and thoughts. Little Betsy’s breathing was so wetly ragged that Holly had reason to reconsider her offer of hosting the girl through her illness. Yet she and the child now wore masks of Dustcrafted cloth covering mouths and noses to prevent spreading the contagion, and Vonken had lectured her for some minutes at the clinic on the necessary procedures to follow in caring for the sufferer. If I’m not prepared enough, well...surely there is something in the library concerning this sickness. She tried to stiffen her resolve with that idea; this was a known disease, studied for nearly an age by skilled physicians, and so certainly there would be volumes appertaining to it among the medical books her father had stocked. She hoped at least one or two of those books remained in the house, though she knew Mikael had sold off many of the more specialized books after their father’s death at a discount, merely to liquidate the contents of the imports warehouses. Wrinkling her nose, she mused, And all along I thought he was trying to be frugal in planning our future. He probably used the proceeds to pay off debts even then.

“If the smell offends you, use lavender sachets,” Vonken said, startling Holly. His apparent gaze remained turned to the passing cityscape, though it was difficult to determine whether he was actually interested in anything they saw as the carriage continued.

“That wasn’t what...” Holly gave up, disgusted. She changed the subject, keeping her voice low so as not to awaken the sleeping girl. “If anything, Doctor, I should say that you owe me an inventory of your intentions!” Seeing his head tilt slightly toward her, she added, “You have yet to explain to me why you feel leaving me in the dark as to my brother’s activities is a wise decision, other than the excuse of my gender.”

“If I thought you a frivolous, typical member of your sex,” he returned curtly, “we would not be sharing this carriage, Miss Autumnson. I would never leave one of my charges in the care of a flighty pullet.”

Holly struggled not to take immediate offense. Well, he perhaps meant it as something of a compliment... “Stop circling around the topic, Doctor Vonken. You owe me a full recounting of this alleged business venture with my brother. Why was he killed over the...you haven’t even told me what the devil it is!”

Vonken was glaring at her. She could feel it, even if she couldn’t see his eyes. “I owe you nothing. Except...” His tone softened a bit, perhaps as he considered the fragile child sleeping in Holly’s arms. “Except sincere thanks for undertaking this care.” He paused, and Holly tried to rephrase her demands more politely, but then he said, “You do understand she is going to die. Painfully.”

“You said you’d do all you could,” Holly argued, a flash of fear going through her. She didn’t know this little girl, knew nothing about her besides her sickness and the horrible poverty she’d lived in. She had no connection of blood or even class...and yet, some part of her rebelled against the idea of such a young innocent dying of such a bloody disease.

Vonken shook his head, one gloved hand rising halfheartedly in a gesture of helplessness. “Of course. But the disease is so far advanced...she’ll be lucky to die in warmth and comfort. At least you’re giving her that.” A grim smile lifted his moustache. “It’s likely the most kindness she’s ever known. Take some solace in that.”

“Is this your prescription, then?” Holly snapped. “To leave her in a soft bed at Autumn Hill, there to perish coughing on her own fouled blood?”

“I said I would see to her care! So I will. I will presume upon your continued hospitality to visit daily,” Vonken returned, his voice sharp although quiet. He took a long breath, gazing at the child. “I wish she had been brought to me at the first symptom. Then there might have been something...”

Remembering the sad tale her father had told of his older sister’s demise, Holly asked, “I thought consumption took longer...? Years, not weeks?”

Vonken’s lips tightened in anger. “Before the Cataclysm, yes. The Dust is omnipresent, you know. The rocks of the Interior have a greater concentration of it, but miniscule particles were scattered to the four winds. You’ve breathed as much of it in your lifetime as would kill a man if inhaled all at once.” His voice shifted into curiosity. “By the by, Miss Autumnson, how did you come to bear such a deep supply of greenfire?”

“What are you talking about?” Holly briefly wondered if Mikael had somehow stored up the frightening energy somewhere in the house without her knowing. In a mere day she’d completely revised her ideas of her hero-brother; he seemed capable of any sort of deception now, after the revelations of last night...

“When I reached into you...your core, your soul, if one uses the terminology of the pious...I found a surprising amount of power. Far more than most ordinary people possess.” Vonken frowned. “Are you a Dust-addict?”

Scandalous stories of such depraved and lost individuals sometimes cropped up in the morning Standard, always in conjunction with some terrible crime, as in “the assault and murder of the Watchman was carried out by a fiend in the grips of Dust-addiction;” etc. Holly bristled. “Certainly not!”

“Hm. I didn’t think so; you have none of the smell about you.”

Ignoring his strange dismissal, she asked, “Why would I have...more of this energy inside me than others? Is it because...” She blushed. “Because I am not yet...not yet married?”

Vonken chuckled, quickly stifling it when Betsy murmured and stirred. “As far as I know, Miss Autumnson, unicorns and Dust-virgins are both utter myth.”

Holly felt her cheeks reddening even worse, but pressed the point. “How many people have you done that to? Perhaps you’ve just not encountered someone...a woman as strong as I before.”

“Understatement,” Vonken murmured, but before Holly could decide how to answer that, Betsy blinked and looked around in slow bewilderment. He leaned forward, though he didn’t try to touch her. “How are you feeling, dear?”

The girl seemed uneasy, looking from Vonken’s dark goggles to Holly’s worried gaze. She nestled weakly farther into Holly’s arms. “Tired...”

“We’re going to my home,” Holly said, and attempted a smile for the child. “You’ll be able to sleep in a nice bed, and I’ll make you the best broth you’ve ever had.” She’d never had reason to cook before a fortnight ago, and had never supped on mere broth; the pleasures of the table at Autumn Hill had been simple by Society standards, but far above the meager crab-broth and greens which made up the majority of the diet in Wharfside. However, Vonken had insisted on clear soups and weak tea for his tiny patient, so broth she would make. It must be in one of the cookbooks somewhere...

“And can Tim and Frankie come visit and play?” Betsy asked. Dismayed, Holly glanced at Vonken, but his silence spoke the answer clearly enough.

Holly stroked the girl’s hair back from her pale, clammy brow. “Perhaps when you’re better, sweetheart. I have dollies, though...would you like to play dollies? I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time.” Betsy nodded, worried eyes flicking up to meet hers a moment before she subsided into weariness again.

“Don’t become too fond,” Vonken murmured.

Holly glared at him. “You can’t tell me you feel nothing for this child.”

He looked away, stroking the curl of his moustache. “Why are you really doing this, Miss Autumnson?”

Surprised, Holly stammered. “Why? I –because – I—“ She took a deep breath and tried to appear calm. “This child will die in misery if I don’t. You said yourself there is nowhere else she may recuperate.”

“She is not going to recuperate! Why would a young lady who’s never had to undertake a day’s responsibility in her life suddenly offer herself as a death-nurse?” Vonken’s intimidating lenses seemed fixed on her, as though he intended to carve a path into her mind with their expressionless darkness. “I am not going to tell you why your brother died. If you think this cruel ruse will—“

“Doctor Vonken, hold your tongue,” Holly snapped. The vehemence she felt surprised even her; Vonken froze, startled. “You will tell me more about my brother, and I will learn what all this subterfuge is about. But I’m not taking in this little girl merely to capitalize on your promised visits to my home.” She had thought, when she volunteered an hour ago, that having the doctor where she could question him might prove successful, and if it benefited a sick child, all the better...but simply holding the girl in her arms awhile, hearing those awful breaths as Betsy struggled to continue the paltry life she had, brought out a fierce side Holly hadn’t even known she possessed. Suddenly more sure of her own motives, she composed herself better, and finished: “You will come to my house, Doctor, and you will do your best to see to this girl’s survival...and if you don’t answer my questions about the rest, I will lodge a formal complaint with the Surgeon General about your behavior towards me...and start a whispering campaign among my Hillside neighbors.” She smiled at him challengingly.

Vonken huffed. “You’re threatening a Coldspark?”

“I am, at that, yes.”

She kept smiling at him, feeling a new sort of exhilaration. She’d defied his expectations at least twice now, and though she wasn’t sure what his puzzlement over the energy of her soul might augur, if it made him wary, all the better for her. Another thought occurred, and she voiced it: “Is it possible I am as well?”

“You? Hardly.” His well-groomed handlebar lifted in a sneer. “Don’t mistake the unusual amount of energy you harbor as equivalent to the natural talent and trained skill of an experienced Coldspark. You’re a...an anomaly. A mere vessel. Whereas Coldsparks take that aetheric charge and turn it to specific use.”

Holly flared in anger. “Your distaste of my sex makes you very much exactly like the common herd of Man.”

He snorted, dismissing her insult with a sharp gesture. “You forget, Coldsparks aren’t exclusively male, my dear. My issue is not with your gender but with your foolishness. Your curiosity may well get you killed if you don’t mind your own affairs.”

“Isn’t this my affair?” Holly demanded.

Vonken opened his mouth, thought better of it, and went back to staring out the window. Holly felt both still indignant and somewhat vindicated. She shifted her stiffening legs gently under the sleeping child. They glimpsed more private drives outside, as the carriage climbed from the city center into the forested hills. They must be close to the turn for Seventh Street now. Her thoughts wandered to practical matters. The turret bedroom might be best...she can look out at the trees, if I turn the bed toward the windows. And there’s a fireplace right there...although it’s a long walk to the kitchen...

Unexpectedly, Vonken spoke up. “You Society people, up here in your comfortable houses, above the stench of the factories, upwind and isolated...you have no idea who rules you. You still think your commerce sustains you.” Holly said nothing. Vonken watched the generous cottages give way to manors and grander estates, the houses half-hidden behind walls, with iron gates marking off each territory. “Ever since Villard rebuilt this city after the quakes of the Cataclysm, it’s all been  his empire. I don’t know which is worse: those of you who know who holds the reins and agreeably bow to him...or the ones who stubbornly remain in their shuttered, petty lives, refusing to acknowledge the facts.”

She gave this some thought. She’d never argued that Henry Villard, as Founder and sustaining force behind the city, was a power unquestioned. It had never been a subject of much debate or concern to her; not like the stuffy pedants at the University who had curtly rejected her application to join, even after she’d pestered her father to procure her a copy of the entrance exam – and bested it. Not like the street preachers who ranted against the emancipation of wives and daughters, so often made into workhorses for their husbands or fathers. Even the careless snobbery of her peers seemed a more immediate problem than how Villard was running the city; after all, Concordia prospered, didn’t it? Even while so much of the former nation, of the world, was all ruin?

Her voice was quiet when she finally answered. “Do you really believe he would kill me to obtain whatever Mikael tried to send here?”

Vonken’s tone was cold and definite. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He didn’t reply until the carriage turned up the brick drive to Autumn Hill. Then his voice was so low she had to lean forward to catch his words: “Because whomever controls that element will determine the future, for the benefit or enslavement of all mankind.”

She wanted to press him with more questions, but the carriage stopped. The driver yanked open the creaking door and Vonken jumped out, his boots crunching down on the driveway with a sound of finality. He held out his arms for the child. Holly hesitated only a moment before gently passing her over to him; Betsy mumbled a bit in her sleep but didn’t wake. Vonken immediately carried her to the shelter of the front portico, leaving Holly to pay the driver. She handed over the last silver coin in her purse and hurried after the doctor. As the wheels crumped over the bricks, the steam-carriage turning and chugging back down the steep drive, Holly complained, “I was under the impression that a gentleman paid for such necessities!”

“Whenever did I claim to be that variety of monster?” Vonken responded. He nodded at the door. “Since you know the counterphrase...”

Holly performed the same pulling, turning gesture she’d discovered by accident this morning, and said his name lightly, almost mockingly. The ward parted. She was so pleased by the frown on his face that she almost forgot to produce the brass key for the physical lock. Keeping her head up, she pointed to the staircase. “I thought the turret...?”

Vonken agreed with a nod, hefting the child more tightly against his broad coatfront to climb the stairs. Holly slipped around him to lead the way, her mind upon clean bed linens and spare quilts and whether the grate in that room had been cleaned well enough before Mrs Bottleby had been let go. Wouldn’t do to start a house fire, or suffocate the poor girl if the oil in the lamps is too congealed and smokes... She unlatched the stiff fastenings above the glass knob of the door and pushed it open, expecting to see a somewhat musty but cozy, serviceable bedroom ringed in by high windows. A dark shape moving in the middle of the room simply didn’t make sense, and she stopped in the doorway, confused.

Vonken swore quietly on her heels. “Could you warn me before your actions cause me to drop our patient?”

“I...” Holly blinked, trying to adjust her vision, but before her eyes could focus in the dim light creeping over the edges of the shutters, the dark thing rushed at her. Startled, she fell back, nearly colliding with Vonken; he swung Betsy aside. The voice gibbering nonsense at her in a low keening moan was horrible enough, but what truly frightened Holly when the thing burst into the lamplight of the hall were the wriggling, wormlike appendages reaching for her from the creature’s face...