"Where is she?"
Knox looked up at him, his strange, milky eye regarding the Crown investigator with something approaching admiration. "In the basement. She's still alive."
Newbury straightened. Grasping at his own col ar, he pul ed his necktie free. He stooped, using it to bind Knox's free hand to a post between two other chairs. In this state, the man had no chance of escaping. Newbury would come back for him. He needed to find Veronica.
Wiping his brow on the sleeve of his jacket, Newbury crossed to the stage. He staggered up the wooden stairs. Backstage, he would find the route to the network of underground rooms beneath the theatre, and from there, hopeful y, Veronica.
Glancing once more over his shoulder at the pitiful figure of Aubrey Knox – who lay there with his arms outstretched, the sword blade pinning his hand to a seat, his body propped awkwardly against the front row – Newbury knew that he would soon have more answers. But one thing was certain. Knox was not the fearsome monster that Charles had claimed him to be. For that he was more than grateful.
Sighing, Newbury slipped into the shadows behind the curtains.
Chapter Twenty-One
Veronica fought ineffectually against her bonds. The gag was dry and choking, and tasted stale with oil and grime. She tried her best to spit it out, but to no avail; she could gain no purchase on it with her tongue. Knox had known what he was doing when he'd forced it so deep into her throat.
She wondered where he had gone. Perhaps to confront Alfonso.
Veronica tried to move into a more comfortable position, taking the weight off her shoulder.
Beneath her, the cellar floor was cold and damp with condensation. It was clear the laboratory was a makeshift operation, a temporary workshop, and that Knox did not spend a great deal of time inhabiting it. From what she'd observed, she assumed he was now clearing out: the cancel ed show, the hurry to col ect up his work into the medicine bag. Either he had what he needed, or else he had discovered that she and Newbury were on his trail.
Veronica glanced at the door, but her eyes kept flitting back to the disturbing heap of corpses just beside it. She couldn't take her eyes off the faces of the dead girls. She thought it was perhaps the worst sight she had ever seen, worse even than al of those burnt, twisted cadavers she'd discovered on the wreck of The Lady Armitage, or the drained, desiccated corpses that she and Newbury had encountered at Huntington Manor. No, it was the heartlessness that disturbed her most, the careless manner in which the bodies had been tossed, used, into the corner, like commodities, like discarded meat. She hated the thought that a human being could be reduced to that. It was this, more than anything else, which offered her insight into Knox's cold, calculating mind. He was truly a monster. He would do anything for his own ends.
Veronica kicked at the ground in frustration. Knox knew what he was doing, that much was clear. The bonds with which she'd been tied were unbreakable. She could see no means of escape.
She heard footsteps from the passageway outside, and flinched. Knox was returning. It was likely she did not have long left to live. The footsteps approached the door. It creaked open. She found it hard to see the figure in the gloom of the passageway. A man in a suit. Yes, Knox. He stepped forward into the room.
Her heart leapt. Sir Maurice! It was Newbury. She tried to call out, but was able only to offer up a muffled squeal. Newbury turned at the sound and saw her there, sprawled on the floor. He rushed over to her side. Lifting her head, he reached inside her mouth and gently extracted the gag.
Veronica gasped for breath. "Sir Maurice! How?"
Newbury smiled softly, the relief evident on his face. "Well, Miss Hobbes, of late it seems I have provided you with ample opportunity to save my life, and you have done so on more occasions than I care to count. I felt this would be the appropriate opportunity to redress that balance."
"Oh, you foolish, brilliant man." Veronica smiled, warmly, and Newbury swept her up in his arms, cradling her to him. He held her there for what seemed like an age. She could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest, his breath becoming shal ow. He brushed her hair tenderly away from her eyes where it spilled loose over her face.
"I thought I'd lost you."
Veronica gave the briefest of nods. "Me too." She expected him to chastise her, but he only held her close, trying to make her feel safe once again. She wanted to sink into that embrace, to be away from this place, this horrible place with its stench of death and decay. Newbury knew her so well, knew where to find her in a crisis, knew everything about her.. except..
She had to put it out of mind. There was stil work to be done.
Newbury held her for a moment longer, before placing her gently back on the ground so that he could attend to her bonds. She looked up at him, noticing the state of his suit. "What -"
"Later. First we have to free you from these damnable knots." He reached into his pocket, searching for a penknife.
"What of Knox?" Her voice was hesitant.
Newbury indicated with his head. "Up there. He won't be going anywhere for a while. Except a cel, and then, perhaps, a hangman's noose."
"And Alfonso?"
"Dead."
"What! You…?"
Newbury shook his head. "No, Knox."
Veronica looked thoughtful, as Newbury gently held her ankles and cut the cord that bound her with a sharp flick of his wrist, slicing easily through the thin silken rope. He did the same to the tightly knotted cord around her wrists.
"He must be clearing out. He was finished down here." Veronica felt suddenly tired.
Newbury slipped the penknife back into his pocket and got to his feet, dusting off his hands. He glanced around at the room. He stopped, in startled horror, when he saw the pile of female corpses in the corner. "What the devil?"
"The devil is right. Knox is dangerous: cold, calculating and murderous. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. He's always been the same."
Newbury nodded absently. He paused for a moment, moving over to stoop over the nearest corpse. "What's this? Holes in their heads?" His face wrinkled in disgust.
"Yes." Newbury grasped the girl's head and turned it slowly from side to side, examining the bizarre wound. "He's obviously used this device, here, to bore a hole in their skul s. I think he's been extracting a secretion or hormone from their brains." Newbury straightened and turned to glance at the chair that Veronica was indicating. He marched over to it, grasping one of the large mechanical arms and swinging it round so that he could see the deadly drill bit. He ran his fingers over the tiny pistons that control ed the movement of the arm itself, seeming to admire the craftsmanship. Then, with his fingertips, he followed the trailing cable that ran from the end of the arm in a wide loop around the back of the device. A moment later he re-emerged from the rear of the chair, a small glass vial clutched in his hand. It was filled with a brown, brackish fluid. He held it up for Veronica to see.
"Hmmm." Newbury looked confused. "But what exactly was he extracting? And more importantly, why?" He looked at the bottle in disgust. "Let's see if we can have this analysed." He checked the stopper and then slipped the smal glass bottle into his jacket pocket.
He crossed to the workbench, where a smattering of artefacts was stil in situ: a few drawings, some scraps of paper covered in scrawled hieroglyphs and the broken shells of three ushabti figurines. Newbury's eyes widened as he recognised the items. He stared at the table for a while, before picking up the remnants of one of the statues. "This is one of the pieces I saw at Lord Winthrop's house, at Albion House! Have you seen them? They've been broken in two. Knox was after the contents. My God." His voice was a low growl. "It was Knox all along." He cast the broken idol back on the tabletop. "The Osiris Ritual. That's why he's here, in London." He turned to her.