A Study in Ashes (77 page)

“The instructions are on the bag,” Striker grumbled, leaning against the walls to cradle his head. “I can’t remember the formula right now.”

He’d taken a bad blow when the ship had been hit. He was still on his feet, but Evelina suspected he’d been struck harder than he was letting on. Combined with the fact that he couldn’t read, he wasn’t the best candidate for mixing up a highly combustible stew.

“How much do we need?” Nick asked.

“A few barrels should do it,” Striker said. “Enough to fill the pumps a few times over.”

A few barrels?
Professor Bickerton’s face filled Evelina’s mind, and she suddenly began to giggle. She put a hand over her mouth to silence it. Nick and Striker wouldn’t understand.

I wanted the freedom to conduct experiments on my own. Who knew all I had to do was blow up an air fleet to get it?

“All right,” she said more calmly, hoping she remembered everything she’d learned at Camelin. “The first thing we’ll need is the exact proportion of water and alcohol.”

“What kind of alcohol?” Nick asked. “A lot of the stores were destroyed in the blast.”

Evelina began to dread where this was going. “What do you have?”

Striker grinned. “We’ve got the scrumpy. I’d say that was getting pretty close to pure.”

“STOP!” POPPY COMMANDED, PULLING HARD ON ALICE’S
arm.

The red-haired woman obeyed, quickly jerking around. “What is it?”

A shabby man hurrying in the opposite direction bumped against her, but Alice ignored him. The street was crowded with rushing people—most of them moving east while they forged west. Poppy dropped to one knee and began tying her bootlace, which had been flapping loose for the last hundred yards.

They had walked for ages because even the steam trams had stopped now, and Covent Garden was a lot farther than she had assumed. As Poppy knelt, somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Lady Bancroft nagging her for soiling her skirts, but she was beyond caring. Poppy’s shoulders screamed with knots of tension, and her feet ached and pinched in the silly, ladylike boots her mother insisted she wear. The next time she went on a rescue mission, she would utterly refuse to wear heels.

There had best not be a next time
. The air hummed with expectation, and none of it good. The farther west they went, the more gunfire they could hear. Some of it popped like dry logs on the fire, but there were a few bangs that sounded big and close. Poppy and Alice had wavered between scurrying down hidden alleys and melting into whatever crowds they could find on the main streets. It was impossible to guess which was safer. If Poppy hadn’t been so certain that Alice’s logic was sound and that
surely
they
could find and rescue Jeremy, she would have turned tail and bolted home.

“Hurry,” Alice begged.

“It’ll be faster if I don’t trip and break my nose,” Poppy grumbled as she knelt on the hard cobbles, but she didn’t blame Alice for complaining. Nerves were making her fingers clumsy, and she flinched as a pair of steam cycles rattled by, their metal wheels loud on the street. Somewhere a woman was sobbing, the sound making Poppy’s stomach muscles jump. She was already feeling queasy from the stink of ash and explosives thick in the air.

A shadow blotted out the thin sunlight. The gray of the sky was growing thicker, and for a moment she assumed it was just more cloud, but then animal instinct made her look up. Her mouth fell open, a sound of surprise escaping her. It was a small, zephyr-class airship, but it was an intense blue that made it look like a gap in the moody clouds. Poppy’s fingers finished the knot, powered only by the force of habit. The rest of her was mesmerized by the sight. “That’s got to be one of King Coal’s ships.”

“What’s it doing …” Alice trailed off, her voice fading before she could even make it a question. There was only one reason the Blue King would be flying a ship so low over Gold territory that it could almost touch the rooftops—it was there to do damage. Her face, already wan, grew paler.

“How did it get past the Yellowbacks?” Poppy rose and gripped Alice’s arm again, needing her close.

How did another steam baron get this deep into the Gold King’s territory?
She’d always assumed Keating was much stronger than any of the others, but perhaps that wasn’t true.
Jeremy is Keating’s grandson. If the Blue Boys find him first, something horrible will happen
. Her scalp crawled with apprehension as she watched the airship move ahead until it hovered over the heart of the neighborhood.

A trapdoor in the belly of the blue ship’s gondola opened. Black shapes dropped out of it, some large and long, some small and round. They curled and spun as they fell, reminding Poppy of nothing so much as thin slices of carrot, or those long beans Cook served with slivered almonds. Other
bystanders saw it, too, and the noise level in the street went up another notch. She braced, expecting to hear a violent explosion, but no sound came, and the zephyr slowly rose back into the sky.

“What were those?” Alice wondered aloud, wavering as if not sure whether to run forward or back.

“I don’t know, but if the Blue King’s army is this close, I don’t think we have much time.”

Alice’s mouth set. “Then let’s go!”

They ran forward, hand in hand. The odd thing about being frightened for so long was that eventually the fear gelled, like custard left out too long. Once that happened, Poppy could step over it—and she had to. They’d come too far not to push on.

Alice pulled her to the left and they darted down one of the narrow, winding streets that made up much of Covent Garden. Poppy glimpsed the front of the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane where she had been to see a play not two weeks past, but now Yellowbacks were ranged in front of it, weapons drawn. At the sight of them, Alice veered down another street. They might have been her father’s troops rather than the Blue Boys, but clearly Alice wasn’t taking any chances.

No sooner had they turned the corner than there was a belching cough of sound several streets away. That was followed by a whooshing, ripping noise that made Poppy look up. A blaze of light speared through the air, and she realized it was flame clinging to the metal of a giant arrow. She’d seen these in the air battle over London—it was a hot harpoon. Her gaze skipped forward, skimming past the forest of chimneys to see the zephyr desperately banking to get out of its path. It was not quite directly overhead, but she had to crane her neck to see it. She skidded to a stop, transfixed. The street around her faded as she stared in appalled anticipation.

The ship couldn’t fly fast enough. From where they stood, the impact of the harpoon was noiseless. What came next was not. Even she knew that zephyrs were not aether ships, but used cheaper hydrogen instead. That meant it was doomed.

The flame from the harpoon hit the gas in seconds. A wave of pressure thrust both women backward, knocking Alice from her feet. The explosion seemed to peel the scalp from Poppy’s head, more feeling than sound. It vibrated in her bones with a sudden clap that made her heart jump. Light flashed white-hot, leaving a burning image on the back of her eyelids.

Reflex made Poppy shield her face—a lucky thing. A chunk of the old chimney above tumbled free, smashing apart as it bounced off the roof and fell. Shards of masonry flew up, stinging her arms. As Poppy brushed them away, she saw burning timbers tumbling from the air, which had turned a sooty black. She wondered how long it would be before those planks of flaming wood started a blaze. She wondered how many had died. Her stomach gave a dangerous lurch.

“Poppy!”

She looked down, realizing that she had been standing there gawping for who knew how long. Dazed, she noticed Alice was still on the ground, a cut bleeding into one eye. Fresh panic sent her scrambling to Alice’s side. “Are you all right?”

Alice awkwardly found her feet and fished for her handkerchief. She pressed the cloth to her head. “A piece of brick hit me. It’s nothing. We have to go.”

Poppy grabbed her arm when she stumbled. “Not so fast.”

Alice braced one hand against the wall, her eyes wide with shock. Ash was falling from the sky like filthy snow, leaving smuts on their clothes. “Which way did we come from?”

Poppy pointed back past the debris from the smashed chimney. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“I won’t be well until I have Jeremy again.” Alice bit her lip, crushing the handkerchief in her fingers. Her voice was distant but bitter all the same. “The place we want is called the Beryl Lane Manor. It’s right behind Bow Street. Once I walked by it every day, looking for my father’s carriage. I was such a little fool that I wondered why he would go to such a place.”

Poppy bit her lip, unsure what to say. But any words she might have found were buried beneath the roar of a cannon, and then the answering rattle of gunshots.

“Come on.” Alice lurched toward the sound, catching Poppy in her forward momentum.

Every instinct told Poppy she’d been a fool to insist they come here. They should have gone home after Soho rather than waltzing into the battle zone, but a moment later she saw the sign for Beryl.
It’s only a minute more
. And she knew there was no way Alice was going to leave without trying to find her son.

Beryl Lane was barely wide enough for three people to walk abreast, the old cobbles undulating like waves frozen into stone. They were about to turn down the narrow space when the sound of running feet made them draw back. Black-coated Yellowbacks came tearing in their direction. Poppy and Alice squashed themselves against the bricks. Poppy felt the rush of air against her face as they passed, the hem of their coats brushing hers. The men paid them no heed, but galloped ahead to where the lane emptied into a square. Then the leaders fell to their knees, raising their weapons, while the men in back aimed over their heads. Something was coming this way.

Alice ran, heading in the direction from where the Yellowbacks had come. Poppy trailed after, casting anxious glances over her shoulder. They didn’t go far. The old house sat in a bend of the street, jutting like a peninsula into the cobbles. From the look of it, there had never been a manor involved, though it showed signs of once housing a tavern. One look around told Poppy that no carriages—let alone the Gold King’s—waited nearby. Alice was already mounting the steps to go inside when a heavy woman—the kind who had lived hard but not necessarily well—came rushing out with a carpetbag stuffed with clothes.

“Out of my way, love!” said the woman, pushing Alice aside.

Poppy got squarely in her path. “A moment of your time,
love
.” She snatched the carpetbag out of the woman’s hand. The woman cried out, but Poppy already had both hands in
the bag. That was enough to tell her what she wanted to know.

“What are you doing?” the woman snarled.

“I’m looking for a baby.”

The owner of the bag looked startled and then incredulous. “Well, I don’t have one!”

“Ma’am,” Alice clutched the woman’s sleeve with both her hands, her expression pleading. Poppy could see all the strain of the last week in Alice’s face. The color had left her lips, making her look deathly ill. Dried blood trailed down one side of her face. The only brightness about Alice was the fire of her hair, which was falling loose from its pins. “Ma’am, please, I’m looking for my son.”

The woman stopped, her face softening a degree. “And he’s supposed to be here?”

Alice swayed slightly, but took a deep breath. “The Gold King or his men would have brought him, most likely with his nurse.”

“No one has come here.” The woman shook her head. “Everyone who can is leaving, and I suggest you do the same.” With that she pulled away, grabbing her bag and hurrying as fast as her short, thick legs would go.

Alice let out a despairing cry. “He has to be here!”

But Poppy didn’t think the woman had lied. She held Alice a moment, giving her what comfort she could—and needing some of that comfort herself—but her mind was racing. “We need to go.”

But then the soldiers at the end of the alley began firing round after round. It was a steady barrage—some rifles and some aether weapons—so fast that the individual shots melted into a steady noise. However, it only lasted seconds before the men fell back, yelling with terror.

Poppy screamed, too. A huge snake reared up in the entrance to the lane, head higher than the Yellowbacks, body a thick rope of glistening black scales. Its mouth opened in a warning hiss, swordlike fangs unfolding from its jaws. The hood of its neck flared, half the width of the lane. It swooped down, striking one of the Yellowbacks with a blow so hard Poppy heard bones crack. And then it unhinged its huge
jaws and began gulping the man headfirst with convulsive swallows. The other Yellowbacks rained bullets on the monster, but they plinked off harmlessly.

“Poppy!” Alice cried.

But she couldn’t take her eyes off the thing, her entire body turning cold with horror. She was fascinated, caught like a rabbit. A soldier with a magnetic aether weapon opened fire, but the blast sizzled harmlessly around the snake in a coruscating blue haze. Whatever the thing was, it was not made of flesh and blood, but magic and steel.
This fell from that zephyr. There were hundreds of them!
Suddenly, every inch of her skin was crawling.