“Is THE RESOURCE FULLY prepared?” Leng asked as he stepped into the subterranean room, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.
“Yes, Doctor,” said Munck, turning toward him. The short, powerfully built man was breathing heavily from exertion, and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, stopping at the fresh scar that served as reminder of Constance Greene’s fury.
“Excellent.” Leng directed his gaze around the operating chamber to ensure all was prepared. Obtaining this resource off the street, where such an action could easily be witnessed, was dangerous, and he wanted to make sure the extraction process went like clockwork. Until that sanctimonious cleric was dealt with, he would have to undergo an excess of risk to obtain resources. But he was confident the Right Reverend Considine would soon be hastened to his reward in the next world and he could return to obtaining resources from the Mission: a far safer and easier method.
He finished his survey, satisfied everything was in order. That spectral companion to the duchess, Pendergast, had breached his tunnels, no doubt in fury after finding the corpse of Ferenc. What a lovely surprise that must have been; Leng was sorry he hadn’t been there to see the man’s face. But though the fellow’s explosives now prevented his gathering future resources from the site, the pale detective did not know of this hidden operating theater of his, located in a walled-off section of the old Stuyvesant aqueduct underneath Shottum’s Cabinet. He could not help but be struck by the contrast of the weeping brick archways of the aqueduct with the gleaming metal walls that sealed this most modern and advanced of operating rooms situated within it. It gave him comfort to view the trays covered with glittering steel instruments that Munck had sharpened to perfection, the latest oak surgical table covered with oilcloth, the brilliant electrical light and reflector that ran from his own custom-made voltaic pile.
The extraction of the cauda equina had to be as precise and antiseptic as possible.
The cauda equina—“horse’s tail” in Latin—was the bundle of nerves that diverged at the base of the spine into hundreds of gossamer-like strands. This miraculous biological structure was the very foundation of his Arcanum. Its extraction was only possible if postoperative recovery was not an issue. But the processing of the cauda equina into the Arcanum—the elixir of life extension for which he searched—required a chemical process of great complexity and precision, procedures and titrations that had so far eluded him. Perhaps that book the duchess had given him, seemingly written in his own future hand, had the answers. Perhaps not.
An additional problem was the resource itself. As he gazed down at the surgical table, he felt a twinge of dissatisfaction. This one was on the lean side, malnourished, pale. He would prefer to have had the time to fatten it up, but he was in a hurry. A tremendous hurry. It would have to do.
The resource—he’d already forgotten her name—was lying facedown on the oilcloth atop the surgical table. One of innumerable sad cases: abandoned, desperate—more proof (as if it were needed) of the worthlessness and suffering of the human species. She was covered with a crisp white sheet, hands and feet securely strapped, a thick wad of chloroform-doused cotton over her mouth and nose, held in place by gauze wound around her head. Leng knew that in Munck he had an assistant who took pleasure in preparing the resources—he himself found the inevitable struggling, screams, and pleas a tiresome prologue.
He gave a sharp nod, and Munck drew back the sheet, exposing the naked body.
A faint moan sounded. The chloroform was a minor sedative only, but it was all he could risk using. He had learned it was important to keep the resource conscious as long as possible, in order to harvest the nerves in an active state.
Now he approached the table, taking a last glance at the instrument tray to make sure all was in readiness. Munck stepped back, clutching the white sheet between his hands, eyes shining. Picking up a surgical scalpel, Leng expertly palpated the lower back with his fingers and thumb, locating each vertebra and mentally identifying them: T12, L1, L2. Then, with a single, decisive swipe, he severed the longissimus thoracis and other “true” muscles of the lower back. There was more noise now, but Leng did not notice: he was engrossed in his work and pleased with the start he’d made. Only a true surgeon would appreciate the skill it took to transect all four layers of deep back muscle with one stroke.
Using retractors, he exposed the laminae of the vertebrae, the curved sections of bone that made up the rear of the protective spinal ring. A medical chisel was sufficient to chip these away, along with the vertebral arches. After plucking away bits of interspinous ligaments with a forceps, he picked up a finer-bladed scalpel and opened the dura, clamped it away on both sides with retractors, and—scalpel in one hand, forceps in the other—probed the meninges of the spinal cord, looking for the precise place to cut.
… And there it was. He nodded to Munck, who presented a glass jar, partially filled with sterile water tinctured with a mild preservative. With the resource now motionless Leng made the final cuts, exposing his prize, freeing it from the peripheral nerves, and extracting it carefully with the forceps.
The anatomical perfection of the structure, its delicacy and intricacy, never ceased to impress him. How amazing were the works of God!
He submerged it with infinite care in the beaker, and Munck sealed the top and placed it in a small portable icebox kept for that purpose. Leng stepped back, then pulled off his mask and gloves while Munck turned his efforts to packing the open wound with gauze and covering the resource—now spent—with the sheet.
How amazing indeed, he thought again, were the works of God. But it seemed the Supreme Being cared too much for his creation—Leng could think of no other reason why such a destructive creature as man would be permitted to remain on earth. But that, in essence, was the foundation of his life’s work.
What a kind and merciful God did not have the heart to do, Leng would do for Him.