A Study In Ashes Part 39

She peered over his shoulder at the papers scattered on the desk and saw it was a pencil and paper with a graph filled with alphabets and a lot of crossings-out. Imogen frowned, trying to make sense of the jumbled letters. Then she recognized the card from the clock and realized with mounting horror that it was her message-except that the clock had spelled it out in cipher.

Frustration stung. It looked like her message had been deciphered but now he was trying to find some alternate meaning for her words. And why not? The terse message she'd managed to sc.r.a.pe together hardly made sense. d.a.m.n and blast! Any scruples she had about haunting him vanished.

She put out a hand to shake his shoulder and paused a beat, wondering if her fingers would pa.s.s right through him, but she touched the smooth, cool cloth of his shirt and the hard muscle beneath. "Bucky!"

He sat bolt upright, blinking. "Huh?" His brown eyes looked almost black in the candlelight. When he saw her, they went wide. "Imogen!"

She nodded, her heart beating wildly. "Yes, it's me. I'm in your dream."

"You always were," he said, getting to his feet and holding out his hands to her. "How are you?" she asked, perhaps a little stupidly but she'd never contacted anyone in a dream before-at least not anyone she actually wanted to see.

"I've had a very strange day," he replied. "This is going to be the only good part, but why are you here?"

"Why wouldn't I be with you whenever I could?" She wanted to fall into his arms. She could feel his embrace already, that strong, steady warmth healing her from the bones outward. But first she had to make sure he understood. "The message from the clock is real. I need your help if I'm going to make it home."

His eyes suddenly lost their unfocussed look, replaced by the sharp intelligence she knew so well. But he still took her hands, engulfing them in his as he drew her close and pressed his lips to her brow. His touch was like a lifeline, saving her when she hadn't even known she was drowning.

"What do you need?" he murmured. "Just ask, and it's yours."

She caught his scent-male and redolent of freshly cut wood. His presence was making it desperately hard to concentrate. And he kept looking at her as if she had descended from the heavens on a glittering cloud, her bedraggled dress a gown of moonbeams. Suddenly shy, she babbled an answer, barely aware if she was making sense.

His expression turned thoughtful. "Are you sure?"

"I don't have any other weapons," Imogen replied, aware that the room seemed to be fading around them, so that they were the only solid things there.

"Then I have what you need," he said, releasing her hands. "Wait here."

And he walked into the darkness of the workshop. Alone and slightly disoriented, Imogen clasped her hands. They felt lonely without his answering grip, like half a set.

Hurry, said Mouse, startling her. She'd forgotten all about him. We don't have much time before we need to move.

"Bucky?" she called plaintively.

And then he was suddenly there again, holding an object in both hands. It was the size of a pineapple and covered in many overlapping plates of silver metal. "Be careful with this."

She took it from him, the weight surprising her. In the way of dreams part of her understood everything it could do while the rest of her could not. "Thank you. I think you just saved my life."

"Then open your eyes so you can save mine," he whispered, leaning over. This time he kissed her on the lips, cradling her face as if she were a flower. The living warmth of his breath thawed her, returning color to her soul. She'd been lost and starving for touch, and his touch most of all.

"Don't let me go," she pleaded. "Let me stay with you here!"

His gaze met hers, and she saw his heartbreak there. "If only I could," he whispered.

Imogen trembled as he kissed her again, and she tasted him thoroughly and long, but eventually the pressure of his mouth on hers began to fade. She became aware of the ache of fatigue, the heavy, incessant ticking of machinery, and a heavy weight on her stomach.

"No!" she cried softly as her eyes opened and she found herself back in the clock.

I feel as if I have been caught between the pages of a penny romance. There was enough sticky sweetness there to ice a dozen tea buns.

Imogen narrowed her eyes. "If you don't like my dreams, stay out of them."

At least your steely jawed hero has some useful talents.

"Of course he does," she said automatically as Mouse shifted, making her sit up.

It was then she looked down to see what was sitting on her stomach. Her fingers ran over the chill metal of the silver plates. A wave of triumph made her laugh out loud and she scrambled to her feet.

The bomb Bucky had given her was still in her hands.

London, October 9, 1889.

THE VIOLET QUEEN'S RESIDENCE.

2:15 p.m. Wednesday.

"YOU a.s.sUMED RESPONSIBILITY FOR MRS. LOREN'S HOUSE of pleasure, did you not?" said the Violet Queen to Miss Hyacinth, motioning for her to take a chair in the overstuffed, overbaubled purple velvet parlor. The decor was at once t.i.tillating and inappropriately amusing. Purple might have been the color of sin in the Empire-Hyacinth had dyed her own hair the lightest shade of lilac-but this sitting room was too much. All in all, the place was a bit like the inside of a grape.

"That is so, madam," Hyacinth replied with excruciating politeness, settling on the edge of a chaise longue. She was wearing a dark blue corded silk that spread like an ink stain across the plush fabric.

"Which is why I asked that you come to see me." The Violet Queen resumed her own seat, nearly sitting on a peach-colored Pomeranian, which yapped querulously at the descending bustle. "It's customary to pay a courtesy call, my dear, just for the sake of being good neighbors. We are in the same line of work after all. Better yet, Mrs. Loren should have brought you around for an introduction. But there you are. Times just aren't what they once were."

Hyacinth smiled apologetically at the so-called Queen of Wh.o.r.es. Indeed. Once upon a time, my parents' footmen would have tossed you down the front steps in the unlikely event that you set foot on our property.

And then, of course, there was the fact that a piece of the metropolis had been blasted to smithereens. Not here, well north of Russell Square, and not in Whitechapel, where Hyacinth kept her establishment, but right around where the ill-fated Green Queen had counted her coin. The morning had brought a queer mood to the city, as if everyone was holding his breath for what came next. Hyacinth expected business would be hopping. Danger brought out the need for pleasure.

"I apologize for my tardiness in paying my courtesies, madam. Unfortunately, there was much to do and learn. I must say that I'm surprised you thought to keep this appointment, with everything else going on."

"Our business doesn't stop for war." The Violet Queen tilted her head slightly. She had once been a beautiful woman, but time had reduced her valuation. Lines bracketed her mouth, and no amount of powder could subst.i.tute for the flawless sheen of youth. But her dark hair was still glossy and elegantly dressed, and her dark rose gown was the latest in French couture. Hyacinth filed away the details for future reference. It was good to know a wh.o.r.e could age so well. If she lived long enough, she might need the pointers.

"But never mind all that," said the Violet Queen. The woman pulled the dog into her lap, stroking its puff of fur. "You are here now, and we can catch up our acquaintance. I have it on good authority that revenues have gone up in your establishment. You are to be congratulated."

"My clientele sets a high premium on novelty," Hyacinth replied. "There had been a shortage of fresh ideas in the establishment before I arrived."

The Violet Queen narrowed her eyes. "And where would you have got such ideas, Miss Hyacinth?"

"I was always good with a riding crop."

"And you have no qualms about applying it to human flesh?"

"None. In fact, I have laid in quite the selection of aids. I had, um, acquaintances who were quick to instruct me once they realized I had an apt.i.tude for such work."

"And I take it word has spread of your particular talents?"

"Indeed it has." Hyacinth allowed satisfaction to creep into her voice. "It is quite gratifying to see one's efforts rewarded, especially at the higher levels of Society. It seems a good beginning to a satisfying enterprise."

"And your business grows?"

"It has trebled, madam."

The Violet Queen dumped the dog from her lap, her manner suddenly cool. "Such fiendish ways, and a young beauty to boot. I was once such as you, winning favor. Showers of jewels one day, a journey to Paris the next."

She's jealous. Best watch my step.

"I understand the Duke of Morton has become one of your clients."

"That is not for me to say," Hyacinth demurred.

"Don't be coy," the Violet Queen snapped. "I warmed his bed for years. Don't forget we deal in information just as readily as pleasure."

So it seems. But Hyacinth just gave a respectful nod.

"Tell me," the older woman went on airily, though her voice was as hard and thin as blown gla.s.s. "Since you fancy the darker arts of our profession, do you enjoy receiving like treatment?"

"Only from experienced hands," Hyacinth replied, an edge creeping into her own words. No matter her profession, some things were personal. "Too many who pick up a whip have no sense of finesse. Flogging is not merely clubbing someone to death with strips of leather. That is not only ineffectual but embarra.s.sing in the extreme."

That surprised a laugh from the Violet Queen. "I think I may come to like you, Miss Hyacinth. It is hard not to appreciate a connoisseur-especially one who looks fair to earning me a profit."

"A profit, madam?" Hyacinth sat up straight. She'd guessed this was more than a social summons, but she hadn't seen this coming.

The dog, clearly sensitive to the charged atmosphere, began to whine and run in circles. The Violet Queen hushed it with a sharp word.

"We shall get to that point, but before we do, tell me something of yourself," said the woman. This time, her tone brooked no argument. "I know a little, Miss Asterley-Henderson."

Hyacinth flinched inside. She hated hearing her old name, hated remembering the position she'd lost, but she'd be d.a.m.ned before she showed that to this old tabby. Yet that stab of regret was followed by an icy trickle of fear. Her true ident.i.ty was her Achilles' heel.

She folded her hands in her lap, eyes demurely downcast. "Then you are aware that I was previously known as the Honorable Violet Isadora Asterley-Henderson. My father was a viscount." And she'd had a dowry that could have bought a decent slice of Mayfair.

"Your given name is Violet?" asked the Violet Queen.

I state my personal tragedy-the loss of rank, family, honor, virtue-and this is what she fastens on? "I changed it, of course," she said hastily. "To bear the name Violet in this occupation would be presumptuous."

"I should think so," the queen of wh.o.r.es said tartly. "I a.s.sume you received a decent education?"

"At the Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies." And what does that have to do with anything?

The Violet Queen's lip curled in feline satisfaction. Hyacinth was clearly under the velvet of her paw, but the claws could come out at any moment. "Ah, yes, where you dabbled in black magic, exposing your family to the law. Not a highly intelligent move, I must say. It would be best for you if you considered that lesson learned."

The door to the purple cave suddenly opened, making Hyacinth jump. A finely boned serving man glided in with a silver tray. A quick a.s.sessment told Hyacinth he was likely a pleasure boy who had aged out of his role. He set down the tray, waited for the Violet Queen's dismissal, bowed, and left.

Hyacinth stared at the tray of gla.s.ses, cups, and pastries, trapped between her current reality and her history at Wollaston. Remembering was like vitriol on her soul. There had been a young man, and he had died, and she had wanted him back. All it had taken was a spell. How was she supposed to know that he would return as the shambling dead? The only one who'd tried to help Hyacinth out of that disaster had been Evelina Cooper, but there was only so much even she had been able to do. She helped me put Tom back into his grave, but she couldn't save me from my own folly.

The spell had been a terrible mistake, one born of unspeakable grief. Her family had paid. She'd paid. The school had been shut down, the headmistress ruined for failing to stop illegal acts within its walls. And now this hag was dragging it all up again.

"I believe you were the only member of your family spared execution by fire, and that only on account of your youth. You were supposed to spend your remaining days in Her Majesty's Laboratories, I believe." She paused, her cat's smile widening to show small, white teeth. "Would you care for some cordial? You've gone a trifle pale, Miss Hyacinth."

"I learned a lesson about magic, madam." Hyacinth's stomach was a painful knot and nervous sweat soaked her chemise where it was trapped beneath her stays.

"And one about obedience as well, I hope."

"More than one, in fact. My obedience, and the enforcement thereof, was why my captors granted me leniency. That was where I discovered I had a talent for persuasion, and they were the ones who showed me the use of my tools. As I mentioned before, they were quite the enthusiasts once I convinced them I was an apt pupil."

The Violet Queen poured out a tiny gla.s.s of syrupy liquid and pa.s.sed it to Hyacinth. She accepted it, her fingers quivering slightly within her pale silk gloves. "Necessity is an efficient schoolmistress," said the older woman. "That is how we all come to this business, I'm afraid. I am willing to let the past stay in the past, but it is best to put our cards on the table right away."

"You hold the trump," Hyacinth said, setting aside the gla.s.s. She wasn't about to trust anything she hadn't seen the Violet Queen drink first.

"Correction. I hold all the cards, and it's best you don't forget that fact, young lady." The Violet Queen's eyes turned flinty. "You are operating a business within my area of influence. I was fortunate enough to wed a member of the Steam Council, but I ruled the pleasure houses of London long before I was wife or widow. And my heart is still in that work, even if I no longer give the clients my personal time."

"Duly noted, madam." In other words, the clients prefer lamb to mutton.

"I require regular reports on your customers. Who they are and what they say. Which way their preferences run. And I require the usual portion of your earnings for a house of your standing. Do you understand?"

I understand extortion when I see it. "Of course, madam. And do you say this to every new procuress in London?" Which I know you do not, or I would have heard about it.

"Only those worth my time. As I said, you are turning a profit, and I want half."

"What?" Hyacinth was on her feet.

"Manners, Miss Asterley-Henderson," chided the Violet Queen, clearly enjoying herself. "You might have tupped your way out of prison before you ever reached Her Majesty's Laboratories, but I can send you back with a single telegram. The laboratories might have burned, but there are those who will find a place for you in their private facilities nonetheless. I just have to ask. I have that kind of power. You do not."

Hyacinth was speechless with fury, heat rushing to her face. She jerked in a breath, but nothing would come out.

"You're a pretty thing, and you know it. Just think what vivisection would do to your looks. And I doubt even you would enjoy the experience. Perhaps you will have to work your household a little harder to meet my terms, but I am sure keeping your skin will make the long hours worthwhile."

"Very well," Hyacinth spat, but she wasn't sure what she was agreeing to. The only thing she was certain of was that it wasn't to the Violet Queen's terms. She'd clawed her way up from ruin to run her own house, and could see no reason why she should bow to this woman. And she was Violet Asterley-Henderson, no matter what people called her just because this old baggage had usurped her real name.

"Good. I will send inspectors to ensure you comply. Sit down, Miss Asterley-Henderson."

Hyacinth clenched her teeth, but she obeyed.

"And now that we have settled that detail, there are so many more pleasant things to discuss." The Violet Queen bestowed a sweet smile that didn't reach beyond her lips.

Hyacinth's eye fell on the decanter of cordial-it would hide the taste of poison so excellently well-and a single thought filled her mind to the exclusion of all else. I should be the Violet Queen.

Unknown IMOGEN DIDN'T LIKE BEING SEPARATED FROM MOUSE, BUT someone had to keep watch over Anna while she fixed Bucky's bomb in place. The trick was to have it ready in a spot where she was sure Anna would go, and that was near Bird.

It wasn't as simple as setting a timer and running away to hide. This was, after all, one of Bucky's creations. The bomb was meant for precision work, and that meant setting it off in the right spot at exactly the right moment. Unfortunately, Imogen had reservations about anything more mechanically complex than a pair of scissors.

In this world of stark clockwork, there weren't many places to hide a device. The clock didn't even have consistent floors, just platforms and walkways over the gaping chasm below. The only way to make sure Anna was in the path of the bomb was to drop it on her unexpectedly. Or-remembering Bucky's childhood prank involving a rather nasty-looking frog-to lower it from above until she was certain that the device would hit its mark, and then drop it. That would at least compensate for the fact that she had abysmal aim.

A long, thin chain hadn't been hard to find, but a good place to lie in wait had been. There was a metal grid above the area where Bird was imprisoned, but it was very high up and the crossing beams were narrow. Imogen would be all but invisible up there, but she was far from certain she'd be able to balance over yawning nothingness while holding a bomb.

Nevertheless, while Mouse kept watch on Anna, she climbed up to the top and crouched at the edge of the lattice, gathering her courage until the moment came. The only light came from the many tubes of colored liquid that bubbled quietly to themselves. She tried to guess how badly the shifting, murky glow would hinder her ability to accurately drop the device on Anna's head.