Heart of Steel (22 page)

Arthur pointed out.

Another cluster of delicate arms began busily knitting the gash together, layer by layer. Mechanus asked.

Mechanus turned this over in his mind.

Mechanus smiled to himself.

The tissue-sealing process reached the top layers, and the last of the appendages busily knitted together the edges of skin, leaving behind a hair-thin white line that would disappear in a day or two.

he said.

Arthur was silent for several seconds.

Mechanus grimaced. He flexed his newly mended arm, satisfied by the handiwork.

Mechanus sighed, grateful that they were moving off of potentially dicey topics.

he asked Arthur.

Mechanus interlaced his fingers behind his head, leaning back.

Mechanus frowned and looked down at himself, only to grimace when he saw the tattered condition of his clothing.

Arthur put in.

Mechanus sighed; clothing was clothing, as far as he was concerned—to cover or to protect oneself from the environment. He would be sending Julia a fresh dress, of course, and all the appropriate accessories. He even had an idea for an item that would honor Lauren’s memory while making a lovely gift for Julia. As for himself, though…

he asked Arthur.

Chapter

SEVENTEEN

Julia woke up snuggled warmly between crisp linen sheets. It took her a few moments to remember how she’d gotten there—as this was not the bed where she’d been sleeping the past several nights—but when she remembered Alistair carrying her, she smiled and curled further into the warmth, savoring the opportunity to rest. Then she started thinking again.

You should give him something,
the reasonable voice informed her tartly.
He’s done so much for you. He saved your life.

Okay, but what? What do you buy the man who could make anything he could possibly need?

You get him the one thing he hasn’t had in ten years—closure.

She sat up suddenly at this thought. Closure. Of
course
. She glanced around at the door, looking for the speaker that would be just above it. To judge by how quickly Alistair ended the fight with Jim, it was

a fair bet that Arthur was back. And if he was, he would be able to help her with this.

“Arthur?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Julia?” Arthur’s polite tenor responded promptly. She smiled.

“It’s good to have you back, strange as that might sound,” she said with a smile.

“It is good to be back, in light of everything,” Arthur replied brightly. “Was there something you required?”

She rubbed her eyes, still feeling sleep clinging to her. “How long was I asleep?”

“Fourteen hours, Miss Julia. You and Dr. Mechanus were both quite tired from your respective ordeals.”

“No kidding.” She stretched; the aches and pains had receded during her rest, but her face and mouth were still sore and probably would be for a while. As her body woke up, her stomach growled. She looked down at it reproachfully, and then back at the speaker. She opened her mouth to speak.

“A meal will be brought to you directly, Miss Julia,” Arthur preempted her.

“Thanks,” she sighed, swinging her feet over the edge of her bed. She glanced around and saw only one door. No adjoining bathroom, then. “A hot shower and some fresh clothes would be nice, too.”

“I will send someone to show you to the appropriate facilities.”

“And I need to know where Lauren MacKenzie was buried.”

There was a long, slightly scratchy silence from the speaker.

“Arthur?” Julia called.

“I am still here,” Arthur said finally. “I presume you speak of Dr. Mechanus’s previous love?”

“That’s right,” she replied. “I want to know the address of the cemetery and the plot number, if there is one.”

“Any specific reason?”

She sighed. “I don’t think he ever got the chance to say goodbye. Not really.”

Arthur processed this for several seconds.

“As you wish. I cannot say for certain if he will be willing to leave Shark Reef Isle for such a journey, though.”

“All I can do is offer,” Julia replied.

“Of course.”

“How has he been?” She glanced down at herself, frowning in momentary confusion at her current state of dress before remembering having to ditch her shirt to get away from Jim. Clearly, Alistair was too much of a gentleman to undress her further, even for comfort’s sake.

“Well enough, all things considered. He eagerly awaits dinner with you.”

Julia smiled. “I imagine he does. What has he been up to? How is his arm feeling?” She got up and started taking stock of the room. It was simpler than her guest room, with just a bed and a few cabinets with drawers for storage. Upon further investigation, she found some medical apparatus that she recognized, alongside more esoteric tools that she didn’t. Her imagination supplied a number of colorful suggestions for the possible uses of the latter, though.

“His arm is doing much better, now that he has properly repaired the laceration. He wishes to pass on his gratitude for your sutures all the same.”

She sighed; the unspoken remark that her sutures weren’t a ‘proper’ repair was annoying—but then again, Alistair had performed a fully functional limb transplant in a day without blinking an eye. “I did what needed to be done at the time,” she said.

“You may be pleased to know that he has resources available to minimize your own injuries as well,” Arthur continued.

She reached up and touched her swollen face with a grimace. Her eye wasn’t swollen shut, but she probably had a decent shiner, and the cut on her lip still stung and tasted of copper when she probed it with her tongue. “What sort of resources?” she asked.

“Agents to reduce the bruising and speed up the healing process. He used similar agents when he gave you your new leg.”

She glanced down at the limb in question. That would explain why it hadn’t
looked
post-surgical when she first saw it.

“After all,” Arthur continued, “He wishes for you to look your best at dinner this evening.”

Ah. Yes. Dinner. And dancing. With Alistair. Who’d saved her life. She tried not to imagine what he’d done with Jim afterwards, telling herself instead that it didn’t matter, that Jim had gone psycho, that it was like having a rabid dog put down…

She still would have expected some sort of noise from the process, though...

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door chimed in that familiar manner.

“Come in,” Julia called.

The door opened to admit Scarface, who had somehow stopped being frightening sometime during the last twenty-four hours. The wounds he’d earned in his fight with Jim were now bandaged; whether or not

they’d also been stitched was anyone’s guess, as was the question of whether sutures were even viable on a shark-man. He had not yet mastered the fine art of smiling without exposing a lot of jagged teeth, but he seemed to be trying his best. He bore a tray with a cover on it, which he offered to Julia. No hot food smells issued from the tray, and when she lifted the lid she found tuna salad sandwiches—plain but palatable.

“Good boy, Scarface,” she said, and snatched up one of the sandwiches and began devouring it. She usually didn’t like tuna salad, but fourteen hours of hunger can season the blandest meal to perfection. After licking tuna and mayonnaise off her fingers, she glanced up at the shark-man, who still stood there patiently.

“I guess you’re here to take me to the bathing facilities?” she asked.

He nodded his torpedo-shaped head, the chainsaw smile mercifully back under wraps.

“Give me a minute,” she said, and wolfed down the other sandwich. He waited patiently until it was gone, and all that was left was licking her fingers clean. She might have to think about eating tuna salad more often in the future.

“Good?” he asked, tilting his head.

She paused in licking her fingers and sighed. “Not usually my favorite, but I was hungry. Now, about that shower?”

“Dr. Mechanus has one more thing to offer to you, Miss Julia,” Arthur said.

Scarface looked up at the speaker.

“What sort of thing?” Julia asked.

“It is a digital recording of Jim’s last thoughts—his memory of the night you were attacked.”

Julia’s stomach turned over. “It… are you sure?”

“As sure as such things can be. I have no reason to believe he would be in a position to deceive at the time the memory was recorded. Do you wish a copy?”

              Julia felt queasy at the thought and closed her eyes, swallowing hard. On the one hand, it would help to know for certain whether or not her suspicions were accurate. On the other hand, if he was involved in the way she feared he was, what did that mean for her, that she’d dated a man who was capable of that?

             
It doesn’t reflect on you, dear,
said the sensible voice, which Julia only now realized sounded a lot like her therapist.
You couldn’t have known.

              “Yes,” Julia said, and in her own ears her voice sounded strangled.

              “Very well. We have facilities to allow you to view it at your convenience.”

              “Thank you, Arthur.” Now she
really
needed that shower.

The shower in question, located in a room down one of the longer corridors she’d seen so far, was an elaborate device that seemed to have an octopus as part of its inspiration, with an art-deco arrangement of pipes and showerheads arranged around a central space easily big enough to accommodate three or four adults. Out of habit, she glanced around for any surveillance cameras; finding none, she closed the door, undressed, and, after a bit of puzzling over the controls, took a hot shower. She scrubbed away the grime of the previous afternoon’s ordeal, feeling the

nearly-scalding spray prickling against her skin and relaxing her aching muscles. Luxury was luxury, after all, even if it came from a plumbing octopus. Once again, the shampoo smelled of lavender—she was starting to suspect that it was his favorite scent—and she allowed herself to savor the relaxing aroma as she washed her hair.

When she emerged from the shower she saw that, as expected, her dirty clothing had been taken away, but instead of the plain clothing he’d been giving her, the replacement came in the form of a sleek red dress on a hanger carried, of course, by Stickman. She stepped forward, securing the fluffy bath towel around herself, and carefully reached out to touch the red dress. It was one of the most beautiful garments she’d seen in some time—medicine didn’t offer many opportunities to dress up—and it felt like satin. She bit back the instinct to ask if it was really for her—of
course
it was for her. Alistair wanted her to look nice, didn’t he?

“It’s… beautiful,” she said instead, lightly pinching a fold of the glossy red fabric and rubbing it between her fingers.

“Dr. Mechanus would be honored if you wore this dress to dinner,” Stickman buzzed in his electric-shaver voice. “He is also providing a number of utility drones to aid you in your grooming.”

“And shoes?” she asked, feeling overwhelmed.

Stickman raised a limb to show her a pair of soft, flat-soled shoes, apparently made of a similarly satiny material matching the red dress.

“Flats,” she sighed. “Thank God.”

Stickman tilted his head, as though confused by her thanking someone other than Alistair for the items, but said nothing.

“Never mind,” she said. “Tell him yes. I will absolutely wear this to dinner. The shoes, too. Now bring on the grooming robots. I want to see what they can do with my face.”

A small swarm of kitten-sized robots flew in, so promptly that they might very well have been waiting just outside the door.

***

Mechanus anxiously paced in the greenhouse he’d set aside for dinner. He wasn’t used to waiting, but he’d wanted everything to be just right, which of course necessitated her preparation time. He wouldn’t begrudge her this. In his pocket he had a final gift for her, one that he hoped she would wear for a number of overlapping reasons.

Arthur said.

Mechanus’s cardiac pump was whirring madly in his chest, but he steeled himself and turned to face her.

His jaw dropped open and just hung there when he saw her, thinking to himself that his life would never be the same from this point forward, now that she was part of it.

She was a goddess in the slinky red dress he’d offered her, with the plunging neckline and the sexy slit up one thigh. Her golden hair was swept up in an elegant updo that probably necessitated an unholy number of pins, leaving her neck bared in a way that made him break into a cold sweat. Arthur—that genius!—had managed to minimize the swelling in her face with the anti-inflammatory agents that Mechanus had originally developed to streamline the

chimera-building process, leaving behind only the slightest yellow discoloration, and the cut on her lip had been cunningly concealed.

Arthur scolded him gently, his artificial voice tinged with amusement.

Mechanus shut his mouth with a snap, and then swallowed hard.

“Julia,” he managed to choke out. “You look… wonderful.” As adjectives went, it was woefully inadequate, but he didn’t think she’d respond well to
pulchritudinous
.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. Her glaze flickered briefly over him, and she raised an approving eyebrow. “You look very dapper yourself.”

He glanced down at the suit he was wearing. While ordinarily he wore only the single layer of lab coat, this evening he wore a crisp white shirt with a wingtip collar, black silk cravat, burgundy waistcoat with a watch chain, formal tailcoat, pinstriped pants, and top hat. “Yes, well, I wanted to wear something nice for dinner,” he said, grinning giddily.

She stepped forward and adjusted his lapels, and then brushed an invisible speck of lint from his shoulder. “Fortunately,” she said, “I’ve found it’s just about impossible for a man not to look good in Victorian costume.”