A Study In Ashes Part 15

"It was on a church roof-an awkward spot nearly impossible to climb. It didn't matter if one of the prisoners fell to his death. In fact, one did. I was luckier."

The Schoolmaster opened the device, and his eyes went wide. "I'm glad you didn't fall, my friend. This is quite the diverting little toy."

The food arrived, and Mrs. Pennyfeather spread it out on the low table that sat before the two men. Then she took one look at Nick and brought back another slice of pie before leaving them in peace.

They ate and talked, Nick doing more of both. It was plain food, but to him it was a delicacy-soft bread, sharp cheese, and ale as richly golden as the sun on the windowpane. And there was more than enough. He ate until his sides hurt and talked until the pitcher of ale was dry.

When he got to the end of his tale, his companion was listening with rapt attention, the device forgotten in his lap. "This explains much," the Schoolmaster said.

"How so?"

"There have been rumors of Scarlet's ambitions. His real strength is in his air fleet and his European allies. The word is he's itching to make a move on the Gold King, for all they're supposed to be friends."

"That's madness. He doesn't have the resources."

"I never said he was smart. His vanity-not to mention his very bad manners-will get him killed. But then someritory, times all it takes is one idiot to kick over the first domino, and everything falls."

"And then, war," Nick said, finally putting it all together.

"Indeed. I wondered if it would come when the Steam Council murdered the Gray King. Fortunately, it didn't. We wouldn't have been ready then."

"Are you now?"

"Are we?" The Schoolmaster shrugged. "Let me say simply that we are less unready than we were. Our best hope is if the steam barons destroy each other and then we come in to mop up. But the Gold King at least has figured that out. He'll not be quick to show his hand. That's the only reason he has not torn London apart looking for the culprit who destroyed the Clock Tower."

"I read about that," Nick said, chewing a last slice of bread and b.u.t.ter. "Train stations are a treasure trove for old newspapers. It was all Big Ben, stock prices, and cholera."

"The steam barons have taken to selling water they have to pump. The poor have gone back to some of the old wells. It was only a matter of time before disease broke out."

Nick swore under his breath. Victims of cholera died of dehydration, too weak to escape their own filth. It wasn't a death he'd wish on his worst foe.

"It surprises me that you came here first." There was no judgment in the Schoolmaster's voice, but there was caution. "You're a pirate first and a rebel only a distant second, or so you've always told me. You began by saying you weren't a rebel at all."

Nick dusted the crumbs from his fingers. He decided to skip the fact that he'd had no other place to go. "I was never locked away before. Now I have something precise to hate."

The man nodded, as if he'd heard that story before. "Can I trust you?"

That made Nick blink. "Of course."

The Schoolmaster laughed. "It seems like a strange thing to ask, but I wouldn't believe you unless you had that astonished look on your face. Honest men never antic.i.p.ate that question. Liars do."

Irritation p.r.i.c.kled. "I thought you already trusted me."

"With some things. If you are going to work with us, there are other details you will need to know."

"I want vengeance. All I need is a place to report, and I'll fight."

"That's just it. There is no rebel army in the conventional sense. Our weapons makers are scattered all over the country, and I am the only one who knows where they are. That gives me rather a lot of responsibility when it comes time to rally the troops."

Nick frowned. He liked the Schoolmaster, but wondered if he was as good as the rebel army got. "What about Mycroft Holmes? Wasn't he preparing a shadow government to take over after the dust settles?"

"Yes. He is our liaison to the queen. Oh, don't look so shocked. We count ourselves patriots."

"But ..."

"But?"

"What military experience do the rebels have? If you're coordinating the makers and their war machines, how much do you have?"

The Schoolmaster pulled off his gla.s.ses, giving Nick the full power of his blue eyes. All at once Nick felt churlish for doubting him. "About as much airmanship as you had when you became captain of the Red Jack. But I know when to stop talking and listen. Like you, I have gathered a seasoned crew."

"I had one," Nick said quietly, the hollowness inside telling him that he'd lost too many friends. "I have to go to Cornwall to find out if any of my men are left."

"Cornwall?"

"We were building a ship there. We chose a village along a forsaken bit of coast where no one would bother to look for an enormous steamspinner under construction."

"A steamspinner?" The Schoolmaster was impressed. "That would be a welcome addition to our air forces."

They were in Nick's territory now. "What's your strength?"

"Not enough. The Merchant Brotherhood of the Air has taken umbrage with the Steam Council, but they aren't battleships. We want to attract a few pirates and have dropped the word in one or two taverns, but you captains are hard men to reach these days. The air over London is constantly patrolled, and smugglers are having a hard time bringing in their wares."

"Perhaps I can help with that," Nick said. "Though it may take time."

"If we win, any man fighting for us will be pardoned of his crimes." The Schoolmaster gave him a significant look. "Gentlemen of the airways included. We have Queen Vicky's word on it, and she does love a dashing hero."

Nick heard that with a mix of emotions. The Schoolmaster was right. He was a pirate first. On the other hand, a rebel victory might rewrite his future. War would bring death but there might also be opportunity. And of course, there would be vengeance.

He allowed himself to hope just a little. Just enough to take a leap of faith. "I'm your man," Nick said to the Schoolmaster. "But there is one condition."

"Which is?"

"Before I went to the Manufactory, I kept hearing about a mystery group of aristos calling themselves the Baskervilles. That was the code word you gave me when I took Mycroft Holmes north."

"Ah, you want to know what it means. I should never have used that as a code word. Unfortunately, it became a rallying cry." The Schoolmaster filled their brandy gla.s.ses again, his eyes bright with mischief. "I suppose it is only fair to know for whom you fight."

He set the bottle down and held out his hand. "My name is Edmond Baskerville."

"You? You're Baskerville?"

"Indeed. My father is Sir Charles Baskerville, a quiet country gentleman. I, on the other hand, am an infamous sluggard who prefers low taverns and music halls to anything resembling honest work. If it appeared otherwise, I would need more than Mrs. Pennyfeather guarding my door."

Nick was speechless.

The Schoolmaster grinned. "As it is, I've been picked up for questioning more than once because of the name, but as you can see"-he swept a hand around the derelict room-"there was nothing to find."

So this was the famous Baskerville. Nick's doubts came back. The young man was capable, charismatic, even a little ruthless-but he seemed far too civil to lead a country to war. It made Nick wonder what he wasn't seeing.

The Schoolmaster drank off his brandy and pushed his gla.s.ses back into place. "I'm leaving London soon. You might as well come with me since your ship is in the south. We can go part of the way together."

"Where are you going?"

The Schoolmaster's voice was suddenly brisk. "I'm calling a council. I'll show them what you found on the body of the Scarlet King's airman. That's an important find. Thanks to you, we've known for a while what weaponry the Blue King commands, and we've had an informant in the Green Queen's ranks. The question is whether or not we can wait for more. It might be time to pull our forces together and prepare for action."

Nick paused, a question working its way to the front of his brandy-addled brain. "Why do you fight? What's this war to you?"

The Schoolmaster froze, his eyes unreadable behind his tinted gla.s.ses. Then he smiled, but it was bitter. "The steam barons killed too many people who were close to me."

"You want vengeance, too."

"I want order with at least a teaspoon of social conscience. I want clean, free water so that no one even remembers what cholera does to the body. I want everyone to be able to read. I want everyone to have access to heat and light. What the Steam Council offers is the amoral governance of greed. I'm not a philosopher, but even I can tell that's a bad idea." He gave an apologetic grimace. "And that is enough of my moralizing. Will you leave London with me?"

The abrupt question pushed Nick's weary brain into action. He hadn't made up his mind whether to look for Athena or the crew first, but traveling with the Schoolmaster might answer some other lingering questions about the Baskerville business-such as who else was involved. "Yes, but there is someone I must see first, if she is still in London."

The Schoolmaster's face grew wry. "The fair Miss Cooper? Holmes's niece? Wasn't she the one who went with you to spy out the Blue King's army?"

"Yes." Nick's stomach grew chill. "Has something happened to her?"

"You'll find her at the Ladies' College. Holmes gave me her address in case-well, in case his work prevented him from being able to watch over her. I don't know the details, but I'm told the Gold King has her under his thumb."

"I'll take care of that," Nick growled, impressed by the level of trust the detective placed in the Schoolmaster. "I've always taken care of Evie."

"Indeed? Then far be it from me to interrupt your gallant supervision."

Nick rose, ready to find this college and reclaim his love, but his body had endured enough. He had labored in the manufactory for a year, and had just had his first good meal in all that time. It sat heavy in his belly, reminding him how hungry he had been. And now that he wasn't fleeing for his life, exhaustion and alcohol hit him like a rogue wave. Nick swayed a moment, and then sat down quickly as the room did a stomach-churning spin. He blinked hard, struggling to pull this vision into focus. Before he could stop himself, he broke into a prodigious yawn.

The Schoolmaster looked over the top rim of his tinted gla.s.ses, back to his mischievous self. "Before you rush off to save the fair maid, might I suggest a nap? And maybe a bath?"

London, September 28, 1889.

LADIES' COLLEGE OF LONDON.

7:30 p.m. Sat.u.r.day.

SO THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE A HUNTING DOG, RESTLESSLY waiting to be unleashed.

Evelina gazed out her bedroom window as she tugged on her gloves. It was night and there was little to see beyond the mullioned gla.s.s panes, but she was eager to get out of the college. With Tobias holding that metaphorical leash, she was to attend that night's meeting of the Parapsychological Inst.i.tute and meet the famous Madam Thala.s.sa. Evelina's instructions were simple. As the tame magic user of the Gold King, she was to find some excuse for the Steam Council to arrest and execute the famous medium.

It was true that the Steam Council's soldiers might have stormed the place without a preliminary investigation, but even the barons were not so bold quite yet. The Parapsychological Inst.i.tute was made up of rich merchants and minor aristocrats-and while they didn't hold much power individually, together they had the ear of the press. That meant there was an expectation of fair play-or at least decorum-and that meant Keating required a plausible excuse for murder. Ergo, Evelina had to play her part.

Not that she intended to comply for one minute. She couldn't surrender Madam Thala.s.sa to the law when she wanted to enlist her help for Imogen. But then there was Tobias to consider. She had to appear to be carrying out orders unless she wanted him to land in trouble. That was a complication she could have done without-but a complication that Uncle Sherlock no doubt expected her to manage. I wish I understood what was going on.

Evelina pinned on her hat. For someone who supposedly held lives and reputations in the balance, she looked ordinary enough. Her skirt, waistcoat, and fitted jacket were all made of dark blue wool. They were practical, well-made garments suited for someone without the luxury of a lady's maid. The only touch of whimsy was a panel of blue floral embroidery at the front of the skirt, giving the impression of a fancy petticoat. The rest was all starch and b.u.t.toned-up propriety, the very picture of a female scholar. Evelina picked up her parasol and went into the sitting room to wait for her escort to arrive.

"Good evening," said a voice.

Evelina started, the soles of her gray kid boots actually leaving the floor. "Tobias!"

He rose from the armchair, setting aside the chemistry book Professor Moriarty had loaned her. "I remember this literary treasure from my own university days. Not exactly a thrilling read."

She was still stuck on the fact that he was already there, in her private s.p.a.ce. She didn't have a servant to answer the door. "How did you get in?"

He patted the breast pocket of his coat. "With a key. Keating gave it to me today."

Evelina struggled to rein in her temper. These rooms were her world now, the only sanctuary she could expect. The thought that the locks meant nothing shook her more than she cared to admit. "A perquisite of your position as jailor?"

Tobias's smile held a trace of the rake he'd once been. "Evidently."

She gave him a hard look, making sure that he knew he had crossed a line. "That is hardly the act of a gentleman."

Surprise widened his eyes. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't that. "My apologies. I did not intend to cause offense."

Evelina took a deep breath. Even now, Tobias seemed not to understand what it was to be utterly vulnerable. He was a lord's son, after all, with a fortune of his own and a t.i.tle in his future. The best she could hope for was a teaching position, if she was extremely lucky. "Very well. Shall we go?"

Her tone displeased him. His mouth thinned as he fumbled for his pocket watch. "Hold out your hands."

She complied, the silver bracelets gleaming softly in the lamplight. There was a tiny key, no bigger than her smallest fingernail, hanging from Tobias's watch chain. He slid it into a hole in each bracelet, giving it a single turn. At the sound, she felt the dark hunger stir inside her, a sleeping beast twitching its ears. She tried to recall Moriarty's explanation of the bracelets' mechanism, but rational thought was swamped as a rush of power slipped over her skin. It felt like taking that first deep breath after her corset strings were undone for the night.

But while the bracelets clicked, they did not budge. "Aren't you going to take them off?" she asked tightly.

"No. Turning this key will only stop the mechanism for twelve hours. You need to be back inside the college by breakfast to avoid suffering the consequences."

That meant no dash to liberty. Disappointment slashed at her, reminding her that they were on opposite sides. "I wouldn't expect my freedom to be so easily achieved."

He put his watch away, b.u.t.toning his coat. The look in his eyes said he was still smarting from her rebuke. "Tell me this, Evelina. How did you manage to keep your abilities a secret from us for all those years?"

"I was wondering when that subject would drift to the surface." Evelina slipped on her coat and they left, locking the door to her rooms. Despite everything, she felt light. It was impossible not to relish the prospect of something different in her relentless routine.

"I never had any sense you possessed magical abilities," he said, his voice flat. "It's just surprising."

Stung, Evelina straightened her spine. Suddenly she didn't feel like partic.i.p.ating in an adventure. "I imagine tonight is going to be difficult for you, if you despise magic so much."

He shot her a narrow look. "But not for you."

Her temper slipped. "Oh, for heaven's sake, it's not like I have wings or a tail. The gift came from my father's side, and my Gran Cooper was very strict about how a person used such things."

"Then what about Magnus?" Tobias sounded as if he'd been itching for the argument for a long time.

"He was a sorcerer. That kind of magic is different. My gran's folk magic coaxes spirits to lend the pract.i.tioner strength to work a spell. Sorcerers use their own strength, or they steal life from another living being. There's a world of difference."

"But that's a choice." As he led her out the front door, Tobias gripped her arm so hard it hurt. "It's not like you can't drain someone of life and use it to work evil. Not if you decided to do it."