Chapter 4:
1052 Words
Chapter 4:
A slap on his foot woke Doyle up with a rude jolt. With only one eye barely open, he expected to find himself dead in a backstreet gutter but, instead, found he lay in crisp white sheets. The light green walls, unmistakable for a hospital. At his feet stood Sigmund, or more like leaning. He was surprised to find him in San Francisco. He should be with Helena.
He tried to sit and failed, strapped to the bed. “What are you doing here? Is Helena back? What the hell is with the straps?” Too many questions at once.
Sigmund smiled back. That was when Doyle realized he stood on crutches.
“You were fighting back when they brought you in, so the doctors strapped you down.” Carl’s voice came from his right side. He lay in the bed next to his. “By the way, I am fine. Thanks for asking.”
“You made such a fuss that I couldn’t help but hear you from three doors down. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours.” Sigmund adjusted his crutches. Doyle knew he found them uncomfortable by his movements.
“How? Why aren’t you on the ship?” Doyle found the situation hard to process that he was alive. The goons had worked him over well. He should be dead.
“We ran into a problem before the launch. The action was needed to free the overhead hangar doors. Once I was off, I couldn’t get back on before the ship sailed free. With the fire and all—”
“Fire? What fire?” Doyle had been too busy tracking Tsang Mei to keep track of his other friends and the happenings of the city.
“Yes, it seems the mob that came to collect Helena became a little unruly. They set fire to the hanger. If not for Plan B, I would have perished in flames.”
Carl leaned over and whispered, “That is not common knowledge. I just learned of the story myself. Someone influential with a lot of money is floating a much different tale, and it is sticking. People are all abuzz with the news.”
“Why didn’t you tell me... Can you take these straps off? They are starting to chafe.”
“If you promise not to run out of the building like a crazy man, I will.” Sigmund motioned with his crutch.
“I don’t understand. Who holds enough power to cover up a riot and a fire?” Doyle spoke while Sigmund worked on the bindings on his chest.
“The news of the fire got out. The cause of the blaze came across different. The papers claimed the mishap was all the fault of Professor Merryall and some crazy experiment that went haywire. All you need to do is look at who owns the largest newspaper in the city and think of a motive.” Carl leaned back into his pillows. For the first time, Doyle noticed the bandage on his nose failed to hide the fact it grew three times larger, and he sported two black eyes. His right arm was suspended in a cast.
“Did anyone die?” Doyle relaxed some with his chest now free from the bindings.
Sigmund shook his head while he worked on the middle straps. “They reported no bodies found, none died in the hanger that I know of. If they found bodies, I am sure they would be shouting from the rooftops about it. Mighty powers did their best to hush the whole incident. The wealthy residents of the city would not take kindly to one of their own being attacked by a mob, and her property burned, even if they all think Helena is crazy and a witch like her mother.”
Doyle found it hard to move his arms. With a quick inspection, he found great purple bruises from the staff attack laced down his arms.
“What was Plan B?” Doyle had trouble concentrating. He reached to his head and discovered a large wrap.
“Once the airship cleared the building, I used the rope I had just cut to lower myself to safety. If not for a dodgy landing and a broken leg, I would still be up and about. In case the airship didn’t leave in time, I had rigged some explosives in the back wall of Mister Wizards workshop. Plan B was to help Helena escape by sneaking her off the property through the cemetery down the hill.”
“I’m sure the explosion to clear the back wall informed the mob of your escape.” Doyle chuckled.
“I thought of that as well. If need be, I had enough explosives to clear a path. I would have done anything to save Helena.” Sigmund had finished freeing the straps. “Now you promised, do not leave until the doctors give you a clean bill of health.”
“But Helena escaped alive?”
“Yes.”
Doyle pointed to his head. “And what is this?”
“They worked us over pretty good, but I think they took special care on you. You seem to have received the worst of the beating. I heard the doctors say you have a bruised brain. I’m not sorry to say it—I am glad they picked you to beat so badly over me. I hate the sight of my own blood.” Carl chuckled as he leaned against his own bed.
Sigmund struggled to sit on a wooden chair in the corner. “Strange thing is they didn’t kill you both nor strip you bare. You still had your gun, and they left Carl alive to send for help.”
“Yeah... strange. They were sent to deliver a message. I didn’t listen to the first one, so they spoke louder the second time. They used staffs to make the point clear. Where is Helena now?”
“I’m not sure. The wind was terrible that night, and the smoke and flames made it impossible to see what happened. Once they were clear, I worked hard to stay alive. Now I have been laid up with this.” He clapped the cast on the lower part of his left leg. “Once I’m able, I know someone who must answer a few questions. I sent out inquiries about the airships’ location up and down the coast. I’m not sure of her intended course once they left the city. The last few days have simply been too chaotic.”
“The person behind the mob?” Doyle asked.
“Precisely.”
Carl asked, “And you know who that is?”
Sigmund nodded. “He sent us a calling card just before the attack.”
Carl asked, “Who?”
“Your boss, Mister Beast.”
- Writer
