Asher’s Invention(12)

A faint reflection off the water glinted on the whites of her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Now let me go and get my father.”

The instant he released her, she leaped from the gig. His vital organs constricted, and he grabbed reflexively for her, but his hands came up empty.

* * *

The hood of her cloak fell back as Minerva hurried toward the bridge, lugging the wrapped millennium machine replica with both hands. A flurry of rain slapped across her face. Uneven cobblestone gave way to heavy mud underfoot as she slogged across the street. Inside her gloves, her palms were slick, and a clammy hand had seized the back of her neck. At the foot of the bridge she paused, blinking in the mizzle, peering to see what lay ahead.

Two burly men stood at the top of the bridge, propping up a third between them. The man being held sagged like a deadweight between his captors. His head was bare to the elements, his wispy white hair plastered by the rain across his skull. Even in the dark and the rain she knew who he was. Her chest squeezed.

Father! She thought she had cried out, but only a horrified wheeze came out of her throat. Clasping the millennium machine, she began to struggle up the bridge, the muscles in her legs protesting at every step.

“Stop there!” one of the men yelled out.

She froze in her tracks. Drifts of rain swept down between her and the men.

“Father! It’s me, Minerva.” This time her voice carried, but her father didn’t stir. His head drooped lower; perhaps he was comatose.

“Shut yer trap. You’ll speak when yer spoken to.”

The threat sparked new strength in her. She took another step closer. “If you want your precious millennium machine, you’ll make sure my father suffers no more harm.”

“Yer in no position to order us around. We call the shots here.”

The slumped figure let out a quavering moan.

“Father!” Her legs wobbled this time as she started forward.

“Don’t yer move!” The man stumped forward, leaving her father with his accomplice. He blocked her path, his looming bulk dripping with rain. “Give us the whatnot, or we’ll throw him over, and yer can watch him dance to death.”

The second man holding her father grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. The sight of the rope twisted around her father’s neck sent ice through her veins. The other end of the rope was tied around the iron guardrail of the bridge. One shove would send her father over the rail and into certain death. Her stomach turned to water.

“Here it is,” she stammered, holding out the millennium machine. It weighed on her arms like a ton of iron. “T-take it.”

“Set it down, nice and easy, and show me it works. No tricks, now, or yer da gets it.”

“Please, don’t hurt my father.”

She lowered the parcel to the ground and peeled off her gloves. For several agonizing moments her frozen fingers wrestled with the knot before she managed to free the oilcloth. Fat drops of rain fell onto the brass box. Gulping, she opened the lid. She eased her fingers down the side, as Asher had instructed her, and felt for the tip of the vial hidden beneath the ring of magnets. She had to break open the glass tip with her fingers in order to release the catalyst, which would react with the hydrogen peroxide, which would in turn fuel the machine.

“Whatcher doing there?” The goon barged forward, bringing with him the smell of gin and stale sweat. “Hurry up!”

“I—I’m trying.”

Her fingers were too numb and weak. She couldn’t feel anything. Dear God, she couldn’t fail now! She squeezed the vial once more with all her strength. The glass held stubbornly. Somewhere behind them, something rustled in the shadows. The thug cast around, bristling with suspicion.

“Who’s that out there? Yer was supposed to come alone.”

He pulled out a knife and brandished it over her. The glint of the blade strangled the air from her lungs. “I did come alone—”

“Yer a cheat. That ain’t no milleni-whatsit.”

“No, it is. Just—just give me a—” At last the vial finally cracked beneath her fingers. “It’s working. I promise.”

The catalyst reacted with a soft hiss, and then the pistons inside the box began to move. She held her breath as the man craned forward for a better view.

“By gum, lookee that.” He pushed her aside, grabbed the millennium machine, heaved it onto his shoulder, and began to trudge back up the bridge.

Minerva scrambled to her feet. “Wait! You promised to release my father.”

Rain and soot made the road greasy underfoot. She slipped, recovered and pushed forward. The man reached the apex of the bridge, where her father still swayed in the grip of the second man. The two men exchanged a look and nodded to each other. They grabbed her father and dragged him to the edge of the bridge.

Minerva froze in shock. “Father!”

They dropped him over the bridge. A dark silhouette dropped like a stone, a cry splitting the night.

“No—”

Something sliced off her father’s shriek. She ran the last few feet. The men had disappeared. Noises came from either end of the bridge. The two men scrambling in the darkness. Splashing sounds from the river below. Footsteps running on the cobblestones from the other side.

She reached the guardrail and found the thick rope tied to it and stretched taut. She leaned over the edge. In the shadow of the bridge, her father was hanging, choking and gagging, legs flailing, hands scratching uselessly at the rope around his neck. The strangled gasps he made slashed through her brain. They were all she heard as she clawed at the wet rope. That, and the gibberish that tumbled from her lips.

“Minerva! Stand aside!”

She heard the words from down below but couldn’t obey, couldn’t desert her dying father. Her fingers tore at the knot. She’d never undo it in time! Sobbing, she stretched out over the railing as far as she could go, desperate to reach her father. If she could only get a hold of his shoulder, perhaps she could haul him up, take the pressure off the rope until help arrived. Her fingertips brushed against the fabric of his jacket. Almost. Just a few more inches…

Her joints cracked as she thrust out her arms, pushing onto her toes. Her boots slipped, her feet lost all purchase, and suddenly she was falling, damp air rushing past, bruising her cheeks.

“Minerva!”

She saw the bloated, anguished face of her father as she tumbled past him. Then a wall of water smashed her, engulfed her and poured into her eyes and mouth and ears. The iciness shocked her, drove all coherent thought from her. For a few moments, she was too dazed to realize what had happened. Then complete panic shattered through her. She thrashed wildly in the turbid black waters, her lungs screaming for air. Spluttering, she broke through to the surface, only to be dragged under again as her cloak and dress soaked up the water.

The river’s current was running strongly. As she battled up to the air once more, she found herself already some distance away from the bridge. She couldn’t see her father hanging from it anymore. She couldn’t see anything. The water dragged her under again. She strained to untie her cloak, but she knew it was futile. What little strength she had was rapidly draining away. Soon she would cease to fight against the water, would let it carry her down to its murky depths.

The fetid waves closed over her head yet again. She tried to accept the inevitable, but couldn’t help one last struggle. As she flailed her arms, the splash of oars reached her, followed by the bulking shadow of a rowboat. Rough hands grabbed her, hauled her out of the water and threw her on the floor of the boat. Splintered wood grazed her cheek, but she’d never felt anything so comforting before.

“Whatcher do that for?”

In an instant, the relief she’d begun to feel fizzled away. The sullen growl was all too familiar. She’d just heard it a few minutes ago back at the bridge.

“She were drowning.” The second man spoke, his voice surly.

“Yer stupid fool! Yer shoulda left her to drown. Toss her over now.”

“Nah.”

“What, then?” There was a snigger. “You want to dab it up with her?”

“Course not!”

“What’s got into yer, Bates? We done away with the old cove, didn’t we? Why yer going all soft over this bit of skirt?”

The second man growled. “No one said owt about snuffing out a woman. And she ain’t no bit of skirt. She be the lady what fixed me daughter’s arm.”

“She be trouble, is what she is. What yer think the guv’s going to say about this?”

“He don’t need to know nowt. We could just dump her here on the riverbank.”

“No we ain’t! If you won’t let me slit her throat, then we take her back and let the guv decide.”

Minerva had been lying still, feigning unconsciousness while the two men argued, but the mention of throat slitting galvanized her into action. She pushed herself upright and scrambled backward, away from the men.

“You’ll never get away with it.” She managed to untie her cloak and threw it to one side. The river around her was still running swiftly, and she knew she was taking a huge risk, but remaining in this boat with these two ruffians was even more dangerous. She’d rather take her chances with the river.

She jumped onto the stern and took a quick breath, preparing to fling herself into the water. The boat yawed. She teetered on the edge. Before she could jump, a hard blow cracked across the back of her skull. Stars exploded in her head. She toppled down, hitting the bottom of the boat just as darkness claimed her.