10. A House Full of Strangers

The horrid creature lunged at Holly. Trapped in the narrow hall between it and Vonken, she reacted instinctually: she snatched up the first portable object at hand and swung hard at the monster. The blow jarred her back a step, but sent the monster reeling, and then she almost fell on her knees to keep Betsy from hitting the floor when Vonken thrust the child at her. The Coldspark pushed roughly past her, yelling “Terugkrijgen!” and gesturing sharply. Holly heard sounds of scuffling but couldn’t see into the dark turret room. She clung to the anxious child, despite Betsy’s feeble efforts to get away.

“Shh, it’s all right, it’s safe now,” Holly whispered, for her own comfort as much as the girl’s, when the grunts and thumps stopped abruptly. She flinched when light suddenly swept through the doorway, having to blink several times to see clearly. A ragged, man-sized figure lay motionless on the flower-patterned carpet. Vonken threw open another set of louvered blinds, and turned toward her; she could see his shoulders still heaving, the rush of the brief fight yet in his blood. “Is it safe?” she asked, peering from the doorway at the downed form.

“I’ll wager he won’t wake for hours,” Vonken said, striding across the room to rejoin them. He lifted his goggles to reveal eyes alight, and smiled at Betsy. “I’ve immobilized him. Don’t worry. Very nice right cross, Miss Autumnson.”

Holly looked at the object still clenched in her hand: a brass elephant, a knickknack from India, brought home by her father. Guiltily, she set it back upon an occasional table in the hall. “What is that thing?” she asked, glancing again at the monster. Small sparks of green energy crackled around its body, and it seemed drawn up awkwardly as if bound by ropes.

Vonken plucked a white kerchief from an inner pocket of his coat and wiped his gloves. “Judging by what’s left of his uniform, a Pilot of the Northern Pacific Airship Corps.” He gave her a hard, searching look. “You don’t recognize him?”

“I didn’t even realize it was a ‘him!’” Holly stepped slowly into the room, bringing a reluctant Betsy with her, cradling the child’s shoulders with one arm. “A Pilot? You mean a Kraken Pilot? But...I thought they never left their ship, once they were bonded...”

“They don’t,” Vonken agreed, thoughtfully stroking his moustache. He walked once around the unconscious creature...man, Holly corrected herself.

She ushered Betsy past the prisoner, toward the high, soft bed. “It’s all right now, dear...let’s get you comfortable. This will be your room now. I promise it’s much more cheery than it may look, at present...” She knew she should be setting the bedroom to rights, starting a fire in the chilly hearth, and perhaps a quick dusting, but this was hardly the homecoming she’d expected. She frowned at Vonken as she settled the child under the blankets. “Why should I recognize such a person?”

“He was saying something about a sister.”

She snorted. “Well, he’s no brother of mine!” Wait... “You don’t...you don’t think this is somehow connected to Mikael?”

Vonken gave her a serious look; his voice was subdued. “I’ve read the newspaper accounts of the expedition. The Krakenship and its crew were lost. Presumed dead...” He nudged the shoulder of the Pilot with the toe of his boot. “Presumed, only.”

Holly came closer, studying the frightening features. Tiny tentacles feebly twitched above the Pilot’s mouth, like a flesh-colored moustache come to life. It seemed chinless, and the cheeks stretched tight over pronounced bones, no longer quite resembling a human skull. At least his eyes are closed, she thought with a shudder. The glistening orbs of blackness she’d glimpsed when it entered the lamplight had made her recoil most of all. “Why would he come here?” she whispered.

“Perhaps your brother had a message for you, or perhaps...” Vonken knelt, and gently patted the tattered tunic and loose pantaloons the Pilot wore. He shook his head, rising again. “Nothing. If this man had the element, it must have been lost on his way back...or in the battle that cost him his mount.” He pursed his lips grimly. “Poor devil.”

“Is it a devil, Miss?” a tiny voice asked. Holly hastened to the bed, and stroked the child’s hair.

“No, sweetheart. It’s a Pilot from a Krakenship. I don’t know why he’s here, but don’t you worry about it. Here, let’s get this room warmed up.” She moved toward the small coal hearth, but Vonken muttered something and tossed a bright green spark at it without even looking. Instantly the old coal in the grate blazed up, and heat wafted across the room.

Holly folded her arms across her bosom. “Rather flash.”

Vonken ignored her jibe. He gestured at the Pilot. “Let’s suppose this is your brother’s expeditionary Pilot. He survives the downing of the ship, manages somehow to return to Concordia, and comes to your home, although presumably he’s never visited...” His head jerked up, alarmed. “How did he get past the wards?”

“Perhaps you left something undone?”

“I did not,” Vonken asserted, but he seemed unsure, eyes darting to the windows, the hearth, the door. “Moreover, assuming Villard’s minion is still keeping watch, this will have been reported by now. This is not favorable...”

“What about Betsy?” Holly realized, dismayed, she hadn’t even thought about Villard’s surveillance, as though she was some sort of wartime target, when she volunteered her home as a sickhouse. “Will they—“

“You’re a lonely young woman of Society who has decided to devote her time and resources to caring for the city’s unfortunates,” Vonken said. “Let them try to object to that! Further, it occurs to me that a home under quarantine may be exceptionally useful to us...” He shook his head, squinting at the ceiling. “How the blazes did he get in?”

“’Useful to us’? Does this mean, Doctor, you’ve agreed to finally—“ She broke off, indignant, when Vonken suddenly hurried from the room. “Doctor!”

He walked angrily up and down the second-floor hallways, head up, reminding Holly of a hound trying to get the scent of a vanished quarry. “No, they’re all intact,” he muttered. “Doors, windows, chimneys, attic...attic!”

“You didn’t go up to the attic,” Holly said.

“I’m aware of that!” he snarled, and began jerking open doors. “Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“The  blasted stairs, woman!”

Coldly, Holly opened a narrow door set right next to the linen closet. Vonken charged up the stairs revealed. Holly shouted after him, “Are you telling me your wonderful security measures left out the top of the house? That any rogue devoid of respect for my property could have just...” She paused, realizing there was no easy access to the attic windows from outside. Not unless one is a bird...but he did say that red-eyed man would climb a tree to keep watch, and that sycamore is rather close to the house on the north side... She heard thuds and creaking floorboards overhead, and then a whimper from the turret bedroom. I left her alone with that...person!

She hastened back to the child. Little Betsy, clutching the topmost blanket up to her chin, stared with wide eyes at the thing more Kraken than human as he struggled to sit up. Asleep for hours, my foot! Holly grabbed the brass elephant and stormed right to the feet of the Pilot, blocking his view of the bed. “You! Stay still unless you want another dose of this!” she snapped, waving the heavy trinket at him.

The Pilot subsided at once. Fathomless pools of eyes gazed straight at her, and Holly fought to match that soulless stare. “Simple answers. Nod for yes, shake your head for no. Do you understand me?” she demanded, proud that she kept her voice from trembling. The Pilot stared at her a moment, then gave a slow nod. She checked the aether bonds with which Vonken had trussed the Pilot, but except for rolling and wriggling as he’d done a moment ago, he seemed unable to move. She took a deep breath, forcing her nerves to settle. The miniature tentacles above his mouth writhed slowly; she saw one reach for the uppermost of the crackling bonds lashing his limbs against his body and jerk back well shy of the spark it set off.

“Miss?” Betsy asked. Holly looked back long enough to give the girl a strained smile.

“Don’t worry, Betsy. He’s tied up, and Dr Vonken is making sure there are no more...unpleasant surprises to deal with.”

“Sisser,” the Pilot gurgled. Startled, Holly took a step away from him. Bright black eyes shone in the afternoon light through the windows. He leaned to one side, trying to see around Holly from a supine position. “Sisser...?”

“Did you break into this house looking for me?” Holly asked, but the Pilot only glanced at her before straining to see the bed again. She moved to block his view, alarmed by his apparent interest in the child. Angry, she forgot her strategy of yes-or-no questions. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

Thumping footsteps announced the return of Vonken. He walked into the bedroom, displaying a very odd expression. “You have a dead man in your attic.”

“I what?”

“A dead man,” Vonken said, drawing the words out, “in...your...attic.”

Holly looked back at the Pilot, who still squirmed this way and that, unable to shift more than a few inches in either direction. “Do you think he...” She swallowed. “Who is it?”

“Blinky, I’m fairly sure.” Vonken shook his head. “I’m assuming so, given the retroscopic scanning lens still embedded in the skull...but I’ve never seen a corpse smothered in acidic ichor and apparently bitten to shreds like that before. And trust me when I say I have seen all manner of horrors sent back from the Interior.”

Holly fought back a tinge of nausea. “Bitten?” She glared at the Pilot, who hadn’t reacted at all to their words. She raised her voice at him: “Did you kill that man?”

The Pilot turned his head to regard Holly directly, unblinking. “Kill-in?”

Vonken murmured, “I don’t think he’s capable of real human speech anymore. They communicate through their thoughts with—“

“I read my brother’s papers, Doctor,” Holly interrupted. “I am well aware of how the Krakenpilots become more animal than man after long association with the creatures.”

Vonken raised one eyebrow at her. “Then don’t be so quick to judge. Our fellow here may have only been needing a snack, not acting in any maliciousness. Either way, he may have done us a favor.”

She stared at the physician, who seemed more impressed than horrified by what he’d found upstairs. “This...Pilot...murdered a man in my home and you call that a favor? Are you quite mad?”

“I’ve been called worse,” Vonken said, grinning briefly at her. He indicated the slowly twisting man on the carpet. “Think about it: Blinky was spying on you and sending reports back to Villard. Villard may realize by now his flunky has befallen some accident, but he won’t have any way of knowing that this particular Pilot is back in Concordia. The one person who may know what really happened...is right here, with us. We need to keep him safe, and devise a way to interrogate him.”

Holly smoothed back her hair, tucking a stray lock behind a hairpin. She was hardly concerned about her appearance right now, but the gesture helped her focus. “Are you implying we harbor this...this Pilot here?”

“Sisser...” the Pilot said, trying to peer around them.

Vonken frowned. “Wait. He’s not looking at you.” His gaze rose to the bed, where Betsy still curled in the covers, awake and anxious. “Betsy? Have you ever seen this man before? Did any of your brothers go into the Air Corps?”

The child shook her head emphatically, though it prompted a coughing fit. Holly quickly fetched a towel from the linen closet, and tried not to show her dismay at the spots of blood which showed against the fabric when the girl at last lay back in the pillows. “No sir,” Betsy whispered. “All my brothers and sisters are gone.”

Poor thing. She should have something to eat. Torn, Holly looked from her to the Pilot; Vonken crouched near him, studying him with a frown. She took a deep breath and voiced her worries aloud. “I really should find her some sustenance...but if this man killed Villard’s employee, no matter how odious that man was, he may not stay in this house!”

A sharp rapping from downstairs startled her. Vonken swiftly rose and joined her in peering through the blinds. Two enormous black horses shuffled uneasily in the front drive, tethered to an ornamented stone post. Vonken’s eyes met Holly’s. “We may not have a choice, my dear.”

“I am not your dear,” she snapped. “Oh, hell and damnation, the Watch!”

Vonken shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed it over a chair. He straightened his everyday grey coat and checked that the brass pin of the Order of Krampf was displayed correctly on his lapel. “I’ll deal with the Watch. You go start some tea and soup for the child.”

“But—“

“Do as I say,” Vonken barked, but then added, “Please.”

“But what about—“

“Miss Autumnson,” he broke in, taking her hands in his gloved ones, “Please: for once, no arguments, no questions, just follow my lead and I promise you things will be perfectly fine.” She stared angrily into those dark blue eyes, hating herself for the doubt welling up inside, the desire to hope he was right. The rapping sounded again at the front door. Finally Holly nodded, and he let her go. As she reluctantly left the room, she heard him reassuring Betsy: “Now then, my dear, say nothing of this. I know today has been a little scary for you, but trust me, you are safe here, no matter what shall come.” Footsteps across the room, and then: “As for you...”

She wanted to see what his solution could possibly be, but the Watch began banging on the door. They had the authority to attempt to break the wards by force, if necessary in cases of emergency. She raced down the stairs, shouting, “Just a moment, sirs!” This made them halt their pounding, and she turned the corner and ran to the kitchen. As an afterthought, she kicked the swinging door open again and dropped an iron on the floor to prop it there so she could hear better. She filled the kettle and stoked the smouldering belly of the huge stove, annoyed that for once Vonken wasn’t showing off his fire-starting skills.

As she hunted the pantry shelves for tinned crab and garlic, she heard the front door open, and Vonken addressing the men of the Watch. His greeting was too quiet for her to fully catch, but their response was loud: “We had a report of possible violence in this vicinity, sir. Came to check, see if all was well.”

Holly strained to hear, trying to remember in which of the books on the kitchen shelf she’d seen a broth recipe. She really had no idea what she was about here. She dumped two tins of Pacifica crabmeat into a pot and added some water and herbs. Voices rose from the front hall: “Well, I assure you, gentlemen, everything in this house is as it should be at present.”

“Well, you see, sir, the problem is—“

“Doctor.”

“Excuse me?”

“Doctor Darius Vonken.”

“I see. Doctor Vonken, isn’t this the Autumnson home?”

“It is. Now as I have much to tend to inside, I must wish you gentlemen good day.”

Holly remembered to set out a cup and saucer, and scooped a little of the Olympia black tea into the strainer. Will they really be put off so easily? Who called them? Of course, the answer was obvious: Villard. The stovetop heated slowly, and she paced, impatient.

“Well can we talk to Miss Autumnson? Y’see, we had a report of a possible break-in here.”

“Really. How ludicrous. You’ve wasted a trip up the hill, I’m afraid.”

“You understand, Doctor, it’s our job to investigate such reports. Especially in such a well-respected neighborhood...wouldn’t want the neighbors worryin’ about possible burglars...”

“As I said, utterly ludicrous.”

“Well, we still need to come in and have a look-see, I’m afraid.”

Holly froze, wondering what Vonken had done with the Pilot. The kettle began to whistle. The sound shook her into action, and she swiftly poured, then stirred the soup pot. A sick child needed some form of nutriment, after all, no matter what obstacles might be rearing up at present.

The Watchman doing all of the talking became more insistent. “Is Miss Autumnson here?”

“She is, but unavailable at the moment. Now, I’m sorry, but you cannot come in.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but since you’re not the owner of the house you don’t actually have the right to forbid us entry. If you’ll excuse us.”

Worried, Holly put a spoon with the teapot and cup on a small tray, and started for the front hall carrying it. Would they leave, if she insisted upon it? She thought she remembered some point of law which stated a member of the Watch had the right to enter any dwelling if the successful conclusion of his duty required it, and she’d heard of them barging into the tenements unopposed, but never a home of the gentry... As she neared the stairs, from the entry beyond she heard the man exclaim, “Out of the way, Doctor, or Serjeant Cavinall here will remove you!”

“He will not, on pains of breaking quarantine!”

“What?”

Holly hurried to the door. “Is there some problem, gentlemen?”

A bewildered, angry Watchman with broad shoulders and an equally large beard glared at her. “Are you Miss Autumnson?”

She stopped behind Vonken, careful not to spill the tea. “I am. What’s the trouble, Captain?” She wondered why he was staring at her mouth, and then remembered she was still wearing the Dustcrafted cloth mask Vonken had given her. It was so lightweight she’d nearly forgotten it.

“This house is under quarantine for White Plague, by my directive as a Surgeon of the Order of Krampf,” Vonken declared. He gestured at Holly. “I only brought one mask with me, sirs, but if you truly insist on inspecting the house, I suppose you may do so...at your own risk.”

“White Plague?” the serjeant spoke up. For all his bulk and youthful strength, his voice quavered a bit.

“Is this true? Are you...” the Watch Captain began hesitantly, still staring at Holly.

“Oh, not me,” Holly assured him. “I...there’s a child...”

“Miss Autumnson has today done our community a marvelous charity,” Vonken said, folding his hands primly in front of him. “She has volunteered her home as a sickhouse for an orphan from Wharfside, where the child may at least expire in comfort and warmth, and with loving attention.” A tight smile graced his lips a moment. “Do please ask around Wharfside regarding her? She may yet have some relation who hasn’t succumbed to the disease, and I certainly wish to start treatment on anyone else infected before we have another epidemic on our hands.”

Both the serjeant and the captain now slowly backed away from the open door. “We’ll...we’ll do that. How...how bad off is the tyke?”

“Likely terminal.” Vonken shook his head sadly. “But here she will have quiet, and rest, and comfort, and who knows? Perhaps she may recover.” He frowned, and seemed apologetic. “I only just arrived here to see to the child’s needs, and hadn’t yet erected the quarantine warning. Let me remedy that.” He stepped onto the porch, and Holly bit back a smile at seeing how the Watchmen flinched away from him, all pomposity of law gone. Vonken traced a symbol in the air, and the large X in a circle began to glow crimson. “There we are.”

The captain made one last attempt to fulfill his charge. “Miss, you haven’t seen anyone lurking around all suspicious lately, have you?”

She fought down the delicious urge to answer why yes, a shady character with a red-lensed eye was skulking around last night. “No. No, I certainly haven’t! I’m sure every criminal in Columbia knows this neighborhood is amply patrolled by your men, though, Captain.”

“Right,” the captain said, and backed off the porch, hastily preceded by his subordinate. “Well. I hope your little orphan recovers, Miss Autumnson.”

“Thank you, Captain. I trust you’ll be diligent in searching Wharfside?”

“Searching...? Oh. Oh yes! Of course.” The captain touched a finger to his cap, and mounted up. The horses whickered and stamped their feet, eager to be away from Coldspark activity. “Good day to you both.”

The relief Holly felt as the Watch rode away was quashed by Vonken’s scowl. “Are you letting that tea go cold? What’s the matter with you? I swear there’s no common sense in anyone living in Hillside.” He shut the door and bolted it. “At least now there’s no danger of anyone searching the house! Even Villard’s goons will be wary of coming within an hundred paces.”

“Is Betsy safe? What did you do with the Pilot?”

Vonken sniffed the air. “Is that burning crab?”

“Oh, god – the broth!”

“I’ll see to it. Take her the tea.” Vonken strode back through the house. In a huff, Holly carried the tea tray upstairs. I am becoming extremely tired of that man presuming to order me about like a tavern wench! She found Betsy resting more comfortably in bed, and no sign of the Krakenpilot. She sat on the side of the bed, and the girl opened tired eyes.

“Are the coppers gone?”

Holly paused in pouring the tea, taken aback. “Yes...yes, they’ve gone.” She managed a smile for the girl. “Here, see if you can sit up a little.” She assisted the child to lean forward, and repositioned the pillows to support her while she sipped the tea. “I suppose you haven’t had very good experiences with the Watch,” Holly mused.

Betsy shook her head. “They chase us out’a places, even when they’re empty and don’t belong to no one.” She blinked up at Holly. “Can I really stay here?”

“Yes, of course you can.” Holly felt a pang in her chest at the doubting tone in the child’s voice. “You’ll find I always say exactly what I mean...except perhaps where the coppers are concerned.” She shared a grin with the girl, but Betsy’s faded first.

“I heard what you‘n the doctor talked about. ‘Bout me not getting better.” When Holly began to protest, Betsy carefully brushed her limp hair from her brow, a look of calm acceptance giving her gravity beyond her years. “It’s okay, Miss. I want to thank you for this. Bringing me here...but you don’t get sick yourself, all right? My Pa took sick’t first...” She fell silent. Holly imagined a crowded, desperate family all catching this illness and dying, one after another, until only this girl lingered. Before the Cataclysm, this would have taken years...time enough to stop it, perhaps; time enough to save them... Struck for the first time by the direct human cost of the planetary tragedy, Holly felt tears stinging her eyes. Betsy reached for her hand, and Holly gave her it at once. Tiny fingers weakly squeezed her own. “Oh, don’t cry, Miss, I’m sorry!”

Holly choked. “You...you have nothing to apologize for, dear. Dr Vonken will do all he can, and I’m sure you will indeed get better.” She saw him entering the room, bearing a steaming bowl. “Look here, we’ve made you some soup! I’m sure with all this attention, you’ll be up and playing again in very good time.” She smiled again, and whether she sensed its forcedness or not, Betsy smiled back. She was able to lift the spoon herself, and supped, which gave Holly a little hope.

Vonken frowned. “Who taught you to make broth?”

Holly tried not to visibly rile. She suspected he enjoyed raising her ire. “No one. I read it in a cooking book.”

He snorted. “Had you bothered with any practical experience, you’d know that broth, by definition, has the meat strained out of it. I’m also surprised you chose crab, considering your adventure with the same species this morning.”

“Eating the things which wanted to eat me seems rather a fitting revenge,” she returned evenly. “Now tell me what you did with—“

“Under the bed.”

Holly looked down, just in time to see a couple of pinkish wormlike things trying to curl around her ankle. She managed not to shriek, though she did vacate the side of the bed in a hurry. Vonken leaned down, took hold of the bound Pilot, and dragged him out. “Not a sound. Good man. We may yet reach an accord.”

“You don’t still propose to keep him here!”

Vonken shrugged, and hauled the Pilot to his feet. Black eyes fastened on Betsy; she stared back, spoon frozen at her lips. “Sisser...na will?” the Pilot croaked. He didn’t resist as Vonken marched him across the room, though those strange eyes never left the girl in the bed.

“Sister not well,” Vonken agreed. “Sister has plague. Let’s find you another room, hm?”

Holly tried again, following the doctor and keeping her tone calm for the child’s sake. “You cannot possibly think I will feel at all safe if this murderer is allowed to...”

Vonken halted, irritated. “What do you propose? Even though we’ll be spared a house search now, I guarantee you Villard will post another spy in some form, if he hasn’t already. I know of no trick to render this man invisible, so unless you’ve come across some arcane spell in all those books of yours, we haven’t much choice! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s locked in and restrained. Get him some food, and perhaps he’ll recover enough health to talk to us properly.”

“Recover? He’s ill?” Holly shook her head. “How can you tell?”

“Sarcasm does not become you, my dear. He’s exhausted and traumatized. I doubt he would have killed Blinky in his normal state; Pilots are known, on the whole, for their calm under fire.” Vonken headed for the attic door. “I saw a cot up there, and it’s warm, and he might prefer a view of the sky. Bring more of that tea, and the crab I left in the kitchen.”

Holly pointed out the other problem. “The attic? But...what about the...the body?”

Vonken paused with his prisoner on the stairs up, then looked brightly down at her. “Do you have a basement?”

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...

8. Making the Rounds

The clangor of the alarm bell cut through the list of needed supplies that Dr Darius Vonken had been making in his mind. Breaking into a run, he rounded the corner, expecting to have to chase the damned crabs away from the clinic again – Third time this year! Blast it, why don’t they install wards as I advised up there? – but instead confronted a more immediate crisis in the street: a young woman in black frantically swung a cane at a group of glittering black Cryptolithodes nigerus letus. The crabs clattered their claws uncertainly, but would certainly charge her in an instant. Vonken ran at them, thrusting forward his Coldspark talent like an aetheric net straight into their mass. The lead row toppled, but an hundred more surged forward. The young woman screamed, desperately slapping two of them with the cane, but her best effort only knocked them into their fellows pressing up from behind. Vonken dropped his doctor’s satchel, sucking in a breath sharply as he drew the Dust-energy of the horde of crabs into himself. It felt tainted, and salt and grime overwhelmed his thoughts as much as if he’d been able to smell them physically. Grimacing, he shouted, “Out of the way!” The woman turned, and he felt a moment of shock, of recognition, of anger; but then she dove to one side. Vonken threw the gathered energy at the crabs. Two or three dozen of them bowled over, carapaces shattering against the cobbles, legs crunching, high-pitched screeees making him wince.

The remainder of the horde milled about, not sure what had just happened, beginning to grow dazed as their gills slowly dried. Not fast enough, Vonken thought, and gestured at the street, the buildings, trying to draw in any speck of Dust-caused energy anywhere in the vicinity. He swept his arms toward his chest, conscious of the scant resources in this poor street; the river behind them certainly had more power to offer, but he was loathe to gather that poisoned sludge into his body. Especially this body. He’d worked too hard to ruin this over a simple crustacean attack! Irritated, he saw the crabs regrouping; all that could stand were orienting on him...and on the young woman who’d scrambled to her feet behind him.

“I need your energy,” he snapped at her. Holly Autumnson stared at him as if he’d spoken gibberish. He beckoned impatiently. “If you want to continue life with all your natural limbs, let me take it!” She looked from the clicking, lunging crabs to him, and quickly nodded.

Vonken reached into her with his mind, ignoring the swirl of emotion he found. Emotions distracted. Roughly he yanked out the power he found coiled in her core, surprised at the amount of it. Every person alive had a small inner reservoir of Dust-caused energy, but all save his fellow Coldsparks had no idea how to use it, much less any awareness of its existence. Miss Autumnson, however, possessed an abundance of it. He stopped himself from speculating on whether her brother’s ventures had contaminated her with Dust more than other residents of Concordia; time for that later. No finesse involved: he sucked up every bit of it and spewed it in a roar at the charging crabs.

Black, spiny limbs exploded in all directions. Stinking, sticky ichor splashed the nearby buildings, the front of Rumbaker’s especially. The ringing in his ears wasn’t quite loud enough to mask the clunks of shattered shells raining back down to the street. Vonken caught his breath, his pulse hammering, restraining the urge to expel the scones and cream he’d had for breakfast. He surveyed the carnage, checking to make sure nothing moved. To his dismay, he saw Miss Autumnson wasn’t moving either; she slumped just behind him in the street, unconscious. He wrapped his arms under hers and gently lifted her up, and she groaned, her head lolling, a long lock of soft dark hair slipping free of its pins.

“Oh for Dagon’s sake, Vonken!” Vonken looked over at the factory foreman standing disgustedly at the edge of the exploded crabs. “Didja really have to do that?”

Vonken replied curtly, forcing strength into his voice although it was hoarse after his bellow at the attacking monsters. “I have warned you more than once, Flanagan. Keep your blasted crabs in your factory, else I shall be forced to blast them!” He turned away as more of the workers crowded through the door, gaping and exclaiming at the ruin of so much of their supply. Miss Autumnson still wasn’t coming around. Vonken sighed, regretting his hasty decision to use all her power; the poor girl was going to have a devil of a headache. He didn’t feel too cheery, himself. Stolidly ignoring the cursing going on in the vicinity of the factory, he lifted the young lady against his chest and carried her carefully inside the clinic.

The nurse, one of the first constructs he’d built when he arrived in Concordia, made fussy motions as Vonken laid Miss Autumnson on the patients’ couch. Though it was no longer able to speak, it loosened the young lady’s corset and drew a warm blanket up to her pointed chin. “She fainted,” Vonken explained. He set his tall black hat upon a stand just inside the room, and opened his depleted physician’s satchel. “When she comes to, give her some of the willowbark tincture and send her home. Call the Watch for an escort.” The automaton nodded her copper head, at once moving to the pharmacy cabinet to retrieve a small phial of the tincture. Vonken looked through the boxes of supplies he’d brought down this morning from the hospital. “Blast it...Ratchet, have you seen the mercurous chloride? That idiot Calleux has got himself another case of French gout!” He stopped rummaging when the tall, rusting construct creaked over to him, holding out the very bottle he needed. “Ah. Thank you. Ever organized, my dear.” The greenlit eyes of the nurse flashed at him, meaning she was pleased with his compliment.

He’d built this first assistant along humanoid lines, and taught her manners and restraint; efficiency and a love of order she had developed on her own. He’d been forced to cannibalize her voice-box a couple of years back during a particularly trying time, needing the speech capability elsewhere, but Ratchet didn’t seem to mind being mute. He’d been promising her another larynx for some time now. Guiltily, he paused in his repacking of his satchel. “Whatever would I do without you here? You know, Dr Hodgson tells me you were invaluable in the amputation of the Brower boy’s leg this week.” The nurse gave one nod, returning to her sorting of bottles and packets of clean bandages into the cabinets covering one wall of the small surgery. Vonken patted her metal shoulder. “Now, it may take me the rest of the afternoon to finish my rounds, but if an emergency arises, turn on the beacon. I won’t be far.”

“Where are you going?” A weak voice, almost girlish, arrested his attention. How can she possibly be awake already? He turned to find Miss Autumnson groggily sitting up. One hand immediately went to her head. “Oooh.” She gave him a pained glare. “You didn’t say it was going to do that!”

Vonken took her wrist in his gloved hand, feeling her pulse, stronger than he’d expected after what he’d taken out of her. She looked askance at Ratchet. “You have an auto-matron for an assistant?”

“I find constructs often more honest and reliable than humankind,” Vonken replied mildly. He peered into her eyes; they showed only a little redness. Far less, in fact, than he’d displayed the first year or so he’d employed his Dust-given powers. “How do you feel, my dear?”

“As though a great tree fell upon my head,” she grumbled. Ratchet poured a neat spoonful of the willowbark tincture and offered it to her. Miss Autumnson eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“To counteract that tree.”

“Hmf.” She accepted the medicine, grimacing at its bitterness. Vonken continued stuffing items into his satchel. “Where are you going? I need to talk to you,” she said.

Vonken shook his head. “I have patients to attend, Miss Autumnson. I’ll have Ratchet summon the Watch for you, so you may have safe passage back to your home.” Struck suddenly again by the impossibility of her presence, he straightened his back and addressed her more directly. “How were you able to break my wards? Or did...someone else...” The thought that Villard might have an even more talented Coldspark in his employ was not one which had occurred to him before, but Miss Autumnson’s wan smirk reassured him even as it annoyed him.

“They’re still up, Doctor. I found the correct method of passing through them.” She scowled. “You might’ve told me how to get out! Did you expect me to sit like a caged sparrow and wait for you to return?”

“That was the general idea, yes.” Before she could protest further, he stepped closer, leaning over her to make his point. “You are damned fortunate to have found your way here without incident, I might add! What were you thinking, coming down Wharfside without even a guard? You could’ve been waylaid easily by any of the...the less savory populace here.” He wondered how on earth she’d managed to figure out his unconventional password spell, one he’d thought would prevent anyone but him from penetrating the wards. It was supposed to be simple, elegant, and impossible to simply guess.

“An army of berserk giant crabs doesn’t qualify as an incident?”

Vonken snorted. “Too common for remark, unfortunately.” He hefted the bag, ready to venture among the downtrodden for the second time today. “I don’t have time to chit-chat, Miss Autumnson. As you see, I am needed in this neighborhood.” Her blush pleased him; she’d caught the implication that it was her presence which was superfluous.

“Then I’m coming along,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. She slid off the couch, only then realizing her corset was loose. “Oh...”

“Ratchet, see to her needs,” Vonken commanded, and set his hat atop his head once more. He picked up his cane, but didn’t bother thanking her for returning it to him. At least it didn’t seem worse for wear after being used as a bludgeon against the crabs. He brushed the front of his charcoal-grey greatcoat, irritated at the tiny spots of crab ichor dotting it. Blast. Well, I can always dye the whole garment a deeper black, I suppose. He headed out, but hadn’t taken three steps before he heard the smart rapping of a lady’s boots on the street behind him. “Miss Autumnson, this is not suitable for a lady. You should go home.”

“Dr Vonken, you won’t be rid of me until I receive some answers,” Miss Autumnson said curtly, drawing abreast of him. She still appeared a bit pale, but was matching his stride despite her shorter legs. Vonken realized he wasn’t going to shake her, and perhaps it would be safer for her for him to allow her to tag along. He glanced at her through his habitual smoked spectacles: determination marked every line of her features, from her sharp little nose to the smooth, rounded brow; from firm, delicate jaw to the pout of her rosy lips. She didn’t seem to favor the garish painting of face the way many of the upper class now did; but then she was young, and rather isolated in her father’s manse on the hill. It made her appear innocent still, and he wondered just how much she’d seen of true life outside her refined neighborhood. To her credit, she’d come through half of Wharfside, apparently seeking him, and all on her own! Vonken quickly tempered his rising feeling of admiration; it wouldn’t do to show her any encouragement, or she’d think herself justified.

As he turned along a narrow, unpaved alleyway, he said, “I can’t imagine what you felt was so urgent that you risked your own safety, coming here.” The tenements crowded in overhead, four and five stories of teetering brick and salt-corroded mortar making the buildings lean toward each other at the top. Boarded-over windows did little to keep out the damp and the oncoming cold. He reminded himself it was time to mix extra doses of colocynthus, and to urge people to keep their living spaces as dry as possible to prevent pneumonia infections.

Miss Autumnson’s voice sounded subdued; she gazed up and around as they walked, and edged closer to him. “I...I didn’t know a Coldspark could take the very life energy of a person.” He could feel hers ebbing back, her pulse sensed easily now that he’d touched her. He felt as worn as a charwoman’s scrubbing rag, but made sure his steps trod with authority along the alley. In Wharfside, one ought never to appear weak... When he didn’t respond to her, she continued, “Have you done that often?”

“No.”

After a few more steps, she persisted, though quietly: “You could’ve warned me my head was going to hurt. And I feel as though...as though you’ve ripped something from my heart. As though it’s...empty.”

“That will pass.”

“But did you have to be so—“

“Miss Autumnson,” Vonken growled low, “would you rather have been torn apart like Rome before the Visigoths? I did what was required, no more, no less.” He continued on, taking a turn down an even narrower passage that anyone not familiar with the route would have completely missed, hidden as it was behind an overgrowth of curling black ivy. He paused long enough to hold the sooty vines away from Miss Autumnson’s unprotected head, gesturing her through, then dusting off his gloves against one another. Black ivy would cause severe itching on bare skin, although many of the urchins in the area seemed to have developed a partial immunity from constant exposure to it.

“Thank you,” Miss Autumnson murmured, and he gave her a curt nod. He made his way briskly between the crumbling hovels, heading for the home of his most recalcitrant patient. “Why didn’t Mikael ever tell me you and he had some sort of business partnership?” she asked, following directly in the wake of his long grey coat.

Vonken let out an irritated sigh. “I had asked him to keep our agreement discreet. Your brother had some unpleasant qualities, but happily the integrity of his word was—“

“So you told him not to tell me about something which has now ended up putting me in some sort of danger?”

“I do not know why he thought it would be prudent to send his discovery to you, my dear.”

Miss Autumnson continued badgering him. She must’ve been up hours pondering all this, he thought glumly. “He instructed you to look in ‘the usual place.’ Had you regularly been coming into my home for these secret projects, Dr Vonken?”

“It was, until recently, your brother’s home as well,” he argued.

“I find this lack of consideration on both your parts highly ungentlemanly! Is there anything in my house still which I should be aware of, whether you think it poses any danger or not?”

Vonken stopped, forcing her to halt just inches short of him. Clearly uncomfortable, she nevertheless stared coldly up at him, her mouth set in a pursed frown. “I am about to go into the home of a man whose dalliances with the Wharfside ladies have caused him some unpleasant consequences,” he told her. “I do not have time for your concerns, Miss Autumnson. I suggest you wait out here, as I’m sure your delicate sensibilities would be offended by the condition of my patient.”

“Why, is he covered in sores or pestilence?”

Vonken scowled at her flippant tone. He pulled down his green-grey lenses to fix her directly with a glare. The shadows of the alley didn’t hurt his eyes as the plain daylight did now, however overcast the weather. “He has syphilis, Miss Autumnson.” Satisfied with her blanch, he smiled. “Still want to accompany me?”

She swallowed, but braced her shoulders forward. “You won’t be rid of me yet, Doctor.”

“As you wish, then.” He knocked at a door made of nailed-together scraps of lumber. After a moment, a hoarse, accented voice called out.

“Get off, you mongrels! I have no money for you!” Something clattered within. “And if you try to force the door, I am waiting with mah rifle!”

“Gus, it’s Vonken. May I come in?”

“Oh!” More noises, and a dull thud, as of something heavy hitting the floor. “Oui, oui, come in!” Vonken gingerly pushed open the door; once, Gus had forgot to disarm the booby-trap of an iron balanced over the lintel, and the bruise took weeks to fully heal.

The single room, with old newsprint wedged into the cracks in the walls, stuffy from months without benefit of a sweeping and dim and smoky with krakenoil lamps, was fairly cozy for this district, but Miss Autumnson seemed taken aback. She waited just inside the door, shutting it behind her. Vonken watched her from the corner of his eye as he took the mercurous chloride and a clean dropper from his satchel; she seemed curious but possibly appalled at the dirty plates and empty bottles covering the small table, the crates used as seats, the ragged curtain thinly separating the bed and the chamber-pot from the rest of the room. Gus Calleux turned from using the pot, not bothering to button his trousers. “I think it’s not so bad this time; at least nothing is falling off...” He stopped, blinking blearily, upon seeing the young woman across the room. “Ahh! Vonken, your nurses get prettier every year! Did you finally give up on your ugly metal matron?”

“Ratchet is at the clinic, as always,” Vonken returned, gesturing for Calleux to sit on the bed so he could examine the man. “This is Miss Holly Autumnson. Miss Autumnson, Mr Gustavus Calleux, trapper and carouser.”

The old Frenchman laughed. “More of the latter, not so much of the former, I’m afraid.” He grinned at Miss Autumnson’s hesitant nod. “That’s a lovely sable you have on. One rarely finds the beasts now.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and Vonken grinned to himself. Would she actually attempt polite conversation under these circumstances? True to form, old Gus picked up a half-empty bottle of wine and gulped from it, ignoring Vonken’s ministrations below his loosened belt, rheumy eyes fixed on the young lady. “Do you...perhaps know where I might find a matching muff, Mr Calleux?” she asked; glancing over, Vonken saw she’d turned to face the door, her face flushed red. “Winter is almost upon us, and I haven’t anything suitable to warm my hands.”

Gus chortled. “Oh, oui, ma belle! I know something very warm you could—“

“Gus,” Vonken warned, though it was difficult to suppress a grin.

The Frenchman sighed. “Ah, I see, your new mistress, eh? Fine, fine, I behave.”

Miss Autumnson sounded as though she was straining to speak around a beehive in her throat. “I am merely an acquaintance of the doctor’s, sir.”

“Cover up, man; don’t you know how to comport yourself around a lady of quality?” Vonken chided Calleux. As the unrepentant old man tucked in his shirt and buttoned his trousers, Vonken held out the full dropper. “Open your mouth.”

“You sure I cannot have something sweeter?” Gus complained, but took his medicine. Vonken left the dropper in the bottle, on the battered dresser next to the bed.

“Take two dropperfuls of this morning and evening, and for heaven’s sake try to wash more often, Gus. And stay away from Miss Hattie’s!”

“I will, if you tell me where you found her,” Calleux said, his yellowed teeth bared happily beneath his white moustache. Vonken shook his head, but smiled with his back to Miss Autumnson.

“Hillside, my friend. Out of your range, I’m afraid.”

“A pity.” Gus leaned close, and whispered so loudly Vonken was sure Miss Autumnson heard: “Come back later and tell me what it’s like, eh? To slip your soldier into a sable fur that fine!”

“Take care, Gus.” Vonken started for the door, and Miss Autumnson hurried out ahead of him. She stood fuming in the chill air, wrapping her coat more tightly around her slender frame, as he checked to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind; Gus had once taken his pocketwatch and pawned it. Satisfied he had all he’d come with except the medicine he’d just dropped off, he headed up the alley again.

Behind him, she sounded decidedly angry. “How dare you imply I am some sort of concubine to that...that man!”

“I said nothing of the kind. Are you going to take offense at every character we encounter? If so, I recommend you stop your ears and put on blinders, and let me lead you like the mule you are, my dear.”

“That is absolutely enough!” He didn’t respond, walking on, when suddenly he felt a harsh yank inside his chest. Caught off-balance, he staggered, grabbing the nearest jutting corner. What the hell? The heartlink! Stunned, he looked back. Miss Autumnson strode toward him, brown eyes dark with anger, her hair falling free of its pins as a gust of wind forced its way through the alley. She appeared an angel of destruction bearing down on him, her coat blowing back, her hands clenched into fists, and Vonken stared at her in utter bewilderment. Did she just try to sever the heartlink? How in blazes—

“How dare you humiliate me in front of a filthy old reprobate?” she shouted, planting herself directly before him, fists on her waist. “I don’t care if you were useful to Mikael, I don’t care if you think you’ll best protect me by sending me back to my house without answering my questions; to be honest, Doctor, I really don’t care what you think!” She stretched on her toes to shout in his face; he felt her words blowing his moustache against his lip. “If you ever again treat me, or allow one of your patients to treat me, as less than a proper lady, I will have you reprimanded by the Krampf Surgeon General!”

Vonken touched his chest, his hand shaking. His heart still beat, and the aetheric connection to that other heart seemed secure, but for an instant he had felt... He searched her face, confused. Is she not even aware what she just did? But how...? Could that have been mere coincidence? If so, than what could...?

She kept glaring at him. “Am I quite clear, Dr Vonken?”

He drew himself to his full height again, deciding whatever had just happened, this girlish woman had no clue whatsoever. “Very, Miss Autumnson.” He hesitated. Perhaps an apology would prevent another such painful incident, whether intentional on her part or not. He inclined his head to her. “I am sorry to have caused you any distress. I did warn you that this was not a place suitable for a lady of Society.”

She continued to silently fume, her eyes boring into his even through the tinted lenses, it seemed. “If you can agree to disregard the low opinions of the inhabitants of Wharfside, I promise to curb my tongue,” he offered, and meant it. Perhaps hearing the sincerity in his tone, she nodded, and when he wordlessly resumed his mission, she once again followed him.

“Where are you going next?” she asked.

“To check on Mrs O’Leary, just in the next tenement. She lost an infant recently to the pox, and I’m concerned she may be coming down with it as well. You might wish to remain at a healthy distance.”

He glanced back, and saw her nod. She tried to put her hair back up, though she’d lost at least one pin, and the wind had picked up. Her veil was askew, revealing more of her clear forehead and light olive skin. Vonken recalled that Mikael had told him their mother had been of Spanish descent; that explained the lovely, dusky hair and eyes both siblings had. Trying to repair the breach of decorum, she asked as she walked, “How many patients do you have in Wharfside?”

Vonken spread his hands to both sides. “All of them...those willing to be treated, at least. Some people refuse to let a Coldspark anywhere near them. Dr Hodgson also tends the free clinic when he can, and Ratchet is always there to dole out simple remedies or set broken bones.”

“Free clinic? So none of your patients pay you?”

He shrugged. “Some of them bring crabs from the canneries. I don’t eat them, but Dr Hodgson says they reserve some of the choice bits for us. Other than that, one charwoman sends her two daughters over to help clean the clinic every fortnight, and when repairs are needed to the exterior we’re never short of hands.” He paused to offer his hand to her at a broken-down cart which had been left to rot or be scavenged in the middle of the path, and helped her step over it. “You see their circumstances, Miss Autumnson. Only someone with the mentality of a leech would ask for payment for services so essential to their bare existence.” He paused, listening. When Miss Autumnson began to speak again, he held up a hand to shush her. He thought he caught whispers from a burnt-out building on their right. Wind moaned through the empty windowframes on the ground floor. No...there is someone there. Hazarding a guess based on the pitch of a voice he could not quite catch, he called out, “Jeremy, didn’t your mother tell you it was rude to spy on people?”

Giggles confirmed his guess. The boy popped up, leaning his bare elbows on the sooty stones of the window-hole. Dirty blonde pigtails and bright eyes peeping over beside him told Vonken the boy’s sister had tagged along. “Hi Doc. Who’s she?” Jeremy asked without preamble.

Vonken gestured gallantly at his determined companion. “This is Miss Autumnson. She’s from Hillside, come to visit about a...a charity venture. May I present Jeremy Pfisher and his little sister Annabelle, local scamps.”

Jeremy laughed, never taking his curious gaze from Miss Autumnson. “Why’s she trompin’ through the alleys? Ain’t never seen a lady do that afore.”

Miss Autumnson reacted genteelly, as though used to chatting with half-clothed, soot-stained urchins every day. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Pfisher, Annabelle. I...decided to accompany the doctor on his rounds in order to see what assistance he required in his good works. Perhaps I and my sisters can help.”

Jeremy squinted. “You got sisters too? They’s a pain.”

“Hey!” little Annabelle squeaked, but then shyly hid behind her brother as they ventured out of the ruined tenement.

“I meant my sisters in charity,” Miss Autumnson explained, but the boy frowned.

Trying to get this encounter over with so he could continue to his next patient, Vonken asked, “Is there something you needed, Jeremy?”

“Yeah. It’s Betsy, Doc.” Jeremy’s lean face drew even narrower when he frowned worriedly. “She ain’t well. Been coughing, and some of it’s...red.”

Red? Consumption, again? Dismayed, Vonken immediately changed his priorities. He thought he’d eradicated it from this neighborhood earlier this year, but apparently not. “Show me. Now.” He quickened his pace to follow the boy scampering through the deserted building, climbing carefully up a mostly-burned-away stairwell. He intended to tell Miss Autumnson to wait on the ground floor and be quiet, but there she was, skirts tucked up in her sash, daintily picking her way up from crumbling step to step after them. Shaking his head, Vonken focused on his own risky ascent. A fall wouldn’t hurt him much, but there were things he’d rather not reveal.

At the top of the fourth floor, less damaged by whatever fire had gutted the place months back, Jeremy led the way to a door and rapped upon it five times in a specific pattern. Vonken memorized the knock for future reference, and removed his hat as he ducked inside after the children. Inside, he saw where several of the orphans must have been nesting for some time: discarded, moldy cushions and stained feather mattresses had been piled near the coal-hearth, where a single lump smouldered. Box-sides and other bits of lumber were nailed over the windows, but the chill seeped in everywhere. Angrily, Vonken gathered up a swirl of sparking energy from the remnants in the building, and cast it at the hearth. The coal blazed up in a green flame, and numerous pairs of wide eyes turned from it to him. Ignoring their reaction, he knelt on the mattresses. In the center, a tiny girl cocooned in old blankets lay. Behind him, he heard Miss Autumnson murmur, “Oh...” in sympathy.

He felt the girl’s clammy forehead, checked her weak pulse. Spots of red gleamed on her lips. “How long has she been like this?”

Jeremy answered; the other children, all younger than him and in similar poor dress and poor health, gathered in a semicircle closer to the greenfire, their need for warmth overcoming their trepidation, watching and listening carefully. “’Bout a month, Doc. I told her she shoulda gone to your clinic, but she was too afraid, and I couldn’t get no one to help me carry her.” The boy glared at his companions. “I told you he’d help!”

The girl woke at Vonken’s touch, and shied away from him, uttering a frightened moan. He shushed her gently, stroked her hair, and concentrated a tiny spark between his hands. The girl stared at the tiny ball of golden light as he rolled it easily along his fingers, and then he held it out to her. The girl gulped. “It’s okay, Betts,” Jeremy said. Vonken had used this same trick to gain the boy’s confidence two years ago, while treating him for a nasty gouge in the leg from a pike-hook. Uncertain, Betsy held out her palm, and Vonken gently transferred the tiny ball of Coldspark energy to her. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath at its unexpected warmth. Vonken smiled, and tapped the ball, making it break into a swirl of light which diffused around the girl.

Startled at first, she then began to smile when the warmth of it spread through her tiny body. She looked up at Vonken, this time with more acceptance. “Hello, Betsy,” he said. “I’m Dr Vonken. I’m going to see what I can do about this cough you’ve been having.” The girl nodded, and relaxed, and allowed him to check her pulse and put his stethoscope to her chest to listen to her lungs. It’s bad. I’ll be surprised if she lives out the week like this.

Jeremy, watching his expression closely, whispered, “How bad, Doc?”

Vonken sighed. “She needs a warm bed, Jeremy. Real food and a dry place to rest. And all of you should burn these cushions and find another place to bunk. This is contagious; you could all catch it if you don’t do as I say. Understand?” Frightened, several of them nodded, casting unhappy looks at the poor girl.

“Is it the White Plague?” Miss Autumnson asked. Vonken nodded, wiping his stethoscope with a flash of greenfire between his fingers. “Can you cure her?”

“I don’t know. It’s very advanced. This child should have been in the sanatorium months ago.” He turned to regard the huddled children. “I need to examine all of you. Anyone who’s been sleeping here.”

“Will Betsy die?” little Annabelle asked.

Vonken had no heart for lies to them. “She might. I’m sorry. I will do all I can. Now let me see each of you, please.” He beckoned, still kneeling. After a moment, Jeremy stepped forward, a brave look in his eyes. Vonken gave him a nod of thanks, and swiftly checked his tongue, his pulse, his breathing. “You’re fine. Come along, who’s next?” One by one, though some needed coaxing or even bullying from Jeremy, each child approached him to be examined. They were fascinated by the way he manipulated the aetheric energy to cleanse his stethoscope each time. One small boy wouldn’t stop crying, and Miss Autumnson crouched behind him, holding him still and whispering soothing words into his ear the whole time. Vonken put his tools away at last, thankful that only the one girl seemed to be infected. Yet. “All right. Now do as I’ve said: burn these mattresses, and better, find somewhere else to sleep from now on. If any of the rest of you begin coughing, or run a fever, or have chills, come to the free clinic at once, do you hear?” He looked around once, taking care to meet each of their eyes, his smoked lenses removed long enough to be sure each of them saw the serious cast of his own blue ones. “It is absolutely imperative that you see a doctor, either myself or Dr Hodgson, if you feel ill at all, as soon as you can. We will never turn you away, and we will help all we are able. Understand?”

Most of them nodded or murmured acquiescence, but then Jeremy argued: “But where we gonna bed down now, Doc? Big Leo’s been around a lot, and he...he ain’t real friendly to us. He hadn’t found us in here yet.”

“Big Leo?” Vonken rose to his feet, scowling. I thought the Watch had given him a good drubbing. Not enough of one. “He’s out of prison, is he?” At the scared little nods he received, Vonken’s expression darkened further. “You let me worry about Big Leo. All of you, scout out another place this very night. Here.” He shook a few coins from the soft purse hidden within his shirtwaist, handing them to Jeremy. “Buy some coal, and some broth. Go to Maddie May’s, she has the strongest broth in this part of Wharfside.”

“What about the girl?” Miss Autumnson asked.

Vonken wrapped the blankets more tightly around the child, who’d fallen asleep again, her breathing shallow. He hefted her up, worried at how light she felt. “I’ll see if the Granview Sanatorium has an extra bed.”

Miss Autumnson put a hand on his arm, alarmed. “Granview! But that’s where they take White Plague sufferers to...” Realizing her error, she shut her mouth, but the paleness on Jeremy’s face said he plainly understood what she’d been about to say. Trying again, she asked, “Is there no better place for her to...to recover?”

His voice soft and low, Vonken replied, “I do not have adequate facilities at my own home, and despite its name, All Souls’ won’t take children from the slums no matter how dire their circumstances. The only chance she has at all of survival is treatment at a place meant for this disease, where she can be tended constantly.”

“Bring her to my house.”

Vonken blinked at her, surprised. “Do you comprehend what this disease does?”

“I had an aunt who perished of it, before the Cataclysm. My father’s sister. He told me of her suffering.” Miss Autumnson’s gaze was steady, and he was startled to see actual compassion in it. Perhaps she could do some good here, after all, not just lip service to the cause like the rest of her ilk. “Can you treat her yourself?”

Trying to readjust his thoughts, Vonken looked at the peaceful face of the child in his arms. “I will begin administering the bacteriophagic serums, if you are to house her yourself, yes...but she may not recover, and you will have to destroy anything she coughs upon, and take precautions yourself to avoid contamination.”

She touched his arm, forcing his gaze to return to her serious dark eyes. “I...I have heard that a Coldspark can heal...”

Vonken frowned. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But I have read,” Miss Autumnson persisted, “Surely you are familiar with Jameson Millbush, the celebrated Coldspark? They say he cured a whole sanatorium in San Diego! Surely, with your talents, you could—“

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Vonken growled, moving away from the children, who listened eagerly. “That imbecile glory-hound Millbush didn’t heal those people, he cursed them!”

“All their symptoms vanished! The newspaper said –“

“The newspaper did not tell of what is happening to those poor bastards now, these months later,” Vonken hissed. “Right around now, they will be experiencing the aftereffects of that energy so foolishly poured into them! Do you know what an excess of greenfire does to the human body? Do you?” When she stared at him, bewildered, he reminded her roughly, “I have lived through those effects, seen the people around me begin to change, to grow extra limbs or go blind or have their very organs seep through their skin! The Dust energy affects each person differently, but too much of it in every case only leads to horror! Do you understand?” The room was silent, even the fire in the tiny hearth seeming muted. “I will never, never use my unasked-for gift thus. You saw what I did to the crabs. Now imagine that happening to this poor girl...but so slowly as to allow her to feel every tingling agony of it a hundred times before she perishes!”

Miss Autumnson shook her head, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry...I didn’t know...”

All the children were staring at him. Regretting his speech, Vonken carefully bundled Betsy in the blankets, making sure they wouldn’t come loose as he carried her even if the wind blew fierce. He lowered his protective spectacles once more, and gave the leader of the group a nod. “Jeremy. Please do as I’ve bid you. I’ll find Big Leo and have a little chat with him, man to man.”

The boy swallowed hard, but offered up: “Y’mean...troll to Coldspark?”

Vonken smiled. “If it comes to that. Yes.”

They left. Miss Autumnson preceded him down the half-destroyed stairs, glancing up in concern often, but he placed his feet cautiously and didn’t allow his grip on the girl to falter. In the upstairs hall above, his sensitive ears caught the frightened voice of one of the other children: “He’s scary.”

Jeremy replied, “Yeah, I know...but he’s on our side.”

Vonken couldn’t quite manage a smile. If they’re scared of me now, he thought, how much worse would it be if they knew all? Much worse. Especially if any of them thought to run and tell the Surgeon General.

Wrenching his mind from that ugly scenario, Vonken carried the sick child out of the chilly wreck of a building, and headed for the docks, where a hack might be procured to drive them to Autumn Hill. He was surprised at first at the light touch of Miss Autumnson on his arm, and looked down at her. She met his stare with a determined, silent one of her own, and he decided not to question her. She was helping, for now, and perhaps it was enough to use an ally wherever he could find one.

All alliances were temporary, he knew, but at least this one was so far interesting.