Godspeed Read online

  I shifted uncomfortably and set down my teacup, still brimming. What little appetite I'd had now deserted me.

  “That's what I thought.”

  “I'll understand if that means you don't want to—”

  “It's not that.” He looked me over carefully, lifted and dropped his shoulders. “I wonder if you finally told somebody where you came from, if you wouldn't feel a little less alone.”

  My cheeks took on color — a rare thing, these days, except in the doctor's presence. “I'm used to being alone.”

  “That doesn't mean it's good for you.”

  “I'm ready to listen whenever you're ready to begin, Penn.” I said with a slightly sharper edge to my tone. I had no intention of talking about myself. If he had no intention of talking about himself, then there was little point in continuing.

  “Well, you know my name is Pennington Renfrew,” he began, with the weary tone of a man many times his age. “I'm sixteen years old, and my whole family died of the Dread Fever, just a little more than a year since. Least, I think they did, there's one I still don't know about.”

  My eyes instantly took on the weight of tears. “I'm sorry.”

  “Yeah. Well.” He fidgeted with one of the teaspoons on the tray, until it accidentally hit the edge of the table and the sound caused him another jolt of pain. “I'm not the only one who has lost to it.”

  I reached up to touch the lead wires to the charm again and thought about my father.

  “You say that you had heard of the doctor before coming here.” I shook my head and wondered how anyone would possibly be able to seek Quinn out on purpose. “How can that be?”

  “My father was a dreamer. He always saved the most fantastical articles he found written up in the news.” He smiled a sad, fond smile of remembrance. “He kept a clipping about a young doctor who was experimenting with helping those that no one else could. He told me that men like this would someday even be able to cheat Death itself, if they only had the time and chance to do it.

  “My mother called this blasphemy. She believed that a person's time to die was predetermined before they were born. Father disagreed with this, but quietly. No one…” He paused. “No one ever wanted to disagree with mother loudly.” His expression was a mixture of discomfort and nostalgia. “You know how mothers are.”

  “Actually I—” I stopped. I had so few memories of my mother, and those I had were little more than impressions of feeling safe in her arms, and how lost I felt when that safety was suddenly snatched away. I didn't want to distract him from telling his story with one of my own, so I simply nodded once.

  “Mother was the first to die of the Fever.” Tears formed in just the corners of his bright green eyes. “They took my little sister Pearl away and I never saw her again. I don't know if she's living or dead, I only know she's gone missing. In the Child Protection System somewhere, maybe. I still want to find her. Jib's parents tried.” He hung his head for a moment, and I could tell that of all he'd suffered, this was the thing that pained him the most.

  “My father died, then my Grandmother, last. I was sick, so sick I didn't know if I would live to see morning. But right before she died, my grandmother told me where the money was hidden in the house, a decent sum of it. Soon as I could stand, I put it into a suitcase and I disappeared before anyone found my family. I didn't want to end up in the Protection system too.” He shook now, from head to toe, at the memory.

  “I made my way to a boarding house in the worst end of town. I had to buy off the prostitutes to keep them from attempting to sell me themselves. I'll never forget the way that they looked at me. They said I was—” still he trembled and his voice reflected his horror, “—a very pretty boy.

  “I came to Fairever by train. I bought a ticket with rest of the money I had to my name. I sought out the last known location of Doctor Quinn Godspeed, only to be told that he was dead. That it had been a death by hanging, he'd taken his own life.”

  The image that the very thought put into my head was devastating, and I felt my throat constrict in response to it. I said nothing, only waited for him to continue.

  “I'm getting ahead of myself, though. I forgot to tell you how I'd already lost most of my hearing, and how difficult it was for me to understand what exactly had happened to me. I could hear noises around me at almost normal volume, but voices were impossible to separate, one from another. Words washed together, and I struggled to hide this from the people I met, for fear they would think that it was a defect with my mind. You know how those who cannot hear are perceived in our so-called upright, enlightened society.”

  I thought about this for a moment and it truly saddened me. He was right; even in this supposedly civilized time, there was still an unfortunate stigma attached to deafness that did not immediately plague the blind. It was intimated that they were possessed, or lacking in mental ability. I had, of course, questioned this in my heart even before I met Penn, and knowing him now, I was completely convinced that there was no correlation between inability to hear and the ability to think.

  It was amazing how quickly I forgot entirely about his slightly altered pronunciation of words; it was so slight, really, and so inconsequential that almost immediately upon meeting him, I'd dismissed it.

  “With no money and nowhere to stay, I started going shop to shop down the streets, looking for a position that would at least provide me a room. I was actually in the grocer's shop, exhausted, and if truth be told, near tears as I begged for a job sweeping up in exchange for a piece of fruit. That was when he found me.”

  “Godspeed?”

  “No, Schuyler. He took pity on me. He ushered me outside, gave me food out of the order he'd just paid for. I devoured the first, then the second piece of fruit as nothing I'd ever eaten before. I've never been so grateful for a meal in my life.”

  I began to weep and did not even attempt to conceal my emotions from Penn.

  “He invited me to his house for dinner and at first, I was apprehensive…” He widened his eyes, and I understood his meaning. Again, however, I said nothing.

  “I was at the end of my strength, so I said yes. I came back here and he introduced me to Jib and the girls, who were sitting in the red room waiting for him to prepare dinner. I was so focused upon the task of reading his lips that it wasn't until we got back and I lost track of the conversation between Jib and Schuyler that he determined that there was something not right about me.

  “He took me into the kitchen, away from the others, and he asked me outright if I could hear. I admitted that I could only hear a little, and that I had nowhere in the world to turn. He told me then that he owned Ruby Road Art and Antiquities, and that he had been looking for a shop boy, to sweep up and run errands. He said that the position paid mostly room and board with a small allowance, and then he suggested I might like to meet a friend of his, who could possibly help me, if anyone could.

  “When Doctor Godspeed arrived for the first time and I saw him, I could not believe my eyes. It was enough to make me believe in Providence yet, that I had come to find him in this way, after my searching had been fruitless. It was a miracle that he lived, though immediately I began to wonder why the fabrication of his death.”

  “What was the reason?” I asked, finally able to hold back my curiosity no longer.

  “I still don't know the answer to that question,” Penn admitted. “I was just told that it was necessary, and that no one was to know that Quinn Godspeed was still alive, let alone that he had been practicing medicine. I was sworn to secrecy, as all of his projects are.”

  “Projects?” I bristled. “Is that what he calls us?”

  “Not he. Schuyler.”

  I disliked the idea of being called ‘project’, but I supposed that being called ‘experiment’ would have been far worse.

  “The doctor agreed to help you?”

  “Immediately,” Penn confirmed. “He didn't even think twice about it. He said he knew that he could help me to understand
speech again, but he warned me that it would not be—”

  “Without sacrifice.” I knew those words, and their true meaning, all too well.

  “Precisely.” He reached up again and traced his fingertips along the external evidence of the mechanics that Quinn had implanted into his body. “The noise, with the exception of speech — which I still struggle to comprehend — everything in the world is so loud. So incredibly, maddeningly loud.”

  “Can he not compensate for the difference?”

  “He's still trying. It is not an easy thing to do. If I lose the amplification of some, I lose speech altogether. Though sometimes…” His words died; his youthful innocence bled away with them as he descended into melancholy.

  “Sometimes what, Penn?”

  He sighed. “I don't mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “You won't,” I assured him. “Remember to whom you're speaking. Tell me.”

  “Sometimes, I wish that I could just escape from all sound, from everything. No more train whistles. No more senseless banging upon piano keys because my mind cannot pick out the music from the noise. No more.” He stopped and wiped at his eyes to deny the tears. “No laughter in the world is beautiful enough to make up for the pain of hearing someone cry.”

  I reached out and gathered him into my arms. We both blanched when the charm made contact with the fabric of his shirt. Me, because it hurt, and he, I am certain, because he was afraid of causing me pain.

  “I understand,” I whispered, and he nodded to indicate that he'd heard me. “I truly do, Penn. If anyone can find a way to make it better, Godspeed can.”

  “What about for you?” He drew back; finally blinking away the remnants of his unshed tears. “Will he be able to make it better for you, Else?”

  “I don't know,” I answered truthfully. I wondered if I would live long enough for him to even have the chance to try.

  “I hope so.”

  I dug deep into what little reserve of energy I had to apply a false smile to my face, though from the look on his, I knew that he was not convinced my mood had changed at all. “Tell me about the others.”

  “Their stories vary, but all are vastly different from my own.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, Jib, for one. You know he comes from an exceptionally well-to-do family. They could buy and sell Schuyler's entire shop a million times over.”

  “How did they find out about the doctor?”

  “Schuyler has known the Weatheralls since childhood, and I believe that they knew the doctor's family as well, though again that is another story half told. I cannot seem to pry full disclosure out of either of them. The way Jib tells it, his parents told everyone that he was going off to boarding school in the country after he fell ill. They really had sent him place to place, seeking some kind of treatment that would work. Only at the end of that search did they come to Godspeed, begging help.” He shifted uneasily. “I don't know if Jib understands just how bad things really are for him.”

  “He understands. There is no way that Godspeed would allow him to hold onto hope that has no basis in reality. If he isn't sure he can help, he tells you so.”

  “That is true,” Penn concluded, beginning to gather up the cups and the tray. “He has never made a promise to me that he could not readily keep.”

  CHAPTER 19

  DINNERS WITH GUESTS became a daily affair, and I didn't know if it was more for their benefit or mine.

  Clearly, Jib's condition was worsening, and I came to believe that Quinn was trying to buoy Jib's spirits by keeping him as much as possible in the company of friends.

  Just before the next dinner, the doctor sent for me.

  “Lilibet has taken quite a shine to you,” he announced, striding across the laboratory, arms laden with books. “I am wondering if that might not be a help to her in the near future.”

  “Oh?”

  “Indeed.”

  I waited to see if he would elaborate; if he had any interest at all in indicating why it was that he felt this was so. When he was not forthcoming, I found that as usual it was up to me to fish for whatever information I could catch.

  “Why would you think that she's even noticed me?”

  Quinn set down the pile of books and stared at me for a long moment. So long, in fact, I wondered if I had truly irritated him this time. But finally he widened his eyes at me just a little, and in as close as he ever came to a teasing tone, he whispered, “Wise Doctor Godspeed knows all. Sees all.”

  “I don't doubt it,” I muttered, absently beginning to pick up the books and file them onto the bookshelves into their correct sections. By this point, I knew exactly where Quinn liked to keep each category of books, in a filing system that was as unique as he was and had absolutely nothing to do with alphabetical order, or even author's names or specialties.

  No, Quinn had his own way of doing things, and I hadn't realized how much time I'd spent watching him, how much time I'd spent staring at the shelves on that bookcase, until this moment when I began to put the items where he would have put them without even thinking about it.

  Apparently this gave him pause as well, because he looked up, raised a hand in the air as if to ask me what I thought I was doing, but then he stopped. He simply nodded, the closest to a show of approval that I could possibly expect from him. Then he turned toward the stack of leather journals on the edge of the desk, picked one up, and began scribbling in it with his usual speed and intensity.

  How curious I was, to ask if he was writing down the fact that I now knew exactly where to add books to his library.

  After I finished putting the books away, I noticed a coating of dust had begun to form on top of the case, and I reached for the feather duster that Schuyler kept in the far corner. I picked it up and, without thinking, prepared to use it.

  “Don't do that,” Quinn snapped, turning toward me suddenly and fairly tearing it from my hand.

  “I'm sorry.” How stupid I'd been, didn't I realize that the dust being stirred up into the air could likely damage the machinery all around me? Was it any wonder I'd never seen the doctor actually let Schuyler use the duster anywhere near him or his equipment? Was it…

  Seeing the look upon my face now, Quinn's countenance altered. It went from the stern look of irritation he'd had a moment earlier to something that bordered upon wonder. It was an expression I was unaccustomed to seeing in him, and it bewildered me.

  Not knowing what else I should say or do, again I apologized.

  “No need to say sorry…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head and looked down at the duster, still between his fingers. “It's just that you're not a servant in this house. You… you don't do the tidying up.”

  I felt my cheeks turn from pale to crimson. “Sir?”

  “You are a resident here, a—” He seemed to stutter slightly, something I had never heard him do, and could not imagine him doing until this moment. “You… you're not the help. You've no need to earn your keep. By this point, if you know anything of me, I would hope that you would know that.”

  I was absolutely dumbstruck, and so I just folded my hands and lowered my head. I was shocked when, just an instant later, I felt his hand beneath my chin, as he gently lifted my face until my eyes were forced to look into his.

  It is said that there are but a few, critical moments that define a human lifetime; the most meaningful a being will ever experience. The one when you are born (which you can't remember) and the one when you die (which I could tell you from personal experience you wish you could forget) are supposed to be among those most significant.

  I would argue that it is moments like this one; the one in which I found myself staring into those fathoms deep, bluest of all eyes, and starting to tremble at his touch, that defined the life I would wish to lead.

  “Don't ever lower your head in shame that way in my presence. Please. It…” He withdrew his hand, but still stood so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body and into mine
. “It troubles me.”

  I nodded. As if under a power not my own, my hand elevated and reached out to brush against his sleeve, and the instant that it did, his eyes closed. Just as quickly, though, he seemed to startle, and before I knew what had happened, he was behind his desk and I was left standing there, arm still outstretched toward nothing.

  * * *

  It was a new ‘day’ for me, and as had become standard procedure, I found myself in the laboratory with Quinn. This particular evening, we had company.

  “The mystery of the ailment is its inconsistency,” the doctor explained. “Observe.” He turned Penn away from him. Once the boy fully faced the wall, the doctor retrieved a heavy medical text from his shelf and then dropped it down onto the desk.

  The noise caused Penn to jump. He spun around, his chest heaving with the short, uncertain breaths of a person caught completely unaware.

  “Sorry.” The doctor shrugged, gently patting Penn on the arm. He lowered his head, and his voice, and turned back toward the shelf to restore the book. “Now, young man, if you would be so kind. Please, take a seat.”

  Penn's head tilted curiously to the side. He knew the doctor was speaking; yet he was unable to make out the words. His fists balled up in impotent frustration, wishing to strike out in vain toward a world that was too big to be felled by the blows.

  Quinn sighed, and adjusted the amplifiers back to their previous setting. “We'll keep trying, Penn,” he promised. Penn simply nodded and then left.

  “I am so sad for him,” I said.

  “We must do what good we can,” Quinn replied, “and we can. Come on, follow me.”

  I tried to keep up, but it was nearly impossible.

  “Lilibet can read,” he announced, as he rushed through the back entrance to the shop and started bellowing for Schuyler. He gestured for me to stay just the other side of the threshold.

  “How do you know?” I asked, as I tried to catch my breath.

  “I've seen her,” Quinn replied, before shouting Schuyler's name again, emphasizing each syllable in the manner of an impatient child.