This Monstrous Thing(62)

“A day and a half, nearly. You were running a bad fever when they brought you here, and you lost a lot of blood.” She rubbed her hands along her skirt like she was trying to wipe something off them. “How much do you remember?”

“Too much. Geisler . . .”

“Is dead,” she finished.

The image of Oliver jamming the pliers into Geisler’s throat flashed before my eyes and for a moment I thought I might be sick. “And Oliver?”

“He got away.”

“He made it out?” I asked, and she nodded. “Bleeding hell—what about all the automatons? And the chief of police?”

“It was your friend, actually,” Mary said, her voice suddenly clipped. “What was her name?”

“Clémence.”

“Yes, Clémence. He got away with her.”

“God’s wounds.” I reached up for the bandages on my shoulder and began to tug them off, but Mary caught my hand. A tremor ran up my arm.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to see how good a prison surgeon’s sutures are.”

“It wasn’t a prison surgeon,” she said. “It was your father.”

I stopped. “My father? He’s here?”

“They brought him in to treat you, then took him back to his cell as soon as he was finished.”

“What about my mother?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“I want to see my father.”

“You need to rest,” she replied, some of the bossiness I remembered returning to her voice. “Sleep now, while you can. I don’t know how much peace they’ll give you once they know you’re awake.”

“I can’t sleep,” I said, finally succeeding in pulling myself into a sitting position with the assistance of the iron bed frame. “I need to find Oliver.”

“Alasdair.” Her hand caught mine, and she looked at me very seriously. I could feel the cold line of her wedding band against my skin. “They’re not going to let you go.”

There was a heavy thump on the door; then a moment later a stocky man in a blue policeman’s uniform entered. He looked from me sitting up in bed to Mary with her hand in mine, then cleared his throat. “I’m meant to collect Mr. Finch when he’s awake.”

Mary scowled. “He needs to rest.”

“Inspector Jiroux wants a word.”

“Well, the inspector can wait.” She glared at him, and he seemed to shrink a bit beneath it.

“I’m meant to bring him as soon as he’s awake.”

“He’s in no fit state—”

“I’m fine,” I said, and they both looked at me like they’d forgotten I was there.

The officer looked relieved as he crossed the room and unfastened the chain on my ankle from the wall. Mary stood up, scowling firmly at him all the while. “He needs rest,” she insisted.

“He said he’s fine.” The officer let the chain fall with a clatter. “Your clothes are under the bed,” he told me as he left. “Get dressed. I’ll be back in a minute.”


Mary helped me into my shirt and tied a sling around my arm to keep me from tearing the stitches in my shoulder. My boots had vanished, and I had to walk barefoot beside the stocky officer as he led me down the hallway beyond the infirmary. He hadn’t undone the manacle from my ankle, and the chain dragged behind me, clanking against the floor.

The officer steered me into a windowless room and shut the door behind us. Patches of the dark walls were stained darker by something I didn’t want to think about, and there was a single chair in the center, ancient and gouged but sturdy looking. It was bolted to the ground.

I sat down on it without being instructed. The officer fastened the chain on my ankle to one of the bolts. “Sorry about this,” he muttered. “It’s procedure.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. I wasn’t planning on running.

It was only a few minutes before the door opened and Inspector Jiroux strode through, dressed in a dark greatcoat and tall black boots that made me sick with envy. He stopped in front of me with his hands behind his back. His salty hair was ruffled and his face was puffy and pale, as though he hadn’t slept properly. I felt a surge of satisfaction as I imagined him turning the foothills upside down for Oliver and coming up empty.

Exhausted or not, when he spoke his voice was buoyant and strong. “Good morning, Mr. Finch.” When I didn’t reply, he added, “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Not in the mood for pleasantries, are we.”

“I’d like to know what’s going to happen to me,” I replied. “That’s all.”

He watched me for a moment, his smile so tight it trembled. “How direct,” he said, then began to walk in slow circles. “I’m not sure if you remember, but I knew your brother before he died. Or I should say, I knew of him. He had a reputation among the officers. We arrested him once for brawling at some pub. Isn’t that right?” He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I nodded. “It took three men to bring him in. We only wanted him to pay for the damage, but he was so cheeky. Then he bit one of my officers, so we held him overnight.” He stopped before me, his hands still behind his back. “Do you remember?”