A Study in Ashes (88 page)

Both sisters scrambled upright at the same time. “Let’s end this,” Imogen muttered, and this time she went on the attack.

Anna clearly wasn’t expecting it. The knife slid smoothly into the creature’s throat, burying itself to the hilt and growing icy to the touch. A terrified wheeze escaped Anna, and for the first time, Imogen saw the flicker of real emotion. It was pure, abject terror.

For the barest second, Imogen balked. But backing away meant surrendering all that she was. She
had
been the lucky one, but she had paid with nightmares and illness, never quite living for all that she had survived. But the evil dreams had been Anna invading her sleep, and without that drain on her soul, there was every chance she could live in good health.

“I have too much to live for.” And Imogen ripped the knife free.

Anna screamed. So did Imogen. A sensation like a blanket of ice smashed into her as the other half of her twin’s soul tore free. Agony blinded her as she fell to the hard floor, the knife still clutched in her hand. Anna was down, too, flailing and scrabbling at her throat as black ooze poured out. Imogen got to her hands and knees, crawling across Magnus’s scrawled symbols, knowing she had to get home, but even more aware that she couldn’t leave until Anna was finally dead.

The monstrous thing thrashed, the pits of its eyes growing even darker. Imogen rose to her knees, raised the knife in both hands, and thrust downward with all her strength. The blade scraped on bone, but slid to find the heart. There was a rending sound, and Anna stilled.

“Be at peace, sister,” Imogen said softly.

She knelt there for a long time, at first solemn, and then too exhausted to move. A corner of her knew that she would never be the same. The shadow of what she’d just done would never leave her.

Most of her knew she would be a thousand times stronger. As Anna’s tortured form dissolved, the room slowly faded back to the clock’s interior. Only the mysterious door that had stood in the tower room’s outer wall remained.

And she ached to go home. Imogen picked up Evelina’s knife from the floor, thrusting it through the sash of her gown. The ticking had returned, driving Imogen to her feet. She was going to return to Hilliard House and push this blasted clock down the stairs.

Imogen opened the door homeward and stepped through.

And then she fell. At first it was hard to say if she fell down, or even if it was head or feet first, or if she spun in a whirlpool or just dropped like a stone. It was just blackness and falling and she wondered if she would ever reach the end. Leaving the clock was only that. She had yet to find her body. Panic began to squeeze her and she tried to cry out … but then she knew she wasn’t alone—and for once that thought didn’t fill her with dismay. Anna was gone.

Strong arms caught her and she automatically grabbed for balance. She was suddenly aware of broad shoulders and a muscular chest, and the warm, comfortable feeling of home.

“Hello,” said Bucky. “I’ve come to take you home.”

They were the best words she’d ever heard.

IMOGEN OPENED HER
eyes to see Bucky asleep and snoring slightly, his head propped up on one hand, the other hand clutching hers. She felt slightly drugged, as if she’d forgotten how to move, or she would have done something about Mouse and Bird, who were chasing each other across the bed.

Ouch, stop catching my tail, you disgusting chicken
.

As if you haven’t caught my feathers in your nasty little rodent teeth
.

She could still hear them! Mouse tackled Bird and they rolled over and over, tumbling over her knees.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Hm?” Bucky came awake, blinking. And then he looked down, and met her eyes.

And grinned. It was the sweetest smile.

“Still waiting to marry me?” she asked, her voice scratchy with disuse.

He leaned down and gave her a kiss that any fairy-tale princess might have envied. Neither of them noticed Poppy as she peeked inside the door, and then quickly backed out again.

London, October 25, 1889
HILLIARD HOUSE
8:15 p.m. Friday

BANCROFT GLARED AT THE CAT SITTING ON HIS DESK. THE
ragged yellow thing belonged to the cook, but keeping it in the kitchen was like catching smoke in a butterfly net and every so often it found its way here to deposit hair and paw prints across his private papers.

“Shoo,” he said, waving a hand.

The cat rolled onto its back and admired the tiger’s head on the wall as if it were its own reflection. Bancroft subsided into the leather armchair by the fire, too disheartened to argue, and put his head in his hands.

He should have been celebrating. The Baskervilles had won. There would be a procession and fireworks and speeches tomorrow. It would be a chance for the populace to admire their long-lost heir—and more to the point, it was time for Bancroft to collect his prize. Somewhere under the cat’s filthy paws was an invitation to be part of Prince Edmond’s household. If he played his cards right, the future held more. This was everything for which Bancroft had risked reputation, fortune, and life since the day he had left Austria and returned home.

And it tasted like ash. Oh, Adele had extended her congratulations, but he might have been the neighbor reporting that his bitch had whelped. Her mind was on other things and, to be honest, so was his. Everywhere he turned, everyone
he spoke to had something more immediate to attend to than his elevation to the prince’s retinue.

Imogen had returned to them, but with such a strange tale that he wondered if she was right in the head. The doctors proclaimed her in perfect health, but none of them could tell him if she had gone mad. Either she had, and it was a matter of time before she broke down utterly, or her twin really had dragged her inside Magnus’s clock.

He wasn’t sure which outcome he dreaded more, but he and Penner had dismantled the clock and burned it. The one positive outcome he could point to was that he seemed not to mind Bucky Penner half so much anymore, and the young man would marry Imogen as soon as it could be decently arranged.

And that would be as soon as they were out of mourning for Tobias. Bancroft leaned his head back against the thick padding of the chair, fighting the ache in his throat. It seemed like only yesterday that his son had stood in this very room, attempting to hide his idiot escapade with that mechanical squid he’d ridden into the opera. As if his own father hadn’t known—but there were times when a parent had to pretend to be deaf and blind because that was the only way a child found his way. Not that Tobias ever had the least idea where he was going. But according to Alice, and the prince, and even Evelina Cooper, who had cried and cried when she had told the tale, he’d given his life so that they could go free. In the end, his son had been the hero Bancroft himself could never be.

His son had died in the Black Kingdom. There was another letter on the desk and under the cat and of a very different nature from the first. The Mercantile Fellowship of the Black Dragons of the Hidden Sea had written, and the letter was signed by Han Lo. All it said was,
The scales are balanced, the alchemy is done. That which dwells beneath the streets shall remain below. The kingdom remains in health
.

They were all phrases from the conversation they’d had about the coal. Han Lo had talked about the nature of the kingdom—alchemy, justice, and a lot of other drivel Bancroft had flushed from his mind the moment he’d walked out
the door. But now he wished he’d paid attention. The Cooper girl had blathered something about the Black King’s death releasing all manner of monsters aboveground, but Han Lo’s letter seemed to contradict that. All Bancroft remembered was promising to do his utmost to supply the kingdom with whatever it needed to remain in good health. What could Tobias’s death have achieved?

Unless it was simple revenge, as Han Lo’s girl had threatened. Tobias for Han Zuiweng. A son for a son. That he could understand. Or perhaps he was inventing shadows where none walked.

The cat jumped down from the desk with a thump and trotted to the chair, yellow eyes watching him with far more personality than a cat should have. It bumped against his knee and Bancroft, glad the door to the study was closed and no one could see, reached down to scratch its ears.

Dragons, Han Lo, magic—it was all dust to him. The real truth sat like lead in Bancroft’s stomach. Tobias was gone and all the court favor in the Empire couldn’t bring him back. A moralist would point out that he’d paid too high a price for ambition.

And for once that moralist would be right.

London, October 26, 1889
BUCKINGHAM PALACE
2:30 pm Saturday

“CAN YOU SEE
anything?” Imogen demanded.

Evelina clung to the lamppost and teetered. She was standing with one foot on its blocky base, doing her best to see over the ocean of top hats and coiffures. It wasn’t a ladylike stance, but the holiday atmosphere made it easy to forget good behavior. “I see them coming!”

She hopped down beside her friend. Imogen, like many of the women there, was dressed in black. Under normal circumstances, those in deepest mourning shunned the public eye, and right now many still did. Alice wasn’t anywhere in sight. But these were hardly conventional times, and others
had turned their grief to a defiant hope for the future. The streets around Buckingham Palace were jammed with crowds, all wanting a look at the new heir to the throne as he made his first winding procession through the London streets.

Peace finally reigned, and the city was slowly getting back to the regular business of living. Evelina had been terrified of the Black King’s prediction that his death would mean packs of Wraiths—and who knew what else—roaming the streets, but none of that had happened. Nor had there been any magical disturbances once the war was over. There had been a few days of
something
—but that soon went away. Thankfully, the dragon had been wrong, and the magic of the kingdom had obviously somehow stabilized despite their terrible fight. It was safe to celebrate.

Imogen and Evelina had found places near the front of the pack, but there was still one row of people ahead of them—all of them tall. Fortunately, the day was cool and a little cloudy. With all the wool coats and fur collars hemming them in, it was a little bit like being stuffed into the back of a closet.

“You should be in that carriage with the prince,” Imogen said, poking Evelina in the ribs. “I can’t believe you declined his offer to be in the procession.”

“I’ll be at the banquet. That’s quite enough.” Evelina turned to her friend, her soul expanding with happiness to see Imogen awake and glowing with health. “I’m like Uncle Sherlock. I’d rather dispense with the accolades and get on with the next problem.”

The truth was that she wanted to spend time with Imogen. She’d missed her friend deeply ever since they’d been separated more than a year and a half ago, and being at her side was worth all the applause in the world. And it only seemed right to share this moment with her friend; the last trip they’d taken to the palace was as debutantes to be presented to the queen. Coming here together, their grand adventures done, was closing a circle.

The thought brought Evelina a stab of melancholy. She’d danced with Tobias the night after her presentation.
So much has changed
. He should have been there, with Alice and Jeremy, rejoicing with the rest of them.

But her pensive mood receded a little when Imogen rose up on her toes, craning her neck. “Is that them?”

Evelina hopped back onto the lamppost, narrowly avoiding the elbow of another bystander. A woman was selling hot cider from a steam-driven cart, and the tangy scent of it hung heavy in the air. Evelina was tempted to wave the woman down when a flash of scarlet caught her eye. She looked up to see Prince Edmond’s triumphal procession gradually coming closer. “Yes, it is!”

At first all she saw were mounted guardsmen in their bright-red coats, and then the four black horses pulling the carriage, the brass of their harnesses polished bright as gold. But as they drew closer, they turned the corner and Evelina saw the prince waving from the open carriage just yards away. Edgerton, Smythe, and Mycroft were seated with him, proving how firmly Edmond was standing by his old friends. Flanking the carriage were a number of other riders, including Nick on a large gray stallion. Evelina smiled, thinking how much he must have enjoyed a chance to ride that magnificent steed.

“I don’t think Captain Niccolo is having any reservations,” Imogen said slyly. “I think he rather likes the attention. And he does look fine in a uniform.”

Evelina flushed at her friend’s teasing look. “He deserves his share of applause.”

And he did look particularly handsome in the uniform of the prince’s household. The public was clearly besotted with the dashing pirate rogues who had come to their rescue, and roared with approval whenever Nick raised his hat to the people. There was already talk of a statue to the brave Captain Roberts.