From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(79)

"The campaign in Bhutan?" Marchbank asked. "I recall when you returned. You were…a different man."

"Twenty-five years ago. So many dead…my boys. It was supposed to be an easy battle against a weaker foe, but…it was a bloodbath."

"So you wanted to raise them, using a serum," I finished.

"It's too late for them, but not for others. Imagine if we had an army that kept rising and rising again. We wouldn't need fresh soldiers. So many lives could be spared. No more fine young men would be cut down."

His honorable reasons made it all so much more tragic. "Why now?" Lady Harcourt asked.

"I've been trying for years. No one has gotten close until Bell. Then you spoiled it, Witch, by convincing Lincoln to remove him."

"Bell wasn't close to producing a serum," I said.

"He was. He wrote to me only the other night, claiming he raised the body of Mannering, a recently deceased colleague."

"I raised Mannering."

Eastbrooke's lips parted. A trickle of sweat dripped into his eye and he blinked. "You?" he whispered.

"I meant why all the murdering now?" Lady Harcourt said. "If you hate supernaturals, why not kill them earlier? You've had years."

He licked his lips. "Because it wasn't until she appeared and Frankenstein sought her that I realized what could be done. He could use her to raise the dead himself. She was the key to his experiments. Her, and others like her. I had to eliminate all supernaturals who could be potentially used for such inhumane purposes."

"But you wanted to raise the dead too," I said. "How was Frankenstein doing anything different?"

"At least with me at the helm, the serum would be used for England, for defeating our enemies. Imagine if an unscrupulous monster perfected Frankenstein's experiments and then sold them to another country, along with the necromancer. Imagine what our enemies would do with such powerful magic. At least with a serum controlled by me, there would be no risk of rogue supernaturals selling themselves to the highest bidder. My serum would be kept here, safe, and used only in times of war."

"I am not a danger, General," I said with a sense of calm authority that surprised me. I felt anything but calm. "No more than anyone else. You cannot play God like that."

His nostrils flared. "Nor can you."

"Don't think we're going to let you go," Marchbank said. "There has to be punishment."

Gus stirred. His eyes opened and he muttered something that I couldn't hear. Eastbrooke looked down at him.

"Don't shoot!" Seth slowly, slowly approached them, the general's small gun still in his hand. He aimed it at Eastbrooke's chest. "There's no point. You kill him, and I'll kill you. It's as simple as that."

Eastbrooke blinked at Lincoln, lying in my arms. Tears dampened his eyes. "Get him a doctor. Tell him I'm sorry." He aimed the gun at his throat and pulled the trigger.

I closed my eyes just in time to avoid seeing the mess, but opened them again to watch the general's spirit drift out of his body and then form his shape in the air. He hovered there, staring down at Lincoln. My heart pinched.

"I'll tell him," I said to the spirit.

He glanced at me, nodded, then the mist dispersed and floated away. I let out a breath.

"Has he gone?" Lady Harcourt whispered, her lips trembling.

My imp shrunk to its normal cat size and nestled into my skirts with a soft mewl. "Go back," I told it. "Return and rest now."

The flash of light brightened the dark room, but only for an instant.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, girl," Gillingham snapped at me. Now that the danger was over, he stood like a peacock, his chest puffed out, his stance wide apart. He'd left his walking stick behind.

"Do be quiet," Marchbank said, sounding tired.

Dr. Fawkner rushed in and took in the bloody scene with a mixture of horror and curiosity. "You mentioned there'd been an accident," he said to Doyle, "but I hadn't expected this…chaos." He picked his way carefully through the mess to where I sat with Lincoln. Doyle nipped at the doctor's heels, carrying the medical bag that Lincoln kept in his rooms.

Fawkner bent over Lincoln while Seth rummaged through the bag and pulled out cloths. He lifted Gus's shirt and silently cleaned away the blood to inspect the wound. It didn't look deep, thank God.

"Will he be all right?" Lady Harcourt asked Fawkner.

"Hard to say." Fawkner opened Lincoln's jacket, waistcoat and shirt then inspected him. "The blow to the head must have been severe, but I can't see any other wounds."

"He be closest to the explosion," Cook said, pulling the general's dead body away. "Aside from Eastbrooke's driver." He nodded at the charred pantry, where perhaps the rest of the driver lay. I didn't want to look. "The blast's force pushed Fitzroy back into the wall, but that's all I saw before I got hit." He picked up a stool leg, as if that were the culprit. "Something must have hit Fitzroy in the head, too. Gus, now, he got shot before Fitzroy came in." He crouched beside Seth and clasped Gus's forearm. They exchanged grim smiles, perhaps relieved to see they'd both survived.

"It's not too bad," Seth said with cheerfulness that I didn't believe for a moment. He was as worried as the rest of us. "Stop looking for sympathy from the ladies."