Eterna and Omega (6 page)

“I believe Francis Tourney had holdings in the Apex Corporation, the company that shipped the bodies of our scientists to New York.”

“Well then, there you go!”

“Thank you, sir. Finally. That shouldn't have been hard, you know.”

“I know, Mr. Spire,” Black murmured. There came a distinct shift in him. The grand presence was suddenly just a tired man in a striped satin frock coat, seated at an overlarge desk.

“Lord Black,” Spire pressed quietly, “Her Majesty hides aspects of Omega. I've been unable to visit the estate where the previous scientists had been living prior to being abducted. And though I am charged with their protection, I've not met any candidates for a new team save for the doctor, if you can call him that, Zhavia. Whether you, Lord Black, are complicit in this obfuscation, I cannot tell.”

Black sighed. Spire was discomfited. Every time he and Lord Black had been together, the nobleman had been the picture of joy, mischief, and confidence. He was notoriously a charming dandy, the sort of personality that by all accounts should constantly grate on Spire's nerves. But, damn the man, he was insufferably likable.

It was clear, however, that today something was wearing upon this effervescent presence. Black took great care in responding.

“Obfuscation, no, not to my knowledge,” he replied finally. “But things are afoot, Mr. Spire. I do confess I've bad news about the new scientists, my good man, and why you haven't met them.”

Spire set his jaw. “Don't tell me we've lost more men?”

“I don't know,” Black said wearily. “Possibly. There was supposed to be a fresh crop and I intended to bring them here to our Millbank offices as you requested, it prudent indeed to have them under your watch. I have been overruled.”

“By?”

“Her Majesty. Before you ask, no, she gave no reason.” Black offered a strained, ironic smile. “The new scientists are to be kept in the same manor the others disappeared from in the first place.”

Spire blinked. “Lovely. That seems …
wholly
imprudent.”

“I agree. But I was not given the opportunity to argue that point.”

“
Lovely.
If neither of us is listened to—”

Lord Black held up a hand, his expression weary—the look of a man tired of being unheard. Spire knew the feeling well. For someone of such position and privilege to feel as helpless as Spire himself … the last of any remaining antagonism toward the lord vanished.

“Tell me, then, share with me what I
can
do,” Spire said with a gentleness usually foreign to his nature. The extreme personalities that surrounded his new position had driven him to adopt varying tactics that taxed the range of his admittedly limited sentiments. “Give me leave and resources. I am driven to better this city. For Queen and Country. That is, truly, what I was born to do. But I can do nothing for any of those noble purposes under clouds of obfuscation and dangerous measures.”

Spire feared that all the inefficiency stemmed from Her Majesty herself. If so, then he'd have to find a way—somehow—to be shifted back into his old position at the Metropolitan. And quickly, before the unfinished business of the Tourney case was cold as stone.

Spire shuddered as he thought about what the queen was after. Eternal life. He'd yet to meet a single soul in higher office he'd want to stay in for a next term, let alone forever … The true horror of “Eterna Pax Victoria” dawned on him in a sour ray of jaundiced light.

There was a soft click of shining leather boots upon the slate floor as Lord Black paced to and fro. The nobleman approached Spire, took his snifter, and refilled both glasses at the mahogany console table littered with various objects that by their appearance had likely been ferreted away from pyramids. Black returned Spire's snifter to him before taking a seat in his vast leather throne of a chair.

“I do worry about the Crown,” Black murmured. “I know it's treasonous to say so.”

Spire hesitated a moment longer, then dove in. “Treason is entirely contextual, sir. It camouflages to suit the surroundings. Good and evil are not so changeable. You hired me because you thought I did a good job in the Metropolitan Police. I was able to do so because I acted only with comprehensive information. I'll not risk my life or those placed under my purview carelessly or for a questionable cause. There has to be
morality
beneath it all. I will not pursue immortality or anything associated with it if there is not morality at the core. Nor should you, milord. Do not be persuaded to do anything but that which keeps mankind from regressing to animals.”

This had an impact on Black.

“You're a good man, Spire,” he said. “We're lucky—
I
am lucky—to have you. I'll do whatever I can to make sure this office is on the right side of what it was built for. You have my word, for what that's worth.”

“A great deal, milord, and thank you,” Spire said with a rare earnestness.

“I'd like to offer you proof of my word,” Black added with a familiarly jovial grin, “but I fear you'll question the means.”

Spire looked at him quizzically.

“That day at Buck House, I had you tested by a man who can gaze at the aura of a person and tell if he's doing right by humankind or ill. Whether he's on the side of the angels or the devils, let's say.”

Spire recalled that horrid day, the day he'd gone from Tourney's cellar of nightmare to the splendor of Buckingham Palace. So that's what had been happening while he'd been stuck in that tiny room—his “aura” had been spied upon. Lovely.

“Whether you believe it or not, he deemed you right and honorable, Mr. Spire,” Black said with a chuckle. “I'll have Lord Denbury keep a good eye on all of us, to make sure we remain so.”

“By whose bias?” Spire countered.

“By that sweet, kind man's estimation,” the nobleman said with an unmistakable fondness. “I am certain his bias is that of the godly. You'll see what I mean soon enough; I'm drawing him into our confidences. There's a parade Saturday, and I'll have him at our box when the queen passes by.”

An aura reader to add to Omega's circus. Spire held back a sigh. But, he thought with some surprise, if Black had suspicions of the Crown itself, and that's why Denbury's eye was being called upon, this all could be labeled treason indeed. A new weight shifted in Spire's stomach.

“I've orders to give,” Spire said, once the strained silence had grown uncomfortable. “If you'll excuse me, sir.” He rose and bowed.

Black nodded and got to his feet, his exhaustion plain once more. “Lead on, my good man.”

With Black on his heels, Spire opened his department door.

He heard a little
thwinging
sound that ended in a soft pop, then felt a distinct sting upon his forehead.

“Bull's-eye!” cried Mr. Blakely, theatrical ringmaster and chemical tinkerer, the arms of his aquamarine velvet frock coat flapping as if he were a tall, spindly waterfowl.

Spire stood stock-still and reached up to touch whatever it was that had landed upon his brow. Before he could remove the projectile, there was a cracking sound, followed by smoke that burst around Spire's face in an instant, gray and acrid. He doubled over, coughing, then spun around and went right back out, seeking clean air. He snatched the arrow-like object from his forehead and peered at it, crumpled in his shaking palm: a piece of broken balsa wood with little capsules attached.

“Really, Mr. Blakely, wouldn't the wall have been a wiser test subject than your superior?” Everhart said sharply from her post at the telegraph machine just inside the second-floor threshold.

Still gasping, Spire returned to the office as Blakely replied earnestly, “I need to know that it works on human skin in motion! The operative does have to have good aim, and I haven't yet accounted for wind—”

“You will
account,
Mr. Blakely,” Spire hissed, after clearing his throat several times—acrid particles still clung to the inside of his nostrils and made his eyes water—for not coming within
many
feet of me, for the sanctity of your facial features, until you've proved that blasted thing of
vital
importance.”

“Oh, rest assured,
mon capitane,
I'll—”

“Shut up, Blakely, and prepare to travel to New York City. Your steamer leaves tomorrow. And dress less … dramatically. I can hear that coat from across the room, it's so loud. Spies, Blakely, do not wear turquoise—”

Blakely gasped, utterly aghast. “It is
a-qua-ma-rine,
thank you very much!”

“We are here,” Spire growled, “if any of you have the capacity to recall, to examine a plan of recovery of the bodies of our late scientists, learn what we can of Eterna's commission, and seize the man of electrical aberration known as Mosley.” He squared his shoulders and took charge.

“Since you are a circus, I'm using you as such. Set yourself up as a small fair, tent and all, in whatever downtown space you can manage. If it's close to a governmental area, all the better. Present a Cipher invitation to your ‘show' directly to the Eterna offices. We know from intelligence that Senator Bishop and Miss Templeton spend part of their time investigating sham spiritualism and outrageous divination. Your performance should be irresistible to them.”

He turned to Miss Knight, who nodded with a smile of understanding.

“Find out, by whatever clever discussion necessary, what they want and have done with our scientists. They may not be in possession of the dead bodies, but we need to rule them out. Be careful, as I don't know if they will seek retaliation for Brinkman's unconventional interrogation.

“As well, see what you can do to lure out Mr. Mosley. I'll wire every contact point for Brinkman I have, so he may make himself useful to you for a change.”

“Apex, Mr. Spire,” Miss Everhart prompted.

“Indeed. Keep all ears tuned for the Apex Corporation or ties to the Master's Society. Apex is the company responsible for shipping the bodies, which puts them on our watch list. The Master's Society precedes them and may be the inspiration, or directly responsible.”

Spire turned to Black. “Now, have I your permission to send them all away and remain here in peace?”

“You do,” Black said, hiding a chuckle.

“Might that be extended to me as well?” Everhart asked with careful nonchalance. “Do you really want to hear the PM whining if I'm entirely absent from Westminster?”

Lord Black shuddered. “God, no. Stay, Everhart.”

“Thank you, milord.”

For the first time all day, Spire took a calm breath and was able to relax his shoulders.

His respite was short-lived as an intruder appeared on the threshold of the offices—a petite red-blond woman wearing a deep red riding habit. Her sharp features and imperious air made her seem twice her size. She surveyed the room and its inhabitants, gave a single nod, as if they had passed inspection, then turned away and strode up the metal stairs to Black's top floor. “Let's see what all these offices look like, shall we?” she stated.

“Excuse me, miss?” Spire called after the newcomer as he stepped out onto the landing. “Who are you and how did you get in?”

“Why, hello there! Don't mind me, I've a way with doors,” she replied, turning to stare down at him from the landing above. Out of the corner of his eye, Spire saw that Lord Black and Miss Everhart had come up close behind him at the second-floor landing.

“This is a restricted-access building, miss, you can't be here,” Spire stated. “Can I help you?”

She offered the three who stood a landing below her a prim smile. Her small, sensible hat was cocked at a slight angle that was opposite from the tilt of her curious, scrutinizing gaze. “This is the Omega department, is it not?” Her accent was of good London breeding, but there was something a bit odd about it, as if it echoed.

Spire looked at Lord Black and didn't say another word. He'd let the man who said to defer insistent queries about the department take it from here. Spire knew the upper-class imperious type and he would let the gentry deal with it.

“No it isn't…” Lord Black said, rather unconvincingly.

“Oh, shut up, yes it is.” The woman frowned, folding her arms. Black's mouth dropped open.

Spire wanted to put his face in his hands at what was
supposed
to be kept a government secret. Instead, he just scowled, watching the intruder as she descended again toward them, returning to the second floor to address them eye to eye.

“You are?” Black prompted.

The woman took a deep breath and replied on bit of a tear, her voice low, crisp, authoritative, and oddly echoing for so small a frame, and held their company in a bit of a thrall.

“I've many names, and to some I'm just a
visitor,
but you may call me Lizzie Marlowe of the Marlowe Trust. That should ring a bell with you, Lord Black. Seeing as you're a member of the House of Lords, you would know my family, and if I
do
recall, your uncle was set to do mine some favors that never arrived, and while I'm not here to call upon those at present, I am here to see what this department
begins
as. Taking notes, really, as what Omega could become if you're not very, very careful is very, very important.”

With that, she swept down again to the front door.

Her bright eyes narrowed, as if she were a hawk that suddenly spied a mouse in a field, but in reverse, looking up rather than down at her prey. She pointed suddenly at Miss Everhart.

“You. It'll be up to you, my dear. You and Templeton, to keep the departments honest. Keep sharp. And do go to New York, will you?”

And with that, Lizzie Marlowe turned to the door, peered at the latches, clicked the lever so that it would lock upon her exit, and was gone.