Phoenix Rising (41 page)

INTERLUDE
In Which Our Beautiful Assassin
Is Taught a Lesson

I
f Sophia's arms and legs weren't bound, she would have kicked herself for being so damn sloppy—not just once but twice.

The first time was shortly after she'd been congratulating herself for so easily liberating the schematics from Havelock's laboratory. She had just been about to make her unhurried exit when the explosion knocked her off her feet. The world tilted, but Sophia had been able to see from where the angry flames licked beyond the door frame that there had been a catastrophic failure in Reactor Room Number Three.

Inglesi
, she had sworn in her jostled head.
Questi Inglesi son Stronzi!
Those idiots had apparently not paid close-enough attention to the gauges, and it was so easy to turn a boiler into a bomb. After gathering up her plans for the Mark III, she had ascended the closest stairs.

Upon reaching the manor level, she had frozen at the madness unfolding before her. Members of the Phoenix Society were making mad dashes for the door, the husbands pulling at their wives or companions, both of which were struggling with their luggage. It seemed their lives were worth as much as their wardrobe. Around them were servants like vultures around the carrion, picking at whatever meat they could grab.

She had paused for a moment to enjoy the spectacle.

That indulgence cost her as an explosion had rocked the house so hard, the grand chandelier in the room she was harbouring herself in had crashed to the floor and then rolled to one side, trapping her in what had been her safe corner. The fixture looked so delicate when hanging from the ceiling, but its intricate build and significant weight had made it difficult to leverage herself against. A dull bang from underneath her feet popped her off the floor. Sophia managed to get a sure hold on the chandelier and work herself free of her corner. Once clear of her deathtrap, she had assured herself the Mark III plans were still tucked inside her bodice before making a hasty retreat.

It had been one minor mistake—and she had survived it. It remained to be seen if she would survive the second.

Back in her hotel, Sophia had indulged in one of the establishment's best vintages. Perhaps the Phoenix had returned to the ashes, but she had escaped with most of her payment from them for services rendered and now with the schematics for at least one quaint device worth a coin or two to her
other
employer.

Perhaps the Mark III could serve as her finale, she'd thought, her farewell to the cloak-and-dagger world. This contraption would be her ticket to a more quiet life of luxury.

She usually took only a single glass of wine, but with this unexpected boon she was going to risk a little and enjoy the bottle. Besides, it was Italian, and it would have been a crime to let such a delicious nectar from her home go to waste.

It was during her fourth glass that the door's lock shattered. The dark figure entered her room and did not wait to survey the surroundings, did not pause, never stopped in moving through the room. Whether her hesitation was due to shock or her inability it did not matter. It was still hesitation.

Sophia had known she would never reach her pistols in time, so she had thrust her arm out, triggering the gauntlet covering her forearm, launching a pair of her lethal cogs.

The tall man had dodged them as if they were stones thrown by a child.

Locking her other arm forward, she had extended the stiletto, tearing the blouse cuff as she did. She had moved to charge him, but the tall man's arms had slipped inside her own, knocking away her gauntlets with soft metal clangs of his own.

He had been far too close for an opponent to be, and when his forearm caught her on the chin she had felt the hard, cold brass concealed underneath his evening coat. The second blow across her brow ushered in the darkness, darkness that prevailed to her awakening.

Dropping her guard in a hotel? Being carried like laundry?! These were the mistakes of an amateur, like those House of Usher idiots.

Could this be their revenge
, she thought quickly,
for Alexander and his men?
Could the House of Usher have tracked her once more, and were now saving their reputation? In her profession, dissatisfied clientele would sometimes turn colleagues against one another.

But this man was not a colleague. Quite frankly, she had no idea who or what this man was. No man or woman in her field moved liked that.

The binds holding her wrists loosened and then slipped free. She was however still blindfolded.

A sharp hiss of steam caused her to start, but then the deadly silence returned.

Sophia ripped the blindfold free. When her eyes adjusted to the glow of gaslight, she saw in a moment just who her captor was.

She hadn't been sloppy after all—she had been outclassed.

“
Bona Sera, Signora Sophia del Morte
,” the voice wheezed, his mechanised tones concluding with a soft puff from some unseen engine. She wondered absently if his condition was in fact necessary or simply part of some theatrical disguise. “It is such a relief to see that you did not suffer the fate of Havelock Manor. That would have been too . . . convenient . . . for you.”

“
Signor
,” she began, the alcohol's effect now quashed by the fear uncoiling in her stomach. “I know what you expected of me, but I cannot be held responsi—”

“Just because I greet you politely,” the cloaked man interjected, “does not mean you have leave to beg for your life and slander those who are not here to defend themselves!”

The door flew open behind her, and a shadowed figure kicked a disheveled, pathetic excuse of a gentleman into the light. The newcomer, removing the sack from his head, revealed himself as the tattered and unkempt Doctor Deveraux Havelock, scientific visionary and leader of the fallen Phoenix Society. Despite the conspicuous stubble on his face, and the numerous cuts and abrasions, he still carried the bearing of a man not used to being challenged. When he heard the hiss from his host's breathing apparatus, he licked his lips. Havelock's breathing slowed, and he drew himself to his full height. It was the same demeanour as he had used with her, and no doubt with his now dead Society.

Sophia concealed a smirk. It seemed that tonight would be their trial; but this time Havelock would be standing under someone else's rule.

“Now then,” the voice wheezed, “let the slander commence.”

“Slander?” Havelock laughed. “Hardly slander, considering how this dago tart failed in her office.”

“
Va-fanculo, Bastardo, Figlio di buttana, Ingrassatto!
” Sophia spat. “I fail in nothing!”

“So that is what you call your evening at
Macbeth—
a success?”

“
Macbeth
would have never happened had you not insisted on discretion! I would have dispatched that English spy otherwise.”

“We had to rein you in, following that massacre in Charing Cross . . . and at your hotel!” he retorted. “Your methods were attracting attention we most assuredly didn't need.”

“So that is why you refused to allow me to complete the job? Send house servants to kill the nurse, eh?
Stupidi Inglesi!
”

“Damn you, woman, I will not tolerate your excuses for incompetence!”

“There was no talk of government agents,” she bit back. “I do the job I was hired for. Agents of your English Queen—
that
will cost you.”

“Government agents that you recognised, and
still
did not put down. Even when they were presented on a plate in front of you!”

“Government agents that you
invited
into your own
manor
, and unveiled our projects to as if you were proud mother showing off babies!”

“You daft bint, had you dispatched them in my ballroom like a proper assassin, I do believe the Phoenix Society would be continuing on a schedule that pleases his lordsh—”

“Enough!” called the cloaked judge and jury seated before them.

Havelock's hand lowered back to his side. Breaking the silence were the occasional pops of air and steam coming from their master. That, and Sophia muttering “
Testa di Cazzo, ti ammazzo.
”

“
Signora
,” the shadows beckoned, “come closer.”

Sophia's stomach churned, not out of excitement or desire but out of sheer terror. The fear had uncoiled fully, and all that wine was catching up with her.

“I am saddened by this turn of events, my dear.” He sighed, which resembled the wheezing his voice naturally made. “We were doing so well and had such high hopes.”

From behind her, she heard the faintest ring of what her ear recognised was sharpened metal. Could she escape? For all she knew, this man was an invalid and Havelock would provide a fine shield, if needed.

“Doctor Havelock is quite correct in that you did fail us all in recognising government agents and not performing what is expected of you.” She could see a shadow move. Was his head shaking? “I suppose we will need to be more clear in what we expect from our own.”

She let out a tiny cry on hearing the blade cut into flesh, and that was when her bladder failed her—just a little.

The blade rang again in her ears as it slipped free. Havelock never made a sound, not even a final gasp, as the blade entered the side of his neck and lanced his trachea. He collapsed before her, his blood pooling around his head and her feet. Sophia flinched at the smell of her own urine mixing with the tang of blood.

Yet why would this offend her? She knew Death. He was a familiar companion. This was her chosen profession, after all. Yet she felt herself recoil, watching the blood flow through and over Havelock's fingers, bloody fingers that tried with feeble, futile gestures to close the wound and then claw at her dress. The great mind behind the Phoenix Society reminded her of nothing more than a beached fish.

Sophia had seen worse. Far worse. What was so terrifying about this then?

I am afraid
, she thought quickly.
These people are better than me. They can kill me at any time.

“I will have Pearson issue you a new contract that will, with unmistakable clarity, outline what we expect of you in the future,
Signora
del Morte,” the master said, intermittent hisses punctuating his raspy, tinny words. “You are the finest in your office, and that has won you my attentions.”

“
Si
,” Sophia agreed. She wiped the smallest beads of sweat from her lip. “What about Wellington Books and his partner,
Signor
?” she asked. “I can take care of them straightaway.”

The shadows moved as if his head tilted up to consider the moon overhead, a moon that only he could see through the walls of this windowless room. “No. Not at the moment. Their deaths might bring the Ministry's attention to us. We are not yet ready for that.” After a pause, he spoke again, his tone lighter. “So, my dear
Signora
del Morte, we have an accord, do we?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Excellent,” he replied. “ I believe this new contract will make clear what I expect from you.”

“Thank you,
Signor
.”

The metallic hand reached out of the darkness and wrapped around her throat. The cool brass fingers that hoisted Sophia off the ground were twice as thick as a normal man's appendages, so she could feel the slightest stretching in her neck. She could hear steam venting angrily, as if the room were now filled with cobras warning of a pending death strike. The heat around her rose and those moving shadows now puller her closer. Her own hands grabbed the large mechanical wrist—not in an attempt to struggle but for leverage. She tried to lift herself up to alleviate the stretching of her neck. Sophia managed a few precious gasps just before coming to a stop.

From the darkness, a malicious ruby eye flared, its glow cutting through the void. “I expect you will not fail me again.”

She felt a cold rush of air on her skin, followed by her impact against the far wall. Her breaths were ragged as were her coughs, and the gentle rubbing of her tender neck did little to ease the pain. The hand that had held her so effortlessly now threw down a trinket for her. She gathered up the strange square ring. Much like the House of Usher and the Phoenix Society, he had a mark, but it was simple as opposed to heraldic. She lost herself in the symbol, her curiosity as to why he chose something so elementary. “A symbol of our new agreement that you will soon understand,” the metallic voice boomed, “but for now wear it at all times as a display of your loyalty.”

Without question Sophia slipped it on her finger, though she knew this was far more serious than even a wedding ring. She shivered.

The brass arm now motioned down to Havelock. “Pearson, make sure the good doctor here is unrecognisable so that even if he is found by the scavengers he is not identified. And then see the lovely
Signora
to her new apartments, if you please. The contract can wait until tomorrow.”