Previously in Frankengeld. Damion and Helena have been allowed to keep the fortune in gold hidden in the Old Doctor's desk. They have visited Freida and witnessed her appetite for clues and her forensic analysis of the mystery of the missing Doctor and his Daughter. On the way home they had a strange encounter with a Turk and his two Wives. The next day started with surgery on a young man who had his arm crushed under a cart, which has provided Damion with a hand that might be used to create a Hand of Toxicity. All he has to do is follow Victor Frankenstein's instructions.
Now read on...
10th June, in the year 1784, in the morning.
The rest of the morning was quieter. We had two patients of the old doctor both of which came to give me a try before, presumably, deciding if they would move to a more established practitioner. I did my best for each one, very aware that my mind kept wandering to the object in the laboratory lying on a bed of crushed ice, or the memory of Helena's breasts being sucked by two labourers.
Once the morning surgery was completed, and we had eaten our lunch, we left Anya and Yani to their jobs and descended the stairs into the laboratory. Each time I went down these stairs recently I got a brief flashback, a moment of fear, from the night when the wolf got into the house. I'm sure it will fade or perhaps I will become one of those people whose trauma becomes part of their constant conversation. Where people who fail to understand me will be regaled with the phrase 'You cannot comprehend, my friend, for you were not present when the trauma occurred.'
On the bench, in a shallow tray filled with crushed ice was the thing we had come to work on. I lifted the bloodied cloth. The hand lay on the ice in perfect condition, though my eye was drawn to the mangled forearm. There was a twinge of guilt in my mind. Had I removed the arm prematurely because, at the back of my mind, the need for a hand had been lurking for days? I took up a scalpel and used it to gently probe the bone and tissue. A feeling of relief flooded over me as I observed again the shattered bones, crushed down to the marrow. And the shredded flesh that no surgeon, even those from Edinburgh far to the west, could have saved. One day perhaps there will be the science to heal such catastrophic injuries, but at the moment we are a long way away.
"Thank goodness, it did need to be done," I said under my breath.
"Sorry Damion?" asked Helena.
I had not realised that I had spoken my thoughts out loud, or that Helena was listening.
"Just grateful that this was surgery that was necessary, Helena," I gave her a weak smile. "Now, let us follow Victor's instructions."
I removed the damaged flesh, leaving us with just the hand and a part of the wrist, and then examined the wires Victor had given me. All we could do was to follow his instructions as precisely as we could. I read each paragraph to Helena before we took that action, so that there was no chance she might work against me by accident. I noticed that she looked closely at the words as I read them.
"We must trust what Victor has written and drawn here," I said to her.
"Do you understand how this will work, Damion?" she asked.
"Honestly, no," I admitted. "It is far beyond my knowledge of anatomy."
"And these wires," she lifted the fine cables. "What do they do?"
"Victor writes that they convey some sort of natural electrical message. Though that science is also a mystery to me," I admitted.
We worked on, attaching the wires to the hand, then the small bowl, and finally lowering the hand into the glass jar. It floated in the solution, palm down, neither sinking to the bottom or rising to the surface. We attached the lid, and sealed the jar, then we carried it to its resting place with me holding the heavy jar, and Helena keeping the little bowl close - so as to not overstretch the wires.
"Now to test it," I said. "Helena, please bring me the small jar of cyanide, the little blue one, and a bottle of tonic for the elderly."
I put a single, small, cyanide crystal into a bowl of water. It dissolved quickly. Then I used a pipette to take up a very small amount of the liquid.
"Let us see if the hand can detect this very weak solution," I said. "It would be enough to make someone quite ill."
I put a drop into the small bowl and we collectively held our breaths. The hand twitched once, then slowly rotated until the thumb was pointing downwards. It worked. I cleaned the little bowl and the hand returned to floating palm down. I then repeated the process with a more concentrated solution. This time the hand twitched several times before turning the thumb downward.
"So Helena," I was pleased. "It seems the more dangerous the substance, the more it twitches. And thumbs down means poison."
"What happens, Damion, if the substance is good for you?"
"Let's try," I said. "Can you pour a drop of tonic into the bowl."
I wiped the bowl clean and presented it for her. She hefted the bottle and deftly put a tiny splash of tonic in. We both turned as one to look at the hand. It flexed its fingers, spreading them wide, then rotated until the thumb was pointing upwards. Helena laughed.
"It works!" she cried delightedly. "Now all we need to do is make an elixir that is safe, and that makes people happy."
"Yes, that's all." I patted her hip in a friendly manner. There was no point telling her the complexity of what I was trying to achieve.
That evening, after tea, Helena took my hand, and looked me in the eye with a serious expression on her face. She had that determined look that I had grown to recognise.
"I have decided I must take up Freida's offer of tuition," Helena said in a determined manner.
"Now?"
