A Study in Ashes (53 page)

With a leaden feeling in his belly, Keating reached toward the box, his fingers twitching. Nothing he saw beneath the lid would make him happy, so he stopped, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips.
Don’t bother. You already know the answer
. But knowing wasn’t the same as being certain, so he picked up the box and set it on his desk. It was
heavy, the polished rosewood finish hiding the heavy mechanism within.

Evelina’s bracelets were only one half of the containment device that imprisoned her. This was the rest. He unlatched the lid and raised it with a faint click. Beneath it was a series of round dials showing direction, distance, and time. Keating looked at the position of the needles and swore.

Roth had unlocked the bracelets to allow Evelina to leave the university grounds, but that didn’t disable the tracking mechanism. Unfortunately, the device used her dormitory rooms as the central point from which her location was calculated. Setting the tracking mechanism was a cumbersome business requiring the services of Her Majesty’s Laboratories. Baskerville Hall, just over two hundred miles to the southwest, had been within its range, if only just. Keating hadn’t seen the need to reset the whole mechanism for a trip scheduled to last only days. Now he wished he had, because all the indicators on the device were in the neutral position, unable to read a thing.

Bile soured Keating’s mouth. Evelina was out of range of his device’s reach. Tobias Roth had vanished. Her Majesty’s Laboratories were destroyed and there were rumors that Madam Thalassa and her followers had done it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Evelina had played a role in the sabotage and then escaped—and that meant she had the key to the bracelets.

Keating polished a fingerprint off the convex face of one of the dials, his knuckles brushing the green felt inside the lid. Then his temper overcame him and he slammed the lid shut with a bang. Roth was an idiot or a traitor, and Holmes had been no help at all. He’d claimed to be fully occupied chasing a giant, murderous hound over the moor.

This much he knew: Evelina’s disappearance had happened overnight. Keating had sent out a search party of his best men, but they’d turned up nothing, and that was no surprise. He had gone to bed one night knowing just where she was, and by the time his streetkeeper had checked the device the next morning, she was beyond the limits of its
reach.
I was duped
. And he would bet his last shilling Holmes was in on it. Holmes, Roth, and perhaps even those fools at the university.

Of course, the restraints had an automatic safeguard against just such events. This latest model didn’t depend on the bracelets being within range, but upon the number of times the key was turned. The key would soon stop working—if it hadn’t already—and she would die in agony. A just punishment, if the waste of a promising operative.
So much for lenience. I should have burned her long ago
.

Fuming, Keating left his suite of offices, slammed the door closed, locked it, and stalked down the corridor of the Steam Makers’ Guild Hall. He glanced over his shoulder, missing Roth’s presence, and then cursed himself for doing it.
Damn Roth
. Still, it had been good to have a future viscount on staff; it gave his entourage presence.
And damn Scarlet
, he thought grimly. Reading had cost Keating a valuable asset. Good makers didn’t fall out of trees. Now, sadly, the only future left for Roth was to die quickly offstage and with the least fuss possible.
And maybe he deserves it
.

Anger throbbing in his gut, Keating reached the stairs and began to descend, wondering how much of all this to reveal in the meeting that would begin—he checked his watch—mere minutes from now.

He continued, turning left toward the meeting rooms. He saw the Blue King up ahead, with three of his ragged Blue Boys guiding the steam-powered chair he rode in. Although his territory comprised the poorest parts of the East End, where starvation was commonplace, he was enormously, grotesquely fat.

Behind the chair, carrying a portfolio under one arm, was Mr. Juniper, the Blue King’s elegant man of business. The fellow paused, bowing slightly in Keating’s direction. The gesture rankled, reminding Keating of one other unpleasant discovery he’d made in the last week—Juniper’s true name was Moriarty, and he was a mathematics professor at the very same college where Evelina had been attending. Could he have played a role in her escape?

Keating slowed his pace, not wanting to confront King Coal’s entourage right away. For the first time the Gold King could recall, he was actually nervous. There was an unusual amount that could go wrong today.

A dainty gloved hand fell on his arm. “Mr. Keating, a word if you please.”

He tensed when he realized that it was Mrs. Valerie Cutter, better known as the Violet Queen. She had a small geographical territory, but her true kingdom was the brothels and a few of the London periodicals—though some hinted at a significant spy network. Information was her specialty, and thus she was not a woman to brush off. Keating stopped. “How may I help you, madam?”

Mrs. Cutter was dressed in a deep magenta costume decorated in long fringe that no doubt cost dearly but put Keating in mind of a lampshade. She was in her midforties, dark haired, and still handsome except for the cold glitter in her eyes. “We are in tumultuous times, Mr. Keating.”

He cast a glance at the monumental steam clock mounted above the entrance to the council chamber. “Not only tumultuous, but fleeting. I am all ears for whatever you have to say, but keep in mind that we are in danger of being late.”

She gave him a coy smile that still managed to be annoyed. “Then I will come directly to my point. You need a friend.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t be foolish, darling. We’ve all heard about the laboratories.”

A bad taste formed at the back of his mouth. “And what do I have to do with that?”

“Nothing, officially, but everyone knows you took an interest in the place. Having it blow up like that looks bad. Some even say it was magic.”

“It was the boiler,” he said with a stiff smile.

“Something came to the boil, that much is certain.” She snapped open her fan, covering her smiling lips.

He’d had enough of the exchange. “Are you volunteering to be my friend, Mrs. Cutter?”

“I find myself casting about for a safe harbor. The last one appears to have been shot.”

Keating had been half expecting this, since Scarlet and Violet had always been close. “I have mooring points available for such a delightful craft as yours, but such things require negotiation.”

“Trust me when I say you won’t regret my offer. I know what evidence Scarlet had on Green. I got it for him. My network is second to none. I can get you whatever you want on whomever you please.” As she spoke, her words dropped to a huskier range, losing at least half their polish. It was a bit like listening to a voice undress.

“And all you want is the shelter of my armies?”

She cast her gaze downward, thick lashes dusting her cheekbones. “I’m the only baron without regiments of my own. I wouldn’t mind a few of those German airships that Scarlet had his eye on, if you can see your way to throwing them into the bargain.”

And what, pray tell, would a whore do with airships?
Still, he would rather have an alliance than not. Of any of them, Violet was the weakest and the one he trusted least. With the fewest obvious weapons, she would aim for the throat at once, not bothering with a warning blow.

He raised her hand to his lips. “Why don’t we commit to an agreement in principle and work out the finer points after today’s council?”

“Do you promise that we will both survive it?”

“It goes without saying that will depend on both of us. Together, perhaps we may.”

She slipped her hand through his arm, awarding him a practiced smile. “I would feel much better with a friend at the table.”

“As would I,” he said, knowing that all he had gained was a slight delay before her knife sank into his spine.

He escorted her through the double doors to the council chamber. Their aides were already assembled and talking loudly among themselves. Those with status—like Mr. Juniper/Moriarty and like Roth once upon a time—stood directly behind the chairs of the principals, forming a ring
of spectators around the table. The hubbub collided with the sound of glassware as servants placed glasses and pitchers of water on the table.

He saw Violet to her seat and then circled to his own. Green was once again playing the role of chair, which had the disadvantage of forcing them to listen to her grating voice; it was enough to make one’s ears bleed. Keating sometimes wondered if she had talked the late Mr. Spicer into his grave.

He glanced around the table, noting that the Black Kingdom—better known as the underground realms beneath the London streets—had sent three people this time. A nursemaid in her apron and starched cap sat between a girl of about twelve and a boy of about eight. They were dressed very correctly, the girl in a pinafore and the boy in short pants, but all was black and white without a stitch of color. All three were utterly unsmiling, with eyes slightly too large for their faces.

Normally, Keating would have objected to seeing children at the table, but this was the Black Kingdom. No one knew who ran it and no one really wanted to know. There was an aura of something
wrong
about everyone who appeared from down there. Keating wouldn’t have been surprised if any one of the three had extracted a live rat from a pocket and eaten it whole and squirming.

The Green Queen banged her knuckles on the table to bring them to order. “Gentlemen! And ladies. Order, please!”

Her voice sliced through the room, mowing down conversation like so much hay. She then began the recitation of several points of order, which Keating tuned out. His attention went back to the rest of the table, wondering who was in league with whom. There was rumor that Blue had made a pact with the Black Kingdom, but wasn’t sure that was true or even possible. Nevertheless, of all the steam barons, the Blue King—better known as King Coal—gave him pause. Thanks to Evelina Cooper, he knew that before the air battle Dr. Magnus had been Blue’s maker.

Then the Green Queen’s words broke into his thoughts. “Let us take a moment to remember those absent today.”

“Yes, let us,” Keating interjected. “William Reading is no longer in his chair, regaling us with his unique sense of humor.”
Or his lethal poisons
. “However, despite what the newspapers would have us believe, his death is hardly a mystery.”

And then he heard the sound that he had been waiting for—the deep rumble of an engine. His stomach uncoiled as one element of uncertainty resolved itself in accordance with his plans.

Gr-r-r-r-r-r-r-R-R-R-R-R-R
.

As the motor grew louder, they all looked up at the model of the dirigible hanging from the ceiling, but the engine they heard was actually flying low over the rooftops. Keating pulled out his pocket watch.
On time down to the second
. He started to feel downright cocky.

“What do you mean, not a mystery?” asked the Blue King in his high, reedy wheeze.

Keating made a gesture and one of his aides produced William Reading’s portfolio, as well as a pair of gloves. Keating pulled the extra gloves over his own and snapped open the portfolio, removing the plans for the brass abomination and spreading them across the table. “Pray, do not touch these unless you are adequately gloved. There is a deadly poison on these pages.”

The few who had been leaning forward with interest drew back at that, but everyone obviously recognized what the pages were. Moriarty bent closer, his eyebrows raised as he peered over the Blue King’s shoulder.

“Did Reading give you these?” asked the Green Queen, her square, unlovely face flushing a mottled red.

“Yes,” Keating said. Did it matter that Scarlet hadn’t precisely
meant
to give them up? “Though I think the more interesting point was how he came by them.”

He gave Valerie Cutter a significant look. In the last few days, he’d dug out the secrets of her involvement in the matter of the Clock Tower, and he was putting her on the spot. Now was the moment where he found out what her alliance
was worth—would she stand with him, or not? She fidgeted for a moment, toying with the fringe on her sleeve, and then replied with a dainty sigh. “He received them through one of my intermediaries.”

“And your intermediary got them from?” Keating prompted.

“Green’s maker, Mr. Blind.”

King Coal wheeled his chair to get a better view of Green, his look incredulous. “You put the bug in Big Ben? That hardly seems your style.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Cutter, a hint of claws in her tone. “Mrs. Spicer runs the financial district, after all. Clerks, bankers, lawyers, insurance men—those folks are good at putting a stick in the spokes when they take a notion.”

Jane Spicer rose from her seat, ramrod-straight beneath the stiff silks of her bottle-green dress. Then she fixed Keating in her sights and raised a finger, pointing like the accuser from a Shakespearean tragedy. “No one ever stood up to him. I had to make a statement.”

No, you didn’t
. Keating’s gut clenched, knowing everything depended on the next two minutes. Either he was going to get rid of this harpy, or they would all turn on him together. “You, Mrs. Spicer, wanted my territory in the City of Westminster. If you think destroying a national monument—”

“You seized Scarlet’s territories without so much as a by-your-leave!” she snapped.

“Did you have first refusal on a piece of it?” Keating asked coolly. “I’m sure you have a solicitor who could call upon mine.”

“You took it right out from under the rest of us.”

“Isn’t winner take all the point of commerce? I’m sure some of the smaller counting houses had the same complaint when you swept in.”

He’d barely finished speaking when the first bomb dropped. The rumble of the explosion rattled the drinking glasses on the table. A puff of dust fell from the model dirigible, indicating that it was time to clean.