The Best of Penny Dread Tales (4 page)

He saw the ill abhorrence on my face.

“Oh, you had six weeks to come to peace with our arrangement. In that time, you never went to the police, so I think you can live with what I do for us. I am sure the gin helps. Do you want to hear the number five? Do you want to know what agony sounds like? What the desire to live sounds like? For I have it in these vials. That and the innards. Perhaps if we gave Christine this heart, oh, I know, nonsense, but the blood worked, and if the blood worked, so could the heart, could it not, Lewand?” He laughed, loudly, not waiting for my reply. “And that Robert Stephenson, that buffoon from the hospital, he is suspicious of me, but he is so addled, he has mistaken my name. He thinks Morgan Davies is the Ripper, not Martin Davyss. Ha, the fools, all scurrying around at my feet. I could go on with this project for years, Lewand, for years, free to delve like an explorer into the darkest regions of my own psyche.”

He handed me the satchel, leather stained, seams dripping. Inside, lay the heart and entrails of a woman. And five vials of blood.

I went to my knees, sickened. I vomited onto my floor. Christine’s thumb fell on middle C. A simple sound.

“What was that?” Davyss asked suddenly. “She has no sheet music to play.”

He went over to her and touched Christine’s porcelain mask. “What have I made you into, my dear? For now, truly, you are more than your gears. Do you have my same tastes? My same passions? What are you now?”

The automaton made no reply of course. She lifted her hands and returned, motionless, to her resting position.

“Lewand, the number five. I want to hear it.”

“No.” Trembling, on my knees, I finally rebelled.

He walked over to me, knelt, and from his nightmare satchel, withdrew a vial of blood. “Lewand, your squeamishness is unmanly. You and I are gods. And what of the harlots I kill? Hardly human, they are mere chattel for greater minds to use as we please.”

Back at Christine, he inserted the vial. The roller stand stood behind her, loaded with
The Carnival of the Animals
, apt for what we were doing. Yet we were worse than animals—far from gods.

He touched the lever and my Christine came alive.

Impossible, impossible—

She whirled herself about, the wheels on her cart squeaking, and she latched onto Davyss with her left arm and pulled him off his feet and onto the piano’s keyboard.

Her right hand rose and came down on Davyss’ middle, ripping through his clothes, his skin, into his stomach. Blood geysered out of the man as he howled like swine in the slaughterhouse. His flailing arm knocked Christine’s wig off her head; a punch struck her mask askew. With her right hand pinning him to the piano by his stomach, she lifted her left hand and ripped down through his shoulder, popping out the white ball from the joint. Her right hand moved further and fell between his legs. Her fingers clutched to rip his genitals from his body before falling again to transfix him to the piano while the left hand rose. Davyss gibbered nonsensically, squealing in a high-pitched whine until Christine clawed through his voice box.

Strangely, my horrified mind remembered the poem he had been quoting, the first line and the last.

“Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast …

… Why am I not at Peace
?”

I had to close my eyes. Still I would never forget the sight of Christine’s hooked brass hands, trailing strings of bowel, her gloves torn to shreds, rising and falling in showers of offal and gore.

Then, music. She had chopped through Davyss’ flesh until her fingers struck the keys, and I heard her play
The Carnival of the Animals,
muted by the blood, flesh and sinew. It was joyful. It was terrible. It was a song of vengeance now, and I dry heaved until she finished playing the final note.

I heard the wheels on her cart squeak. She turned on me with unseeing eyes, and yet I knew she saw me.

With a great sweep of arms, she rolled herself away from the blood-splashed piano, the three-toed foot clicking on the floor, pushing herself toward me. Her brass claws reached out, her mask, her gown, everything drenched in crimson.

I ran and reached the door ahead of her—slammed it shut in her face.

Still, the whisper of her hands, scratching at the door. Right on the other side. Brass fingers caressing wood. When had I last wound her gears? I could not recall. But she was beyond that now. Davyss had been right. She was now far more than her brass gears and clockwork mind.

All of my money, stuffed into the suitcase, lay on the other side of the door. I had to go back in. But I could not. The bloody number five had awakened an angel of vengeance inside Christine, something not of this earth.

Suddenly, such a clarity of mind struck me that I felt more lucid than I had for weeks and weeks. I had a plan. If I were quick, I could avoid Davyss’ fate. If Christine had a distraction, I could dart in, grab the suitcase stuffed with money, and escape her punishment, one I deserved, and yet might avoid. With my fortune secured, I could change my name, maybe to Theodore Brown, a nice, common name. I could begin my work on the automatic piano anew, without the aid of the occult and the blood of Whitechapel women.

I waited. It began to rain. When Davyss’ brute came to collect the automaton for that evening’s performance, I forced a smile onto my face and gestured to the door.

“Inside, Christine is waiting for you. She is more than ready for her next performance.”

***

The Tunnel Rat’s Journey

J. M. Franklin

My name is Emily, although no one calls me that. Most often I’m referred to as “Tunnel Rat,” and I don’t know my last name, so don’t ask. I was orphaned at four years old, and as a ward of the state I was trained to repair the steam tunnels that run under the city, heating it like a giant radiator. Occasionally one of the pipes will spring a leak, so I go in and seal it up. Sometimes they burst, and I can’t fix that without getting burned, so I keep a close eye on my section of pipe, keeping it in good repair. The pipes are getting old though, nearly a hundred and fifty years old. It’s hard to believe that humans took refuge from the ice above in this underground city only a hundred and fifty years ago. It seems as though we have been here forever.

There are murals throughout the city depicting landscapes of things I have never seen—things like the sky and mountains. The only wind I have ever felt on my face is the hot vapor of the steam. In these murals are large beasts that I have never seen and have no names for. The only animals I ever see are the rats that run the tunnels with me. Even three kilometers underground humans can’t get rid of the rats. I know that somewhere in the city there is a rabbit farm, but I have never seen one. Small, quick to multiply and easy to care for, they are raised to feed the rich, so I have never tasted one.

Large solar panels mounted on telescoping towers are raised every day into the frozen atmosphere above. Flexible tubes carry hot water through the towers to prevent them from freezing. The solar panels collect the sun’s energy and relay it to a machine in the gardens, which converts it back into sunlight to raise crops for the city. It has been said that this machine alone will ensure the survival of the human race through the ice age.

And that is what we humans are doing: surviving. I don’t know what life on the surface was like, but I find it hard to believe that it was worse than this. I work ten hours every day to earn enough credits so I can keep my bed in the dorm and feed myself, and once a year I buy a new set of clothes. I have two sets, one to wash and one to wear.

Maybe things are different for those who have more money. The people with more—more food, more clothes, a real home—don’t really seem to be all that happier than those without; they just seem to hide it better.

“Emily!”

The shout breaks me out of my thoughts. I look down at my tablet to stare into my boss’s fat, angry face on the screen. “Yes boss! What’cha need?”

“Are you deaf? I’ve been talking to you for the last five minutes!” His red face grows redder. “There is a low pressure reading coming from a tunnel point six kilometers ahead of you and to your right. Go check it out!”

I double-check the seal on the pipe I have just finished before gathering my tools and rushing off to the next pipe in need. It looks like my day is going to get a little longer. I have already been down here for over nine hours, not that I have anything else to do.

By the time I finish my work and find my way back up to the city streets, I have put in nearly a twelve-hour day. I’m exhausted and hungry. I’ve traveled close to ten kilometers in the tunnel today, and now that I have emerged back onto the street, I check the map on my tablet to figure out where I am. I look up at the tall buildings surrounding me, their dark facades rising up to disappear into the ceiling high above. The ceiling of the enormous cave the city was built in is always kept in darkness, as if to imitate the night sky instead of reminding people they are three kilometers under what used to be called the Swiss Alps. My map says there is a steam train tunnel a block over.

I find a route map just next to the stairs that tells me I only need to take one train back to base.
Sweet!
I think happily. I go from one tunnel to another. Running down the stairs, I feel the ground vibrate from the approaching train. I make it without a moment to spare, stepping onto the car just as the engine releases a puff of steam and begins to move.

The car jerks and, thrown off balance, I bump into a man standing in the isle.

“Pardon,” I say as inoffensively as I can.

Without a word he grabs my arm roughly, shoving me towards the back of the car. “Disgusting Tunnel Rat!” he spits after me. I don’t have to look to know that he wiped his hand on his pants.

Now, I know that after a hard day of work in the steam tunnels I look like hell, and I smell no better. But for the life of me, I don’t know why steam pipe workers are regarded so poorly. I mean, really, without us there wouldn’t be any heat. Scientists long ago predicted the onset of the current ice age, and thankfully, technology had advanced far enough for them to do something about it. They drilled down to the earth’s molten core, tapping the last heat source on the planet. Using that heat and the only other resources they had in abundance—ice and water—they built a huge system of pipes. Now the only power we have is steam and solar, and I am responsible for maintaining that power. So how is it that I’m treated like last week’s garbage?

I manage the rest of the train ride without further incident and arrive back at base within a half hour. Unfortunately, my boss is waiting for me.

“Girl, in my office now!”

My boss’ name is Karl, but I never call him that, just Boss. “I already sent you my reports, Boss. You should have them on your computer already.”

“I have your reports. Sit your ass down!” Karl closes the door behind him. He sits down on his desk and shakes his head at me. “Where were you today?”

I’m confused. Karl can keep track of all of us tunnel workers via the tablets we all carry. He knows where I am every second of every day. “What do you mean? I was where you told me to be.”

“I mean your head. How many times have I caught you daydreaming instead of doing your job? I’m beginning to lose count!” Karl crosses his meaty arms over his gold shirt covered in coffee stains, the buttons of his shirt straining to retain the paunch beneath it.

“I … I …” I sputter. I don’t know what to say.

“Well, for wasting my time, I’m docking you three credits.”

“What!?!” I cry. Three whole credits! I only make twenty credits a day!

“Now that I’ve gotten your attention, maybe you will keep your head out of the clouds.” He reaches out and snatches my hard hat off my head. My long blond curls, released from their bonds, cascade around my shoulders. Karl leans over and taps his pudgy finger twice on my forehead. “Keep your head on your work!”

“I’m sorry boss!” I can’t lose three credits! “It won’t ever happen again, I promise. But three credits? Come on.”

With a glimmer in his eyes, he says, “If there is some way you want to make up your time, I’m open to suggestions.” He raises his dark eyebrows suggestively at me.

I pause, not wanting to answer or meet his gaze. Defeated, I say, “No, there is nothing I can think of.”

He actually laughs at me. “Then three credits it is.” His full laughter follows me as I quickly flee from the office.

I stop at the time clock and insert my account card. When the machine spits it back out there are only seventeen credits added to my account. I need ten to pay for my bed in the dorm tonight and four credits for my meals. I will either have to scrimp on dinner tonight or on breakfast tomorrow. It will have to be dinner. It is easier to sleep on an empty stomach than to work on one.

Leaving the building, I reflect on my conversation with Karl. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he finally noticed I grew up. At fifteen I have thankfully small breasts and narrow hips. I always wear baggy, gray trousers and a loose button-down shirt with a tweed jacket over it, and I always hide my hair, either under a hard hat at work or under a cap otherwise. When I was younger, I easily passed for a boy, but now, not so much.

Back at the dorm I stop by the office and pay for my bed for the night. I have been doing this every day since they brought me here so many years ago. I don’t even know who “they” were. All I remember was someone in uniform telling me that my parents were dead and that from then on I had to earn my keep. That’s when I was sent to Karl to learn my trade.

Getting in the elevator, I pull the gate closed and grab the wheel on the side of the door. The elevator works on a pulley and crank system, and I turn the wheel to raise the car up to the third floor. Home sweet home. There are forty beds on this floor, a row on each wall and a double-row running down the middle of the room. At the head of each bed is a locker. I pull out my key and grab my other set of clothes before heading to the washroom. Water is one of the few things that are free in the city; there are tons of it above us on the planet’s surface. It’s in the form of ice, but it really takes very little steam to melt it and send it running down into the city. In fact, a river runs the length of the entire city, ending in a huge reservoir. So, at least I get to bathe daily, and every day I wash out my dirty clothes and put on clean ones.

Once clean and dressed, I head across the street to the small diner, Millie’s. Millie is a grouchy old woman who is never nice to anyone, but four credits gets you a bowl of soup or stew (whatever she has that day), a crust of bread and a potato. Unfortunately, I only have three. So, the stew it is.

“Here you go.” Millie places the largest bowl of stew I have ever seen in front of me. I didn’t know that she had bowls that big. When I look at her questioningly she snaps, “What? I ran out of normal sized bowls!” Like I said, she is never nice, but she never lets anyone go away hungry.

Davie, my only friend in the world, sits down next to me. A couple years younger than me, he is scrawny for a ten year old, but he swears he is at least twelve. He has big brown eyes and buck teeth that I keep hoping he will grow into. “What, no potato?”

“Karl docked me three credits for daydreaming.” Davie is a steam tunnel worker too, so he is just as familiar with Karl as I am.

“No way!”

“Yes, way!” I answer back. “He told me to get my head out of the clouds. As if I’ve ever seen a cloud. As if he has either. I don’t know why he thinks I’m daydreaming; it’s not like I have anything to dream about.”

Looking desperate to change the subject, Davie notices the giant bowl of stew. “That thing is huge! You know, we could share that.” Just then Millie appears and looks expectantly at Davie. He looks back at me before ordering two potatoes and another spoon. “I guess my day was rather uneventful compared to yours.”

“I haven’t even told you the worst of it.” I get a wiggly feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t tell Davie about Karl hitting on me. He sometimes gets strangely protective, as if he could actually protect me from anything. But I tell him anyway.

“I’ll kill him!” he yells at me, slamming his water cup down on the metal countertop. The entire diner stops to look at him.

I grab him by the shoulders hard. “Shhh! That’s all you need is for someone to hear you threatening Karl. What would happen if you lost your job? What else could you do? He will fire you if he ever thought you could threaten him.”

“Oh, whatever, Emily! As if I could really do anything to Karl. He outweighs me by at least a zillion pounds!” He shakes off my hands and slumps down on his stool.

Now I’m angry. “Don’t you
whatever
me! You may be too much of a runt to do anything to him now, but Karl knows that runts grow up. And who’s to say that you will always be a runt? You think Karl will keep you around knowing that you have a grudge against him? I can handle Karl; don’t worry about me.”

***

The next day Karl sends me to the furthest reaches of the tunnels. It’s his way of payback for
“daydreaming”
yesterday. Not much of a payback. I focus my thoughts to the pipe at hand. It won’t do for Karl to find me daydreaming again. I put my thermal goggles on and look at the pipe. It appears that the new gasket is holding just fine. It will take another day for the compound to cure completely, but as long as the pressure in the pipe doesn’t spike, the seal will hold.

“Emily!” Karl barks from my tablet.

“Yes, boss?” I reply right away.

“There is a huge pressure drop in the pipe two tunnels over to your left and just point-two kilometers ahead. The pipe must have burst. I already have Davie in that area, but I think he may need some help. Get there quick.”

Whatever personal faults Karl has, and they are many, the last thing he ever wants is someone hurt on his watch. Gathering my things, I switch to the map on my tablet. Each of us rats wears a locator beacon, and our positions are displayed on our maps.

Just as I stand up to go I feel a vibration in the earth under me. It is subtle, like the feel of a steam train going through the tunnels, but there aren’t any steam trains in this area. “What the…?” I say out loud. It is over in a second, and though it disturbs me, I walk on to find Davie. I don’t get far, only a few meters before it strikes again. This time the entire earth shakes, knocking me off my feet. I feel the earth beneath me shudder before I hear the hiss of the gasket I had just replaced rupture.

As suddenly as it started it stops. “Damn!” I swear as I pull myself to my feet. Reaching in my bag, I pull out a rubber clamp. I don’t have any more gaskets. This will only be a temporary fix, but it is all I have. Pulling on my thick leather gloves to protect my hands from the hot vapor leaking from the pipe, I manage to get the clamp in place without getting burned.

“Emily!”

I hear my name being called from the tablet, but this time it isn’t Karl’s voice. It’s Davie’s, and I can tell that something is wrong. I run to where I left the tablet on the ground where I fell. The screen is dark, but I can hear breathing. “Davie?” I call tentatively.

“Emily,” comes Davie’s weak reply. His voice is shaky, and his breathing is heavy. “Emily, I’m hurt. My headlamp went out. I can’t see.” Hurt and in total darkness, Davie has to be terrified.

“I’m coming Davie! Hold on!” I command. I bring the map screen back up on the tablet and find Davie’s location before racing off.
“Please”
I cry silently, knowing not who I’m crying to.
“Please let him be okay.”
He is my only friend.