A Study in Ashes (71 page)

But then a sigh seemed to pass from Evelina Cooper, and the scene below shimmered at the same instant. And then, to his gaping astonishment, the devices drawn by the carts came to life. The guns swiveled, legs extended, wheels rolled—and the machines bumped off the carts to trundle forward on their own. And it wasn’t a disorderly mob of rampaging machines, but rather a quiet and businesslike maneuver respectful of the human shepherds in their midst. Yet the machines had a defined notion of where they were going, just slightly off the path they had been following heretofore.

The Schoolmaster’s body tightened, every nerve screaming that what he saw wasn’t supposed to be happening. He had seen magic before, but not on this scale. And it might have been what he’d hoped for, but nothing had prepared
him for a self-propelled aether cannon, barrel jauntily swinging in march time toward the rising sun. “Where the fardling hell are they going?”

“Wherever you like,” said Miss Cooper softly. “As long as they can make one stop along the way.”

“Where?” He put one hand against the frame of the glass, leaning casually while he tried not to pass out.

The captain answered in a tone of bloody satisfaction. “Manufactory Three. There used to be a forest there. The devas would like to clear the way for it to grow back. It won’t take them long.”

The prince felt the ship change course, following the stream of marching machines. “Lovely. Um, do you suppose they could invade London when they’re done?”

“Absolutely,” said Miss Cooper with a dangerous smile. “And there are plenty more where those came from.”

London, October 16, 1889
PENNER TOY AND GAMES
6:14 a.m. Wednesday

PEOPLE ARRIVED IN ONES AND TWOS IN THE CRISP EARLY
hours of the morning. Despite the bombing, there were still buildings standing behind the toy factory, and there was still an alleyway where folk could congregate out of sight of the main road. Not that there were many passersby that morning to see the growing crowd. The air along Threadneedle Street stank of ash and aether, like cigar butts drowned in mint liqueur.

Tobias leaned against the back wall of the factory, falling into conversation with the arrivals as Bucky handed out tin mugs of tea. It was bitter and dark—not at all the drawing room beverage Lady Bancroft would have served—but it went perfectly with the heavy bread one of the local bakers brought around in enormous wicker baskets.

The baker had come like the rest, gathering in the alley behind the factory in response to Lord Bancroft’s summons. “If you don’t mind my saying, it’s past time to put an end to this, Mr. Roth,” the big man said. His name was Moore, and though he wore no apron there was still flour clinging to his clothes. He seemed not to notice it. “First they tell me I have to buy coal instead of burning good wood as before and then the bread never tastes right. And then we go to central heat at twice the price, and all the lights have to be gas. And then
the Gold King or the Green Queen or whoever puts their lights on my street wants a piece of my profits. Well, sir, there won’t be any this month. The banks are all gone and no one in these parts”—he waved a huge hand at the burned-out streets—“is going to be buying cinnamon pastries for some days to come.”

Tobias swallowed his mouthful of bread, wishing there were a few of those pastries looking for a good home. Lately, his appetite came and went, sometimes fading under a wash of nausea. Last night, he had felt particularly bad. But the thick, fragrant bread was going down easily. Moore had talent with salt and flour that said his business was well worth fighting for—but he also had mentioned a family, and that made Tobias balk. “If we march on the Gold King, we’ll be facing the Yellowbacks. Some of us won’t make it through.”

The baker smiled in a way that made Tobias’s muscles twitch. “I was a sergeant in the Forty-fifth, sir. I’m good with a rifle. And there’s no shortage of guns and ammunition laid by. We’ve been waiting for this day, Mr. Roth. We just never knew we’d be opening the door for a prince.”

“We?”

“London, Mr. Roth. The bakers and shopkeepers and guttersnipes, West and East both—we’re the city.”

“Did you meet him, sir?” The speaker was a small man who looked like he might have been one of the Green Queen’s clerks, or perhaps a ferret bespelled into human form. “Have you met Prince Edmond?”

Tobias met the small man’s eyes. “I have. He was, um …” he hesitated, searching for the right adjective. Engaging? A bit new to the whole prince business? A tiny bit frightening behind that grin? But Tobias knew these people needed something to hang on to while they offered up their lives in hope of something better. “He was very fair to me. He is a man of honor.”

The little man nodded, as if that was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “Fair is what we want. All a man wants in life is a chance to show what he’s worth.”

Tobias wondered what the fellow’s story was, but there
wasn’t time and a dozen more had shown up in the alley behind the warehouse while they were speaking. His gut was reconsidering breakfast. Part of it was the alley, which was beginning to stink as the sun warmed it. The rest was Scarlet’s poison. Tobias reached into his pocket, taking out the small tin of medication Dr. Watson had given him. He pressed the catch and the lid popped open. There were a dozen pills left—a better indication than anything else of how long the doctor had estimated that they would continue to help him. One-handed, he fumbled out two of the little white spheres and put the rest away.

The noise level was growing as yet more voices were added to the excited babble. Not all of them looked to be from the immediate neighborhood. This area was relatively prosperous, and some of the newcomers looked like the ragged denizens of London’s rookeries. The air was growing charged with expectation and Tobias began to be nervous. Windows were opening in the clutch of buildings that still stood behind the factory. Heads were poking out to see what was going on.

“What made you change your mind and fight for our side, Mr. Roth?” asked Moore.

There were a lot of answers, including the fact that he had never really been on Keating’s side. Not really. But again he picked something they would easily understand. “The Gold King took my infant son. He’s holding Jeremy so that I won’t cross him.”

The two men recoiled in shock. “That’s pure evil,” the baker said, the words a curse.

“It won’t work,” Tobias answered with more calm than he felt.

It wasn’t going to work because he knew Keating wouldn’t kill an heir with a title until he absolutely had to. Jeremy was everything the Gold King wanted—a living embodiment of old tradition and new wealth who would be groomed to steer Keating’s businesses into a glorious future. No, Keating wouldn’t kill his grandson as long as Tobias was dancing in his crosshairs, playing the enraged but ineffectual buffoon. His job was to make himself a highly visible
target that would hold Keating’s attention while others used the knowledge he had about the Gold King’s armaments. In other words, Tobias was the sacrificial decoy.

And he would probably die—but he’d gladly lay down his life for Jeremy because that was what fathers did. It would be a gift compared to a shivering, puking end courtesy of the Scarlet King’s poison. But he was worried about these men. “I might be leading you straight into the Gold King’s armies. I’m not a general.”

“We don’t need a general,” Moore said. “We know our business and we’ve planned this for a long time. What we want is someone to lead the way.”

Church bells began to toll the hour, a voice answered far away, and then again to the west. It was the city calling to itself, an individual and collective spirit. Tobias squinted up at the sun, the warmth on his face like a blessing. “It’s time to get started,” he said, finally ready to say the words. They tasted of defiance, but they left the lemony sweetness of freedom behind.

And then a handful of men and women pushed open the enormous doors at the back of the factory. This was where the lumber and other supplies were delivered, but what came out was extraordinary. And big. The head of it scraped the top of the doorway, and a train could have driven through those doors. Tobias stared open-mouthed, flashing back to that defining moment when the Society for the Proliferation of Impertinent Events had built the mechanical squid that destroyed the opera house. But that was a primitive ancestor to what he saw now.
Bloody hell!

Bucky was the son of the North’s most prominent gun maker, but he was also a toy maker. And it showed. This was a lethal engine of destruction disguised as an amusement.

The gigantic caterpillar had a dozen jointed sections that swayed side to side as it steamed forward, an engine churning in each segment. It was brightly painted in yellows and greens, a happy smile on its round face. A pair of legs emerged from each joint, each foot tipped with a bright red boot.

Bucky rode at the controls behind the head. He leaned
down, smiling widely for the first time in as long as Tobias could remember. “Do you like it?”

“Festive” was all Tobias could think of to say.

“I told the Yellowback inspectors that I was making it for the amusement park.” Bucky waved to the ladder that ran up the side of the machine. “Come on up. There are plenty of seats.”

Tobias complied, finding the first two sections were in fact fitted with seats covered in brown leather—eight in all. The back sections were piled with weaponry, food, and what looked like the making of barricades. Three men, including the baker, scrambled up and began tossing rifles to the crowd below. And that crowd was becoming a mob as more and more people arrived, many in the uniforms of a dozen different military units. The baker began shouting orders, and men fell into line.

Tobias took the seat beside Bucky. “Can I run this with one hand?” He could still use his right arm, but his hand was useless.

“Absolutely.” Bucky pressed a bright red button on the toy’s head, and the legs began to move. The motion began with the back legs and slowly rippled forward, each pair of legs lifting and setting down, pushing forward and then lifting again in waves. It reminded Tobias of the oars on a boat, rhythmic and graceful. The caterpillar sped across the ground, each red boot making a thump on the hard-packed earth. Bucky pushed a blue button to stop the machine, and then pointed to a long wooden lever mounted between the two seats. “That will steer it. The gun controls are on the other side.”

Tobias recognized the array of switches and levers from Bucky’s other projects. There would be plenty of projectiles when he needed them. “I’ll need a gunner, then.”

“Corporal Yelland will assist. He was trained as a sharpshooter.”

Tobias turned to see the ferret-faced clerk behind him. The man gave a short nod. “I’m as accurate with a bullet as I am with my sums.”

“Excellent,” Tobias said, his spirits lifting despite everything.
He could do this. He had managed the rescue party that had brought Imogen back to the
Helios
. He commanded a small army of craftsmen every day. He was no soldier, but he knew how to point people in the right direction and look confident while doing it.

“The controls are far easier than the ones on the squid,” Bucky said, rising from the seat. “You won’t have any trouble with them.”

They stood facing each other. They all had their roles to play, and Bucky’s wasn’t on the caterpillar. This was farewell.

Wordlessly, Bucky held out a hand. His left one. Tobias gripped it, grateful he hadn’t had to fumble with his numb fingers. His friend’s grip was firm and warm, familiar as an old coat. Time stopped as memories slammed into Tobias, so vivid they left him light-headed. They’d been friends so long—school, cricket, clubs, women, SPIE—and the chance that they’d see each other again was next to nothing.

“I’m glad you’re with us,” Bucky said evenly. “It’s about bloody time.”

“Look after Jeremy and Alice. Look after my sisters.” There was a lot more he wanted to say, but his chest was beginning to ache, and he couldn’t afford grief.

“You know I will.” Bucky inhaled, the sound of it uneven. “Good luck, Roth. London has your back. And may you get what you need from this.”

What I need?
All Tobias had ever wanted was a workshop and the freedom to indulge his imagination. But nothing had ever been that simple. He squeezed Bucky’s hand tight one last time, and then let it go. His friend left quickly, his motions those of a man holding too much inside.

Tobias swallowed hard, the world around him blurring with sadness. But he heard Corporal Yelland slide into the seat to his right, and the presence of a stranger forced him to gather his wits. He turned, and was shocked to see that the alley was full, and the alleys beyond that, and all the distant streets winding to the horizon. London had turned out in force.

His mouth went utterly dry.
Blood and thunder!
Not even
his father had been asked to deal with this kind of mob. But Tobias wasn’t his father.
He
knew what it was to put in an honest day’s work in the sweat and noise of a workshop.
He
wasn’t there for ambition, but because he was so angry that the pit of his gut boiled like the steam engines beneath his feet. He was one of them.