The Lazarus Engine – Chapter 18
The Third Winding
Big Ben was not open to the public at night. But Charlotte had prepared for visitors. The iron gate at the base of the tower was unlocked. The stairs beyond were lit by gas lamps that hissed and flickered. Thorne and Gray climbed.
Three hundred and thirty-four steps to the belfry. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls. The air grew colder as they ascended, and louder—not with the ticking of the great clock, but with a different sound.
A heartbeat.
Deep. Rhythmic. Mechanical.
“The engine,” Gray said. “She’s already started.”
They reached the belfry.
The clock mechanism occupied the entire top floor—a vast assembly of gears, pendulums, and counterweights. But the mechanism had been altered. Wires snaked from the clockwork to a brass table in the center of the room. On that table lay Victor March’s body.
His chest was open. His heart—the preserved one from the mausoleum—had been placed inside a glass chamber connected to a massive engine. The engine was ticking. Faster and faster.
And beside the table stood Charlotte March.
She had changed clothes. She wore a white dress, simple and clean, like a bride or a ghost. Her hair was braided. Her hands were bare—no mechanical prosthesis. But on the table beside her, the mechanical hand lay waiting, its fingers curled.
“Dr. Thorne,” she said without turning. “You’re late. The third winding has already begun.”
Thorne stepped forward, the regulator in his hand. “Stop the engine, Charlotte. It won’t bring him back.”
“It already has.” She turned. Her eyes were calm, peaceful, almost happy. “My father’s heart is beating again. Listen.”
Thorne listened. The heartbeat was there, beneath the ticking. Weak. Irregular. But real.
“How?”
“The engine doesn’t replace the heart. It restarts it. Using the residual electricity in the nerves. I’ve been harvesting it from the victims—Wells, Hale, the others. Their deaths gave him life.”
Gray moved to the side, trying to flank Charlotte. “You murdered innocent people.”
“I liberated them. They were afraid of death. Now they are death. Now they are part of something eternal.” Charlotte placed her hand on her father’s chest. “When the clock strikes midnight, the third winding will be complete. His heart will beat on its own. Without the engine. Without me. He will live again.”
Thorne raised the regulator. “And I can stop it. With this. The master key.”
Charlotte smiled. “Try.”
Thorne pressed the regulator against the engine.
Nothing happened.
The engine kept ticking. The heart kept beating.
Charlotte laughed—a soft, sad sound. “That’s not the master regulator, Dr. Thorne. It’s a decoy. Lord Pym betrayed you. He gave you a useless piece of brass.”
Thorne looked at the cylinder. It was warm in his hand, but inert.
“He wanted to be the first,” Thorne said. “He wanted the engine in his chest.”
“And he will be. After my father. After I prove that it works.” Charlotte reached for the mechanical hand on the table. She slipped it over her own hand, the brass fingers clicking into place. “Now. You have a choice. You can watch. Or you can try to stop me. But if you try—”
She raised the mechanical hand. The fingers opened, revealing a small aperture in the palm.
“—I will stop your heart. Permanently.”
The clock above them ticked toward midnight.
Eleven fifty-three.
Seven minutes.