Chapter Seventeen
James and Charlotte were almost out of Harbury Hall when the first screams reached their ears.
They stopped short, stared at each other and then turned to look back.
Smoke was beginning to seep into the rest of the building, and suddenly a crowd of coughing and crying guests erupted from the ballroom.
Shouts of “fire” added to the chaos, and James jumped at the hand landing hard on his shoulder. He turned to see Del frowning at him.
“Something’s happened, Inspector. I’m not sure what…”
“An explosion maybe. Who the hell knows what those two insane idiots cooked up…” Charlotte clenched her jaw, the muscles flickering in her cheek as she glanced at Del. “What can we do?”
“Don’t go back in there…that would be foolish.” Del frowned. “Look we need to get everyone out who can get out. I sent some of my men around to the terrace and they’ll get the windows open if they have to smash them. At least that’ll give some of the guests an escape.”
“And it’ll feed the fire too,” warned James.
“Can’t be helped. If we don’t do something, we’ll have God knows how many roasted people on our hands.”
“We can’t let that happen.” Charlotte straightened. “You and I will go around as well, James. I’ll try and get the women to come to where I am standing, I’ll scream at them if I have to. You help Del’s men get the male guests out. We’ll see if anyone is injured and…” She spun around. “Do you have medical officers with you?”
“A couple. They’re on their way.”
“Good.”
Charlotte seemed to have taken charge, so James gladly let her organize as much as she could as they all hurried out of Harbury and around the building to the side where the ballroom opened to the outdoors.
He couldn’t help his gasp as he saw the devastation.
The ballroom blazed; draperies ferrying the flames all the way up to the high ceiling. At the windows, the crush of people trying to flee was terrifying, accompanied as it was by the screams of those behind them as the fire caught them in its burning coils.
Smoke billowed upward into the still night, and the snow on the terrace was now a brilliant orange.
Many were already out, some just dirty and coughing, but others moaning in pain as they lay in the snow, welcoming the icy shock against the blistering damage of the fire.
“I’ll set up a spot for the injured, James. I hope some of the women will help…” Charlotte sped off to one side, climbing up on a cement bench. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Ladies…all ladies…to me. We need help with the injured…Ladies…” She repeated her cry, the words echoing over the sound of screams and the sinister crackling of the ballroom floor as it began to buckle beneath the heat.
More glass broke and James saw Del’s men clearing it free to allow even more people out.
It was a miracle, a Godsend, that so many military men were there. The sense of order and organization they brought with them did much to ease the horror and fear of the people fleeing. What could have been a chaotic and dangerous stampede turned into a more orderly evacuation, with special attention to those suffering either burns or cuts from their escape.
He stood with the airmen, directing guests into groups, uniting those families who were frantically seeking each other, and soothing those who had yet to find their loved ones.
Another area grew bright with lanterns, and that was where the wounded were being tended by Charlotte and at least a dozen guests, both men and women. It was surreal, thought James for a brief moment, seeing the silks and satins and sparkle of jewels become dulled by smoke and the blood of the victims. Petticoats were ripped willy-nilly into improvised bandages, and buckets of snow were being filled so that hands and feet could be chilled into temporary numbness.
Del came up to him, breathing hard. “I think most are out. At least the ones who need to be.”
James caught the inference. “How many left inside?”
“Too many. And it’s too hot in there now to go in and do a headcount.” He closed his eyes for an instant then opened them again. “No sign of the Harburys or that Baron fellow.”
“Once the fire dies down…”
“Yes, and my men are gathering hoses as we speak. It seemed better to focus on rescuing people before trying to put out the flames.”
“I agree,” James nodded.
They both stared at the blaze. “I wonder why it hasn’t caught the rest of the place? It’s hot enough…” Del looked up.
“I’d guess the ballroom is newer. Those walls are solid stone. The original goes back to some medieval knight, I think.”
“That explains it,” sighed Del. “Will you wait for a bit?” He glanced at Charlotte and her impromptu nursing staff. “We should be able to take those most seriously injured aboard one of the ships soon. Get them to a hospital in London as quickly as we can.”
“Thank God you and your ships were here, Del. This could have been a lot worse if not for you all.” James’s voice all but broke at the thought.
“It shouldn’t have been at all,” hissed Del. “Why no one thought to put that rabid dog Harbury down years ago, I will never understand.”
“No arguments there. But this is England. The aristocracy has been, and always will be, a law unto themselves.”
“Well, God forgive me, but I’m hoping to find his body on the floor of that ballroom.”
“I’ll wait.” James nodded. “I’d like to see that as well, so I’d better hope God has enough forgiveness for both of us.”
It took several hours for the crowd to finally disperse, and an hour more before anyone could venture inside. The cold temperatures certainly helped, but even so it was a risky proposition.
James had no idea how sound the ballroom wing now was, so he was glad to see the few brave men entering the ruins were treading carefully.
Finally, Del came out and crossed the terrace to where James stood. He sighed. “At least three dozen didn’t make it. More women than men; likely that’s because their dresses caught so easily.”
James swallowed. “Charlotte has a list of names. She’s been trying to put people together and find out who’s missing.”
“We’ll know more at daybreak. I’m posting guards of course.”
James waited, knowing Del would answer his unasked question.
“No. No sign of Harbury, Lady Alwynne or the Baron.”
“Fuck,” said James.
*~~*~~*
“I need space, Randall.”
von Landau frowned at Harbury, who was leaning so close the Baron could barely move. “This is a critical moment. Please step back so that I have room to maneuver the equipment.”
“Well get on with it, man. I’m ready to take my place.”
The impatient response was to be expected, and in truth he could not wait for this himself. To get Randall into the chair next to his wife’s corpse, and remove that seriously diseased brain…it was indeed a consummation devoutly to be wished, as Hamlet had so accurately put it.
Of course, Randall had no idea of this part. He had no idea that it was Alwynne’s brain Gerolf hoped to keep alive within his intricate system of jars and tubes and chemicals.
Randall truly believed that his brain was going to be transferred into Alwynne’s body.
Insanity indeed.
And yet was it any more insane than the thought of removing Alwynne’s brain and preserving its existence? The Baron pushed aside his internal dialogue. Time was now of the essence.
As Alwynne breathed her last, the collar containing various outlets for liquids had snapped into place around her neck, piercing blood vessels, pumping in place of the heart, and maintaining the body’s circulatory system.
Also that of the brain, since earlier experiments had taught Gerolf that leaving it too long after death eliminated any chance of success.
“Dammit Gerolf, how long?”
“Any moment now…”
The drill was completing its job, and a circular wound on the back of Lady Harbury’s bald head had all but stopped bleeding. The grinding of the teeth on bone told the Baron that it wouldn’t be more than a few moments before he saw the brain itself and could begin the delicate process of removing it.
“Understand that I must operate very carefully, Randall,” he cautioned, watching the drill move slowly and inexorably forward. “Many connections must be maintained for the successful reattachment of yours.”
“I know.”
The impatience in his voice was clear, but he’d stopped trying to peer into the equipment, which gave the Baron more breathing space.
“Ah.” The drill stopped and with great care, Gerolf began to turn the handle and retract it from the skull. As he did so, a neat circle of bone came away, leaving a clean-edged hole in the head.
“Amazing,” Harbury whispered. Then he darted around the chair. “The eyes are still there.”
Gerolf nodded, easing the drill assembly away from the workspace. “I discovered that too much force when entering the cavity altered some of the connections. That lad’s eyes became untethered, if you will. I rectified the issue by adjusting the drill speed.” He stood back and surveyed his handiwork. “Of course it helped that her heart was not pumping very much at all. Last time, the subject was very much alive; he survived the drill and the shock also accentuated the damage. Ears, eyes, that sort of thing…”
“But all of that has been accomodated now…?” questioned Harbury, poking a finger into one dead eye.
“Indeed. But do be careful, Randall.” The Baron turned to a lab table near where he stood and retrieved a pair of very large and smooth leather gloves. “It will be interesting to see how your vision is, once we have you settled in your new host.”
Harbury rubbed his hands together in glee, then rushed back to watch as the Baron positioned himself behind the head once more.
“Right. Now you’ll see this dish here,” he nodded to one on a table he’d rolled up beside him. “I will remove the brain and place it in that dish. Once that’s done, I can take a look at the interior connections. I must preserve the brain, just in case I need a little bit to add to the security of those connections once we’ve made the transfer.”
“I see,” nodded Harbury.
Good, because that was a complete pack of outrageous lies.
Keeping the thought to himself, Gerolf inserted his hand carefully into the interior of the skull, feeling for the stem at the base, near the spine, that would need to be carefully severed.
Glad that he’d made a much larger hole than last time, he reached for a tiny, sharp-bladed knife with a long handle, and gently slid that into the skull as well. The stem was cleanly sliced through, and it was a matter of moments after that to loosen and cut all the other bits of flesh that clung to the brain and held it in place.
It oozed out of shape a little as the Baron began to extract it, but this was only to be expected.
A few minutes later, what was left of Alwynne Harbury’s brain resided in a white metal bowl on the Baron’s laboratory table. It seemed paler than he’d expected though. He wasn’t sure why.
“The other chair is ready for me, yes?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes of course. But don’t forget we need the body intact for you so don’t touch it yet.”
Randall sighed. “Pity you could find nobody else. I would have liked to have a bit of fun with my late wife.”
Swallowing down the taste of bile that had arisen at Harbury’s words, the Baron ignored them and continued to observe the brain.
It was…wrong, somehow, and as he watched, a tiny bubble seemed to rise from inside and burst.
The stench was appalling.
“Mein Gott,” cursed Gerolf.
“What the hell is that stink?” Even Harbury’s attention was caught. “It’s worse than anything I could imagine.”
“It’s Lady Harbury’s brain,” answered the Baron. “I’ve never seen this before.”
Harbury came around to join him, and the two men stared as the brain in the bowl began to move as more bubbles rose to the surface, emitting the smell of foetid decay.
Gerolf’s mind raced as he tried to understand what was turning human brain matter into a foully stinking green ooze.
“It was those vapors,” hissed Randall. “She must have used them daily for several years.”
“What vapors?”
The other man shrugged. “I don’t know what they were. Just that they seemed to keep her young and energetic. She always took a puff of them before she went off fucking.”
The Baron’s mind was turning over the possibilities. “That sounds as if it might be a contributing factor, yes.” Savage disappointment stole over his heart as he watched his chance at a scientific miracle slip away into a pile of pond scum.
Then another even more terrible realization dawned on him. He turned and looked at Randall. “She was horribly diseased.”
Randall stalked over to the corpse, and kicked its legs. “Bitch. Cunt.” He kicked her again.
“My Lord,” began Gerolf. “This condition has changed everything.”
“No it hasn’t.” Harbury giggled. “I’ll stop kicking her. There. See?” He stood back. “We can still put my brain into her. That will be the ultimate punishment for what’s left of her.”
“Very well.”
The Baron rapidly reorganized his plans, shoving aside his disappointment as he turned to the task of eliminating the madman before him. “If you would be kind enough to take your seat while I clean and reposition the drill, we’ll get started.”
Humming to himself, Harbury settled into the chair and played with the buckles and straps that would lock him into position. Then he turned his head to look at his late wife. And made a strange sound.
Gerolf looked up. “What is it?”
“Something odd is happening…” Harbury took a few steps back. “It’s like she’s…cracking…”
And indeed, he was right. The skull was showing signs of deterioration; myriad little lines appearing like crackle on fine porcelain.
“Most unusual,” said Gerolf. “But perhaps one of the byproducts of whatever caused her brain to rot.” He returned to his calibrations. “Nothing to worry about, Randall, I can assure you.”
He should have paid more attention to the silence that followed that comment. It was his one fatal mistake.
“You’re not going to be able to transfer my brain to this body, Gerolf.” Harbury’s voice held that tone of cold viciousness he’d perfected over the years. “And yet you’re lying to me and telling me you will. I have to ask myself why.”
“Randall, dear Randall, good heavens, why should I lie?” The Baron summoned all his resources to pour a ton of warm and comforting bonhomie into his words. “I am completely committed to giving you what you truly deserve, my friend. Have we not worked toward this goal together?” He soothed, caressed and petted with his words. “Are we not colleagues in this great adventure? Why would I ever lie to you?”
“Because you think that this gives you the perfect opportunity to remove my brain. To eliminate me. Without a host, I’m just another lump of muck in another bowl, but you’ll be remembered as the man who destroyed Randall Harbury.”
“No, no…”
“Oh yes, Baron. I may not have the best eyesight, but I can see truth when it’s right in front of me.”
Gerolf’s breath quickened as the other man neared him. Never had Harbury seemed more monstrous than at this moment. And as the horror grew, Gerolf realized something else. He’d underestimated the power of true madness, and that thought chilled his soul.
“You’ve failed me, Gerolf. Failed and betrayed me. Such a pity…”