– — Ω — –
I was still reeling from Roberta's menacing words as we gathered up the equipment. She barely spoke to me throughout, and whenever she was forced to communicate she maintained a cold, detached tone. In the dining room I'd been convinced that Roberta was firmly on my side, and that she would talk her father around just like she always did. Of course, there would have been a few days of strained relations with the professor afterwards, but I was certain I would prove my worth to him eventually.
But now it seemed Roberta had fooled me too, for she was even more incensed with my betrayal than her father had been. She'd soft-spoken him only to obtain my help with Sykes and his infernal machine, but afterwards I would be dismissed and shunned by both her and the professor.
Once we'd collected the equipment I ran upstairs for the pistol and ammunition, for I had no desire to meet Sykes without some kind of weapon at my disposal. Then, upon my return, Roberta and I met the professor at the front door. He took one look at me and snorted, and then our little procession left the house and made for the road. On the way, whilst still in the garden, the professor reached into his coat and took out a stoppered glass bottle. "While you were busy I brewed this rather potent elixir."
"Really, father," said Roberta. "Would you have me bring a magic wand as well?"
"No, no, you don't understand. This will keep minor spirits at bay, for they will not approach anyone wearing it."
"Wearing?" demanded Roberta. "Are we to pour it upon ourselves?"
"A dab here and there will be more appropriate, since there is so little to go around." The professor removed the stopper, and Roberta and I instantly recoiled at the foul smell.
"Father, did it have to smell like raw fish?" she complained.
"You'll thank me when it saves your very soul," said the professor. He covered the neck of the tiny bottle with his finger and tipped, then dabbed the fingertip onto his neck and clothes, repeating the dose several times. Then he offered the bottle to Roberta. After some hesitation she applied the foul-smelling brew, and then she looked at me. I expected her to pass the bottle, but instead she reached out and shook the contents onto my hair and clothing, getting several drops on my face for good measure. As she handled the bottle back to her father, I was certain I saw a smile lurking on her lips.
Then we left the garden, the three of us smelling like a steaming great heap of fish guts. The rain was lighter, thank goodness, but I was so dispirited by the Twickhams' dislike of me that even a thorough drenching couldn't have made me feel any worse.
"Mind the traffic," said Roberta curtly, as we approached the road.
I thought she'd found a speck of concern for me, but her next words dispelled that notion.
"If you step in front of another horse, it'll waste even more time."
"Some people are just careless," muttered the professor, and he signalled to an approaching cab.
I recalled one or two occasions where he'd blithely stepped into the road without looking, getting roundly cursed in the process, but he seemed completely unaware of the hypocrisy.
The cab swept past, muddy water flying up from its wheels, and I saw a couple huddled within. They were using a cloak to keep the worst of the rain and dirt at bay, and then they were past and I saw no more. The professor muttered under his breath, and Roberta turned on him. "Did you really expect to find a cab this late at night? Why, most of the drivers will be home sleeping!"
"As we should be," growled the professor, and he gave me a dark look.
Another cab approached, eventually, and this time it came to a halt before us. The driver looked on as we loaded the equipment, and then the three of us crowded into a narrow seat designed for two. "Where to guv?" demanded the driver, once we were settled. The look on his face told me he'd caught a whiff of our fishy scent, but a fare was a fare and he did not comment.
The professor pointed. "Follow that lightning!"
After a surprised glance at the three of us, the driver shrugged and clicked his tongue at the horse. The cab lurched off, and soon we were moving quickly through the wet, empty streets. The lanterns on either side of the carriage picked out falling raindrops, but their illumination barely reached the horse's swaying rump.
We travelled without speaking, our journey accompanied by the rhythmic sound of hooves, the rumble of wooden wheels, and the patter of rain on the roof. Occasionally a bolt of lightning rent the horizon, followed shortly after by a loud thunderclap. Of spirits and phantasms, there was no sign.
Roberta sat in the middle, pressed against me, and I could feel her warmth through my clothes. Unfortunately, that was the side of my body which had been struck by the passing carriage earlier, and every movement of the cab caused me to draw in my breath with pain. I'd also suffered numerous small puncture wounds from Sykes' dagger, when he'd accosted me and led me to the park, but these were literally pinpricks in comparison.
We'd been moving for around half an hour now, and were appreciably closer to the lightning. Each flash was followed almost instantaneously by an ear-splitting bang, and even the weary horse was beginning to start and shy with every fresh assault on the senses. Eventually, the driver was forced to
