Brass And Bone Part 3

"Tell me everything," Abigail said, and Hopkins did.

I shall not burden you with his slurs and stumbling and backtracking and general unpleasantness. In a nutsh.e.l.l, it was this: His wife, whom he had loved with a pa.s.sion that rivaled-I am forced to admit, my own feelings for Abigail-had died. Her death must have driven him quite mad, for he believed the tragic event was directly related to some sort of cursed ancient volume, which he had still in his possession. He had made arrangements to place the book and, I suppose, its destructive power within some sort of containment device. But this device must be taken to a desolate and far-off place to be hidden away.

The man was without doubt around the bend; I had no doubt of it. But what disturbed me most was Abigail, my darling hardheaded Abigail, seemed to be taking him seriously, nodding and agreeing with everything he said. Had she gone mad too, mad with worry about this "old, dear friend"?

A door I had not even noticed, since it was covered in shelves just like the walls, opened beside the fireplace. A lean man with a wild shock of hair came out, bearing a bra.s.s and crystal box in his hands with as much care as if it contained the crown jewels. He set the box down on a low table and stood back, regarding it with a self-satisfied and complacent gaze.

Then he looked up and saw Abigail. "Ah, Lady Abigail Moran," he said, beaming as he walked toward her, hand outstretched. "You have brought me something, I believe?"

"I have indeed, Herr Tesla," Abigail said. "And if we do work for you in future, I'd appreciate a bit more explanation about what the things you create can do. My partner was nearly poisoned."

Tesla ignored her. She held out a leather bag, and he seized it eagerly.

Sir Eli had not stopped his mad ramblings, even during this exchange, but now he did; he asked, "Tesla, never mind about those toys. The box-is it done? Finished at last? And will it do the job?"

Not even an introduction, mind you. Manners are all that separate us from the apes, as I believe Mr. Darwin may well have pointed out, or at least should have done.

"Indeed, Sir Eli," said Tesla. "And it will secure the tome with more than the required protection."

I studied the man as he carefully placed the bag Abigail had given him on the floor. I was about to question him about the spider thing myself, but another voice from the shadows stopped me. Clearly the people with whom Sir Eli surrounded himself had no idea of the importance of knocking or announcing themselves; rather, they preferred sliding out from the darkness the corners provided.

"Eli! I see your call for help was answered as promptly as you hoped. You must be the dear Lady Abigail of whom Sir Eli speaks so highly. Allow me to introduce myself: Henri d'Estes." The man was tall, with dark hair and eyes, and was really quite stylish in his dress. I raised an eyebrow as he bowed and kissed Abigail's hand. A b.l.o.o.d.y Frenchman now, in addition to Sir Eli. Yet another beggar to add to my ever-growing list of men to despise on Abigail's account. "Tesla, old man. You've explained the box by now, no doubt?" Monsieur D'Estes yawned and, I could not help but notice, folded himself into the armchair closest to Abigail.

"I was beginning to, sir." The lean European gentleman stepped forward and pressed a single b.u.t.ton on the front of the bra.s.s box he had placed on the desk. "This containment device is most deadly if the wrong combination is used. But once secured, it will be unable to open as long as the formula for the key is never discovered."

"Formula?" I found my voice at last. "For a key? How fascinating. Forgive me for asking, but how does it work?"

"Simple, my dear sir." Tesla gestured for me to come forward and I did so; Abigail followed. "Within this compartment are two gla.s.s vials. One is for human blood. The second is for witch blood. When they are filled by fresh living blood, drawn from a body whose heart is beating, and the box closed and b.u.t.ton pressed once more, the vials will shatter, and the two types of blood will mix. The only method which will allow a thief to break into this vessel will be to have the same combination of mixed blood available. An improbable combination, I think you must agree."

"A witch?" I searched the man's face, thinking him joking, but finding him to be quite serious. Then I glanced at Abigail. She was taking this all in a bit too easily for my taste. Given my day, they would have to forgive my response. "And I suppose you have one here, do you? With the broomstick and cauldron for the boiling of children at hand?"

Sir Eli roused from his chair, pressing yet another b.u.t.ton on his desk before he barked out an order that was surprisingly clear, considering his condition: "Bring it in."

I wondered at the "it"; for all I knew, the mad man was having a goat or some such brought in. I did not expect the lovely woman, her hands bound, golden hair damp, clothing wrinkled, but a look in her blue eyes that reminded me in some odd way of Abigail. A burly man stood behind her, and there was a leash, if you can believe me, an actual leather leash attached to a wide collar around her pale throat.

"Here, now," I said, and if I sounded indignant, who could blame me? "I will not stay in a room where a lady is treated this way."

"Then you may leave," Sir Eli rapped out, his voice stronger than I had yet heard it. "Who is this man anyway?"

Ah, he had noticed me at last. I opened my mouth to reply when Abigail said, "This is Simon Thorne, my dearest friend and collaborator in all things. If you want me for this mysterious mission of yours, Eli, Simon is part of the deal. No questions about it. Are we clear?"

My heart swelled in pride, and I cast my most arrogant glance at the men in the room, beginning with Sir Eli. Then I walked to the newcomer, took her clammy hands briefly and began untying the rope. It was stubborn, so I took out my pocketknife and finished the job.

"That d.a.m.nable collar comes off too," I said.

"No!" shouted Sir Eli.

"You like to take risks, young man, I see. Be careful the b.i.t.c.h does not turn and bite you," the Frenchie said.

Sir Eli shuddered, stepping back as if to farther distance himself from the girl. "You would do well to heed his words, young man, you would indeed. You do not know what they...it...is capable of doing."

I ignored that.

"Merci beaucoup," the girl whispered, giving me a small smile as I reached around to unlatch the clasp. When the horrid leather fell away, she glanced around the room with a look of disinterest masking fear. Though I was sure I noted recognition in her eyes when they pa.s.sed over the Frenchman.

Sir Eli refused to acknowledge the girl-or what I'd done, for that matter. Instead he turned back to Abigail, who was giving me the most peculiar look. Her grey eyes snapped back toward Sir Eli as he spoke.

"You are to take this box to a secret place, Abigail. Take the witch with you, and draw from her the blood needed to be placed in this vial Tesla showed you. Any ordinary human," he stressed the word, "blood can go in the other." He took a rolled piece of paper and gave it to Abigail. "Here is information on how to find the hiding place. You are to spare no expense, my dearest. Anything you need will be provided, no questions asked. Only please, please, do not fail me on this."

I was still standing beside the girl, ready to shield her from the vultures in the room, but then she spoke up. Her voice was clear and precise as she spoke one word in French: "Non."

I dare say we all turned to her at that moment, so easily forgotten amidst the details of the mission. Indeed, Sir Eli whirled around, and despite his earlier fear stormed over to where we were standing.

"You have no choice. You will go, or suffer for it," he said.

The lady smiled. "No more than I have already, monsieur. I am a French citizen by birth, not one of your servants, yet you have treated me like a criminal. Why should I help you? I will not go unless I receive something in return: my freedom from you and yours for all time."

"Freedom?" raged Sir Eli. "Freedom, you say, you witch? Do you know who I am?"

"Who you are?" the lady said, her voice soft. "But of course I know. You are the Witchfinder General, the man who murders my people and steals their belongings. You are the son and grandson and great-grandson of men who did the same." She moved forward to stand beside me, and I couldn't help but notice how the blue of her eyes began to darken as she spoke. "But not this time, Sir Eli Matthew Hopkins. This time, I have the upper hand. I have something you want more than wealth or power. I have something you cannot take from me by simply murdering me, for you need me alive. This time, perhaps for the first time in your life, you are faced with defiance. I have something you want but cannot have without my cooperation. I will do this thing for you, Sir Eli Hopkins, though doing anything for a Hopkins is the ultimate sin for my kind. I will do this, but only on certain conditions."

"Conditions." The Frenchie laughed disdainfully. "You are in no place to negotiate, witch. Do as you are told."

The girl ignored him as she continued. "First, when this thing is done to your satisfaction, you shall set me free. And not for just a little time, mind you. Not just until you can set your dogs," she gave a disgusted look at the Frenchie, "on me again, but for the rest of my days. Next, I will be set free in my own country, in la belle France, and I want your guarantee, in writing, neither you nor yours will ever interfere with me again. I would ask for your word as an Englishman on this, Sir Eli, but while I would trust any other English gentleman in such a matter," she turned her gaze on me and gave me a brief smile, then resumed, "I will not, I cannot, trust a Hopkins. These are my terms."

The Frenchie stood up. "On no account, mam'selle! Eli, you cannot be listening to her babbles. You know what she is. What she is capable of."

"And I know what you are, Henri," Sir Eli looked at him. "I know your story, remember. But in this matter, I have no choice. The d.a.m.ned witchblood have gone into hiding of late. This one is all we have. All we have...alive, at least. And as you have heard Herr Tesla say, the blood must be from a beating heart, else I'd drain her now and end all this trouble by sending you a bottle of her filthy blood. No," he raised his hand, but a calculating look had come into his eyes. "No choice. But I have certain conditions to be met as well. You will go with her, Henri. You will make sure all is done which should be done. Then, you will follow my orders-my orders, Henri, do you hear?-and release her. Are we agreed, gentlemen, ladies?"

"d.a.m.n it, Eli." As soon as the curse left Henri's lips, he threw Abigail an apologetic look before eyeing Sir Eli once more. "You cannot be serious! How can I go? Who will fill my position? What will WFG do-"

Sir Eli waved his hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. You will go."

"Just one moment," Abigail said. "I cannot say I understand all this, but I must know one thing before I can possibly agree to help you. Simon and I-or at least our services are, for want of a better word-for sale. But I need to know precisely where you want this thing," she pointed at the bra.s.s box, "taken."

The angry color in Sir Eli's face was fading and he was looking again most corpselike. "Forgive me, my dear. I thought I had mentioned that already. It is rather a long journey, but I shall provide whatever money and equipment you need to repair your grandfather's airship."

My heart sank as I saw the look of utmost joy on Abigail's face, but she said never a word.

"And when it's airworthy, I wish you to take this box," he waved at it, "with its contents, along with Mademoiselle des Jardin and Henri d'Estes, to Australia."

"Australia!" I gasped. "Good lord, that's halfway around the world! Surely, Abigail, you cannot accept such a commission." I gave her my most pleading look.

She was having none of it. I doubt she'd heard anything at all past "repair your grandfather's airship," but she proved me wrong, as Abigail so often does. "Two pa.s.sengers, Simon, myself and our man Rupert," she said, and went off into one of her calculating modes, some blather about weight and displacement and airspeeds and buoyancy, a place where I do not have the learning nor talent to follow. "It can certainly be done, with careful planning. We'll need fueling stops, and I shall have to plan a most careful route. In fact, it will be quite an adventure, don't you agree, Simon?"

I did the only thing possible under the circ.u.mstances. I covered my face with my hands and groaned.

Chapter Three.

Cynara France, my home, was so close I could see it. I could almost reach out and touch it. While the sea took up most of the scene before me, there was a haze on the horizon I knew to be France. I leaned forward against the balcony's chill stone railing, trying to make out some faint details, but my attempts were for naught. I was still here in this d.a.m.ned icy England. Stuck on this little estate of Lady Abigail's, so near to my homeland. Waiting to fulfill the duties to ensure my freedom.

And when I did, I would be free of the Witchfinders forever. If it was blood they wanted, then they should have it and be done with me.

I sensed Henri as he approached me from behind, long before his strong fingers seized my arm. He'd been in excellent spirits, but I'd refused to speak with him since we left Sir Eli Hopkins to his liquor, though I longed to release my anger.

I jerked my arm away and widened the distance between us, never once removing my gaze from my beloved France.

Henri grabbed me. Try though I might, I couldn't struggle against the pleasure that came with his touch. Instead of fighting back as my anger would have me do, I let him pull me into his embrace.

He held me for a moment, brushing a kiss against the top of my head, before I spoke. "b.i.t.c.h, am I?"

He laughed, and I hated him for it. "What would you have me do, my darling? Rush to your defense with Eli right there? Why, he'd have my head instead of yours if I tried such a thing."

I slapped his face.

Henri brushed a strand of gold from my eyes as he responded, still chuckling under his breath. "Surely you aren't surprised, Cynara. Your very blood makes you my most hated enemy. No matter what we've shared in the past."

"As you are mine," I whispered into his waistcoat, breathing in his familiar scent of tobacco and cologne. I became consumed with my once-cherished memories of the time I spent in his favor and, despite his hateful nature, I wanted nothing more than to be with him as I used to be. I spoke, my voice thick with the emotion brought on by those remembrances. "Henri, you must know that I expected nothing from Jean-Pierre-"

"Except my inheritance?" Henri turned to stone in an instant before shoving me away. "You are my weakness, Cynara. I admit it. But you are still a witch and a thief who has harmed me greatly."

"I have harmed you?" My nails dug into my gloved palms as the dull ache of his rejection filled my chest. "Need I remind you of my time under your beloved Sir Eli? You are a murderer!"

"That may be." His expression became unreadable, and he shrugged. "But my attempts failed, and you are still alive despite my best efforts. Worse still, I am now bound to you whether I wish to be or not."

"Ah, yes." I frowned as my anger took its rightful place in my heart. "You are now my jailer. Such a role will interfere with your gallivanting and whoring, I do not doubt. But perhaps it will not be for long. Perhaps it will be I who will come to my senses first, and push you out into the sea somewhere."

The sounds of footsteps startled us, and we sprang apart. I turned to see the young man, Monsieur Thorne, stop before us. He seemed as surprised as we were, but recovered from it with ease. He begged our pardon for his interruption, though he would never know how grateful I was for it.

"Non, Monsieur Thorne, do not apologize, I pray. There was no interruption. I was simply admiring the gardens of this lovely manor. Tell me, can it truly be France I see? Or is it my own homesickness playing tricks with my heart?" I smiled at him as he approached us.

Simon Thorne returned my smile, gesturing with one long-fingered hand. "Yes, that is France. We're so close to the sea here you can spot the opposite sh.o.r.e on a clear day. There is another outlook, just on the other side of the gardens, where you can view France best. In fact, often one can make out the ships sailing to Calais."

"Really? Would you be so kind as to show me?"

Monsieur Thorne seemed surprised by my request, but he was too much of a gentleman to refuse me. He extended his arm.

I glanced up to see Henri's dark expression. I knew that expression well; I recognized it as jealousy. "Excuse us, monsieur." I gave him my best smile in order to calm him. Henri was known in our small family for his temper. His possessiveness. It would be a shame to see him release it on someone as kind as Monsieur Thorne seemed to be.

His expression shifted into his usual careless look of unconcern as Henri waved us on, and we left him, settling into a peaceful silence as we walked. I will admit I had become lost in my thoughts when my companion broke into them.

"Do you miss it much, mademoiselle? France, I mean."

"Oui, I do. It is my home, monsieur, and this country is so very different."

Monsieur Thorne glanced down at me as I pulled my fur-lined cloak closer. "If I may be so bold to ask, then why are you in England? Something to do with d'Estes, I suspect?"

I stiffened at his question, and considered a harsh response, but relented. There was something calm and rea.s.suring about Monsieur Thorne, an aura I found myself responding to more and more as we strolled along a graveled path. "Oui. At least, to some extent. My purpose here in England and with him is a personal one." I smiled, though I knew it was tinged with sadness. "But it is of little matter. One day, perhaps, I may share it with you if we become good friends. And I suspect we shall, for you are a kind man, I can see. But tell me, have you been with your Lady Abigail long? If I may be so bold as to ask such a personal question..."

My companion returned my smile with one of his own, equally sad. "Longer than you can imagine. But you must not get the wrong impression. We are only close friends and, uh, business a.s.sociates. Nothing more."

"That is not how you wish it, I think?" The question slipped from my tongue, and it was his turn to stiffen. I hastened to apologize. "Forgive me, monsieur. I fear my manners deserted me, and for mere curiosity's sake."

"Perhaps I too shall tell you more someday, when we become better friends, mademoiselle." His topaz eyes gleamed with mirth.

I laughed despite myself as he led me up a set of steps. When we reached the top, I gasped at the beauty of the scene before me. The sea spread out its fanfare of blues and greys. But here, I could see more clearly the array of ships he spoke of. Their steam and sails billowed outward as their flags, both English and French and those of other lands, snapped against the winds.

"Oh! Monet himself could not paint a more beautiful scene!"

"You are familiar with Monet, then." Monsieur Thorne joined me as I sat on the bench closest to the sea.

I nodded. "Oui. My beloved benefactor was a great patron of the arts. Why, Monsieur Monet himself stayed at the comte's countryside estate for months before he left for his travels in the South."

He chuckled as he leaned forward. "I see. You know him well, I perceive."

I nodded, never once taking my eyes off the scene spread out before me, which was indeed very like a painting. "Oui. He is a great storyteller at dinner. But when he is behind his easel, Monet becomes someone quite different."

Monsieur Thorne made no reply and once more, we fell into the comfortable silence that seemed to settle around us. It was pleasant being so still, so safe. Yet my mind continued to wander away from the peace to the future. Thoughts of escaping Henri and England mingled with the events that had led me here. My memories of the past week seemed as vivid as the blue spread out before me, and I became so immersed within them I jumped when Monsieur Thorne stood suddenly and began to speak.

"Perhaps we should return before Abigail and Monsieur d'Estes come looking for us," he said.

I nodded, taking in one last look at France before accepting his offered arm. As we walked away, I made a vow to myself I would live long enough to see my home once more, even if it were only to be buried within its blessed soil.

Dinner was an uneasy affair. The food was good enough, it was true. And Monsieur Thorne and Lady Abigail were delightful, finishing each other's sentences, full of laughter and the joking only seen between very old and dear friends. But Henri was in a dark mood, one no amount of wine could shake from him. When Lady Abigail finally stood, I asked to be excused from any further gathering. My freedom from one sort of captivity only to be trapped into another, and then the trip to this lovely little manor, as well as the day itself, had exhausted me. I wanted nothing more than to retire to my chambers.

"I shall escort you there, Mademoiselle des Jardin." Henri stood and moved around the table to pull out my chair.

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Very well." I stood, turning to the others. "Good evening. I once again thank you for your most kind hospitality."

I slipped past Henri before the others could respond, though as we moved through the small manor to our rooms, the air between us was thick with a tension I was most curious about. I kept telling myself this was the reason I had accepted his offer of escort, though I knew better. Somehow, in a way that I could not understand, I still wanted him. Wanted his love and affection instead of the hateful scorn I was sure to continue receiving from my former lover.

When I entered my rooms, I will admit I was not surprised when he followed me and closed the door behind us.

"I want to know where it is, Cynara." Henri's tone was harsh, his words slurred from the amount of wine he'd consumed at dinner.

I threw my shawl over the couch. Then and only then did I turn to face his anger. "Whatever are you speaking of?" I asked, a smile on my face though I felt like snarling.

"You know d.a.m.ned well what I mean. My uncle's money. My inheritance. Where is it?"