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Authors: T. Aaron Payton
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fall dead on the steps of a clockwork brothel. When another girl was found dead at a different establishment belonging to Mr. Value a week later… well. Coincidence no longer seemed likely.”
“Hmm.” Pimm gazed into the poor girl’s blank blue eyes. “If only she could tell us what she’d seen. The best witness of any murder is always, sadly, beyond the reach of questioning.”
“Not necessarily,” Mr. Adams said. “If a victim were brought to me within an hour of her death, say, I might compel her to answer a question or two. Any later, and the brain would surely be too damaged to be revived, but…” He shrugged.
Pimm stared at him. That explained why Adams had to work for a man like Value; he was mad. “What you describe… it’s impossible. Necromancy.”
“The body is a machine, Lord Pembroke. I will not address the question of whether humans have souls —but they do have brains, and those brains, if nothing else, reveal the pathways and passages favored by the thoughts of those souls. The cells begin to break down and decay soon after death, it is true, but if I could access the brain before decay went too far, who knows what secrets might be recovered?” He shrugged. “The difference between life and death is less clearly delineated than you might suppose. Bring me a fresh dead girl, and she might tell you her secrets.”
Pimm shuddered. “Cutting apart these bodies to learn the secrets of life—that is distasteful, Mr. Adams, but I recognize how it serves a greater good. What you describe now is…. One hates to be overdramatic, but I am tempted to call it blasphemy . To speak to the dead must surely be an affront to God.”
Mr. Adams chuckled behind his impassive mask. “Hadn’t you heard, sir? Man has already seized the power of the gods. We have stolen fire, and we bank those fires ever higher. We have eaten of the fruit of knowledge, and been expelled from the Garden, and yet every day we try to claw our way back into that lost Eden.” He took a shining scalpel from a tray of instruments. “Bring me a fresh victim, and you may be able to ask her what Heaven looks like personally. Though you might not like the answer.”
Pimm turned away before Adams made his first incision.
Escape from a
Mechanical Brothel!
E llie ran, of course, because she knew a threat when she heard one, no matter how genial the phrasing. She jerked the door shut after her and hurried down the hallway toward the stairs. As she ran, several doors along the hallway swung open… and clockwork courtesans stepped out.
She hadn’t realized they could walk, and they probably weren’t often called upon to do so, but they walked now, emerging naked or dressed in bits of lingerie, moving two abreast to block her path to the stairs. Men shouted angrily in a couple of the rooms, their mechanical paramours having abandoned them in the midst of carnal acts. (Though technically to be a “carnal” act, Ellie supposed both people involved had to be made of flesh.)
Ellie considered just trying to push through the courtesans, but there were half a dozen of the machines standing, blank-faced and patient. What if they seized her? The thought of being touched by such creatures—especially the ones that had so recently been touched by men—was abhorrent. She turned the other way, though there was nothing at that end of the hallway but a velvet curtain. Though she had no idea what waited behind that barrier, it seemed unlikely that it would be worse than a small army of mechanical women. Oddly, Sir Bertram didn’t emerge from his room to pursue her—perhaps he was afraid someone else would discover his presence here? The man widely believed to be the Queen’s unofficial consort—some wags even called Queen Victoria “Mrs. Oswald”—found in a house of extremely ill repute, in the act of tinkering with the mechanical innards of one of the clockwork courtesans… the scandal would be extraordinary!
But there was no time
“Hmm.” Pimm gazed into the poor girl’s blank blue eyes. “If only she could tell us what she’d seen. The best witness of any murder is always, sadly, beyond the reach of questioning.”
“Not necessarily,” Mr. Adams said. “If a victim were brought to me within an hour of her death, say, I might compel her to answer a question or two. Any later, and the brain would surely be too damaged to be revived, but…” He shrugged.
Pimm stared at him. That explained why Adams had to work for a man like Value; he was mad. “What you describe… it’s impossible. Necromancy.”
“The body is a machine, Lord Pembroke. I will not address the question of whether humans have souls —but they do have brains, and those brains, if nothing else, reveal the pathways and passages favored by the thoughts of those souls. The cells begin to break down and decay soon after death, it is true, but if I could access the brain before decay went too far, who knows what secrets might be recovered?” He shrugged. “The difference between life and death is less clearly delineated than you might suppose. Bring me a fresh dead girl, and she might tell you her secrets.”
Pimm shuddered. “Cutting apart these bodies to learn the secrets of life—that is distasteful, Mr. Adams, but I recognize how it serves a greater good. What you describe now is…. One hates to be overdramatic, but I am tempted to call it blasphemy . To speak to the dead must surely be an affront to God.”
Mr. Adams chuckled behind his impassive mask. “Hadn’t you heard, sir? Man has already seized the power of the gods. We have stolen fire, and we bank those fires ever higher. We have eaten of the fruit of knowledge, and been expelled from the Garden, and yet every day we try to claw our way back into that lost Eden.” He took a shining scalpel from a tray of instruments. “Bring me a fresh victim, and you may be able to ask her what Heaven looks like personally. Though you might not like the answer.”
Pimm turned away before Adams made his first incision.
Escape from a
Mechanical Brothel!
E llie ran, of course, because she knew a threat when she heard one, no matter how genial the phrasing. She jerked the door shut after her and hurried down the hallway toward the stairs. As she ran, several doors along the hallway swung open… and clockwork courtesans stepped out.
She hadn’t realized they could walk, and they probably weren’t often called upon to do so, but they walked now, emerging naked or dressed in bits of lingerie, moving two abreast to block her path to the stairs. Men shouted angrily in a couple of the rooms, their mechanical paramours having abandoned them in the midst of carnal acts. (Though technically to be a “carnal” act, Ellie supposed both people involved had to be made of flesh.)
Ellie considered just trying to push through the courtesans, but there were half a dozen of the machines standing, blank-faced and patient. What if they seized her? The thought of being touched by such creatures—especially the ones that had so recently been touched by men—was abhorrent. She turned the other way, though there was nothing at that end of the hallway but a velvet curtain. Though she had no idea what waited behind that barrier, it seemed unlikely that it would be worse than a small army of mechanical women. Oddly, Sir Bertram didn’t emerge from his room to pursue her—perhaps he was afraid someone else would discover his presence here? The man widely believed to be the Queen’s unofficial consort—some wags even called Queen Victoria “Mrs. Oswald”—found in a house of extremely ill repute, in the act of tinkering with the mechanical innards of one of the clockwork courtesans… the scandal would be extraordinary!
But there was no time
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