Chapter 13:
"Never Interrupt a Lady"

August 4, 1915
Red Star Chemicals
Research Laboratory Headquarters

There was no time for delicacy. After discovering the rodent's connection to Black Star, Alek tore apart the rest of the room in search of further information. Most of the other animal subjects in the room had met the same unfortunate fate as the first mouse he'd noticed- already long dead as a result of Black Star or another lethal chemical weapon.

Alek was not the sort of person to shed a tear over a dead mouse. He had, after all, been taught in his youth that mice were simply vermin, filthy and often diseased. But he did understand that that there was a noteworthy difference between mice dying in mousetraps and mice being slowly tortured to death by horrific poisons. These mice were being bred for the sole purpose of being used in experiments. And the sheer number of them was alarming.

He was beginning to fear that nothing else in the room would be even remotely helpful when he stumbled across a note attached to an empty glass cage- easily three times larger than the rest.

Specimen relocated to 7D. Further Black Star investigations will take place on level 7 in order to ensure discretion.

Alek read the note three times.

He was certain that Vost hadn't mentioned anything about a seventh level- but then again, he supposed it made sense. There was no place better to conduct secret research than a floor that almost no one knew existed.

He closely examined the enclosure that had been empty. Why was it so much larger than the others? He could only think of one possible explanation: the animal that had been inside was no rodent. There wasn't time to speculate, however- Alek had been gone far too long. He needed to return to Dr. Barlow and Vost before the man grew suspicious.

Alek rushed to the stairs. Just to be sure, before he headed up to the fourth floor, he hastily checked to see if they led down further. They did not. If there was a clandestine level seven, it was not connected to the main laboratory building.

He had to catch his breath before entering C3. It would likely seem odd to if he were out of breath. After all, he had taken so long, the only possible explanation would be that he was tremendously lazy and been purposely wasting time to avoid returning.

"My apologies, Dr. Barlow," Alek remarked upon re-entering the lab. "I wasn't able to find your note."

Both she and Vost turned toward him at the interruption. Nora Barlow offered him an approving smile.

"No, it is I who must apologize, Aleksander," she replied. "I only realized a while after you left that I'd had the note in my coat pocket all along!" She held up a scrap of paper to illustrate. "You'd been searching pointlessly, I'm afraid. No wonder you were gone so long, you were searching fruitlessly for something that wasn't there in the first place!"

Alek breathed a sigh of relief. It was the perfect excuse for his long absence. "That's quite all right, Dr. Barlow. I needed the fresh air, anyhow. Were able to find anything?" He directed the question to Vost.

"Unfortunately, no." The enormous man answered, a hint of impatience in his voice. "I was sure we'd be able to ascertain something useful, but nothing came up." Alek couldn't help but feel sorry for him. His dearest friend had gone missing and the people who he thought were his allies were meddling about behind his back undetected.

It was at that moment that a very distinct 'mew' came from Alek's pocket.

"What is that, in your trousers?" Vost inquired. His voice was oddly menacing. His eyes were glued to the lump in Alek's pocket.

Alek mentally cursed himself. Of course he had been a sentimental fool to rescue that poor blind kitten! How could he possibly explain himself?

"Oh, it's, ah-" Alek stumbled over his words, racking his brains to think of some plausible lie.

"Spit it out!" Vost ordered sharply, his voice raising to nearly a shout. Dr. Barlow didn't so much as bat an eye at his outburst. She simply met Alek's eyes and gave a deliberate nod. Alek was unsure what she mean- did she want him to admit the truth, or was she instructing him to lie?

He decided to do a bit of both. "I really must apologize, Mr. Vost. I got turned around on the fourth floor and ended up taking the wrong staircase." Alek confessed. "And then, when I arrived in one of your research labs, I was so intrigued that I couldn't help but look around. It was quite rude of me, I know, and greatly irresponsible."

The kitten nuzzled itself deeper into Alek's jacket pocket.

"Irresponsible? Irresponsible?" Vost sneered, glaring accusingly at Alek. "This laboratory is not a playpen, boy! There are any number of ways you could have disrupted years of research while you were blundering about down there, having a merry old time and-" he abruptly silenced midsentence, as if realizing something.

"I'm sure it was an honest mistake," Dr. Barlow chimed in. "Alek has quite the knack for such-"

"Shut up." Vost said quietly. In one moment, he became eerily calm. His fists unclenched, the tension in his shoulders released, and his expression softened almost affectionately. He took an imposing step toward Alek, and inhaled a long, slow breath.

"How long have you known?" asked Vost.

There were few moments that rendered Aleksander silent, but this was one of them. Not a single word came to mind. He opened his mouth, only to shut it again. When he finally did speak, the only word he could muster was, "What?" He could not remember the last time he had been so confused. He looked to Dr. Barlow for some sort of explanation, but she offered no clarification. She simply reached into her coat breast pocket.

"Stop playing the fool. Answer the question." Vost commanded.

"I cannot tell you something that I do not know!" Alek insisted.

Vost's eyes grew cold, and his voice became menacing. "Do not lie to me again, boy, or I will make certain you regret it."

"I think not." There was a soft click behind him as Dr. Barlow cocked the hammer of the revolver that she was pointing at the back of Eliot Vost's head. "Never interrupt a lady," Dr. Barlow chided. "How boorish of you, Mr. Vost."

"You dare-" began Vost, but he silenced when she pressed the barrel of the gun against his neck.

"I would much appreciate it if you would shut your mouth for the time being," she retorted.

"Dr. Barlow?" Alek asked incredulously, staring with disbelief at the weapon in her grasp. "What are you doing?"

"It should appear rather obvious, Aleksander. I'm threatening Mr. Vost's life with this handgun." Dr. Barlow replied, her tone as composed as it had ever been.

"Ah, yes, I can see that. But why, exactly, are you doing so?" Alek wondered.

"I do suppose an explanation would be prudent." Dr. Barlow admitted. "Where shall I begin?"

...

August 4, 1915
Unknown Location

"Damian Vost?" Sullivan snatched the envelope from Deryn's grip with such haste that it tore. "That's absurd. It's ludicrous. There's not a chance-" he read the name and let out a sigh. Then, as casually as if it had begun to rain on a sunny day, he set the paper down and said: "Well this is an unfortunate turn of events." He shut his eyes and began to massage his temples with his fingertips.

Deryn decided it would be best to refrain from commenting upon that rather peculiar understatement. "I'm a tad confused," she admitted instead. "I mean, Edward did mention that Damian changed his last name, but how could he possibly have been related to your business partner? I mean, wouldn't you have known if the man you'd worked with for years had a relative that murdered fabs as a hobby?"

"I suspect that Eliot was purposely keeping that secret." Sullivan explained.

"I suppose I would too if I was related to a murderous psychopath." Deryn mused. "Is there a possibility that this could be a coincidence?" She asked doubtfully.

"The odds of this being nothing more than chance are…well, nearly impossible." Sullivan exhaled. "Although this is quite a perplexing situation. What could Eliot stand to gain by abducting his own partner?" He thoughtfully scratched his chin.

"You did mention that Eliot wasn't exactly pleased when you told him you were planning on destroying Black Star." Deryn suggested. "I'd bet my boots that he wanted you out of the picture so he could sell the weapon as planned."

"You're not wearing boots." Sullivan observed flatly. Deryn chose to ignore this statement.

"What I don't understand," she continued, "is what he needed a barking princess for."

"This has all been surprisingly informative," Sullivan declared, "but perhaps this isn't the right time to speculate."

"You're right," Deryn agreed. "We can argue about this crushing betrayal after we escape the clutches of evil."

"Crushing betrayal?" Sullivan interjected. "Well, I do suppose my pride is wounded, but I wouldn't say that I'm crushed. Eliot and I were like brothers, but we weren't exactly the best of friends. In fact, I'm rather certain found me to be maddeningly irritating."

"How curious!" Deryn exclaimed sardonically. "Perhaps it has something to do with your little habit of pretending to be an imbecile!"

Sullivan acted as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. "Perhaps it was inevitable." He mused. "I always suspected Eliot was jealous of my scientific genius, but I never would have guessed he would go to such extremes just because of such shallow resentment!"

Deryn held back a groan of annoyance. "We haven't got time for this nonsense. Blisters! If you keep on blathering, Damian's going to-"

"I wonder." Came an eerily familiar voice from behind her. "What would he do to such a sinful pair of heathens?"

"Bloody hell," Sullivan cursed so fervently that Deryn would have been impressed if she hadn't finally realized who was standing behind her. Moving as quietly and slowly as possible, she retrieved a letter opener from the cluttered desktop and discretely hid it up her long shirt sleeve.

"Oh, it will be bloody, I assure you," Sneered Damian. Before Deryn could put any distance between them, he reached out with a meaty hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her backwards.

Deryn's eyes watered but she refused to give him the satisfaction of crying out in pain. At least this way I won't have to look at his hideous face, she reasoned, but this small victory was short-lived. He wrenched her hair again, this time tugging it so that she was forced to crane her neck up and stare directly at his vengeful grin, rotting teeth and all.

"You depraved vixen. You wanton, lustful whore!"

Deryn was not particularly insulted. In fact, she was a bit confused. "To what are you referring?" She inquired, remembering her fake British accent.

Evidently this question was a mistake. Damian bared his teeth and pressed a blade against the base of her neck. "I am not a fool," he hissed. Specks of foul spittle sprayed Deryn's face. She resisted the urge to suggest that he take better care of his dental hygiene. "I heard your real accent earlier. You're no more a British princess than I am a donkey!" His expression was venomous. "I should slit your throat right now. You're of absolutely no use to me."

This Deryn couldn't disagree with.

"Wait!" Sullivan interrupted, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. "Yes, she might not be the princess, but that doesn't mean you have to kill her. If you let her go I swear that I shall return willingly to your custody. I won't attempt escape again if you set her free."

"You will be returning to my custody regardless." Damian spat. "I'll chain you to the wall myself. Try to escape all you wish- you won't be going anywhere." He pressed the blade harder against Deryn's throat. "She, however, will soon be on her way to hell. Wicked vixen."

"Sorry," Deryn asked, "But I've got to ask. Why do you keep calling me a vixen?"

Damian pulled her hair again, so roughly that Deryn gasped through gritted teeth at the pain. "Your lewd desire was so powerful that you disrobed my son!" He exclaimed furiously.

She almost burst into peals of laughter. "I just wanted a change of clothes! Believe me; I have absolutely no 'wicked desires' associated with Edward."

"SILENCE!" Damian bellowed sharply. "Do not offer me vile excuses, or you will regret it."

"What, will you threaten to cut off my lips again? Now that was vile." She taunted. After she'd spent so much time sitting in silence, pretending to be a princess and allowing this brutish man to berate and humiliate her over and over again, Deryn was ready to burst. And, best of all, she literally had a weapon up her sleeve.

"You dare speak back to me, you stupid female?" Damian roared.

"Stupid? I'm not the one tied up half-naked in a cell, now am I?" She declared. "That's beyond stupidity. Why, it's barking idiotic." Damian's hand, the one holding the knife to her throat, shook with pure anger. "Tell me," she continued, "which side of the family did Edward get his brains from? Yours, or the monkey's?"

Since Deryn was pretty sure that a single word more would get her killed, she decided that this would be the perfect moment to act. Too quickly for Damian to notice, she let the letter opener slide down her sleeve until she was grasping the handle. She inhaled, preparing herself for action, and gave Sullivan the tiniest of nods.

Then, without warning, she drove the letter opener's blade into Damian's thigh, so deep she couldn't pull it back out, and bit down on his hand, causing him to drop his knife in shock and agony. She kicked his blade out of reach and slid from his grip before he realized he'd lost hold of her.

He let out a feral scream of rage and pain, instinctually grabbing at the blade wedged in his thigh.

"Let's go!" Deryn shouted at Sullivan, but she realized that she'd forgotten one tiny detail -Damian was standing right in front of the only doorway, and he was not about to budge.

Eyes blazing with hatred, Damian Vost ferociously ripped the letter opener out of his thigh and threw it at his feet. Deryn picked up the knife that he had threatened her with, but realized that it was going to be completely useless when she saw Damian reach inside his coat pocket.

He had a gun.

"Wait- you don't have to do this!" Sullivan cried out.

There was no response. For once, Damian didn't say anything at all. No scathing insults were delivered. He didn't tell Deryn that she was destined for hell, or that she and the rest of the Darwinists were heathens. He didn't threaten or intimidate. He didn't have to. There was nowhere left to run. There was no escape, not this time. He simply offered her a small, infuriating smile. He didn't have to say anything out loud, because Deryn knew exactly what he was thinking.

I win.

"Stop!" Sullivan pled, but it didn't matter, because before he'd choked out that single word, the trigger had been pulled, the gun had been fired, and there was a bullet inside Deryn.