“You have a soft heart, nephew,” Dr. Oystein whispers.
Rage snorts but says nothing. I have plenty to say but I can’t, so I just roll my eyes.
“It won’t matter much in the grand scheme of things,” Owl Man sighs, “but it’s better to spare a life than take it. And perhaps my father will calm down when Claudia carries news of this back to him. Knowing he’s defeated, maybe he’ll retreat to his base as requested, where he can do no further damage.”
“Or maybe he’ll tear through the streets of London and kill everyone he can find before the chance is denied him,” Dr. Oystein notes.
“Maybe,” Owl Man says glumly. “There’s never any telling for certain with him.”
The men–uncle and nephew, the lord of destruction and his heir–stare at the corpses on the street for a while, as if thinking of all the bodies they’ve been responsible for over the years. Then Sakarias whines and nudges Owl Man’s legs, looking for permission to chow down.
“No,” he says, snapping back into the present. “We don’t have time for that. We must press on. There might be other mutants in the area. If Claudia finds them and they use their walkie-talkies to summon Mr. Dowling…”
“You should have thought about that before you let her waltz out of here,” Rage says, but Owl Man ignores the jibe and looks questioningly at Dr. Oystein.
The doc is silent for a few more seconds, lost in his memories. Then he sniffs and starts for the front door. “Come,” he says.
“Where?” Owl Man asks.
“My laboratory. It will be a fitting venue for the final revelations.”
“If I might make a suggestion?” Owl Man murmurs. “The streets are not secure. There’s a boat out back. It would make more sense to use that.”
“But it’s only a short distance,” Dr. Oystein says.
“The final stretch can sometimes be the most treacherous,” Owl Man replies. “We don’t want to run any unnecessary risks this close to ultimate victory.”
“A bit late to be thinking about that now,” Rage snorts, but again Owl Man ignores him.
Dr. Oystein nods thoughtfully. “You are right as usual, Zachary. Besides, it is a fine night for a trip down the river. Lead the way, please, Rage.”
“My pleasure, cap’n,” Rage grins. “But I still think it was madness letting the girl go.”
“Is there no room for compassion in your heart?” Dr. Oystein asks tetchily.
“Not since I found out that the so-called savior of the world was a traitor and a hypocrite,” Rage says cheerfully, and the doc looks like he wants to cry when he hears that.
“Come, Becky,” Owl Man says, extending a hand to help me to my feet. “You may move about again, but I forbid you to attack Dr. Oystein, myself or any of our associates.”
I ignore his hand and push myself to my feet. I try to throw a punch at him, but every muscle in my arm tenses at the thought. I try to lean over and bite into his throat, but my legs take root and my jaw clamps shut. Scowling, I accept the limits that he’s placed on me and point to my lips instead.
“What?” he asks. Then he remembers and laughs. “Oh, I see. Yes, you can talk again too.”
“You no-good, worthless son of a–” I start to yell.
“But softly,” Owl Man stops me. “And no swearing or vile threats.”
I snarl at him, then push past in disgust, heading out back where Rage is waiting. Just before I exit, I pause and glance at Barnes, lying dead on the floor in a congealing pool of blood. I feel angry, guilty and helpless. There’s so much I want to say to him, but all I can manage is a weak, worthless, “Sorry.”
Rage helps me down into the small boat moored outside, acting like the gentleman he isn’t. I wince as I climb in. My energy has dwindled and the pain is kicking in hard again. Dr. Oystein notices my discomfort.
“Do you still have the syringes that you took from me?” he asks.
I’d almost forgotten about those. He brought three syringes to the brewery, each filled with a concentrated version of the energizing gloop from the Groove Tubes. He injected me with the contents of one. I took the other two in case I needed them later.
“I left them on the counter,” I tell him.
“Rage, would you be so good as to fetch them for us?” Dr. Oystein asks.
“Anything to oblige,” Rage says, and shoots back into the bar. He returns with the syringes a moment later and passes them to the doc. He prepares one and gestures for me to extend my arm.
“I can do it myself,” I grunt, reaching for the syringe.
Dr. Oystein shakes his head. “A syringe can be a weapon. Alas, I know that better than most. Let me do this for you, B. It’s not that I don’t trust my nephew’s hypnotic spell, but you’re a resourceful girl and I worry that you might find a way to countermand his orders.”
I make a face, wishing I could take the syringe and plunge the tip of the needle into the doc’s eyeball, then slip overboard in the confusion. But Owl Man’s hold over me is total and, regardless of the doc’s high opinion of me, I’m not that resourceful.
I’m still in the tattered remains of my wedding dress, which doesn’t have any sleeves, so I simply stick out my arm and look away glumly. As Dr. Oystein injects me, Rage casts off and we drift out into the center of the river. There’s an engine on the boat, but he doesn’t start it. I suppose they don’t want to draw unwelcome attention.
“Where to, doc?” Rage asks breezily.
“East,” Dr. Oystein grunts, telling Rage no more than he needs to, clearly suspicious of him. Rage might be all sweetness and light now, but we know from past experience that he can change sides whenever it suits him.
Rage picks up the oars that were lying on the floor of the boat, moves to the front and starts rowing, slowly, making as little noise as possible. Sakarias looks over the side, studying its reflection. It barks softly, leans farther over and laps at the water, then settles back beside its master. The dog is close to me too, so I run my hands through its fur, finding comfort in that.