What am I doing here? One minute I am in China, in the caves above the Shaolin monastery. I am standing there, water dripping all around me, with the bones of a long-dead saint in my hands. The next minute I am waking in a shed full of twisted metal and wires … They tell me I am in America.
America, the new world.
My father, Isaac and Rachel. Their faces loomed above me as I lay on the table. My joints ached, the light hurt my eyes and my mouth felt dry. I tried to talk. My tongue was swollen. It felt unfamiliar, scaly, like a cobra coiled in my mouth.
“Kit?” Rachel was holding my hand, gulping. My father beside her, blocking out the light. He had aged, his hair a shocking white, new lines on his face. His eyes were wet. It made me feel strange. I had never seen Father cry before.
“I’ll never leave you again. I promise,” Father muttered.
You didn’t leave me, I wanted to say. It was my fault, Father. My tongue wouldn’t work so I could only look at him and hope he knew what I meant. He held out his hand and took mine. My heart tumbled inside my chest. His image flickered and for a moment all I saw was his outline, muzzy, whitish against a glowing light.
“Don’t punish me, Kit. I mean to spend much less time on my work. I will be a better father to you.”
What was he talking about? He is a wonderful father. Kind, generous and not too attentive to what I get up to.
Rachel was crying, fat tears dripping down her face. She let out a sob and used a tissue to blow her nose. Even Isaac’s eyes were welling up. I couldn’t cry. I felt a deep bewilderment. The world seemed soft, insubstantial, as I looked out at it. I remembered the feeling so strongly I could touch it, of peace, of being curled up in a deep, dark place.
A safe place.
“We must take her home,” Father said, turning to Rachel. “We must take Kit back to Oxford as soon as possible.”
In the background I could hear shouting, screaming. It was somewhere far away, tinny to my ears. Something crashed and then clanged and clattered away across the floor. I could hear Waldo yelling and Aunt Hilda’s deep voice. And someone else, someone whose voice was a high-pitched, ghastly whine.
Making a supreme effort, I pulled my body up. My ribs hurt and the breath came hard. Rachel and Isaac both rushed to stop me.
“Nooooo. You mustn’t,” Rachel wailed. “It is too soon.”
I had to. I had to see. I had managed to lever myself upright. Waldo and Aunt Hilda were bunched together, both talking at once. In front of them was a man—it came to me in a rush, Cecil Baker. No, not Cecil, his brother, Cyril. They were so alike it was hard to tell which of the twins it was. Or at least they used to be. This man was transformed. With hair dyed black, trimmed mustache. He looked more wrong than ever, like a ghost pretending to be a dandy.
“You don’t understand,” Cyril said, his voice rising. “It was me—I SAVED KIT’S LIFE.”
Waldo and Aunt Hilda both began shouting at once. Their voices rose hysterically. I heard the word “killer” and “get out.” A bookshelf full of screws and bolts had been overturned, and pieces of metal rolled all over the floor.
“YOU SHOULD BE THANKING ME, NOT CURSING ME,” Cyril Baker shouted.
You can make yourself do anything, even if your body rebels. My body was telling me to lie down and let all this pass, but I made up my own mind. Using all my strength, I sat up straight and spoke.
“YOU … SHOULD …”
Everyone in the shed stopped arguing and screaming and turned to me. There was pin-drop silence. I took a gulp of air, which streamed into my lungs, giving me new strength.
“LISTEN … TO … HIM.”
Having spoken, I collapsed back onto the table. Someone had propped a bolster behind me, so now I was sitting half upright. Five words, but they had a sensational effect. My friends looked astonished, as if a ghost had spoken, while Mr. Baker’s mouth widened in a broad smile.
“Kit Salter is finally back,” he said. “You have me to thank for that.”
“Stand aside, you monster,” Aunt Hilda said to Mr. Baker. To me she muttered, “I’m so pleased to see you here again, my darling.” She glared at Mr. Baker and then came over to enfold me in her stumpy arms. I struggled for a second and then relaxed into the embrace. She smoothed back a strand of hair and looked into my eyes.
“Welcome back, Kit,” she said, and then switched her attention to Baker. “We all know that you hate my niece. We all know that she is the only one, apart from me, who has ever thwarted your plans.”
“I’ve changed,” Baker said. “Ask Professor Silas.”
The shabby man he pointed to was cleaning a metal mannequin. He was bent over almost double, rubbing it with a soft cloth. As he worked, he clucked to himself. Absorbed in his task, he hadn’t heard Baker and didn’t reply.
“Silas,” Baker called out, “who sent you Rumbelow? Who funded your galvanic electro-shock machine? Didn’t I make you seek out Kit Salter and cure her?”
“Perfectly true,” Silas replied. “Why? Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!” Aunt Hilda exploded. “This man is our sworn enemy. He is a liar, a cheat and a murderer.”
“A murderer?” Silas asked.
“I know of at least five murders he has personally ordered.”
“No! Really? Are you sure?” Silas said. “I mean, he’s always been good to me. Paid in advance. Dollars. Nuggets of gold. Most generous terms.”
“He is rich,” Waldo said. “But his wealth is based on death, slavery and—”
“Waldo,” I interrupted from my slumped position, “let Baker talk. There is something … He may be telling the truth. Please—”
But Waldo and my aunt interrupted me indignantly, leaving me unable to finish.
Thankfully my father came to my aid. His angry voice sliced through the babble. “NO ONE IS DOING ANY TALKING!” he said. “We are going to take Kit home. She will rest. She will see a doctor. This is not the time for argument.”
He glared at the five of them: Waldo, Isaac, Rachel, my aunt and Baker. Shamefaced, my friends came forward and eased me onto the stretcher that lay near the table. Swaying between them, I was carried out into the garden. The last thing I saw was Mr. Baker’s pale face and black hair, looming over me like a deathless vampire.