Cold Stone and Ivy by H. Leighton Dickson

Author:H. Leighton Dickson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Steampunk
Publisher: Tyche Books Ltd.
Published: 2016-03-13T08:00:00+00:00

SOMEONE HAD BEEN singing.

Strange tunes, sure enough, and in another language, but it was singing nonetheless. He didn’t think it was his mother. His mother used to sing all the time, in the nursery, in the hallways, in the gardens. He didn’t remember much of her, but he did remember singing.

He opened his eyes to the ghoulish green lights of the infirmary and the sight of Otto hovering over him with his tarnished faceplate. He saw a series of lights flash, knew that outside the door Carl was being notified of his waking, knew that very soon Frankow would be down to see him and that all would be well.

His mouth was sharp, and he realized that there was a respirator covering the lower half of his face. He reached up, removed it, and inhaled deeply the damp, rusty smell of the infirmary. A sudden stabbing pain at the simple act of breathing and he remembered the fact that sometime, at some point last night, he had been shot.

She had done it. She had got him here and he had lived. That was a bit of a surprise. He hadn’t expected to live. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected to be shot either. Life had a way of throwing things at him. There was always something different around the corner. He would miss her, though, for she would have disappeared the moment she’d dropped him off at the gates of the Abbey. She had looked sweet in her breeches and bowler.

Otto spun along the track and stopped at his left side. Calipers extended from the metallic body, and a set of hoses lowered from the ceiling. The calipers caught the hoses, attached them to suction pads already placed over his heart, at his throat, on his forehead and wrist. He sighed, waiting for Otto to do his work, and let his eyes wander around the recovery room, as familiar to him as the stables of Lasingstoke.

He spied the metallic brace holding his right arm in place, the bandages brown with dried blood. He flexed his fingers, relieved to find everything in working order. Bertie would love a friend with a prosthetic arm. If he ever took up smoking, the flint could come in handy.

And at the foot of the bed, Mumford.

He smiled.

A yellow light flashed over the doors, and they began to swing inward. He could hear the whirring of Frankow’s wheels, and he waited for the bearded face to appear. It did, the great spectacles causing his eyes to warp and bend with the lenses. He was worried, Sebastien could tell, but he masked it well with an arched brow and a patronizing smile.

“Ah. You have finally decided to see what it is like being dead.”

“I keep trying.” His voice was hoarse. “It never takes.”

The doctor grunted and moved to the side, checking the numbers that were now scrolling from the slit in Otto’s mouth like a very long tongue. “Hmm. It appears you are quite fine.”

He raised the brace slightly.

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