“Did you hire someone to kill the professor?” I interrupted. “Or was it one of your own?”
He reclined further into the plump cushions, moving easily as the carriage swayed from side to side, more than content to let my question go unanswered. “A pity, to be certain, but the professor was an old man. His death was necessary; we knew you were sheltering Moreau’s creation, and we thought the only way to flush him out was for you to turn on him—if, for example, you thought he’d murdered someone close to you.”
“Yet your ruse didn’t work, and now you’ve blood on your hands.”
“Another necessary evil, I’m afraid.”
“You have no idea what will happen if you bring those creatures in the water tanks to life,” I said. “You’ve seen what the Wolf can do. You think you will be able to control them, but you won’t. They’ll destroy this city.”
When he only flicked the ashes of his pipe onto the carriage floor, the terrible truth suddenly dawned on me, all their plans for New Year’s Day and the paupers’ ball in Parliament Square.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” I whispered. “You intend to wreak havoc throughout the city. But why? For what possible purpose?”
“This isn’t about creating chaos, Miss Moreau. It’s about building something. Your father might have been a madman, but I assure you, I am quite sane. I’ve always seen the practical uses for your father’s research, and I’m not alone.”
“The French Ministry of Defense, you mean,” I spat. “They’re going to use them as biological weapons, aren’t they?”
He shrugged. “Weaponry is one possible application for Moreau’s research, yes, and certainly what the French government is most interested in. This isn’t limited to the French, though. We have an American research hospital that wants the technology for experimental procedures on baboon-kidney transplants. And a Dutch weaponry development company who wants to give its soldiers greater eyesight and hearing with animal biological grafting. They’ve even discussed using it for communications—talking dogs that can sneak behind enemy lines, though that seems a bit fantastical to me. We even have a private individual in Germany, a baron, dying of heart failure. He’s willing to pay half his fortune if we can prove pig-heart transplants are possible. Your father’s science will revolutionize the world, Miss Moreau.”
“You expect me to believe the King’s Club is building monsters and murdering people out of altruism? So an old man can get a fresh heart?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Believe what you like. We aren’t interested in the final ramifications, only in developing the mechanisms to make it possible. What the world chooses to do with the technology is its own business. Our plan is merely to perfect Moreau’s science and then do what we do best: profit off of it.” He took another long drag from his pipe and let the smoke cloud between us. “Unfortunately, our potential buyers are skeptical. We need to demonstrate the technology’s efficacy, starting with France.”
“The paupers’ ball,” I said. “You’re going to let the beasts loose in a crowded square—” I did some calculations quickly. “Hundreds of people might die! Just so you can prove your point to some buyers? How are you going to explain it to the newspapers? You can hardly tell them what you’ve done.”
He took another puff calmly. “Haven’t you heard of the wild dog epidemic? Rumor is it’s been such a harsh winter that they’re coming into the city at night by the pack, looking for scraps or whatever they can sink their teeth into.”
I stared at him speechlessly. Wild dogs? Would the public believe such a ridiculous story? But the King’s Club controlled the London Times, among many other businesses, and Newcastle had influence over the police. They could publish whatever story they wanted.
“Montgomery found the shipping crates,” I said, almost to myself as I thought through their plan. “You’ll let the beasts loose on New Year’s Day, let the blood flow for your awful demonstration, and then ship them to France.”
He gave a casual shrug. “As I said, France is only the first. We’ve already started planning a second demonstration for the Dutch weaponry company. That one’s more difficult. Involves human test subjects. Lessing’s coordinating the planning stages since he oversees the orphanage. All those children with no one to care what happens to them, you know.”
I dug my fingers harder into the plush seat, squeezing my eyes closed. Elizabeth had guessed that Lessing wasn’t truly a historian, and she’d been right.
“You’re going to murder children,” I said.