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Hare took over from Burke: “Fortunately, we were able to captureSpruce and his cohorts before Zeppelin got them away. The counthimself, I regret to say, eluded us. The Eugenicists are currentlybeing held in the Tower of London.”
“Why there?”
“We have a special security establishment below the olddungeons. It's where the likes of Darwin and Babbage would haveended up, had you not-um- dealt with them as you did. Isn't thatright, Mr. Burke?”
“Indeed, indeed, Mr. Hare.” Burke tapped the cactus. “Anyway,the point is, we can't allow material of this sort to fall intoforeign hands, least of all Prussian ones. The Bismarck Dynasty isattempting to unite the Germanic states in order to establish aEuropean Empire. If that comes to pass, it could lead to a war thelikes of which the world has never seen. We don't want them inpossession of weapons like this.”
“‘Tumultuous the change that comes,’” Burton quoted softly. “‘Astorm shall wipe many of thy soft-ski
“I beg your pardon, Captain?”
“Nothing. Just something I heard once.”
The storm will break early and you shall witness the end of agreat cycle and the horrifying birth pains of another; the past andthe future locked together in a terrible conflict.
He remembered his dream.
He remembered Countess Sabina.
He remembered that John Ha
He looked down at the cactus. “It's a weapon?”
“Yes,” said Hare. “You must be very, very careful with it. Carryit with you at all times and never allow it into the hands of yourenemies.”
“Allow me to demonstrate,” Burke said, picking up the cactus. Heheld it like a pistol. “Strangely comfortable in the hand,” henoted. “Slightly yielding to the grip yet solid and a good weight.You see this nodule here? Give that a tweak and the cactusimmediately goes into a defensive state. Inside, juices arecoagulating, forming sharp, venomous spines, and doing so in aninstant. Now, I'll just-” He aimed the cactus at the opposite walland pressed the trigger nodule. There came a sound- phut! -and anumber of spines suddenly appeared in the wall, their arrivala
“Great heavens!” Burton exclaimed. He crossed the room andcounted the projectiles. They had embedded themselves in thewallpaper perilously close to where a treasured framed miniature ofhis mother and father hung. There were seven, each about threeinches long, each gleaming wetly. He reached up to pull oneout.
“Don't touch!” Gregory Hare cried. “They're coated with atremendously potent resin. One drop of it on your skin and you'llfall unconscious in an instant and won't recover your wits forthree hours!”
“Bloody hell!”
“The venom will become harmless in five minutes or so.”
“The cactus has reloaded already,” Burke said, waving thepistol. “For as long as it's in a defensive state, it'll producespines continuously. You could fire this thing for hours on end andnever run out of ammunition! However-” he pinched the activatio
“Very cautious, Mr. Burke.”
“Take it, Captain,” Burke said. “It's yours. Be sure to soakthis end, with the roots, in water for a couple of hours eachweek.”
Burton returned to his visitors and took the proffered weapon.It felt strange, alive-which, he reminded himself, it was.
“If you'll pardon me raising what I'm sure is a sensitivesubject,” Burke said, “you've been responsible for a few deathssince taking on your current role. We understand why those deathsoccurred and we fully support you.”
Gregory Hare nodded his agreement. “Even in the case of SirCharles Babbage,” he said. “An execution which some might say wasunprovoked.”
Burton swallowed. “I must confess,” he said, quietly, “I haveasked myself over and over whether my action was justified. Did Icommit murder that day?”
“No!” Burke and Hare chorused.
“I was delirious with malaria. I wasn't in a fit state tojudge.”
“You judged correctly. We'd been following Babbage and his workfor some time. He was what we in our business classify as ‘adeveloping threat.’”
“This spine-shooter will ease the moral burden of your role,Captain Burton,” Hare added. “You can simply render your opponentsinsensible, then call us. We will remove them to a place ofsafekeeping where they'll be interrogated and, ultimately, ifpossible, rehabilitated.”
“That sounds strangely ominous.”
Neither of his visitors answered.
The clock began to chime eleven.
“Rabbit-ticklers!” Pox murmured.
Burton slipped the cactus gun into his pocket.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “I daresay this pistol,peculiar as it is, will prove most useful. Now, to business: youhave the papers?”
“Yes,” Burke answered.
“They will pass examination?”
“Even the most rigorous,” Hare replied.
“Then if you'd care to step into my dressing room, I'll make youup and fit you out with clothing more suited to asyluminspectors.”
Hare gave an audible gulp and glanced at Burke.
Burke cleared his throat and looked first to the right, then tothe left, then at Hare, and finally at Burton.
“I thought-” he mumbled. “I thought we might go like this.”
Burton gave a bark of laughter. “Trust me, chaps, if you stepinto Bedlam dressed like that, there's every chance that you'llnever step out again!”
Bethlem Royal Hospital.
First it was a priory, erected by the sisters and brethren ofthe Order of the Star of Bethlehem in the year 1247.
Then it became a hospital in 1337.
Twenty years later it started to treat the insane, if “treat” isthe appropriate word for what amounted to restraint andtorture.
In the 1600s it gained the nickname “Bedlam,” which was soon apart of everyday language, invoked to suggest uproar, confusion,and madness.
The 1700s saw it opening its doors to the public to allow themto point and laugh at the antics of the lunatics.
By the mid-1800s, measures had been taken to improve conditionsat the hospital, the principal one being its transference to newpremises.
It didn't take long for the huge new edifice to become a largerversion of what it had been before: a dark, brutal, malodorous,deafening, perilous, and squalid hellhole.
Sir Richard Francis Burton was standing in the midst of it.
The director of the hospital was a pale-faced man of averageheight and build. He possessed widely set brown eyes, closelycropped grey hair, and a small clipped mustache. Every few moments,a nervous tic distorted his mouth and pulled his head down to theright, causing him to grunt loudly. His name was Dr. HenryMonroe.
Accompanied by two male assistants, who wore suspiciouslystained leather aprons, he'd guided Burton, Burke, and Hare throughthe north, east, and south wings of the hospital and they were nowproceeding through a sequence of locked doors into the west. Theinspection had so far taken four hours. Four hours of screaming,wailing, roaring, moaning, babbling, snarling, hissing, sobbing,blaspheming, begging, threatening, despairing, cacophonousinsanity.
Burton felt that his own faculties might break down beneath thefoul stench and unending barrage of mania, and when he looked athis companions, he saw that the normally phlegmatic Burke and Harewere both showing signs of distress, too.
“Keep a grip,” he whispered into Hare's ear. “The person we'relooking for has to be in this wing. We'll not have to endure thispandemonium for too much longer.”
Hare looked at him balefully, leaned close, and said in a lowtone: “It's not the noise, Captain. It's this-this suit you'vesqueezed me into. Most unbecoming! Were it not for the cravat,which thank goodness you allowed me to wear, I would hardly feelmyself at all!”