[fic] Occult Couture; or An American in America | 8
Drake had always felt that disinfectant was a very reassuring smell. Poetic potential was limited, granted, and it didn’t charm the senses in the way that flowers, incense or a hint of tantalisingly unknown perfume might, or offer comfort the way the warmth of freshly baked bread or a roast dinner might. It didn’t hold hints of dark cold corners or gunpowder like members of the Foundation did, or smell faintly of books and machine grease like Miss Gordon. But it was a good smell nonetheless.
You applied disinfectant only after you’d won and could afford to take the time to lick your wounds. Disinfectant meant you’d survived.
He’d survived.
And now that he was sure of that fact, Drake was aware of other facts.
He lay absolutely still as training had taught him. Don’t move until you’re sure you will not harm yourself or others. Not that there would be much chance of either, it seemed. He was resting in a trestle bed. A good portion of his body was bound. Not by restraints. Cloth. Bandages. Was he hurt?
Drake experimentally moved an arm.
Definitely hurt.
Glass, he thought. I was standing by the window.
There was a rattling noise, something metal coming down the - hall? The sound was distant but coming closer. There were other sounds too. The murmur of voices, mostly female, calming, consoling, kind but business-like. Lots of people. Hard to tell how many. The sound was muted, conscious of itself. A hospital?
“But I should be at the Manor.”
“In the light of recent events, Master Tim, Master Bruce felt that it might be better to allow you to recover somewhere unknown to your attacker. He rather suspected that in the wake of your public adoption, the new Ripper might have taken your status rather personally.”
Drake had opened his eyes immediately at the familiar voice and now attempted to sit. It was not the ordeal he had feared, and Albert watched calmly from his seat at the side of the hospital bed. “The new Ripper - Jason … ?”
“Do not feel you need to make an effort on my part, Master Tim. I can talk to you just as well with you lying down.”
“It’s all right. I can do this.” He hurt, true, but it was the ache of skin already healing. “I’ve been out a while.”
“You’ve had the best healing magic that money could buy.”
“If not the best care. Where is this place?” Now that Drake was sitting up, the cracks in the plaster of the walls and the wear on the bare floorboards were all too plainly visible. No windows, but even the dim light of the gas lamp or the richness of his blankets did nothing to disguise the decrepit surroundings.
“A public hospital for burns patients. With your bandages, you fit right in. The nurses and patients assume that you are another patient, and I your devoted grandfather. Only the head of the hospital and your doctor know the truth.”
“He went to all that trouble?” It was touching, somehow, to know that Bruce had taken so many precautions.
“Indeed. But then we do have a grave situation. As you so rightly posited, the new Ripper is not so much new as he is equipped with new tricks. The Foundation has their hands full. Still, Master Bruce will be delighted to know that you are awake and in good spirits.”
Drake had to smile at that. “He’d better be. I don’t think I’m going to be able to run back up for some time.”
“Indeed.” Alfred’s long experience at bedsides was such that he knew instinctively to pat the pillow by Drake’s shoulder rather than the shoulder itself. “I will let him know immediately. In the meantime, should you need them, the daily papers are by your bedside, along with your correspondence.”
The papers were tempting; Drake’s bills rather less so. In the end, he opted to ignore both in favour of the mirror. Alfred would not approve of him unwrapping his bandages to see the extent of the damage for himself, but if there was one thing that Drake was bad at, it was at accepting the unknown. As this particular mystery pertained to himself, he thought he was entitled - if not entirely satisfied.
It could very easily have been a lot worse. A lot more permanent. Drake frowned, as he set about the lengthy task of rewrapping his arms. It seemed that most of the glass had hit his back and side as he’d been turning away. He had a barrage of stitches and cuts and would probably come out of this with more than one scar for the collection. That any major arteries had not been hit was luck, or his barrage of protection charms. Still -
Even knowing that what he saw had been a lot worse before the Director’s healers had gone to work on him, Drake couldn’t feel entirely happy. He’d been careless. It could have cost him his life; it would cost him valuable time now. The Director was without either of his protégés, and there was no one else in London he could trust with a case like The Ripper. Reading about the carnage was not going to make Drake feel any better about the situation. Bills it would have to be.
The envelope stood out. It was dirt-smeared and smelled of salt and tar. Definitely not the sort of envelope that held a letter a gentleman would receive. Even seeing that the seal had been broken and knowing that the Foundation had checked its contents did not make Drake feel any better about opening it. There were too many cases of curses triggered by specific actions or the passing of objects into the possession of the victim for him to feel entirely happy about this.
Alfred returned as Drake was using the bedsheet to try and take out the letter without touching it. “No need for that, Master Tim. It’s been most thoroughly checked for magical traces. Nothing harmful was found.”
“But what is it?”
Alfred smiled, making himself comfortable in the armchair. “I do believe it is a letter.”
“A letter?”
And what a letter. Drake couldn’t deny that it gave him a feeling of relief so sharp as to be almost joyous to see Conner’s neat printing. The bitter-sweetness of the American’s assumption that he wrote to Drake and Bart might have stung a little, but it was a welcome pain, reminding Drake of happier times that had been - and would be again.
If Conner managed to avoid embroiling himself in any further difficulties.
“Well, I think the mystery of the Alicia is well and truly solved,” Drake observed, folding away the letter. He could feel a headache coming on. “Though I do hope for Conner’s sake that Wilson perished in the maelstrom. If his attitude to his daughter is anything like his attitude to his targets, I imagine that he is not going to take kindly to her forming any attachments.”
“Indeed. By reputation, Wilson is a rather forbidding man to deal with, and his daughter seems to have followed rather devotedly in his footsteps. Hardly the sort of companion I would recommend for a friend of yours, though I suppose love is blind.”
“Somehow, I don’t think blind applies in this case, so much as willingly deluded. I can’t think of a greater mismatch.”
“Perhaps not the best time to mention it, but there has been a telegram for you from young Mr. Allen.”
Point taken. “Where?”
--oOo-
So far, America was wonderful. It wasn’t a boat, and there were more than the same 2424 people around and as far as Bart was concerned, that made it great. There wasn’t even an ache in watching his fellow passengers be greeted by eager friends and relatives at the docks. Bart found that he positively revelled in the unknown, unfamiliar nature of the place.
He was one of the first down the dismounting ramp so eager was he to quit the liner. He didn’t even dally on the pier to size up the crowd, or adjust to the feeling of not being aboard ship. He was blessedly free, and intended to make the most of it.
At the front of the pier, blocking the exit stood a single man, not part of the crowd. His clothing was fashionable if a little sombre and there was nothing in it to set this man apart but his bearing. He was deliberately apart from both the milling well-wishers and the business-like dock workers, watching, waiting for someone - and as the man’s eye fell on Bart and he straightened, business-like, Bart recognized him.
His abrupt about-face was neither subtle or particularly graceful, but Bart didn’t care. If he hurried, he might just make it back onto the boat before-
“Give it up.” The voice was cool and amused. “It’ll be at least two days before the Luciana’s done refuelling and ready to depart. I am not even sure they’ll let you back on.”
Bart sighed. “The Director saw me off already, you know. I don’t need to be greeted too, Grayson.”
Grayson was silent a moment, and Bart was surprised enough to look up at him, catch a hint of something - emotion? - in his mask of urbane indifference. Grayson met his eyes and there was something that looked very much like sympathy there. “Actually, Bartholemew. I think you do.”
In the week that he’d been in New York already, Grayson had moved out of the hotel, set himself up in an apartment. Compared to the rumours of Wayne manor and the furnishings at the Foundation, even Drake’s own townhouse, this was modest - a three bed-room apartment over top of two floors of offices that were already in the process of becoming the Wayne conglomerate’s American front. The furniture was in place, even if dustcovers and crates were still in evidence, and the finer touches of decorating had not yet been done. It was comfortable in a way that reminded Bart of travelling with Max, and he was quiet as he sat, curled up on Grayson’s sofa lost in thought.
“Here.”
Grayson held a hot cup at Bart’s shoulder, taking a sip from the identical cup he held. “Telegram’s sent. Alfred will see that Tim gets it.”
Bart took the cup. “You made me tea?”
“I made myself tea and I figured if you were here, you might as well have some.” Grayson had discarded his jacket and tie. He was a different person when not on Foundation business, choosing to sit on the armrest of his chair rather than in the chair, and picking up a newspaper as he did.
“I didn’t know you made tea.”
“It’s a pretty simple concept. A quantity of tea leaves and a corresponding amount of hot water.” Grayson relented. “I had a life before the Foundation, you realise. It hasn’t all been butlers and first-class catering.”
“Mm.” Bart realised that sounded more doubtful than he had intended and took some tea to cover it. “It’s - good tea.”
“You don’t have to try so hard. I’m Foundation. It would be weirder if you didn’t dislike me.”
It was one thing for it to be true. It was another for Grayson himself to say it. “I don’t get this. You don’t have to pretend to like me to manipulate me, so why even bother?”
“You might have just arrived, Bartholemew, but I’ve been here a week. Closer to two if you count the time on the boat. There’s no-one here who knows about the life. After a while, it doesn’t matter who, you want to talk to someone who knows - and let’s face it. Right now, we’re both hundreds of miles away from where we should be.”
With Drake. “What do you think really happened? The news report - well, that’s not all of it, is it?”
Grayson shook his head. “Tim ever tell you about the Ripper?”
Bart blinked. “He’s dead though.” He paused. “Not that death seems to mean much these days.”
“Not when you’d prefer it to, at least,” Grayson agreed. “They’ll have their hands full.”
Even as used as he was to the Foundation’s flippant way of referring to business, Bart couldn’t help but find Grayson’s dismissal insincere. The man was as worried as he was. “Will they be-“ Bart hesitated.
“All right? If anyone can, it’s those two. Now, tell me how Tim suggested you look for Conner.”
“He wanted me to go to Carnegie first to look up Kon’s professor - I thought you weren’t talking to any of them?”
“I’m not.”
“So how did you-“
“You just told me. Go on.”
--oOo-
The island was pleasant.
Suspiciously so. There were traces of animal life, abundant fruit trees and Cass had discovered a fresh water stream with hardly any effort at all. At Dubbilex’s suggestion that they pull the boat up on shore out of the reach of the tide, Kon had reluctantly lifted the boat well past the high tide mark.
Having found the island, he wanted nothing more than to leave it. “Are you sure we shouldn’t be lighting a signal fire or something? It’s been too long since I read Robinson Crusoe to remember, but I’m letting you know now, I’m in no mood to recreate it. We’re not staying on Nowhere Island.”
“With our immediate needs met we have no reason to hurry, Kent,” Dubbilex told him mildly. “Should we sight a ship on the horizon, we will have time enough to build a fire. Why not relax?”
“Relax?”
“There are no decks for you to swab here,” Dubbilex pointed out with a hint of a smile. “Though if you miss them so badly I am sure I can think of something for you to do.”
Kon regarded him balefully. This sudden development of a sense of humour on Dubbilex’s part was possibly the most alarming sign yet. Washed up on unknown desert island. Day one and crew already displaying uncharacteristic behaviour. May not be able to hold onto sanity much longer. “Pass. I’m going to look for somewhere safe to put those vials of poison. Cass, you want to come?”
Cass shrugged. She, at least, was perfectly happy taking Dubbilex’s advice, sitting on the shore, wiggling her bare feet in the sand. Kon watched her play for a few minutes before he remembered how much he disliked the island and set off to explore it.
Knowing that they were alone on the island made even the expected jungle sounds somehow ominous. Every rustle of leave or shifting branch was someone out to catch him unawares. “This is ridiculous. It’s just an island. A coincidence-“ Kon slowed. “Well, maybe not a coincidence. Maybe Clark just stopped in here when he was taking me back from … well, from wherever it was he found me.”
The jungle didn’t seem to believe him.
Kon kept walking.
It seemed that the island had been formed by an ancient volcanic eruption. The soil was fertile and plant life abundant, springing up everywhere. This made the path rather hard to explain.
It started off small, a thin patch of dirt that could have been a dried up riverbed and Kon followed it only because it beat shoving plants out of his face every couple of steps. The cobble stones were somewhat harder to explain away.
Granted there were just the two of them … and it could be coincidence that two rocks so close to each other had been worn down over time to the extent that they looked as though they’d been deliberately placed next to each other. Kon crouched down. Before he dragged Dubbilex and Cass all the way out into the middle of the jungle to witness his loss of his mind, he should double check.
Reaching out with his power to shift the many layers of dirt and tree roots was not fundamentally too different from taking the lid off of the pickle jar. Learning that he was not bound by seeing what he took hold of was both enlightening and a little terrifying, but that was nothing to the shock Kon got when he saw just what his power had revealed.
“This isn’t a path. It’s a road. An abandoned road on a mysterious island in the middle of nowhere.”
There was more than just the road. Periodically there were squat statues, placed at the roadside. They seemed to be an animal, perhaps a dog, reminscient of the Mayan relics in the Carnegie’s collection. Others were human in form, but they were so badly worn down that even with the bush cleared away it was hard to interpret any meaning they had once held. Likewise, there were places where trenches had been dug, and bricks placed in squares. From his undergraduate degree, helping Professor Harper excavate for extra credit, Kon recognized them as the foundations of houses, enough to make up a town - or a city.
But old. Hundreds of years, possibly even thousands of years old. “Greatest modern day archaeological find since Troy. This could make us famous - renowned. So why do I feel like this is a colossal joke?”
The tropical breeze that stirred the foliage above didn’t penetrate the tree-line to the humid air at ground level, but Kon still felt a cold presence. He kept walking.
The path climbed with the land, making its way up the sloping side of the central volcano. Well before it left the forest cover, however, it petered out abruptly into what seemed to be a natural cave. There were more of the little statues at the entrance, in slightly better condition than those of the forest. Kon could safely say that they did represent people if only for the fact that one of the statues had a bosom. Not even Drake could dispute that detective work - and yet Kon felt very strongly that there was more to come inside the cave.
He didn’t know how long he stood in the entrance, the tropical sun warm on his shoulders and the back of his neck, yet the cave shadow’s chill before him. He’d wanted answers, and now - without knowing how he knew, Kon knew he’d found them. And with the same absolute clarity, Kon knew he wouldn’t like them.
It was the memory of Clark in the end that prompted him to step into the dark. Clark had done this. He must have. And to understand, no - to find his cousin, Kon could do a lot worse than follow a dark underground passageway deep inside a mountain.
It was a warren inside. A maze of tunnels all impossibly smooth, all impossibly identical. Not worn by lava, but neither were they hewn by man. It was more like some force of nature, or-
Kon bit his lip, thinking of his power. He kept one hand to guide himself on the side of the tunnel wall and continued. In the dark it was impossible to see where he was going, but at this point, he’d just accepted that he was not in control of the situation. “Drake would have packed a lantern,” he grumbled as he continued round another blind corner. “Then again, Drake would not have signed up for service without looking into the credentials of his Captain first.” On the other hand … “Bart would have. And he wouldn’t have packed a lantern either.”
It was easier than keeping his mind off why he knew what the tunnels looked like even though he couldn’t see them.
Eventually, the tunnels opened out into a wide cavern and Kon found that he had more than the walls to worry about.
A few steps into the vast space, he stepped on something hard and brittle that snapped underfoot. Reaching down to the ground, Kon found shards of something thin and charred. “Bone … ?” He had a really bad feeling as he pressed his palms to the ground and felt outwards.
There were similar brittle piles dotted all over the cavern. Tens, no - hundreds of them. They were centred around a large stone in the centre of the cavern, too smooth and regular in shape to be natural. And with these discoveries - memories.
Was it his growing awareness that first allowed him to become cognizant of the chanting? Or was it the sound that had woken him? He wondered idly but didn’t pursue the thought. This was right. This was what had been told. As the chanting continued he felt warmth spread throughout his body and as it did, he became aware of himself. Those were his arms, his hands, the fingers his to move.
There was a certain pleasure in being whole but no reason to rush or extend himself. That would come, and come soon. The warmth that had restored the life to his cold body was continuing to pool and grow within him, burning more brightly. He would not just be whole, but restored.
“Incredible. Such power.”
The words echoed strangely. He could hear them inside and outside his own head. His voice --and yet not.
“It won’t be long now. More - I must have more!”
Something had gone wrong. There was a frenzied edge to the chanting, a note of fear and desperation. The drum rhythm had speeded up erratically and the discordant sound spread outward. The brightness began to sear him, no longer containable. He was not meant to let it go, but it was too much, he could not hold on to it without it hurting him-
And then it hadn’t been his choice. It was simply ripped out of him to explode outwards, the screams extinguished almost immediately--
It was with a start that Kon realised that the smoke he smelt was real. He jerked to his feet suddenly, almost hitting his head on the stone plinth behind him. “How-“
He didn’t remember moving. But then he hadn’t noticed Dubbilex and Cass’s arrival either. “What are - how did you --?”
“When you failed to return after dark we grew concerned,” Dubbilex said, shifting the torch he carried to his other hand and putting his hand on Kon’s shoulder. “It was not hard to follow you through the jungle. You left quite a trail.”
Dubbilex didn’t sound accusing - but then he didn’t sound particularly surprised either. Maybe he didn’t realise? Kon glanced around.
With the light of the torches to illuminate the cavern, the little heaps of bones were somehow diminished and yet all the more pathetic for it. “I don’t know how to explain it. How I found this place. But it was sort of like I was led here, to find this and -“ Kon hesitated. It was hard to admit this possible to himself, even with the vivid recollection of Dr Hamilton’s office. To tell others - but could he not? This was - this was too big for him to make sense of. “I remembered. Being here. I think - I think I was here when whatever happened here happened.”
“An interesting statement.” Dubbilex raised the torch so that Kon could see that the ceiling of the cave, like the walls, was blackened. “Whatever tore through here was extreme. If you were here, how do you think you survived?”
Kon swallowed. When put like that-
He felt even worse about this.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “It’s really claustrophobic in here. Suffocating.”
Cass was standing by the door, her pose thoughtful. Kon hesitated as he joined her. “I - didn’t mean you to worry,” he said, conscious of how inadequate the words were. “I’m especially sorry you had to see this-“
“Gun.”
“What?”
Cass planted her hand on his shoulder and pushed down and before Kon was entirely aware of it, he was crouched down beside the heap of bones she was studying so intently. “Look.”
“Your display of concern is touching. I hardly no what to say,” Kon grumbled, studying the bones. He didn’t see what set them apart, except for their position by the entrance. And then he saw it - somewhat disfigured by the blast and buried under the bones but indisputably a gun. “But that is - I don’t remember this.”
“Bones,” Cass said. “Bigger.” She pointed to the piles nearer the centre of the room. “Smaller. Different.”
Kon stared at her a moment, before he took the torch to see for himself.
It was just as she said. There was a marked difference in size between the bones in the centre of the room and those positioned around it or at the entry tunnels. They found further evidence of firearms as well. Two groups of people, one armed and positioned around the exit and entrance tunnel, the other … what? A sacrifice? But something had gone wrong-
“I don’t get it. This room, this entire island - you saw the city out there. It’s overrun. You’d swear that it hadn’t been used in centuries. And yet, the firearms here … Just what is going on?”
Cassie placed her hand on his shoulder, catching his eyes as he looked up at the touch. She didn’t say anything, but Kon found that he could understand her even without words.
He placed his hand over hers, looking down. “Thanks, Cass. It’s good to know I’m not alone with this mystery.”
“You’re not alone,” Dubbilex assured him. “You never have been. But it is not time you know this mystery yet.”
“What do you mean - yet?”
The boat tipped violently as Kon sat up suddenly. He was momentarily dislocated, struggling to take in the sun and waves and the surrounding boat. “But we-what?”
The sudden upheaval had woken Cass from where she leaned against Kon, and she picked herself up with no obvious signs of confusion. “Yet?”
“I was talking - I think I was talking to someone. Wasn’t I?” Kon looked around, but the boat was empty except for the two of them, the salt pork, water and their other provisions. “I know I was talking to someone. It was dark and we were underground-I’m losing my mind, aren’t I. We’re adrift at sea and I’m losing my mind.”
Cass put her arms around him. Kon was almost certain he could feel her smirk as he leaned into the touch. “And now you’re pitying me. This is - possibly the lowest point of my life. Losing my mind and having to be taken care of and still miles from anywhere with limited chances of being found before we run out of provisions. If Drake ever heard about this-“
Drake. That was it - he’d written to Drake, hadn’t he? Bart too. The letter should still be in his suitcase. He could check that, prove that there had been a third person on the boat with them-
The letter was gone.
“But this just doesn’t make sense,” Kon protested after they’d searched the boat for the third time. “There’s not a lot of places it could be. I wouldn’t throw it away - did I just imagine the whole thing?” He sighed, burying his hands in his hair. “Ye gods. I really am losing my mind.”
“Ship.”
“You’re telling me this is serious. It’s my mind! According to a lot of people I might not have used it very much, but I was fond of it. Attached! I have a lot of regard for it. And for it to be gone-“
Cass patiently and firmly took hold of Kon’s chin and directed it towards the horizon where the raised funnels of a steamboat were visible.
“Oh. A ship.”