Destruction Read online

  As a result, Ned Forrest, found guilty of the heinous crime of murder most foul, was remanded to the custody of Harbury Hall instead of making an immediate trip to the hangman.

  Dr. Merrill Ringwood had accepted the prisoner with a certain amount of glee, since he’d just perfected a new version of the thonirium detonator and was desperate for a chance to test it.

  He nodded, mumbled to himself, adjusted a couple of levers and gave a final check to the several dials above his operating panel.

  “That should do it.” He gave a final glance through the thick glass covering the bars of the small cell. There were strong lights built high above, so all the details were perfectly clear.

  Ringwood walked backward about six feet and—keeping his gaze on the door—reached out to where he knew he’d find a large pair of darkened goggles.

  There was a brilliant flash of light that would have seared his eyes had the doctor not taken steps to protect them.

  Then there was a harsh shriek, followed by screaming, both of which were muted by the surroundings.

  Ringwood pushed the goggles up on his forehead, hurried forward and looked through the door. There was significant blood loss, of course. That was to be expected. The thonirium and its new detonator had been secured to the man’s left hand, which no longer existed.

  Not surprising, since less than a thimbleful of the chemical could vaporize an entire human. Ringwood had used minute amounts for this experiment.

  The mangled remains of the subject’s arm lay awkwardly on his lap while he writhed and screamed through a mouth contorted in agony.

  The doctor ignored everything except for one annoying detail. The arm of the chair was almost gone, with only a few splinters showing where it had been.

  But those damn leather straps had survived the explosion. Again.

  He frowned, thinking, calculating. The screaming continued, curses spewing one upon another, vile obscenities clearly distinguishable even through the thick door, followed by more screams.

  “Oh good God. How am I to think?” Ringwood snarled through the glass. “Shut up, man.”

  His words elicited more shrieks, screams and gargled filth. It was endless, a stream of sounds guaranteed to drive anyone mad. Ringwood wasn’t anyone, he was the scientist of note who was going to perfect the use of thonirium as the stealth weapon par excellence. Nobody would surpass him in creating delivery systems for explosives that were virtually undetectable, or small missiles that would be easy to load and carry and harmless until detonated.

  Airships could lighten their ballast, unconcerned about the weight of their current armament.

  Hand weapons would change to small, powerful guns shooting lightweight bullets longer distances. Bullets that would decimate anything they hit.

  There were hundreds of applications, hundreds of different designs waiting for the perfect weapon. And hundreds of thousands of pounds to be made once he could register his patents, pay off the Harburys—after all they had made it all possible and he was a fair-minded man—and retire to an estate rivaling the Devonshire’s.

  Or perhaps he’d purchase a Scottish island for himself. Or an Earldom.

  The possibilities were endless—if only that idiot would shut up so he could think.

  At the end of his patience, the doctor walked back across the room, tugged the goggles back over his eyes and reached for a small lever, twisting it all the way to the right and making sure his back was to the cell.

  The consequent flash and explosion were just a little more violent than before, but the room held together with little more than a slight puff of dust from the ceiling.

  And afterward, there was a blessed silence.

  Looking through the cell window and past the red mess spattered against the glass, Ringwood shook his head. The chair had tipped, the back was gone and the headless remains were barely identifiable.

  But the leather straps were intact, as was the leather blindfold.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He needed those straps. Something, some property of this leather was acting as a suppressant. Or at least not vaporizing like it should have. He had to find out what and which.

  “Robert.” He clicked a switch and spoke into a small brass horn affixed to the wall.

  “Yes sir?” The tinny voice answered immediately.

  “I need the cleaners, please.”

  “Very good sir. They’ll be there in a moment.”

  “Thank you.” Ringwood clicked off the switch. Within a few minutes he’d have a cleaned containment cell and those damn leather straps. Then he could focus his attention on the important business of continuing to improve the Ringwood Shock Wave system.

  He’d spent a long time thinking up that name and had become quite enamored of it.

  The door rattled and he opened it, waving the crew inside. There were two of them, both men, pushing a large cart filled with the appropriate materials. It was all quite routine and he’d come to rely both on the efficiency of the procurer and the utter devotion of the assisting staff. Neither had let him down.

  The Harburys were to be commended for their attention to detail.

  *~~*~~*

  Portia watched two men from the scientific assistants’ room head down toward the lift. They were well built, muscular and silent. The staff of the laboratory facility wasn’t given to much socialization, but these two—well, they didn’t mix with the other staff at all.

  Had she been of a dramatic turn of mind, she might have described them as menacing, although in their smart white shirts they managed a façade of pseudo-respectability.

  Either way she avoided them whenever possible simply because they made her skin creep, and wasn’t surprised to see the other regular staff doing the same thing.

  When they were out of sight, she moved quietly to the old stone staircase. It still functioned, although it was a little bit the worse for wear after the explosions that had recently rattled things beneath Harbury.

  However, she knew where the broken steps were, and although there was little light—in fact none in some places—she was able to negotiate her way downward to the fourth level.

  The little tickle of awareness grew stronger in her mind as she neared Devon’s room, where he was secured more like a prisoner than anything else. He’d been in a cell down on the lowest level, Level Seven, until the explosion that had rocked the level above and done a significant amount of damage. Now at least he had something resembling human surroundings, but not his freedom. Yet.

  Her access to him had been severely limited however, given the repairs that were currently underway and the irregular comings and goings of the workmen. She’d barely had chance to send him a distant greeting, let alone find out what was going on, so she seized upon this opportunity to change that situation. With luck, and perhaps a helping of heavenly intervention, she prayed she’d get at least a few uninterrupted minutes.

  Their odd psychical connection pinged as she reached his level and walked carefully down the passageway. This was better lit than the lower levels, and she grabbed a bucket from the cleaning supply nook so as to appear to be innocently going about her duties should anyone care to inquire.

  Nobody did. The floor was, as she’d hoped, quite deserted.

  “Devon.” She whispered his name as she tapped on the wooden door. It was old, blackened wood, solid as the day it was hewn. But the window here was larger, with only two bars across and two down, instead of the grilles she’d seen on Level Seven.

  “I’m here.” His face was a vague oval of light behind the dirty and distorted glass.

  His voice penetrated the wood as a soft hushed mutter, but she heard it clearly. Once again she marveled at whatever magic had made this possible, this almost silent communication between minds.

  “Is there a way out of there? What can I do?”

  “I haven’t found one yet.” He sounded irritated. “Is the alarm system running here?”

  She looked around, searching for any telltale disk
s of light or copper wiring feeding into the door or the jamb. Amazingly, she saw none.

  “I don’t think so. There are no lights, and I can’t see any wires at all.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Should I try picking the lock?”

  There was silence for a moment as Devon considered the offer. “I’d love to say yes, but perhaps we need to be very cautious. Give me a couple more days to observe the procedures. They’re still getting themselves sorted out, Portia. There’s no regular schedule of meals or anything yet. It’s like having to move us threw everything off kilter.”

  She agreed. “It’s the same upstairs. Everyone’s still a bit confused.” She shrugged. “I’d like to get you out before they move you back down below. You must be aware that they are clearing out the debris.”

  “They’ll do the lab first. They need their power supply back up and running.”

  Portia blinked. “I don’t understand. I didn’t see any power supply or generation equipment down there.”

  Devon’s smile was in his voice. “You really are quite remarkable for a young woman. You shouldn’t know anything about such matters.”

  “Devon, stop it. You know by now that I’m not a stupid chit who can think of nothing but dresses. I’d be bored half to death if that was all I had to do all day. Now. What power source are you talking about?”

  She sensed his hesitation. “Does it have something to do with you and the other men in the laboratory? I saw that, remember. I saw you all, naked…” She cleared her throat. This wasn’t a time to be missish about things. “I saw what they had done to you and where they attached their equipment.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. And I have no earthly clue what it all meant.”

  “I should be embarrassed I suppose.”

  “Oh no. If anything, you should be quite proud.” Portia spoke without thinking, and immediately blushed. She’d barely met the man, and here she was telling him she thought his gentleman’s parts were better than a few other men whose parts were also on display at that moment.

  Oh dear.

  His burst of laughter surprised and warmed her. “Well, we’ll leave that for now. But perhaps there’ll come a time when we can discuss that in greater detail?”

  He sounded hopeful. She bit down on the twinge of something that might well have been lust, since nice young ladies didn’t know anything about such a dreadful thing.

  “I hope so.”

  Blabbermouth.

  Hurriedly she moved on. “Anyway, tell me about the science, please?”

  He took a breath and leaned against his side of the door. “I’m not even sure where to start. Basically they’ve found a way to harness psychic energy and turn it into a practical power resource.”

  “Good God.”

  “Yes. If that wasn’t incredible enough, some devilish scientist discovered that a…”

  He paused, and Portia sensed him seeking for words. “Just say it, Devon. I need to know.”

  “If you must.” He took another deep breath. “Apparently an aroused male, if denied release, generates very high amounts of psychic energy. Most men don’t even notice, since their normal levels are negligible. But there are those of us…”

  “Who possess high psychic abilities to start with.” She finished for him, the puzzle pieces connecting into a very unpleasant picture. “How horrid for you.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “But why? So many other sources of power are available.”

  “Logical question, Portia. I’ve asked myself that one a lot. The only conclusion I can come to is that there are some sort of special characteristics associated with that kind of energy that are unique. That you can’t find in regular steam generated power, for example.”

  “That makes sense. We’re not allowed into too many of the laboratories, of course, so I really don’t know the details of a lot of the experiments going on.” She thought for a few moments, “Devon…is it possible that psychically generated energy could possess a psychic element of its own?”

  “I…”

  Before he could complete the thought, Portia’s sharp hearing caught sounds. “I have to go. Somebody’s coming.”

  “Damn.”

  “I know….”

  “Come back again?”

  “Of course. I’ll find out what I can.”

  “Be careful…Portia…”

  His voice faded in her mind as she quickly picked up her bucket and scurried into the relative safety of the maid’s closet.

  It tore at her heart to leave him in that miserable gloom, but she had no choice at the moment. There was much to learn, much to uncover. And in a moment of unusually lucid comprehension, she realized there was more to be revealed than just Devon’s imprisonment.

  There were bad things here at Harbury. Freeing Devon took priority, but if other terrible happenings were brought to light as well, then so be it. She wouldn’t shy away from whatever she found.

  Her friend Inspector Burke was due to “accidentally” meet her soon. She planned on having quite a few bits of information for him. And she hoped she’d have a plan to free Devon as well.

  For a moment, her spirits drooped. This was a lot to ask an almost-twenty year old girl with little or no experience of life other than what she’d read about in her Papa’s library.

  But then she sensed a brush of something warm and comforting from Devon’s mind. And her heart lifted. Peeking out, she found her way clear and regretfully she tiptoed back up the stairs.

  Dammit, she would do this. Because if she didn’t, she faced losing someone who might become extremely important to her.

  Devon Harbury.

  Chapter 3

  The morning after the funeral service, Malcolm—the Harbury major-domo—opened a door and made a sonorous announcement.

  “Fleet Commander Moreton, my Lady.”

  His somber tone preceded the tall man strolling in to Lady Alwynne Harbury’s morning room where she had just finished a solitary breakfast. She put down her tea on a side table, folded her newspaper and rose, curious to see the man she’d been asked to invite to Harbury for a period of “rehabilitation”.

  “Commander Moreton. A pleasure.” She extended her hand.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Harbury. And you have my sincere thanks for this invitation. A couple of weeks here in such lovely surroundings, with such a lovely hostess…how can a man fail to heal?” He saluted her hand with a brief brush of his lips.

  She smiled at his effusive compliments. “Very charming, Commander. And quite unnecessary. I’d much rather hear why I was encouraged to invite you by a rather high-up member of the Air Ministry.” She gestured at the chairs. “Please, sit and tell me what’s going on? If you can, that is.”

  He took a seat and unbuttoned the neck of his dark jacket. It wasn’t a formal uniform, by any means, but the cut was severe and the only ornamentation other than the shining gold buttons, was an insignia marking his rank on the upper edge of the collar. His military braid was tucked neatly into the hair gathered at the back of his head.

  “I will be happy to tell you what I know, of course. But before we get to that, might I ask about the explosions I felt as I arrived yesterday?”

  She smiled. “Of course. You are aware that Harbury Hall sits atop a large underground laboratory facility?”

  “One hears rumors.”

  “In this case, the rumors are true. We are able to offer top scientists the best surroundings for their experimental endeavors.” She raised her hand and spread her fingers. “We’ve had a biologist.” One finger bent. “Two medical physicians working on healing war wounds.” The next two fingers dipped. “A physicist working with one of your aeronautical engineers.” Her pinky finger bent. “And more over the years.”

  “I’m intrigued. And impressed.”

  “Don’t be. The process began long before my husband and I inherited Harbury. The foundations may well have been laid in the reign of o
ne of the Tudors.”

  “I see.” He studied her. “You are quite familiar with the sciences, it would seem.”

  “I don’t subscribe to the current opinion that women should bear children and look decorative—and nothing else.”

  “Neither do I.” He laughed, showing even teeth. “So you’ll know what those two explosions were?”

  She sighed. He wasn’t to be distracted from his original goal, apparently. “Are you familiar with the work of Dr. Merrill Ringwood?”

  He shook his head.

  “He’s the acknowledged world expert on thonirium.”

  The Commander’s eyes widened. “Really. And he’s here?”

  “Yes. And active this morning, too, if those two explosions are anything to go by.”

  “What’s he working on?”

  “That I can’t tell you and not because it’s a secret, but because I really do not know.” She leaned back in her chair and lazily lifted one eyebrow. “I find lurking around laboratories to be somewhat of an unnecessary peril when explosions are part of the day’s agenda.”

  He chuckled and nodded. “No arguments from me.”

  “Now, Commander.” She straightened. “We must see to your comfort. I have been informed that much of your stay is to be recuperative, so I arranged for you to be quartered in our annex tower. My hope is that you found your suite, and your privacy, well separated from the main rooms. I hope it will suffice?”

  He rose, long-limbed and at ease, his lean face relaxed. She appreciated that in a man and rose as well. It was a shame he’d come at this particular time, but then again, a debt was a debt.

  “It is absolutely idyllic and I slept very well indeed. My recuperation is progressing satisfactorily, I’m told, and so I’ll endeavor to be no trouble at all. I will confess to being eager to talk with the designers of that prototype airship which is the main reason I’m here. I believe they’re working on the plans somewhere nearby?”

  “Actually they’re at Coralfield Conservatory at the moment. But they will be here for dinner this evening, at which time we can make sure you’re introduced and perhaps work out a practical arrangement for your consultations.”