Penny gave a yelp of surprise. “Oh my God. The Maddy Boys. Yes. I knew there had been a few other women before me, but I can’t believe they’d train that monster.” She stared at the passage in Kate’s book, but there was nothing more about the Maddy Boys or Cambridge where she had perfected her own engineering skills.
Kate said soothingly, “The Baroness was there nearly a century before you. Let’s see. She married Baron William Conrad, who was on the court of directors of the East India Company. They went to India to his tea plantation. After Baron Conrad disappeared mysteriously, the entire operation passed to his wife. It was then that she embarked on her career of experimentation on animals and humans, creating biomechanical wonders and horrors. At some point, she turned her experiments on herself, grafting mechanical arms onto her torso. According to my father, she had a terrible fear of weakness so she re-formed her own body into a machine. There was an uprising of workers on the plantation which evoked a response from the Baroness, who slaughtered a good portion of the district. That brought her to the attention of Byron Pendragon, who traveled to India, seized her, and delivered her into bondage in the Bastille, where she remained until the Revolution. After her escape, we have no idea of her movements.”
“Africa, at least, unless she had someone procure those unfortunate apes for her.” Simon flipped a few more pages. “Your father spent time in India. Do you think he ever encountered her personally?”
“He traveled to India in 1815, but he left no journal of that trip. All I know is that very few survived including his old hunting companion, Emmett Walker. He never talked about that expedition; not to me, in any case.”
“What do we know about the fellow who shoots fire?” Penny reached out for the book.
“We can hope he’s an Oxford man.” Simon laughed and handed her the journal so she could reread the passage about the Baroness. “His name is Ferghus O’Malley. Irish. Fire elemental. He didn’t show up frequently in the grimoires or histories like some of the more flamboyant Bastille Bastards did. Kept to himself, apparently. It’s said that he was responsible for the Great Fire of London in 1666, and that’s why Pendragon clapped him in the Bastille.”
Malcolm grunted with interest. “Why did he try to burn London?”
“I’m not sure. In any case, we must stop him and the Baroness now.”
“Stop them so your king can put his arse on the Scottish rock again?” Malcolm retorted.
Simon grinned at the Scotsman. “He’s your king too, Malcolm. And yes, I rather suspect the two villains were after the Stone of Scone. I’ve no idea for what purpose, but it is an immensely powerful artifact. Druids and magicians have worshipped and respected that stone for centuries. It’s a lodestone, magically tied to these islands.”
“Immensely powerful Scottish artifact.” Malcolm downed his whiskey and grimaced at its mediocre quality.
“Point taken.” Simon was careful not to mock Malcolm’s rarely displayed but always present national pride. “Its power is the very reason we English stole the Stone from you Scots in the first place. Of course, there is that whole legend about how the loss of the Stone will result in the fall of the realm. And all legends have a grain of truth in them.”
Malcolm scowled. “It would be a shame if that happened.”
“We must formulate a plan to find those two creatures before they go after the Stone again. I dread to think of such an object in the hands of Gaios.”
“If it’s the Stone of Scone they’re after,” Malcolm said, “why don’t we hide it? Back in Scotland, for instance.”
“The Stone is as safe as can be,” Simon answered. “It’s kept in a vault beneath the Abbey, warded by Byron Pendragon himself ages ago, and only brought out for coronations. That’s why they struck when they did. But since it won’t come out again until there’s a new monarch, we don’t want them to do something rash to good King William. We want to keep London safe.”
“Murder!” a voice shot through the hum of the crowd.
Simon and his companions were on their feet immediately. A distraught woman stood at the tavern’s open door. Her eyes were wide and she turned her head, looking for immediate help.
“Murder!” she called again. “Oh Lord! They’re killing some poor man. Won’t someone come?”
Malcolm parted the crowd, reaching for a pistol under his coat. “It appears London remains as safe as ever.”
“You lot know all the exciting spots in town.” The prospect of an evening’s adventure lit Penny’s eyes. She hefted her massive rucksack which might’ve contained anything.
They all came to the door, a few steps ahead of several men who were also responding to the woman’s plea. Kate gave her a soothing touch, “Where’s the trouble?”