A Study in Ashes (61 page)

“Who were they?” Watson asked.

“A year ago we had two individuals in custody at Loch Ness, a Mr. Elias Jones and Mr. Bingham,” the Schoolmaster
said. “They both perished before we were quite done extracting information from them.”

Watson blinked, speaking before he could stop himself. “You tortured them?”

The Schoolmaster frowned. “No. That was never our method of operation, but still two healthy men died unexpectedly. At the time we suspected there was a turncoat in our midst, but an exhaustive review of everyone’s quarters, whereabouts, history—none of it turned up a thing.”

“And their deaths were caused by a very particular substance,” Holmes replied. “They were poisoned in a manner that induced heart failure, but I would postulate that the noxious formula also possessed a psychoactive property, as both the prisoners and Sir Charles retained the marks of severe terror above and beyond what one normally sees stamped on the features of such victims.”

“Are you saying that Sir Charles died by the same hand as our prisoners?” The Schoolmaster fell back in his chair, his expression incredulous.

The detective’s face was serious. “I am saying that circumstances point to the fact that at the time of the prisoners’ deaths, someone was in our midst and pursuing his own agenda. Someone who did not desire the prisoners to reveal everything that they knew to us. And someone who then wished to determine what Sir Charles could tell. After all, Sir Charles had all your secrets.”

Dr. Watson followed this exchange carefully, trying to remember Holmes’s account of the bombing at Baker Street and all that followed. “Was there someone in particular who was in both places at the right time?”

“That would not be necessary,” said Holmes. “All that would be required would be someone able to pull the right strings.” Holmes turned to the Schoolmaster. “Do you recall accompanying me to the Blue King’s court when I was searching for my niece?”

“Of course.”

“At that time, King Coal suspected there was a traitor in his establishment. He wanted me to take that case, but circumstances
changed and I never pursued it. However, the matter remained in my mind.”

“Are you saying that his turncoat and ours are the same?” asked Watson.

“At the time, I thought it odd that both Jones and Bingham were double agents, playing Blue and Gold off against one another. Even more strange that orders were issuing from the Blue court that were not authorized by King Coal. At first I suspected the hand of my brother, Mycroft, but there were some things that happened I believe he simply would not do. Most significantly, while he might question Sir Charles, he would never kill him.”

The Schoolmaster had that fixed expression so many got when trying to follow one of Holmes’s chains of logic. “So your suspicions lean to a member of the Blue Court?”

“Yes, and for two reasons. One is the nature of the poison used. Sir Charles and the others weren’t given a drug to keep them silent, it was to loosen their tongues.”

Both Watson and the Schoolmaster jerked to attention. “There are drugs that lower inhibitions in that fashion,” Watson said, “but they’re not always reliable.”

“And the most efficacious of those drugs are not available to the honest physician, but …” Holmes trailed off, waving a hand carelessly. “They are excellent for extracting information. The subject remembers nothing of the incident, and if the dosage is correct, they die. Perfect if someone wanted to empty the brains of our two turncoats, and then stop their hearts.”

“And Sir Charles?” Watson asked.

“He already had a weak heart. I do not think he was meant to die, but the strain on him was too much. Either he suffered a recurrence of the psychoactive effects of the drug, or perhaps he did see something that frightened him, as the local rumors would have it. Either way, it was too much.”

“You said there were two reasons you believe the killer is the same,” the Schoolmaster prompted, his expression grim.

“The other is more oblique,” Holmes continued. “I think King Coal made the connection between Edmond Baskerville and the Schoolmaster long ago. One of his key advisors
picked up the thread—I believe independently of his master—and deployed his own scoundrels to learn the truth of that and who knows what other secrets of the rebels, the Gold King, and anyone else. We are dealing with a villain intent on building his own empire.”

“A villain who then came after Sir Charles?”

“But only after Mycroft came here first. The Steam Council has been watching my brother for some time. When he visited Sir Charles recently, the unusual break from his routine was noted. And then the killer struck.”

The Schoolmaster’s face had gone pale. “Who? Whose hand did these things?”

“We may never know who delivered the poison to Jones and Bingham, but I am convinced they received their orders from the same gentleman who visited Sir Charles on the twenty-ninth of September. I questioned your housekeeper, Mrs. Barrymore, on the matter of your guardian’s visitors. Sir Charles had an unusually full schedule of late, but it seems he took the time for tea with a professor of Camelin University who was very interested in the local fauna. Butterflies, to be precise.”

The news sent Watson spinning. “Camelin University is where Evelina—”

“Indeed,” snapped Holmes. “And the notion that she has been resident near this individual turns my veins to ice.”

“Who is it?” demanded the Schoolmaster.

“His name is Moriarty, but he goes by the name of Juniper.”

“The Blue King’s man of business?” the Schoolmaster exclaimed.

Holmes’s lip curled into a snarl. “The more I learn about this individual, the more threads there seem to be to his web. We must have a care with this one, gentlemen. He is not the kind we take to trial, because for all the investigation I have done, there is not one scrap of hard evidence.” He slammed his hand on the table. “I can prove nothing.”

The Schoolmaster pulled off his green-tinted glasses. His blue eyes were icy. “I am tired of hearing that we cannot prove such crimes. I’ve heard it all my life as prince and
princess died of dubious causes, and court officials wrung their hands and said there was never enough evidence to point to the Steam Council. Perhaps the law as it stands cannot prosecute these wretches, but soon
I
will be the law. We will catch this Moriarty, and then you can ask him whatever you please.”

They sat in silence a moment, the mood crackling with tension. Then the Schoolmaster stirred. “Well, if we are going to catch him, we have a war to win. And to do that, we must reach London, which is no longer an easy task. The southern armies are already starting north, but advance scouts report the roads are blocked by the Yellowbacks. They were handing out these pamphlets.”

He reached into his leather bag, withdrew a handful of leaflets and paper, and tossed them onto the table. Watson picked up the topmost handbill.

LOYAL ENGLISHMEN UNITE!

The citizens of London are under attack from the REBEL MENACE.

Traitors have rallied under the banner of the VILE PRETENDER hiding under the name of the Schoolmaster, also known as Edmond Baskerville. This man is to be shot on sight for VARIOUS AND HEINOUS CRIMES including the death of his own father, Sir Charles Baskerville, as well as theft, printing libelous documents, frequenting houses of ill repute, and passing forged pound notes as well as intimate and unspeakable acts.

All roads to and from London have been closed until this dangerous miscreant has been apprehended. If seen, contact the constabulary at once.

Watson threw it down in disgust. The fact that they were calling Edmond a pretender meant that somehow the secret of his birth had been discovered. “This is preposterous. They make you sound like Bonny Prince Charlie come to take back the throne.”

“But that’s it, you see, Dr. Watson. Most of it’s nonsense,
but somehow the author of these pamphlets stumbled upon the secret of my birth. That’s been kept hidden for more than thirty years.”

“But is that not precisely what Moriarty would have gleaned from Sir Charles?” Holmes didn’t look up from his perusal of the newspaper that had been at the bottom of the Schoolmaster’s pile.

The Schoolmaster covered his face with his hand. “In some ways I thank God Sir Charles did not live to find out that he had broken his silence. That would have been a crueler kind of murder.”

Unknown

IMOGEN WASTED NO TIME WITH GOOD MANNERS. SHE
dragged Evelina’s covers off. “Wake up!”

Evelina sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and round. “Im! What are you doing here? Does Magnus have you, too?”

Imogen put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be daft, I’m in your dream. I must have tried half a dozen times to get here.”

“I’m so glad to see you!” Evelina scrambled to her feet, throwing her arms around Imogen.

After so long in the clock, the touch of another human made Imogen gasp with relief. She returned the embrace, fighting back the ache in her throat. The comfort of her friend’s embrace felt so good, but not everything was right. Evelina felt tense, her muscles braced.

Imogen looked around as she released her friend, taking in the old stone walls. “Where is this place?” She strode to the window, looking out at the sea and down at the drop to the rocks below. “Are you really here or have you been reading Mrs. Radcliffe again?” She turned, her eyes searching the high ceiling and iron-bound door. She half expected an ogre to come bounding in demanding someone to eat.

Evelina’s forehead furrowed. “I’m really here. It’s Siabartha Castle. I’ve been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped!”

“It was Magnus, of course. Where are you? I tried to reach you.”

Imogen flopped down onto the bed and heaved a sigh. “In
Magnus’s stupid clock. Anna dragged me there and now I have to kill her if I want to get out.”

Evelina sat down beside her, grasping her hand. “If you’ve walked into my dream, we probably don’t have much time. Anna might interfere.”

“I don’t know about that. I smacked her a good one.” Imogen tried not to sound too pleased.

Her friend stared. “That’s a side of you I haven’t seen.”

Imogen squeezed her fingers. “You’re stuck here with Magnus. What do you need, Evelina?”

Evelina didn’t hesitate. “If you can get to somebody at home, let them know where I am.”

“Done.”

“And what do you need?” Evelina asked. “You came here for a reason.”

Imogen rubbed her face with both hands. “I keep trying to kill Anna but it doesn’t work. She says I’m not done with her.”

“Then you aren’t.”

“I don’t understand!” Imogen cried in frustration. They were in a dream, but she still felt mortified by the bizarre conversation.
I’m talking about killing my sister!
Even with Evelina, it was too much.

But her friend took her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Listen. It’s not that complicated. You’ve been sick all your life, so you’re used to the idea of coping with your own weakness. You’re a good daughter and a good friend, so you’re used to the idea of being patient. You obey the rules. You endure. That’s your strength. But it’s going to get you killed. You have to prove you want to live even more than she does.”

“Then what do I do? Mouse and Bird are there with me.”

“Excellent!”

“No—disastrous. She caught Bird and tore out his eye.”

Evelina’s face went white. “What? She did
what
?”

“I got him free, but …”

“How?” Evelina demanded.

“With a bomb that shot a long dart right through her, but she got away.”

“You attacked her?”

“Of course! She was hurting Bird.”

“You defended Bird, but you didn’t kill her.” Evelina’s eyes were serious. “The spirit world looks metaphorical, but it’s extremely literal. If you don’t kill her with your own two hands, it won’t count. And you have to do it because you want to live. Defending friends is wonderful, but you need to do this for yourself.”

Imogen bit her lip, thinking of that moment when she could have leaned down and strangled Anna as she lay bleeding. “Why does it need to be that brutal?”

“Because it’s exactly the type of thing you don’t do well. Forgive me for saying it; you have acres of courage, but not that kind. Anna has set up a game that she’s certain you won’t win.”

Imogen stared down at her hands. They were dirty, the nails torn. Her hands hadn’t looked like this since Anna was alive. “How do you know all this? Is this something all magic users know?”

Evelina smiled. “I know you, and I know what you’ve said about your twin. It’s not the wisdom of the ages.” She rose from the bed and knelt by one of the trunks stacked against the wall. She lifted the lid and rummaged inside. “I had a conversation with Tobias not that long ago. He was dealing with a dark side of his work he didn’t like, either.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe nothing. Or it means we all have pieces of ourselves to face. Here.” Evelina handed Imogen a white-handled knife. “My Gran Cooper gave me this. Next time you have a chance, do your worst.”