At Father’s nod, Puck scattered straw over the launch. Father took an oilcan, but Balthasar shuffled forward with something square and black clutched in his hands. A nervous whine came from deep in his throat.
“What do you want?” Father barked.
Balthasar held up a thin, worn volume. A gold cross imprinted on the cover reflected the moonlight. Father made no move to take the Bible.
“Where did you get that vile thing?” Father asked.
“Left behind by the missionaries,” Montgomery said softly. “He’s become fond of the prayers.”
Father shook his head. “Sorry, my fellow. I wouldn’t say a prayer over the body of my own sinful mother.”
Balthasar whined again, lower. Father uncorked the oilcan, but Montgomery grabbed his wrist. “Stop.” He jerked his chin toward Balthasar. “Let them say a goddamn prayer for her.”
“Prayer. Christianity.” Father snorted. “Fairy tales.” He poured the thick, pungent liquid over the casket.
The muscles in Montgomery’s throat contracted. He had given life to Alice. Taught her to speak, to read, to sew. He cared about her as a girl, not some scientific experiment.
He cares about all of them.
The realization was a strange one. It was illogical to be so attached to walking experiments, and yet I was beginning to understand it. Before Crusoe died, Montgomery had treated the dog more like a friend than a ratcatcher. The other servants teased him for caring so much about an animal. But they weren’t just animals to Montgomery. They had hearts and brains. Maybe even souls.
“‘To everything there is a season,’” Edward quoted, breaking the silence. My father bristled at the verse but let it stand. “‘And a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die.’”
Montgomery nodded, a silent thanks.
Father lit a straw and threw it onto the launch. It took to flame immediately. The flickers of orange and red ate away at Alice’s coffin. The boards cracked and splintered. I watched as long as I could. The smell was unmistakable. I covered my mouth with the shawl.
Montgomery untied the launch. He threw the rope onto the pyre and gave the vessel a shove with his boot to send it out to sea. The waves reflected the flames, making the whole ocean burn.
“So we all shall end,” Father reflected, then tucked his hands into his pocket and started down the length of the dock.
“We shouldn’t stay out here longer than we have to,” Edward said, but I shook my head.
“Give us a moment.”
Edward glanced at Montgomery, who stood at the end of the dock watching the smoldering pyre. He left us alone, but I could feel reluctance pulling at him like the tide.
Montgomery kicked the empty can of oil into the water, where it floated for a moment before drowning. Flames highlighted the angles of his face.
“If you’re going to judge me for creating her,” he said, “don’t bother. I already know I’ll go to hell for it.”
I watched the dying fire. I took a deep breath. “It isn’t your fault she died.”
With a crack, Alice’s pyre splintered. The sea bubbled up from beneath, swallowing the flames, pulling the remains of her body to the deep.
Montgomery spun and strode back to the wagon, putting distance between him and Alice’s sinking body. I ran after him, but he was already back with the others. My footsteps echoed in the hollow space below the dock. I stopped. If he’d wanted me to catch him, he’d have let me.
Our nerves were as battered as the wagon’s old struts and axle on the ride back. No one spoke. I don’t know what terrified us more—passing through the jungle at night, or what might be waiting for us at home.
Thirty-six
FOR DAYS AFTERWARD, FATHER wouldn’t speak of what had happened—not Antigonus’s betrayal, nor the savage murders that had claimed Alice as the most recent victim. He plunged himself into his work instead, spending all day and night in the laboratory and only emerging for meals or to go on secretive errands with Puck into the jungle. The rest of us lived every moment on alert.
One evening Montgomery, Edward, and I stayed in the salon after an awkward supper during which Father refused to entertain even the slightest suggestion of danger. Montgomery paced by the windows like a caged animal, eyes fixed on the darkness outside. I sat on the piano bench, touching the long black keys one at a time, slowly, listening to the sharp resonance spilling out across the room.
“We’ll have to build a raft,” Edward said. “Between the monster and the beasts, we’ll be lucky to last another week.”
I struck a C-sharp. “That’ll take too much time. Father will figure out what we’re doing.”
Montgomery paused, folding his arms. His gaze was still focused out the window. “There’s another launch,” he said curtly.
My finger slipped off the key, crashing into the C and D with a discordant echo.
Edward leapt up. “Where? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” he asked.
“It’s not exactly tethered to the dock, waiting for our escape.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s in the village.”
I took my foot off the sustaining pedal, cutting off the notes. “We can’t go back there. You saw them. And they’re getting worse every day.”
Montgomery ran a hand over his hair. “I didn’t say it would be simple. The boat belongs to Caesar. He used it for baptisms.”
“Next you’ll be saying those animals take communion,” Edward said.
Montgomery narrowed his eyes. He’d grown up with the islanders, I wanted to remind Edward. Not with governesses and siblings and servants like a general’s son would have. “You think they’re not good enough for religion, Prince?”