The Immorality Engine

CHAPTER
16

“Your Majesty will be pleased to know the incident has caused no lasting damage to the equipment.” Fabian stood from where he was crouching behind the Queen’s life-preserving chair. He ran his fingers along the length of the air hose, testing the connections, looking for any nicks or scratches in its smooth surface. He could hear her ragged breathing as the gas was forced in and out of her lungs, causing her chest to heave and deflate, heave and deflate, a constant, rhythmic sigh. This had to be the most prolonged death in all of human history, he mused with satisfaction, a glacial descent into obliteration and decay.

“We were already well aware of that fact, Physician. Otherwise we would already be dead.” Fabian winced. Victoria’s sarcasm was as sharp as a knife, and it cut him deeply. His right hand moved, as if by its own volition, hovering over the small hidden trapdoor in the brass frame of the chair where the switch resided.

The switch. He could pop the housing open and flick it now, instantly stilling her clockwork heart. It would be so easy. He dared himself to do it. The ticking of the tiny meters, the turning of the cogs-one flick of that switch, and an electric current would jolt through her fat, bloated body, and the equipment would seize. It would take only seconds for her to die, but there would be time enough for her to see the face of the one who had ended her life.

His hand lingered there over the switch, as it had a hundred times before. This time. No one would know. He would let her die, her lungs slowly deflating, her brain silently starving of oxygen. Her clockwork heart would freeze, and he would reclaim it from her, a souvenir, a reminder of the time that she had died. He would tell them all that he had done everything in his power, that he had fought for her life, tried desperately to stop her fading, but that the intruder had somehow damaged the machine and there was nothing he could have done to save her. So easy.

Fabian felt an overwhelming urge to do it, to bring an end to it all, right then and there. His fingers caressed the outer casing. The brass was cold to the touch.

“Come around where I can see you, Fabian,” her voice commanded.

He jumped back from the chair, startled. Did she suspect? She couldn’t possibly know about his little safety mechanism. Could she? What would she do if she were to discover it? His life would be forfeit. That much was certain. She would not-could not-tolerate such a risk to her survival. Whatever the reasons-of course he would tell her he’d only wanted to provide a euthanasia device in case it all became too much for her-she would utterly destroy him if she even suspected its existence.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Fabian. He took one last look at the air tanks. Yes, everything was in place. The intruder had barely had a chance to touch them before the Queen triggered the security measures and a bolt had shot from the chair, burying itself in his chest. He never even stood a chance.

Fabian circled around the seated monarch. He never enjoyed being this close to her. She stank. Not the subtle, sickly odour of an ageing woman, but rather the rank, wretched stench of festering decay. The chair provided the Queen with all the essentials of life, but many of her bodily functions persisted, and while nursemaids regularly attended to Victoria to sponge her down, the extent of his machinery meant that she could never truly be cleaned. Not only that, but the wounds he had opened in her chest to feed the air hoses into her collapsed lungs had never truly healed, becoming sore and pustulent beneath their wrappings.

The consequence of which-while none of her agents, visitors, or staff would ever dare react to it in her presence-was that she smelled like a pungent, rotten grapefruit.

Fabian stood before her and met her gaze, but immediately averted his eyes when he saw the admonishing glare she had fixed him with. He studied the floor by her feet.

“You seem quiet, Fabian. Tell us, what troubles you?” Her tone was mocking, patronising.

The very fact of your continued existence.

Your arrogance.

Your stench.

These were the things he longed to say, to shout into her fat, imperious face. These are what trouble me.

But his impulse to survive made the words stick in his throat, just as it had stilled his hand above the termination switch a matter of moments before. “Merely your health, Your Majesty. I was concerned to ensure your well-being, and whether the intruder’s actions had posed a lasting threat to your continuing safety,” was what he said instead.

Victoria grinned, showing her rotten teeth. “Admit it, Fabian. You are more concerned for your equipment than you are for us. We understand. We are not that different, you and we. We have a business arrangement.”

Fabian contemplated her words. No. This was a test. It would not do to rise to her manipulative insinuations. “Not at all, Your Majesty. You do me a discredit.”

Victoria laughed. “Perhaps,” she said cryptically.

Fabian smoothed the front of his shirt nervously. He needed to change the subject. “I was paid a visit by one of your agents this morning, Your Majesty.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow in interest.

“Sir Maurice Newbury,” he went on. “He called upon me at the Grayling Institute.”

Victoria looked immediately uncomfortable. “Did he have the Hobbes girl in tow? He usually drags her around behind him like a lapdog.”

Fabian shook his head. “Not that I am aware of, Majesty. If he did, he chose not to bring her into the building with him.”

Victoria gave an audible sigh of relief. “She must be kept away at all costs. She is useful to us where she is, and if she were to discover the truth about her sister’s… situation… we fear her usefulness would come to an end.”

God, she was cold. Fabian swallowed. “Very good, Your Majesty.”

Victoria gestured impatiently for him to continue. “So, Newbury? It seems he might be coming in from the cold.”

Fabian frowned. He didn’t know to what she was referring. “He’s busy with a murder enquiry, I gather.”

Victoria seemed animated by this development. “Yes, this Edwin Sykes matter. Duplicates, found at the scenes of two crimes. Are they yours, Fabian? Are they experiments gone awry? You said the machine had failed with every subject except the young Hobbes girl.” Her tone was accusing.

“No, Your Majesty. The duplicates were not from any of my experiments. What you say is true: The engine of life has produced nothing but lifeless carcasses for anyone but the Hobbes girl.”

Victoria frowned. “So tell me, Fabian, who else could be experimenting with duplication technology? We’d imagine it to be a rather small field of expertise.”

Fabian smiled. “Newbury mentioned Enoch Graves, Majesty. He quizzed me about the Bastion Society.”

“Ah, Sir Enoch. We should have put him down some time ago. His ceaseless dabbling in matters that do not concern him has become a most tiring distraction. We have already put a stop to his political aspirations.” She gave a wet, spluttering cough that drew her last word out into a long hiss. Fabian saw flecks of dark blood spattered on her lower lip. “Newbury will deal with him now,” she continued. “We have more pressing concerns.” She shifted in her chair, attempting, unsuccessfully, to reposition herself. Fabian thought about trying to help her, but he knew that would only result in more biting remarks. A few moments later, she gave up. “Tell us, Fabian, what of the prophecies?”

Fabian shuffled uncomfortably. He’d been expecting this, but talk of the Hobbes girl’s special talents always set him on edge. As a scientist, he was fascinated by the phenomenon, but he felt ill at ease every time he considered the facts. The girl could see into the future. He could not explain it. No matter how he tried, how hard he pushed Amelia, he could not find a rational explanation for her abilities. If he hadn’t known better, he would have written it off as a hoax, but he had seen the proof with his own eyes.

Fabian had spent long nights transcribing Amelia’s dreams, filling notebooks with her lucid rants, and sketching the visions she described. In time, he had witnessed those visions come to pass. It was remarkable. Truly remarkable. And it clearly had its origins in the realm of the supernatural, not the more knowable world of science. He feared he would never be able to uncover Amelia’s secrets, because he could not understand where her powers came from. They were outside his experience, more the fodder of priests and holy men than of medicine.

Yet Fabian couldn’t stop, couldn’t prevent himself from pushing further, from testing the boundaries, from experimenting on the girl. He needed to know what made her tick, just like the clockwork heart in Victoria’s chest. He needed to understand it. And he would not let go of the matter until he did.

Fabian realised the Queen was waiting for him to respond. “The prophecies remain the same, Your Majesty. Each and every one of them, no matter what I do, how many of them I create… the same thing, over and over. They talk of destruction, the engines of war. They talk of fire and death, of the tearing down of a great house. They talk of chaos and despair…” He trailed off.

Victoria nodded. “Our enemies move against us, Fabian. The intruder was just a warning. There is more to come. These prophecies-we believe they talk of the destruction of this palace, of our death. They must be prevented from coming true, at any cost.”

“What shall we do, Majesty?”

“The Royal Engineers have fortified the palace. The guard has been doubled. Scotland Yard is at our beck and call. We are resolute and impenetrable. A fortress. We are England, Doctor, and we shall not fall.” Victoria raised a hand to her mouth to wipe away the bloody spittle. “It has been most useful to have our suspicions confirmed by the Hobbes girl. Most useful indeed. We shall be ready for them when they come. We see great need of the girl’s talents in the dark times ahead.”

If she survives that long, Fabian thought. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. He was sweating again. He didn’t doubt the Queen’s words-she would be ready for the upstarts, and she would smite them with all the strength of a colossus for their impudence. But who would dare to go against the Queen? Who would be so foolish as to storm the palace? And what did they hope to achieve?

Victoria gave another racking cough, and Fabian saw her hand go to her mouth, saw blood dribbling through her fingers. He rushed forward, handing her a handkerchief to mop it away. “Majesty-you are not well. Allow me to assist you.”

Victoria waved him away with a low moan. He stepped back and realised that she was laughing. “We have not been well for a very long time, Dr. Fabian. A very long time indeed.” She spluttered again into the bundle of silk in her fist. “Leave us now. Go back to your little laboratory and continue with our experiments.” She turned away from him, wheezing and choking as she eased her chair away into the gloom.

Fabian seethed. How dare she dismiss him in such a fashion!

He stood, watching her retreat into the darkness at the rear of the audience chamber. For a moment, he felt a flash of empathy for whoever it was who was plotting her downfall. Let them come. Let them tear down the palace, brick by brick. Let them shatter her Empire and leave it crumbling in the dust.

Red faced and furious, he stormed from the room.