Page 66 of Angel of Vengeance

PART THREE

Mere Anarchy

57

CONSTANCE STOLE THROUGH THE basement corridors, avoiding the occasional roaming gang member, heading for Leng’s suite of laboratories. She had been shocked and dismayed to see Aloysius chained to a metal post in the library, but she believed—as they had agreed at the bordello—that if their plans managed to reach this point, they each had clear and specific tasks to accomplish. The task she’d been assigned—and demanded—was to rescue her siblings.

She had to move with infinite care. The lack of electricity was her friend—the basement had no gaslights, and the kerosene lanterns carried by the searchers were dim and hardly penetrated the murk. She, for her part, was able to move without light—an ability gained after a hundred years spent in these same corridors. But the discovery of the sub-basement grottos, and the focus on them that immediately followed… these were things she had not planned on.

As she neared the laboratory entrance, she could hear the muffled cries of a protesting Mary. As much as it filled her with relief, it also—cruelly—filled her with desperation. She remembered all too well that Leng had vivisected the first half dozen successful guinea pigs—just to be certain—before he began injecting it himself. This was likely one reason he’d kept her alive this long; the other was his need for a decent laboratory to perform the procedure… and which was where Mary had just, almost certainly, been taken.

She crept up to a corner and peered around. Ten yards ahead lay the entrance to Leng’s suite of labs. One of the Milk Drinkers stood guard at the doorway. Even as she waited, considering what to do, she heard Mary’s cries drop in tone and volume and become softer, more confused. It was safe to assume she’d just been injected with a sedative, rendering her pliable and helpless.

It was also safe to assume she was being prepped for surgery.

Grasping her stiletto, Constance picked up a pebble and tossed it against a far wall, where it made a faint rattling noise. Then she ducked back around the corner.

“Who’s there?” came the guard’s voice. Another guard then appeared in the doorway of the lab. Leng was taking no chances.

“Oi, what you moaning about?”

“I heard something out there.”

A clank sounded as they unshouldered their rifles and began moving forward. They raised the wicks of their lanterns for more flame, and the dull light beyond became brighter.

Two of them. Constance, with her keen hearing, could tell they were moving in parallel along either side of the corridor. That meant one would come around the corner directly in front of her, while the other remained on the opposite side.

She crouched, tensing. She could hear the nearest guard approach the corner, then pause. What would follow was obvious—he’d wheel around the corner, weapon aimed at waist level—but she was ready. He made his move and she leapt up, knocking the rifle barrel away so quickly he couldn’t get off a shot, while spinning him around and sticking the stiletto deep enough into his throat to render him incapable of speech. She held him in front of her as a shield while turning toward the opposite guard, who’d heard the scuffle and trained his weapon on her but was unable to get a clear shot.

“Drop the weapon or I’ll skewer your confederate,” Constance said matter-of-factly.

The man rushed her.

She sliced through the guard’s throat, then heaved the body at the approaching man, who ducked aside to dodge it. This was an equally obvious move—Constance, anticipating it, came at him from the side, slashing him deep across the neck as he fired, missing her.

She stepped aside as he sprawled across his partner, the two men gurgling a dying chorus.

Now Constance snatched up a rifle and sprinted down the hall through the laboratory door, past rows of jars and equipment, into the operating theater. She looked around, gun at the ready. Mary was on the operating table, two assistants apparently in the middle of draping for surgery. A third assistant had been laying out surgical instruments and phials on a tray. All three, having heard the shot, were standing rigidly, faces turned toward her, frozen in surprise.

It seemed that, in addition to improving and migrating his laboratory from the one now underwater in the Five Points sewers, Leng had also upgraded his surgical staff from merely the untrained but enthusiastic Munck.

Their confusion lasted just long enough for her to take down two with rapid shots while still on the move. But the third grabbed a scalpel and, to her surprise, threw it at her. She was forced to dodge it as she swung the rifle around. Her next shot went wide and the man was on top of her, strong as an ox. He grabbed the scalpel from the floor and raised it, but she blocked his arm. She lunged upward and sank her teeth into the man’s nose, twisting her head viciously. The man reared back with a roar, his grip loosening enough for her to twist the scalpel out of his hand and cut his throat with it, the spray of blood temporarily blinding her.

She rolled his body off her own, rose to her feet, and went quickly to Mary, laid out on the operating table. She was dressed in a white surgical gown, only partially conscious.

“Mary,” she whispered. “Mary.” She gave her a gentle slap across the face.

Her eyes did not come into focus.

“Get up.” Constance slipped her arms under Mary’s and helped her off the table.

“What’s… going on?” Mary slurred, knees buckling as she sank to the floor.

Constance tried to pull her to her feet, but Mary was heavily drugged. Still, there wasn’t an instant to spare; Leng might appear at any moment.

She hurriedly sorted through the contents of the medical tray, looking for adrenaline or some nineteenth-century equivalent. She found a bottle labeled COCAINE HYDROCHLORIDE 7% AQUEOUS SOLUTION.

Cocaine? It was a stimulant, and she was out of options. She inserted a needle into the bottle, sucked up a small amount, then stuck it in Mary’s arm.

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