This Monstrous Thing(63)
“Yes.”
“You’re much calmer than him.”
“I’m not my brother.”
“That’s quite clear. Though, based on the incident two nights ago, I don’t believe your brother is your brother anymore.” He started to pace again, back and forth like a swinging pendulum. The cross on his watch chain bounced against his waistcoat with every step. “When I first heard rumors of the resurrected man, I discounted them as fanatical ravings. I even read that book—Frankenstein, isn’t that what it’s called?—and thought there was no chance any of it was real. No deed could be so unnatural as the resurrection of a human being with clockwork and circuitry.”
I made a noise before I could stop myself—something halfway between a laugh and a snarl.
Jiroux stopped again and glanced at me over his shoulder. “Are you a churchgoing man, Mr. Finch?” When I didn’t answer, he nodded and said, “No, I didn’t expect someone like you would be.”
Someone like you—he said it without any trace of mockery. It sounded like he pitied me. I bit the inside of my cheek.
“But I hope you at least know the story of creation,” he went on. “On the sixth day, God created man in His own image. So why do you and the other mechanics who share your work feel that you can improve upon His design with the addition of clockwork pieces? Do you think you are equal to God?” He rubbed the gold cross between his fingers, then looked me dead in the eye. “The Bible is clear on the subject, Mr. Finch: men with mechanical parts and those who make them such spit in the face of the divine creator. And that’s damnation.”
I thought that was shit logic, from someone who’d never seen a body in broken pieces, but I didn’t dare tell him so when I was chained to a chair.
“We have been unable to capture your brother and the young woman who assisted his escape,” Jiroux continued, “but we’re certain that when they left the castle, they returned to Geneva. Oliver Finch can’t be allowed to roam free in the city. He is a threat to the general safety and a rallying point to an already unruly subset of our population. If the public becomes aware of the presence of Frankenstein’s monster, it’s likely to cause a panic.”
“I don’t know where Oliver is,” I said, but he pressed on like he hadn’t heard.
“Our force has never dealt with anything quite like this before. Dr. Geisler told us your brother’s clockwork parts had given him some superhuman qualities that would make him hard to capture and detain, but I hardly expected—”
“Geisler didn’t know anything,” I interrupted, the venom rising in my voice.
“He led us to you and your brother,” Jiroux replied, and the corners of his mouth turned up. It might have been a smile, but on his face it looked like a sneer. “So it would appear he wasn’t entirely ignorant.”
Of course it had been Geisler who’d told them about us, just like Clémence had said he would. I cursed myself for not being more careful when we’d gone to the castle, not trusting that gut feeling that someone was following us. “There’s no special way to find Oliver,” I said. “He’s just a man on the run.”
“Well, now that we’re in possession of the Clock Breakers—”
“The what?”
“Geisler’s automaton soldiers. They were confiscated when he was arrested. He told us he called them Clock Breakers.”
A shiver went through me with the name. “You’re going to use them to catch Oliver?”
“Geisler informed us that he designed them specifically for capturing and restraining mechanical men, in case his own experiments got out of hand. But now that Geisler has left us, the Clock Breakers are the property of the police. I have no doubt they’ll be a valuable asset to our force, both for detaining your brother and for keeping the city’s clockwork population in line.”
I thought of Depace’s wagon outside the house the morning we left. It hadn’t been bodies in the coffins—it had been the automatons. Clock Breakers made for Oliver. “So what do you want from me?” I asked. “You’ve got your mechanical soldiers. What can I do?”
“The automatons cannot find your brother for us,” Jiroux replied. “Without your help, we have no sure way of locating him. In spite of your protestations, you know him better than we do.”
The wound in my shoulder throbbed. “I don’t know where Oliver is, and even if I could find him, he wouldn’t come easier because of me.”
“Are you certain?” Jiroux reached into his greatcoat and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper, which he held up for me to see. It was the leaflet that had been in my pocket—the illustrated clockwork man with the words FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER LIVES! above it. “We think your brother has taken refuge with the group of radicals who call themselves Frankenstein’s Men. They’ve been a thorn in my force’s foot for a few weeks, but we’re afraid that with your brother’s added support they may be inspired toward increased action. And it seems you’ve been in contact with them as well.”
I swallowed the urge to curse.
“So we don’t know where they are,” Jiroux continued. “And we don’t know where your brother is. But I suspect you do, and if you help us, we’re prepared to reward you for your services.”