NINE
In Which Our Heroine’s Social Circle Makes a Study of Fluid Dynamics
If war were to be waged, it would be in fashionable style. By the time I finished the considerable contents of my dinner tray, Violet returned with her composure and her evening frock. I don’t think either of us gave a china pig about our clothes, except as a disguise to aid in infiltrating enemy territory. The two of us prepared for battle standing before the mirrors in my room. Her wine-colored voile was caught up with small pinwheels of bronze and black, leaving a peep of striped silk stockings on display.
“Given half a chance,” she told me, adjusting fingerless black lace gloves, “I’ll strangle anyone who gets between us and Nic.”
“Agreed.” I studied myself in the looking glass. A careful application of actor’s greasepaint and face powder concealed the worst of the bruising, and Dreadnaught’s artful arrangement of my curls obscured the stitches on my forehead. Given a lack of options and time to send out for another gown, I’d donned one of my mother’s dresses: cinnamon silk, trimmed with freshwater pearls and silk confetti fringe. Mama wore it only once, the night of Dimitria’s birthday party. I felt like I’d raided a tomb to retrieve it from the trunk in the attic, but the scent of my mother’s rose water raised my courage to new heights.
I was going to find my family. I was going to see Warwick brought to justice.
“We’re very likely walking into a trap,” I said.
“No doubt.” Turning around, Violet looked at me. “But we’ll have Sebastian with us, half a dozen covert Ferrum Viriae, and Marcus, of course.”
“Of course.” I needn’t apply any rouge, not with the persistent flush that colored my face whenever I thought of him. “He left here in high dudgeon.”
Violet arched an eyebrow at me the very moment someone rang the bell at the front door. “You picked a fight with him, I’m sure.”
“If we were sparring, he threw only one punch.” I hadn’t told her about Marcus funding Warwick’s research; perhaps I never would. Taking up my gloves, I did my best not to meet her eyes. “I can’t seem to spend more than three seconds in his company without arguing with him.”
“Or wishing you could kiss him?” There was a touch of sadness in the suggestion, reminding me that her last words to Nic before his kidnapping were angry ones. I started to say something, but she quickly added, “The young Legatus is quite dashing, especially in uniform.”
“Shut up, Vi.” I smoothed my gloves up over my elbows and buttoned them at the wrist. “The last thing I need right now is the distraction of an ill-fated love affair.”
“Pity,” Sebastian noted from the hallway, able to eavesdrop through the wide-open door. “And here I was working up the courage to ask for your hand in marriage.”
“Sebastian!” We pronounced his name with varying numbers of syllables, all of them indignant.
“Just how long have you been standing there?” Violet added.
Assuming his best Lord of the Manor air, he lolled against the doorjamb and checked his pocket watch. “Long enough. Might I offer a bit of unsolicited advice?” He continued before either of us gave him permission. “In matters of love or otherwise, play your cards close to your vest.”
With a last, fleeting glance at the mirror, Violet turned to ask, “Any other well-meaning counsel?”
After thinking it over a moment, Sebastian said, “Never hit on a seventeen. That, and you oughtn’t keep Marcus waiting. He’s in the foyer and wound tighter than a twenty-five hour clock.”
“I think we could all use an extra hour about now.” I put the Pixii in my beaded purse and closed the wardrobe. “But you arrived just in time to escort us downstairs. Make certain we don’t trip in these wretched heels.”
Marcus was indeed pacing the carpet. He’d traded his uniform and iron bracelets for a discreet fake moustache and evening dress far more colorful than anything I’d seen him wear before; maybe he’d consulted the good Mister Stirling in that department. The gaslight slid across the broad expanse of his shoulders and along the impressive musculus biceps brachii that even a topcoat with tails and a vividly striped vest couldn’t disguise. When he caught sight of us descending the stairs, he paused in his foot-soldiering activities.
Sebastian offered down Violet first. “The lovely Miss Nesselrode.”
Marcus put his heels together, letting his “kiss” linger an inch or so above her hand, lips never making contact with the lace. “You look resplendent.”
“Thank you, Legatus.” She stepped aside, and Sebastian handed me forward.
“And Miss Farthing.”
“Tesseraria.” The formality of the address was tempered by the note of warmth, an unspoken plea for understanding, and Marcus pressed his mouth to my glove.
I felt a tingle run all the way up my arm, as though he’d shocked me with my Pixii. It would have been easy to smile at him, to squeeze his hand in a gesture of clemency. Instead, I extracted myself from his grip. “I hope you brought suitable artillery.”
His expression hardened, and he turned on his heel to lead us into the study where an arsenal was set out on the mahogany table. “The fingerprint on the vase was a match for the lead florist at Scent & Sentiment on High Street. The order was placed in person, but the only thing the clerks remember about the patron is that he was young and of medium build. The search at the gunpowder mills turned up nothing of importance. We’re going into the Palmipède blind, and I want everyone carrying whatever arms they are comfortable using.”
“No sense shooting oneself in the foot,” Sebastian agreed.
He might tease, but the weekends at Carteblanche had been good preparation for this. Violet put the smaller revolvers in her velvet purse and tucked a throwing knife into her bodice. Sebastian had his cane sword and two MAGs slipped into a leather holster under his dress jacket. Already carrying his usual sidearms, Marcus secreted a dizzying array of small explosives on his person. I had the Pixii and chose twin black-powder pistols. Pulling back yards of copper fabric, I buckled on above-the-knee gun garters. As warm as any hearth fire, Marcus’s attention slid over me; I tried not to wonder if it was due to the exposure of my stocking-clad legs or concern about my borrowed weaponry. I fixed him with a look, a deliberate “Excuse you, sir” expression that caused his eyes to narrow, and he homed his gaze in upon me like he was sighting a target on a field.
But I’m no man’s bull’s-eye.
Letting my silk skirts ripple back into place, I took up my fan and purse. When Marcus offered me his elbow, I swept past him murmuring, “Hands to yourself, unless you want to get riddled with bullets.”
Marcus’s Combustible glided along the dusk-painted streets, the night air rushing past the windows. Bazalgate was in a rare mood tonight, poking finger holes through the fog to reveal flashes of a star-bedecked sky. Concentrating on the road didn’t keep the good Legatus from lecturing us about his battle plan.
“We’re only after information,” he said. “If the mercenaries’ contact is aboard, do not engage him in any way.”
I felt his gaze upon me in the rearview mirror. “I have no intention of letting him slip through our fingers, even if that means tackling him over a gaming table.”
“You’re not going to help Nic or your parents if you get shot tonight, Penny,” was his firm rejoinder. “Make no mistake, this is going to be risky, and any rash actions on your part could put everyone in danger.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I replied, wording it so that I wasn’t making promises I couldn’t keep.
“We’ll be able to gather twice the information as two couples rather than a group of four,” Sebastian suggested, firing off a series of aethergrams on his own encrypted RiPA, lack of light be damned.
I leaned forward to tap him on the shoulder. “Who are you messaging?”
He jumped as though I’d rammed a live wire into his tympanum. “Tesseraria, you just made me tell them we’d be there ‘presemently.’ Kindly cease your abuse upon my person. I’m making final arrangements for our boarding. Half a dozen plainclothes Ferrum Viriae should already be aboard, if all has gone according to plan.”
“With any luck, we’ll be able to get the information we need without too much fuss,” Marcus said. “I don’t want to cause citywide panic by letting things get messy.”
“I think we bypassed messy when Warwick escaped.” I held all feelings of helplessness at bay by trailing my fingers over the weapons concealed on my person. “If we’re splitting into couples, I’m with Sebastian.”
Marcus’s shoulders stiffened for a brief moment, and his hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I prefer you stay with me.”
Undeterred, I shook my head. “The Palmipède is Sebastian’s territory, and people are more likely to speak to him than you, especially once they get a good look at that ridiculous mustache.”
“Penny,” Violet started to argue, but I looked daggers at her, and she subsided into perturbed silence.
“I must say, I’m flattered,” Sebastian said, preening just a bit. “Do try to remember this later when we’re all running for our lives.” Returning his attention to the road, he indicated Marcus should turn at the next intersection. “Here we are.”
“This is it?” Violet peered out the window as we pulled into a deserted and dismal area on the River Aire waterfront.
“It is.” Turning up the collar of his coat, Sebastian added, “Best tuck under a blanket. Some time may pass before the Palmipède arrives, and it’s about to get chilly.”
True to his word, a damp mist swirled about the car within minutes. Violet and I shivered under the scratchy, woolen throw she unearthed, the boys huddled in their overcoats, and all of us retreated into an uneasy silence. I entertained glorious thoughts of rescuing everyone and seeing them safely home. Violet cracked her knuckles as she fretted for Nic. Marcus was probably making contingency plans for everything from fire to flood. And Sebastian?
Well, Sebastian’s always up for an adventure.
The minutes ticked by on the various pocket watches until I could no longer feel the end of my nose.
“I could really use a h-h-h-ot toddy,” Violet said, sounding more irked than pathetic, “and this damp cannot be good for Penny.”
“I’m fine,” I lied before Marcus could lodge a similar protest. A soft noise danced across the water, equal parts foghorn and steam whistle, and I peeked over Sebastian’s shoulder. “What was that?”
“The boat is here,” he said. “Mind where you put your feet. The cobblestones are slippery.”
The moment I stepped down from the car, I spotted the ghostly apparition gliding toward us through the mist. Painted in shades of gray and palest yellow, the Palmipède was nearly indistinguishable from the fog. No lights illuminated the exterior of the vessel. The only sound to mark her progress was the gentle slosh-slap of water against her sides.
“It’s not anything like I imagined.” I shifted from one foot to the other, impatient to be aboard.
“What did you expect?” Sebastian retorted. “For her to glide out of the fog like a waterborne circus spectacular?”
If I didn’t know him better, I would have thought he sounded nervous. “Strung stem to stern with colored lanterns, perhaps accompanied by flash trays and shooting stars?”
Sebastian tucked my hand in his elbow, a return to his usual gallantry. “We’ll save that sort of thing for your next birthday celebration, all right?”
“If we make it to my next birthday.”
The moment the vessel glided to a halt, silent workmen bridged the space between boat and dock with a short gangplank. We stepped aboard single file and followed Sebastian to a small door where he silently withdrew a hundred aureii from his pocket and paid our admission fee.
“Take this.” He pressed a similar stack of coins into my gloved hand. “You’re going to need pocket money.”
“You know I haven’t any talent for the cards.” The hallway stretched out before us, its darkness tempered only by the dull red glow of a lantern hanging at the far end. One step, two, three . . . I bumped into Sebastian’s back when he paused to open the inner door.
“Live without limits, my dear Penny,” he advised, leading me inside.
Here was the circus. Light and color and noise exploded around me. Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, causing jewels to wink from coiffures, slim throats, and white-gloved wrists. Polished wood gleamed against flocked velvet wallpaper that was darker than blood. Chance wheels were spun, cards shuffled, and dice thrown under the scented haze of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke. Waiters threaded through the assembled patrons with trays of brandies and imported cigars, and I very much hoped that Marcus’s undercover officers could be counted among the men and women crowded into the room.
The boys shrugged off their outer coats, and we all handed our wraps to a servitor. Marcus drew us into the corner nearest the bar, identifying possible threats.
“I don’t see any of the Ferrum Viriae aboard yet,” he said. “We’re not staying if we don’t have backup.”
“Perhaps they’re just doing a better job blending in than you are,” Sebastian said. “Do try to relax, there’s a good chap. Your posture is a dead giveaway.”
With a flicker of a scowl, Marcus loosened up his jaw and his shoulders. “That better?”
“Marginally,” Sebastian said. “You still look as though you forgot to take the hanger out of your coat before putting it on. Think happy thoughts, if you please.”
“Kittens.” Violet undercut the suggestion with an assassin’s gaze. None of us believed Nic would be concealed aboard the boat, but she looked as ready to wring information from someone as she had back in the interrogation room. The wicked smile that followed confirmed my suspicion. “Multicolored light refractions and double-horned narwhals.”
“Madame, I will have you know I have never in my life entertained a single thought that included narwhals.” Opening a slim silver case, Marcus extracted a cigarette. I’d never seen him smoke, but I had to admit, it did play into the part of debonair, devil-may-care gentleman.
Sebastian held out his monogrammed gold lighter before Marcus could locate his own. “There’s no use standing about like a brace of pheasants asking for the shot. We need to mingle and see what information we can glean. What game will you have, Penny?”
Mama’s dress felt a bit tight around my ribs when I tried to take a deep breath. “The wheel it is.”
We stepped out, Sebastian at my right elbow and Marcus escorting Violet. Everyone was suspect in my eyes: the demoiselle in the peacock-blue gown settling into a card game, the group of five young men raucously knocking back liquor at the bar, the mutton-chopped servitor gliding ahead of us as we crossed to the felt-covered tables. Sorting out the wheat from the chaff would be a tricky business.
Swearing under my breath, I dropped a golden aureii on the felt. “White, please.”
The attendant moved my money to a mother-of-pearl plate and spun the wheel. “Stakes, ladies and gentlemen. Place your final stakes.”
Others dropped bills and coins on either the white square or the onyx black. The attendant dropped an ivory ball into the wheel and announced, “Bets closed.”
Watching it spin in a sickening circle, I knew differently.
All bets are off.
The ball whirled around and around the wheel, dancing in and out of the black-and-white slots before finally settling into place.
“White,” the attendant declared, returning my coin to me along with its twin.
I pressed both of them back into his hand and lowered my voice. “Perhaps you could help me locate someone? We’re seeking a man with a talent for making discreet business arrangements.”
The attendant kept the tip but answered my query with a blank stare. “My deepest apologies, Miss, but you’d do better to seek the help of a reputable employment agency. Would you care to place another bet?” He turned to the group and raised his voice. “Place your stakes, please.”
I set my coin on black this time and addressed Sebastian behind my fan. “That was less helpful than I’d hoped.”
“Only your first query. And it’s early yet.”
The ball landed on black; I’d won again. Far from pleased, I accepted my winnings with a curt nod of thanks and moved away from the table. “Time to circulate.”
A quick glance put Marcus and Violet at the Speculations table, so we headed for the dice. I winced when someone jostled me on our way across the room.
Sebastian acted as human shield, guiding me to the far corner of the bar. “You’re still hurting.”
I didn’t respond, taking a careful seat at the counter.
“I have something that ought to help.” He held up a hand to signal a waiter. “A bottle of Effervescence, please.”
It arrived within seconds, cork popped and glasses filled over low murmurs of “There you are, sir,” and “If there’s anything else you desire, please let me know.” Sebastian waved him off with a practiced flick of fingers and extracted a vial from his pocket. Cobalt glass glinted in the light from the chandelier.
“What is it?” I had to inquire, seeing as how it lacked a label. “And where did you acquire it?”
“It’s called Quick-Heal, and I discovered it on one of my many and varied adventures abroad. Experimental but effective.” Unscrewing the lid, Sebastian added three drops of the dark tincture to my Effervescence. The medicine broke against the bubbles and twirled through the liquid like a clockwork ballerina dancing on copper tiptoes.
“Should it be mixed with alcohol?” I asked as he handed me the glass.
“That actually helps with delivery to the circulatory system,” he said with a professional nod.
“Thank you, Doctor Stirling. Be certain to send me your bill.” I raised the flute and toasted him before taking a hesitant sip. At first, I could taste nothing save the sweet tang of the sparkling wine, but within seconds, I could imagine the grapes themselves, the vine on which they’d flourished, the sunshine and wind and rain and dirt in which they’d grown. My pulse sped up by my second sip; this time, I tasted oak aging barrels with the undertones of caramel and vanilla and smoke that my father had always described. Dazed, I closed my other hand around the bottle and slid the Quick-Heal into my reticule. “I’m going to keep the rest of this, if you don’t mind. With the week I’ve been having, I’ll probably need it.”
Sebastian cheerfully clinked his crystal flute against mine. “In a few minutes, you ought to feel well enough to swim to Meridia.”
A bit unsteadily, I crossed to the nearest gaming table. The smallest of details now loomed large in my eyes. Every whisper was a scream in my ear. The man to my left tossed the dice, and they rolled with a clatter to the far end. A loss, so the crowd groaned and money moved like partners changing in a waltz. I reached out and captured the dice before anyone else could claim them. My throw sent them dancing down the felt to a win.
A second toss, another win.
A third.
Somewhere between the fat stack of silver denarii pushed my way and the fourth throw, I finished my glass of sparkling Quick-Heal. Another toss of the dice and yet another win. It was as though Sebastian’s beloved Lady Luck wished to make up for the chaos and heartache by lining my pockets, but the weight of the coins did nothing to fill the emptiness inside me. More people gathered about us, heads tilted back with laughter, garish silks and jewels on display. Leering gentlemen leaned over my shoulder to toss money onto the table. Looking around, I found myself trapped in a stained-glass window, locked inside the lurid colors, light pouring through me, all substance drained away.
“Steady there,” Sebastian’s voice was low in my ear, close enough to ruffle the curls on the back of my neck. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”
“Right,” I said slowly. When the attendant passed me yet another stack of coins, I left a golden aureii in his hand. “We wondered if there was someone we could speak to about a special hire.”
The attendant glanced over at Sebastian and then nodded. “Might be. The boss occasionally arranges jobs of a delicate nature.”
Luck was with us again, it seemed. “And is he aboard this evening?” I ventured.
“He is.” When the attendant paused, I gave a second gold coin into his keeping. With the smallest of bows, he tilted his head at a hallway to our left and said, “Private Room Seven, the owner’s suite. But you’ll have to hurry. He usually leaves at midnight, and it’s nearly that now.”
A glance at the clock revealed there was only a minute or two until everything was pumpkins and lost glass slippers. Marcus and Violet were wholly absorbed in a conversation with the doorman. I had to decide: charge ahead without them or risk losing the fox in this hunt.
“Wait!” came Sebastian’s strained protest from behind me, but the combination of adrenaline and Quick-Heal sent me skimming down the hallway as though my heels had wings. Rucking up my skirts as I ran, I pulled the pistols from their holsters. Closed doors alternated on either side, and it took me only seconds to reach Private Room Seven. Skipping over the nicety of knocking, I kicked it in and entered with arms extended, guns cocked and ready to fire.
The room was empty except for polished wood and expensive antiques. Moving carefully, I checked behind the bar and the larger pieces of furniture, but our quarry wasn’t hiding in any of the corners. Disappointment spiraled through me.
“Damn all the Bells, that attendant lied to us.” Lowering my guns, I exhaled through my nose and tried to slow my hammering pulse. “He’s not here.”
Sebastian closed the door behind him, slid a key into the lock, and turned it with a horrible finality. “Yes, he is.”
I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. That I was looking at the owner of the Palmipède. That I had indeed met up with the man responsible for hiring the sneak thieves, for arranging the break-ins at Glasshouse and the Bibliothèca. All the blood drained from my head, but I still lifted both pistols and aimed at his chest. The barrels wavered a bit because my hands shook, and I prayed he wouldn’t reach for his own guns. “You should start explaining.”
“You want answers,” Sebastian said smoothly, taking a step toward me, “and I want you to put the weapons down. One must happen before the other, pony before the cart.”
We exchanged a long look, my gaze trapped by the blinding blue of his eyes. Friend, companion, cohort—but what possible explanation could he make for his actions? I owed it to him to listen. I owed it to myself to proceed with the utmost caution. By inches, I lowered the pistols . . .
Just far enough to shoot him once in the leg. Trying to avoid any major arteries, I aimed so the bullet grazed his left thigh. Eyes widening with shock, Sebastian dropped his walking stick and reached into his coat for his guns, forcing me to fire again, this time at his knee. Crippled by pain, he crumpled to the ground.
In half a heartbeat, I stood over him, pressing the point of my shoe into the uppermost wound. “Pull out your MAGs, Sebastian, and give them over. If you so much as twitch a finger toward the trigger, I’ll aim higher and shoot again.”
Silently, he reached into his coat and pulled out both guns.
“Toss them aside,” I ordered him. When he complied, I stepped back immediately, giving him tacit permission to clutch at his leg. “Now explain to me how you got caught up in this mess. When did you start working for Warwick?”
Groaning, Sebastian pressed his hands over the oozing bullet holes. “I’m going to bleed to death. You need to call for a doctor.”
“They’re flesh wounds. And luckily for you, I have a bottle of amazingly potent healing fluid in my reticule. You can have it, just as soon as you sing me a little song.” Thinking about the blue glass bottle, I added, “You got the Quick-Heal from Warwick, didn’t you?”
“He’s been tweaking the formula for months,” Sebastian admitted, his face pale. “To use when he swaps out your old Ticker for the new one.”
“Have you been working for him all that time? Arranging for his escape? Setting up the burglaries at Glasshouse and the Bibliothèca? Nearly killing Nic in that damned explosion at the factory?” Remembering my brother lying in the ruins of his office, I found it difficult to keep my voice even. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“It was a distraction!” Words spurted from his mouth. “He wasn’t supposed to be there. Warwick never wanted to hurt him.”
“But he’s hurt so many people. Why, Sebastian? Why would you help him?”
He gave a short laugh, one entirely lacking in mirth. “Do you have any idea how much money people would pay to live beyond their time? There’s a fortune to be made in Augmentation, my dear. You know I never let a profitable business opportunity pass me by.” With great effort, he started to stand.
I leveled the pistols at his chest. “Don’t move.” He didn’t stop. Every dragging step was a struggle, but still he came at me. “I mean it.” I took another step back. “Damn it, I don’t want to kill you, Sebastian!”
“That’s the genius of it all.” He gifted me with his lady-killer smile, except now it was the sort that strangled women and left them in alleyways. “You’re not going to kill me, Penny.” Giving me a wide berth, he made slow and terrible progress to the far wall. With the pull of a lever and a soft grunt of effort, he opened a hatch. A small rowboat was moored to the side of the Palmipède. Beyond that extended a black canvas unrelieved by lantern or lamplight. “You’re going to get in the boat and let me take you to Warwick.”
“Like hell I will.”
“He’s going to fix your Ticker. Nic and your parents are waiting for you.”
I stepped toward Sebastian, but only so I could take better aim. “Where’s he keeping them?”
“Get in the boat.”
Finally losing my patience, I shouted, “Tell me where he’s keeping them!”
Hands hammering at the door distracted us both, and the wood-muffled cry of “Penny!” came from the far side in two-part harmony.
“Stirling, what’s going on in there?” Marcus shouted, following that with a vehement kick to the door.
Sebastian lunged for me. Had I fired then, at close range with the guns aimed at his chest, I surely would have killed him. But if I wouldn’t pull the trigger, I wasn’t going to let him turn the weapons on me either. I twisted in his grasp and threw them as hard as I could out the open hatch. They hit the water with twin splashes. Looking out at the limitless darkness, I was momentarily tempted by Sebastian’s insanity, by how comforting it would be to reunite with my family, to have my Ticker fixed, to see this come to an end.
Still trapped in the hallway, Marcus ceased pounding on the door. “I’m setting explosive charges,” he warned through the wood. “Move back!”
“Get in the boat, Penny!” Sebastian urged again.
The wall behind us blew inward, showering everything with splinters. I could resist, or I could jump.
When I ducked under Sebastian’s arm, his own forward momentum and my swift shove launched him out the escape hatch. I pulled the hatch shut with a heave and a gasp as Marcus and Violet emerged from a cloud of plaster dust, weapons raised.
“Where is he?” Marcus demanded.
“Learning the finer points of rowboat operation,” I answered, pushing past him and heading back into the hall. “Have him followed. He’s working for Warwick.”
“I’ll wring his highborn neck!” Then Violet let loose with a string of profanity the likes of which I hoped never to hear again.
Marcus only blinked once and muttered, “I was afraid of that,” before relaying the information via his RiPA.
A loud and wrenching shudder rippled through the floorboards, and the ship slowly, inexorably tilted to one side, throwing everyone off-balance. I fell against the wall as the lights flickered. Back in the gaming room, shouts broke out.
Unperturbed, Marcus grasped me by the elbow and towed me down the hall in the opposite direction. “Step lively, Tesseraria. We’re on contingency plan H already.”
A second shudder was accompanied by the scream of iron against rock, and I winced. “What’s happening?”
“Backup finally arrived, and they’re running this ship aground,” he answered.
“When we lost sight of you, Marcus messaged for reinforcements,” Violet added.
By now, the Palmipède listed horribly to starboard, making it even more difficult to walk through the water pouring down the hall and swirling about our ankles.
“It seems the good Mister Stirling played merry havoc with our plans this evening,” Marcus said as he hurried us along. “My soldiers didn’t make it aboard until I called them in. They’ll clear everyone out of the vessel, and I just sent a secondary unit out to the river to search for Sebastian.” Striding through knee-deep currents now, he led us to a passageway that sloped unnaturally downward. At the bottom, he opened another door; beyond that was only gently sloshing darkness.
“Can you see him?” I asked, peering under Marcus’s arm.
“Visibility is at zero, and perhaps that’s for the best. If we can’t see Sebastian, he can’t see us.” Marcus pulled a handheld water-surface propulsion vehicle off the wall. “Take one of these and swim for shore.”
“Swim?” I repeated, wondering if the Quick-Heal had clouded my brain.
“With help.” By the light of the lamp hanging on the wall, he gestured to a switch on the handlebars. “I’ve used these Skimmers in training exercises. This button activates the motor. Point it toward the opposite bank, keep your head above water, and stay close to each other.”
“I’ll go first.” With a grim expression, Violet silently pulled off her petticoats, and I followed her example. There was only time enough for me to give her elbow a quick squeeze before she jumped.
Looping my purse over my wrist, I clutched the Skimmer’s handlebars. Hitting the water was like falling chest-first onto a sheet of ice. My Ticker seized in shock.
Don’t you dare, you piece of junk!
After a long moment, the Ticker righted itself, leaving me free to activate the Skimmer. Vibrating with barely restrained power, the apparatus slowly but surely towed me forward, the weight of my sodden skirts dragging at me all the while. Filtered by the fog, the warm blur of a streetlight gradually appeared. The dripping smudge under the post coalesced into Violet. By the time I felt the shore under my shoes, Marcus caught up with me and we exited the river together, leaving the Skimmers in the shallows.
Behind us, the Palmipède rested sadly on its side. The area around it was bedlam, with soldiers rounding up fleeing patrons and loading them into waiting boats. Marcus’s RiPA sputtered, relaying half a message before it shorted out. He swore as he removed the frizzled device from his wrist, but a thunderous crackle interrupted the oath. I might have wanted flash trays and shooting stars, but this was no fireworks display. Sparks hissed and sizzled as flames erupted from the side of the steamboat. The surprising heat of it pushed us back several feet, and Violet drew nearer to me, shivering. I looped my arm about her waist and looked to Marcus.
“We need to clear out of here. Have you any idea where we are?”
Struggling to regain his trademark composure, Marcus nodded. “Stay close and keep quiet.”
We crept down the dockside alleys until we arrived at a tavern. A cracked wooden sign declared it to be “The Second Buttonhole,” but it certainly didn’t rate above the fifth or sixth. The three of us crammed ourselves into a booth in the farthest recesses of the common room, and a dour man with a face like a bowl of risen bread appeared.
“Bit late to be out and about, isn’t it?” he remarked. “What will you have?”
“A bottle of whiskey,” Marcus said firmly and pressed a coin into his hand.
The payment disappeared into a pocket, and the innkeeper backed away from the table. Half of Marcus’s false mustache had peeled away from his upper lip, and he winced as I gently tugged the rest of it off. When he opened his silver cigarette case, a miniature tidal wave streamed out of it. In silence, we set out fans, billfolds, and card holders to dry. The air- and watertight seals on the pocket watches were examined and determined to have done their job. My father’s compass and sundial were no worse for wear after their washing, and my winnings added up to a shocking amount.
“Now what?” Waterlogged and worried, I rolled the bottle of Quick-Heal to and fro across my palm.
The innkeeper returned with a large glass bottle, its label yellowed and peeling, and a tray of grimy glasses. He set everything on the table, eyes raking over the miscellaneous items culled from our pockets before pursing his lips and departing.
“I fear we look like a band of thieves meeting up to pool the night’s take.” Marcus sloshed the liquor into the glasses and lifted one. After a hesitant sip, he grimaced. “Not the best vintage, I grant you, but it’ll warm you up.”
“A good thing, given the meager fire our host keeps.” Though I didn’t like to say anything, my Ticker hadn’t yet recovered from our impromptu swim. Thumping erratically in my chest, it threatened every few seconds to cease working altogether. Uncorking the Quick-Heal, I downed the contents of the vial. Remembering what Sebastian had said about alcohol aiding in the delivery to the bloodstream, I chased the medication with a shot of whiskey. Instantaneous heat bloomed in my stomach, rushing through every appendage, and I could well imagine what Vinterviken Blasting Oil must taste like.
“What was in that vial, Penny?” Violet looked at me over her glass, her carefully applied eyeliner running down her cheeks like gothic tears. “And should I have asked for some?”
I explained about the Quick-Heal and the revelations made in Private Room Seven. My time in the river had numbed me, but no more than the shock of realizing Sebastian was a turncoat.
“I can hardly believe it,” Violet said, biting the corner of her lip.
I couldn’t help but remember the mad zeal in his eyes when he tried to convince me to get in the boat. “I certainly never thought he’d get his hands dirty like that.”
“How long has he been working for Warwick?” Marcus asked.
“Long enough to help plan his escape from the courthouse,” I said. “And to have arranged for my parents’ kidnapping. I messaged him when Nic and I were driving across town on the Vitesse. He knew precisely when we would arrive.” I wanted to put my head down on the table and cry, but it wouldn’t help anyone. “He could have secreted them away and turned right around to meet us at Glasshouse.”
Similarly frustrated, Marcus repeatedly bashed at his RiPA to no avail. “Hopefully the secondary unit caught up with him before we ran aground. If not, there’s little chance they found him in the chaos afterward.”
“True enough,” Violet said, finishing her first glass of whiskey and pouring a second.
“I need to get back to the waterfront,” Marcus said, gathering his things. “Reporters and more Ferrum Viriae officers should be arriving at the scene.”
Violet snatched up her purse. “You stay here with Penny. She needs to rest.”
I started to protest, but Marcus was already nodding.
“I suppose I do have a slightly better stature for a bodyguard,” he said.
“You have slightly better stature for a brick wall,” Violet countered, wresting her dripping dress from the booth. “I’m going after Sebastian. He’s going to wish he escaped down a rabbit hole.”
Someone else might have cautioned her; Marcus only held up a hand to signal a server. “Call the young lady a hansom cab, please.” He turned back to Violet and pressed a stack of coins into her palm. “Go straight to the docks. Find Frederick Carmichael, and take him as your second.”
Violet crammed the money in her purse. “How will I find you later?”
“You won’t,” Marcus said. “We’ll contact you tomorrow.”
“I hope the two of you behave yourselves,” she admonished with mock solemnity.
The muscles along Marcus’s jaw jumped before he answered, “I think she’s safe from my advances, at least until morning.”
“She is sitting right here, and she is perfectly fine, thank you.” I strived to make the lie sound convincing. The Quick-Heal’s other effects now made themselves known, and it was as though I’d wrapped my Ticker in a flannel blanket and lulled it to sleep.
“You needn’t fib to me,” Violet said, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to my cheek before hustling out the door.
“I need to get you somewhere more secure,” Marcus said, glancing down at me. “Wait here a moment and turn your face toward the wall.” He held a whispered conversation with the innkeeper in which yet more coins exchanged hands, and then he returned with a key that appeared well-oiled with kitchen grease. “Come on.”
I found my feet but discovered they were much farther away from my head than expected. “I shouldn’t have partaken of that second dose.” My Ticker lurched, and so did I, but Marcus caught me before I fell. As he carried me up the stairs, I hiccupped and wished I hadn’t. “Just leave me here on the carpet.”
“Like hell I will,” was his grim answer. When we gained the upper landing, he propped me against the wall until he could wrangle the door open.
I stumbled inside to find that the room’s appointments were better than we’d any right to expect: one narrow bed that would fit an adult, provided he or she didn’t roll over, a wooden chair, several hooks in the crumbling plaster wall, and a blessedly hot radiator that I used to warm my backside.
“It looks as though we are going to have to spend some time in close quarters,” Marcus said, shucking his coat. Though it was no longer sopping wet, it left a series of drips on the floor. Hanging it from one of the hooks on the wall, he removed his shoes and socks next and tucked them under the radiator.
“I’m fine with that, given the alternatives.” I was surprised to find that I meant it. The anger and resentment I’d harbored toward him for funding Warwick’s research had been left behind in the river. “Your clothes will dry out faster if you get them off.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “My dear Miss Farthing, what would your mother say?”
“You’ve worked with her.” Already without petticoats, I removed Mama’s gown. The silk was ruined, no doubt about it. Standing there in my frilled bloomers, chemise, and corset, I wrapped my arms about me and tried to stop my teeth from chattering. If anyone had told me last week that I would be keeping company with Marcus Kingsley whilst a band of marauding terrorists tried to kidnap me, I wouldn’t have believed it. “I’m pretty sure she’d say ‘Stop standing on ceremony and get out of those wet things.’?”
“That does sound like her.” Off came his shirt, and Marcus turned to hang it next to his coat. Scars decorated his arms and chest, ridges and whorls of raised flesh that were the faintest of pinks against his tanned skin.
Stepping closer to get a better look, I murmured, “Careless with a bread knife, are you?”
Caught off guard, he looked down. “Training bayonet got me there,” he said, pointing to one of the ridged lines. “The others happened in field practice.”
The largest of the scars ran from his navel to his left armpit. “And this one?”
“Combat in Aígyptos.” Marcus looked down at me, unashamed of the marks on his body but terribly troubled by something else. “I got off easy in that fight. Lost two soldiers who happened to be close friends.”
Sadness bled through the words, and I couldn’t help but shudder. I knew that sort of pain. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s remorse, Tesseraria, and there’s the resolve to make certain it never happens again.” Reaching past me, he pulled one of the blankets off the bed and draped it over my shoulders. “It’s why I struggle to plan out everything the way I do. Viktor was the one with all the combat instincts. He had trained for it since both of us wore knee pants. I was just the one with the head for schematics. Everything would be different if my brother were still alive.”
Until this very moment, I hadn’t realized how complicated a cipher Marcus was. “You didn’t want to be in the Ferrum Viriae? What did you want to do instead?”
“Mechanical engineering, like your parents.” Looking down, he studied his hands. “Tinkering, my father called it, until he realized where my true talents lie.”
I had an inkling what that might be but wanted to make certain. “And where is that?”
“Weapons,” he confirmed. “Small ones in the beginning, like the MAG and the Superconductive Slingshot.” Marcus grabbed one of the threadbare towels and rubbed it over his head, the muscles in his back clenching. “I thought I would be able to distance myself from the business later. Viktor and I spoke about it many times, and he knew I didn’t want to spend my life developing that sort of technology. But then he was gone, and there was no one to take his place except me.”
Thinking of Nic, I put my hand on Marcus’s.
His fingers turned over to cling to mine, though he kept his face averted. “My father pulled me out of the College of Engineering and sent me to the Ferrum Viriae Academy. It’s been trial by fire, literally, these last six months. So much to catch up on: maneuvers, strategies, history of combat . . .”
“Could you speak with him about it?” Thinking of my own parents, I couldn’t imagine them asking me to dedicate my life to someone else’s pursuits. “Or your mother?”
Marcus shook his head and gave me a rueful smile. “My mother is a third-generation munitions manufacturer. Her marriage to my father was as much a business arrangement as it was a personal one. I’ve never brought it up with her, and I never will.”
“She might understand.”
“A tigress doesn’t change her stripes,” he said.
I thought of another tigress, one who loved me and my siblings beyond reason, who protected us with tooth and claw. And I thought of what my mother wouldn’t give to speak one more time with her eldest child. “What is it that you want to ask Viktor?”
Marcus stiffened but didn’t pull away from me. “What do you mean?”
“That’s why you’re building the Grand Design, isn’t it? There’s something specific you want to ask him?”
I thought that Marcus might not answer at all. As it was, his next words didn’t address my question. “I doubt you’ve ever seen combat up close, Penny, but it’s a terrifying thing. The first time I was on the field, I nearly turned and ran.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?” The words were tight, his throat working as he swallowed. “Can you imagine a thousand guns firing off at once? Searing hot metal screaming past your head only to fell the soldier just behind you? The cries of the wounded? The blood mixed with the dirt? Death all around you?”
“Yes, I can. I do more than imagine it every day.” The blanket slid from my shoulder, taking the strap of my chemise with it. Now the top of my own scar was visible, the one from the Augmentation surgery set alongside the Ticker’s faceplate. “You’re not the only one who’s looked death in the face.”
Marcus didn’t blanch or shrink away from the sight of it, though his was not the detached gaze of a clinician. “Did it hurt?”
“Almost dying hurt a lot more.” I pulled the blanket back up and sat upon the bed.
He joined me, the furniture creaking under his weight. “That’s what I wanted to ask my brother . . . Isn’t there someone else? Someone else better suited to this job?”
Though I’d been cold before, the words were like ice on my skin. “You’re doing the best you can.”
“That’s just the problem,” he said softly. “I don’t think my best is ever going to be enough.”
“Despite my best efforts to the contrary, despite Calvin Warwick trying to kidnap me and fléchettes flying in my general direction, Legatus, you’ve kept me alive. You saw me safely off the ship tonight—”
“And straight into the river!”
“A prime example of how you’re learning to think on your feet,” I countered. “I might be able to look after myself, but I’m safer when I’m with you.”
Marcus reached out, sliding slow fingers through my curls, untangling the knots one at a time until he could run his very capable hand through my hair from the soft spot on the back of my neck down to my waist. In return, I sat very, very still until he wrapped an arm about me and leaned back against the wall.
“Not to frighten you,” he said at long last, “but Warwick is just the beginning. There are others who won’t be content to watch you Augment factory workers and repair minor injuries when there’s potential for so much more. They’re going to steal the technology, develop it, exploit it, and destroy everything we hold dear.”
I resisted the urge to set my head upon his shoulder, worried what might happen to my already off-balance Ticker if he were to kiss me right now. But Marcus’s eyes were closed, purple-black shadows smudging the skin under his thick, dark lashes. If this was a seduction, it was the laziest one on record, so I allowed myself to relax against him. “It must get tiresome, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders like that.”
His answering laugh was a low rumble in his chest. “It does, indeed.”
Under the scent of river water and wet wool, there was something about his skin that reminded me of lemon soap and sunshine. “So many burdens weighing you down. Can’t you leave off a few?”
“My burdens are the dead who’ve served under my command and the lives of Industria’s citizens,” he answered. “So, no, Tesseraria, I’ll not set down a single one.”
I won’t let her fall, Mama.
The broken memento mori on the floor of my parents’ study. For a split second, it was as though I held it in my hands again. Then I broke out in gooseflesh. “I know where I’ve seen the daguerreotype glass before.”
Marcus followed the sudden shift in the conversation, opening his eyes and sitting up. “Where was it? When?”
“Just after Cygna died,” I said, nearly choking on the memory. “A photographer came to the house.”
The woman had posed Dimitria behind the horsehair chaise where Nic and I sat. Mama had placed the baby between us with instructions to hold her gently and stay very still. Cygna, so named because of the swan-soft down upon her tiny head, was dressed in white muslin ruffles and a pink cap. Her little lips were pursed, ready to be kissed, but death had stolen even the smallest of newborn noises from her.
I won’t disappoint you, Mama. I won’t let Cygna fall.
I’d put my arm about my dead sister and held her for the first time. Nic sat on her other side, stiff and stubborn, the way he always was when trying desperately hard not to cry. Dimitria stood behind us, aloof in her grief.
“It’s the only picture ever taken of the four of us together,” I said faintly. “I knew there was something about the way Nic had been posed and the quality of the glass that I recognized. Whoever took the daguerreotypes of him specializes in pictures of the dead.”
“There isn’t enough business to support such an occupation outside the city walls,” Marcus said, already deep in thought. “Nic and your parents are still in Bazalgate, then. If the RiPAs resume functioning by the morning, I’ll deploy investigative units to all the photography studios.”
“And if we can’t get a message out, we’ll call upon each and every one of them ourselves,” I insisted.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be left out of it.”
“You’re learning, Legatus.” I permitted myself a single jaw-cracking yawn before returning my head to his shoulder. “You’re learning.”