A Study in Ashes (7 page)

Bucky appeared at his elbow, blood running into his eyes from a cut to his scalp. “I think it’s time to go.”

Tobias wiped his mouth to see his sleeve come away bloody. “Fine. Take me to a party and then insist we leave before I’ve paid my respects to our host.”

Bucky nodded toward the end of the street. “At least one of our hosts is already in handcuffs. Best we go before we join him. I think half the constabulary in London is here.”

“That was fast. Think someone tipped them off?” Tobias wondered aloud, surveying the crowd with suspicion. The road was packed curb to curb, but there was nothing festive about the feel. A low, ugly muttering had started. And then something caught his eye. “Damnation.”

Bucky turned to follow Tobias’s gaze. Another fleet of Steamers was arriving, twice as many as the first lot. Worse, the occupants were firing shotguns at the gaslights as they went, their aim perilously bad.

“Go,” Bucky said. Tobias didn’t argue.

They turned and dove into the crowd, fighting their way with elbows and fists toward Piccadilly. It was like trying to wade through a flock of panicked sheep. Tobias began to despair of ever getting through—but then he remembered the Steamers.

He hauled on Bucky’s arm. “The one at the front. Get in.”

“With dozens of coppers around?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“We’re leaving. They’ll be in favor of two less toffs to worry about.” Tobias pushed him toward the Steamer closest to the corner. It was mobbed by the crowd, so it wasn’t easy to open the door. Bucky managed, but Tobias gave up, grabbing the roof instead and lowering himself through the open window.

Although he didn’t own a Steamer of his own, he’d driven them before. He released the brake, allowing it to roll forward slowly. Bucky leaned his head out the window. “Get out of the way! You with the bowler hat. Step aside, sir, please. Coming through.”

He kept up the litany for a block, but eventually gave up. The riot had spread for a mile around. Tobias went with the flow of the mob, grateful for the steel walls around him but unable to turn aside. Progress was excruciatingly slow, especially when he was afraid of crushing someone beneath the wheels. They’d reached the edge of St. James’s Park when the Steamer finally ran out of fuel. Tobias put on the brake and they got out.

“Are we any better off?” Tobias asked, taking stock
around them. It was less crowded by the park, but he wasn’t any closer to the safety of his bed.

“No one has tried to hit me in the last ten minutes.” Bucky’s scalp had stopped bleeding, but he looked a fright with blood smeared down his face. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Worry tugged at Tobias. He wasn’t going to be happy until Bucky’s wound was properly cleaned and bandaged. They were closest to his house, but it was still far away. However, his father-in-law had property all over London. “Keating Utilities has an office across the park. We can wait out this nonsense there.”

“Are you sure that taking refuge on the Gold King’s property is the best idea? Someone is bound to set it on fire.”

“Since when are you so full of gloom?”

Bucky stopped, exasperation plain on his face. “Tobias, think about it. We don’t want to go there.”

“Why not?”

“Cast your mind back. SPIE was made up of four young, promising men of excellent education and deep pockets.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Think!”

“About what?” Tobias asked with a snarl. “Is this some convoluted point of logic?”

“I thought returning to the clubhouse might refresh your memory, but it seems you found that distasteful.”

Tobias’s mind ricocheted from one idea to another, not liking any of them. “Am I somehow to blame for something?”

His friend pressed on. “Smythe’s regiment has been in chaos since the Scarlet King purchased them for his own private army. Edgerton’s ruined. My father is well on his way to disaster. You’re the only one still standing and that is due solely to the fact that you bowed down to Keating to keep the wolf from your family’s door. The only people who do not loathe the steam barons are the barons themselves, and even they don’t like each other.”

A stinging mix of anger and shame shuddered down Tobias’s spine. He clenched his jaw. “So what are you trying to tell me?”

“The rebellion isn’t just talk anymore.” Bucky raised his hands, silencing Tobias before he could interrupt. “This is my point. The longer you stand with Jasper Keating, the further away you are from the rest of us.”

That stung worse than if Bucky had clipped him on the chin. “I joined his company because he was about to crush my father! Where would my mother and sisters have been then?”

Bucky nodded. “And now your wife is his daughter and your son his grandson. He has you trapped right and proper.”

The logic infuriated Tobias, mostly because he’d known it from the start. Anger crackled over his skin, making it feel too tight. “What do you want?”

Bucky’s expression wasn’t hostile, but it was serious. “Someday I’m going to fight and you won’t be at my back.”

“Nonsense. I’m your friend. Who I work for doesn’t change that.”

“If you leave it too long, you won’t have a choice anymore. If the Steam Council turns on the people, each of us is going to have to decide where we belong.”

“And you’re going to play the rebel? You won’t even carry a gun,” Tobias snapped. “Your father may own an arms factory, but you make toys for a living.”

“I don’t carry a gun because I’m too good a shot,” Bucky said quietly. “But when I fire, I don’t miss. I never want to find you in my sights.”

“It’s not that simple,” Tobias shot back, feeling a need for justification.

Bucky shrugged. “No, but the barons are running out of time, and that means we won’t have many more chances to talk before everything falls apart.”

All at once a flash made them both fall silent. A bright light bloomed from the lake in the middle of the park. “What the bleeding hell is that?” Tobias asked.

Bucky drew in his breath, probably to tell him he was avoiding the subject, but then let it out with a hiss as the glow grew stronger, like a small sun rising over the treetops. “Is that some kind of a dirigible?”

They hurried toward the apparition, anxious to see who
was launching a craft in the middle of the city—on the night of a riot, no less—and why. Anyone with innocent intentions would have gone home and locked their doors.

At first, greenery blocked their view. All that Tobias could see was the netted curve of a balloon surrounded by a glow of light. And then the tip of a propeller came into view. “By God, it
is
some sort of airship,” he exclaimed. They started to run to get a better view.

The first thing they encountered was a scatter of horses, carts, and running men—some of them armed—making for the street. That solved the mystery of how the thing had got there—and judging by the size and number of conveyances involved, there had been some assembly required at the last minute. Debris from the construction littered the shore of the lake. A handful of cheaply built rafts still floated on the water, spinning slowly in the current. Tobias tried to picture where the rafts came in, but was immediately distracted by the ship itself.

What rose above the lake was like nothing Tobias had ever seen. A graceful gold balloon suspended an enclosed body coated in brass. The balloon was augmented by ranks of steam-driven propellers heaving against the weight of their burden. Tobias immediately calculated the difficulty of lifting such a machine into the air and the fuel required to do it. Wherever the thing was meant to go, it wasn’t far—maybe just a mile or two away.

The general shape of the thing was insectile, made up of three sections with the largest in the aft. Whirling propellers were set on rectangular frames attached to the midsection like wings. The entire body of the ship was studded with lights, making it glimmer in the night sky. Apparently, it was meant to be seen. But most disturbing was a long proboscis-like spike emerging from the prow. Tobias tried to make sense of the shape, and felt a headache coming on.

“What the feckin’ hell?” muttered Bucky. “You say it, because I don’t want to.”

“It’s a gigantic brass mosquito,” Tobias replied as the thing lifted above the greenery.

“Why?”

The question really did sum it all up. Sadly, there was no good answer, so they increased their speed to race after it. They weren’t the only ones. The mob that had followed the police to Bond Street earlier that night now turned like a giant, sluggish tide to flow in the direction of this latest apparition. But unlike the park, the streets were jammed. There was no possibility of the coppers catching up to the ship or the mischief-makers who had sent it into the sky.

Undoubtedly someone
had
tipped off the constabulary about the riots that night. It was the surest way to get them out of the way. How else did one launch a giant bug in the middle of a very public park, save by creating an even bigger distraction down the road?

The mosquito, and everyone else, was heading toward Westminster. The face of Big Ben loomed in the night sky like a gigantic clockwork god. A few tiny police balloons wafted into the air, looking rather like the bubbles in a champagne glass, but there was no hope of catching the intruder. Tobias watched with mounting horror as it powered along, propellers churning, toward the Palace of Westminster—and more specifically, for the Clock Tower.

Tobias and Bucky became tangled in the crowd as it funneled toward the east end of the park. Directly ahead, a carriage had become mired in the midst of the throng and the mare was whinnying in panic at the crush. They were more or less at a standstill.

Bucky dragged Tobias by the arm, pulling up against the side of a white stone building. Silent, they both watched with mute horror as the brass mosquito sailed steadily toward Big Ben. The symbolism of a blood-sucker nagged at Tobias’s mind, but nowhere had he seen any indication of who was behind the attack. The anonymity of this action made everything worse.

The clock was chiming eleven, the huge bell bonging with certitude, the elegant hands uplifted against the illuminated face. And for a moment, Tobias thought the weight of majesty would be enough to protect the monument. The mosquito seemed to pause, lights shimmering against the dark sky, suspended by the vibrant voice of the bell.

And then it dove, nose skewering the glass.

“Blood and thunder!” Tobias couldn’t hear it break at that distance, but he saw the flash of reflection in the lights of the attacking ship. A collective gasp of dismay went up from the crowd. The proboscis drove in deep, crushing clockwork as if it were tissue paper. Metal flew, arcing into the air, but it was hard to tell what was the clock and what was the ship. Even at that distance, Tobias could tell both were wrecks. The bell made an odd, choking ring and went silent. Then, the crowd’s gasp became a roar as what had just happened soaked in.

The light from the Clock Tower winked out. Big Ben was dead, one side burdened by the brass monstrosity that had speared it. Then the ship’s lights, too, flickered and went out.

Tobias was growing cold inside, as if he were being drained of blood. Westminster was the heart of the Gold King’s territory, the jewel in his crown. Keating was going to be furious right down to the bottom of his spats. “You were wondering about a war?”

“But who did this?” Bucky waved at the spectacle in the sky, for all it was now shrouded in darkness. “Why put the Empire at risk with such a pointless gesture?”

Tobias closed his eyes for a long moment. Bucky was right. The steam barons distrusted one another, and once the balance of power between them tipped, every industry they owned—power, transportation, manufacturing, and even the brothels—would suffer. There would be chaos unless the culprit was found and dealt with in short order. Innocent people would be hurt.

For Tobias, this was bigger than picking sides. This was about protecting everyone he cared for. He handed Bucky the Webley. “You need to get home.”

Bucky’s brown eyes widened, but he took the gun. “What about you?”

Tobias looked over his shoulder at the clock. As the Gold King’s maker, he had permission to poke his nose where he liked in Keating’s territories. “I need to get up there and figure out who made that thing.”

TENSION REIGNS AT THE PALACE

Almost immediately after the attack on our beloved Big Ben, the Empire has suffered another blow. The Prince of Wales has taken to his bed with a sudden and serious illness. Some fear a return of typhoid, which nearly took his life in 1871, but unconfirmed reports claim palace physicians believe this to be a new malady. It is further said that they cannot discern its cause, much less prescribe a cure.

—The London Prattler

London, September 19, 1889
LADIES’ COLLEGE OF LONDON
5:05 p.m. Thursday

“COOPER!”

Evelina looked up from her book, squinting a little. Her mind had drifted to a place far away from the words before her—back to a spring night when Nick had crept through her bedroom window. It should have been night, and it should have been Hilliard House, but with a wrench, she realized none of that was true. Instead, she was sitting in a sunny patch at the south end of the quadrangle, warm enough that she’d shed her wrap. The air smelled dusty, carrying the faint scent of windfalls from the orchard behind Witherton House.