Douglas Preston - The Cabinet of Curiosities

Nora nodded her head numbly.

“It’s the final words of Socrates, spoken as he took the fatal poison.

‘Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?’ Yet another thing I should have realized sooner.” He cauterized another vein. “But it wasn’t until I saw the room full of weapons that I made the connection and realized the scope of his plans. Because creating the ultimate poison alone wasn’t enough — he would also have to create a delivery system , a way to make it reach across the globe. That’s when the more vexing, inexplicable parts of the cabinet — the clothing, weapons, migratory birds, windborne spores, and the rest — made sense to me. Among other things, while researching this delivery system, he had collected all manner of poisoned objects: clothing, weapons, accessories. And much of it was poisoned by himself — redundant experiments with all manner of poisons.”

“My God,” Nora said. “What a crazy scheme.”

“It was an ambitious scheme, certainly. One he realized would take several lifetimes to complete. That was why he developed his, ah, method of life extension.”

Pendergast put the electrocauterer carefully to one side. “I’ve seen no evidence here of any supplies for closing incisions,” he said. “Clearly, Fairhaven had no need of them. If you’ll hand me that gauze and the medical tape, I’ll butterfly the wound until it can be properly attended to. Again, I’ll need your assistance.”

Nora handed him the requested items, then helped him close. “Did he succeed in finding the ultimate poison?” she asked.

“No. Based on the state of his laboratory, I would say he gave up around 1950.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Pendergast said as he taped gauze over the exit wound. The troubled look she’d noticed earlier returned. “It’s very curious. It’s a great mystery to me.”

Dressing completed, Pendergast straightened up. Following his instructions, Nora helped him make a sling for his injured arm using torn surgical sheets, then helped him into his shirt.

Pendergast turned once again to Smithback, examining his unconscious form, studying the monitors at the head of the table. He felt Smithback’s pulse, examined the dressing Nora had made. After rummaging through the cabinet he brought out a syringe, and injected it into the saline tube.

“That should keep him comfortable until you can get out of here and alert my doctor,” he said.

“Me?” Nora said.

“My dear Dr. Kelly, somebody has to keep watch over Smithback. We daren’t move him ourselves. With my arm in a sling and a gunshot wound in my abdomen, I fear I’m in no condition to go anywhere, let alone row.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, shortly. And now, please assist me back down these stairs.”

With a final look at Smithback, Nora helped Pendergast back down the staircase and through the series of stone chambers, past the endless collections. Knowing their purpose made them seem even more dreadful.

At the laboratory, Nora slowed. She angled her light into the weapons room beyond, and saw Fairhaven, still motionless, sitting in the corner. Pendergast regarded him a moment, then moved to the heavy door in the far wall and eased it open. Beyond it lay another descending staircase, much cruder, seemingly fashioned out of a natural cavity in the earth.

“Where does this go?” Nora asked as she approached.

“Unless I’m mistaken, to the river.”

They descended the staircase, the perfume of mold and heavy humidity rising to greet them. At the bottom, Nora’s light revealed a stone quay, lapped by water, with a watery tunnel leading off into darkness. An ancient wooden boat lay upturned on the quay.

“The river pirate’s lair,” Pendergast said as Nora shone the light around. “This was how he snuck out to the Hudson to attack shipping. If the boat’s still seaworthy, you can take it out into the river.”

Nora angled the light toward the skiff.

“Can you row?” Pendergast inquired.

“I’m an expert.”

“Good. I believe you’ll find an abandoned marina a few blocks south of here. Get to a phone as quickly as possible, call 645-7884; that’s the number of my chauffeur, Proctor. Explain to him what’s happened. He’ll come get you and arrange everything, including the doctor for Smithback and myself.”

Nora turned over the rowboat and slid it into the water. It was old, loose-jointed, and leaky, but it appeared to be seaworthy.

“You’ll take care of Bill while I’m gone?” she said.

Pendergast nodded, the reflected water rippling across his pale face.

She stepped gingerly into the boat.

Pendergast stepped forward. “Dr. Kelly,” he said in a low voice. “There is something more I must tell you.”

She looked up from the boat.

“The authorities must not know about what is in this house. Somewhere within these walls, I’m convinced, is the formula for the prolongation of human life. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Nora replied after a moment. She stared at him as the full import of what he was saying began to sink in. The secret to prolonged life: it still seemed incredible. Unbelievable.

“I must also admit to a more personal reason for secrecy. I do not wish to bring more infamy down on the Pendergast name.”

“Leng was your ancestor.”

“Yes. My great-grand-uncle.”

Nora nodded as she fitted the oarlocks. It was an antique notion of family honor; but then, she already knew that Pendergast was a man out of his time.

“My doctor will evacuate Smithback to a private hospital upstate where they do not ask inconvenient questions. I will, of course, undergo surgery there myself. We need never mention our adventure to the authorities.”

“I understand,” she repeated.

“People will wonder what happened to Fairhaven. But I doubt very much the police will ever identify him as the Surgeon, or make the connection with 891 Riverside Drive.”

“Then the Surgeon’s murders will remain unsolved? A mystery?”

“Yes. But unsolved murders are always the most interesting, don’t you think? Now, repeat the telephone number for me, please.”

“Six four five-seven eight eight four.”

“Excellent. Now please hurry, Dr. Kelly.”

She pushed away from the quay, then turned back to look at Pendergast once again, her boat bobbing in the shallow water.

“One more question. How in the world did you escape from those chains? It seemed like magic.”

In the dim light, she saw Pendergast’s lips part in what appeared to be a smile. “It was magic.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Magic and the Pendergast family are synonymous. There have been magicians in my lineage for ten generations. We’ve all dabbled in it. Antoine Leng Pendergast was no exception: in fact, he was one of the most talented in the family. Surely you noticed the stage apparatus in the refectory? Not to mention the false walls, secret panels, trapdoors? Without knowing it, Fairhaven bound his victims with Leng’s trick cuffs. I recognized them right away: the American Guiteau handcuffs and Bean Prison leg-irons, fitted with a false rivet that any magician, once manacled, could remove with his fingers or teeth. To a person who knew the secret, they were about as secure as transparent tape.”

And Pendergast began laughing softly, almost to himself.

Nora rowed away, the splashing of the oars distorted in the low, rocky cavern. In a few moments she came to a weed-choked opening between two rocks, just large enough to admit the boat. She pushed through and was suddenly on the broad expanse of the Hudson, the vast bulk of the North River plant rising above her, the great glittering arc of the George Washington Bridge looming farther to the north. Nora took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. She could hardly believe they were still alive.