The Chess Queen Enigma (34 page)

It was the day after we found the letter inside the chess table, and I hadn't slept nor given up my ire since then.

“Do you mean there was no letter from Queen Elizabeth?” asked Evaline.

“There was a letter, of course—but if you recall, it was conveniently ‘stolen' before anyone had the opportunity to read it. Or at least, before
I
had the opportunity. And then Lurelia, also conveniently, had made a copy of it. Which she shared in order to lead me on the chase to find the chess queen.”

“But when did the Ankh actually obtain the chess queen?”

“I don't know. We might never know. Possibly she used the original letter—provided to her by Lurelia at the Midnight Palace, or possibly even long before Lurelia came to London—to find the queen. Or perhaps she somehow found it without
the letter. Surely Queen Elizabeth was intelligent enough not to leave only a single document explaining its location.”

“And so Princess Lurelia never had a lover?”

“I don't believe so. I believe her partner in crime, so to speak, was not a man she loved, but a woman she admired—that is, the Ankh.” I could not keep the note of bitterness from my voice. I had been outsmarted by
two
of them. “And now that the princess has disappeared, who knows what will happen between England and Betrova. You may no longer be able to buy Betrovian silks, Evaline.” The jest fell flat, as indeed, it should have. This was not the time to be witty.

“But why would the Ankh go through so much trouble? Did she want the chess queen or not?”

I gritted my teeth. “Of course she wanted the chess queen—but what was more important was whatever might have been in the table. But there was more to it than that.”

I knew precisely why the Ankh had done what she did. And the villainess was correct—I had blindly followed the path she laid out, ending up precisely where she wanted me: mortified, and utterly—as one might say—rooked.

But I couldn't explain it all to Evaline. She wouldn't understand. She wouldn't
believe
me.

No one would believe Lady Cosgrove-Pitt was the Ankh. Everyone who mattered had been present when the Ankh made her appearance, and had seen Lady Cosgrove-Pitt also in attendance.

I could never prove she and the Ankh were one and the same, even though I now knew for certain they were. Lady Cosgrove-Pitt had made sure of that.

That
was the real reason for this elaborate ruse. She could continue to create and execute any nefarious scheme she wished, and no one would ever suspect the wife of the Parliamentary leader of being the Ankh.

There
was
a silver lining—a small, slender, gossamer one—to this cloud. Clearly, Lady Cosgrove-Pitt saw me as a serious threat and a great adversary—otherwise, why should she have have gone through all of this trouble?

The only person I'd confided in was Dylan. He'd believed me. Of course he had . . . but now he was going to be leaving. My heart wrenched a little, and all of a sudden I felt very alone. More solitary than I had in a long time.

These last few months, partnering with Evaline and getting to know Dylan . . . learning to care for him in a way I'd not cared for anyone before . . . and having a purpose by working for Miss Adler and Princess Alix . . . and even encountering and competing with Inspector Grayling—all had contributed to a life filled with comrades and activity, and even social engagements. A type of life I'd never thought possible for someone like me.

But now . . . I wasn't certain what the future held.

I returned my attention to Evaline. “Since we don't know for certain what was inside the chess table, I cannot surmise whether the Ankh—or Lurelia—truly wanted the
chess queen. Or if the entire caper was simply a way for her to ruin my reputation.”

It was my mistake that had brought me to this situation. It was my pride and boastfulness that had been my undoing, for when the Ankh had held Evaline and me captive in the opium den, I'd told her I knew who she was. I told her I recognized her.

And then, to prove my accusation, I appeared shortly thereafter at Lady Cosgrove-Pitt's residence. I was prepared to find her not at home, and to use that to prove she was the Ankh . . . But
she had been home
.

That was when
she
knew
I
knew.

Was that why she'd laid low—as the Ankh—for several months after the affair of the clockwork scarab? To plan this whole scheme? Had she traveled home to Betrovia during that time and conveniently met Lurelia, or had they known each other for some time? Who had sought out whom? And did Lurelia know the Ankh's true identity? I didn't know the answers to any of those questions.

But one day I would. I would give her her comeuppance for one-upping me in such a public manner, for the deaths of three young women, for the death of the museum security guard, for the death of Pix (short-lived as it had been) . . . and who knew what other terrible crimes she had committed.

I still didn't know for certain how she'd done it all . . . but I had several plausible theories. And although I didn't know why she was attempting to control vampires by using Pix's devices, whatever the reason was surely not a pleasant one.

I must be on my guard. The Ankh's gauntlet had been flung quite decisively in my direction, and the battle between us was on.

It would take all my cunning and cleverness and Holmesian abilities to match her . . . but I had no doubt I would come out the winner.

“We're here,” Evaline said unnecessarily as the carriage came to a jerking halt. (I had a moment of regret that Middy was driving, and not one of Princess Alix's coachmen.)

I looked up at the colonnade of the British Museum—a building I had seen countless times, a structure I'd visited daily for the last quarter of a year. It was a place in which I felt at home, a place where I felt as if I belonged, surrounded by people who knew and respected and perhaps even liked me.

But today I would quite possibly be saying farewell to the first person who'd truly cared for me and accepted me just as I was. Was it because he was from the future, where women were seen differently?

I suspected that was at least part of the reason.

My eyes burned a little as I climbed out of the carriage with Middy's assistance. A Holmes did not cry, even during good-byes.

We gathered—Miss Adler, Evaline, Dylan, and I—in the small, dingy basement chamber in the museum where the large statue of Sekhmet had been stored after the affair of
the clockwork scarab. Everything was arranged just as it had been when Dylan arrived from one hundred twenty-seven years in the future.

The only thing that had been missing was the scarab that fit in the base . . . and now it was present.

Dylan said his good-byes first to Evaline. She sniffled a little, and embraced him tightly. “Thank you for saving his life. Even if he didn't deserve it.”

Dylan chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “He did deserve it. You know he did. Besides, everyone deserves to be saved.”

He turned to Miss Adler. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here, for helping me to find a place to fit in and to find clothes, and a job . . .” His voice shivered a little, and her eyes glittered over his shoulder as she hugged him.

Finally, Dylan faced me. His eyes were suspiciously bright and for a moment he couldn't look right at me. “Now I know how Dorothy felt,” he muttered.

“Good-bye, Dylan,” I said bravely. “I'll miss you and your fascinating device.” My laugh was rough and unsteady and I felt as if the world was crumbling away at my feet. The first person to care for me aside from my mother—who'd also abandoned me—was leaving.

“I want you to have this, Mina,” he said. Something cool and solid was pressed into my hand, and I opened my eyes to see the little device he called a cell phone. “In case . . . well, there might be a time when we can . . . well, connect.”

I closed my fingers around it, emotions I didn't care to name or examine swelling inside me. I knew he'd had odd moments when this device had “connected” to his world. I didn't know the first thing about doing so, but the fact that he wanted me to have it made my throat dry and rough and my eyes sting. I'd never forget him, of course . . . but now I had a small memento too.

“I wrote down some instructions,” he said, and handed me a small packet of paper. “Just in case.”

“Thank you, Dylan.”

He looked down at me for a moment. I read grief in his eyes too, and yet also excitement and hope. Hope shined through, and my sadness began to ebb.

He had to leave. It was the right thing. He didn't belong here.

“Thank you for tending to Inspector Grayling. It truly was a miracle, you and your bread mold.”

Dylan laughed, breaking the tension. “Yes. Who'd've thought bread mold could save the day!”

I nodded. I just wanted this to be over, so I could get on with my life. “Good-bye, Dylan. I don't know what we're going to do without you . . . You've been such a . . . miracle worker. Saving so many people . . .”

“Good-bye, Mina.” He looked at me, trying to tell me something with his eyes, and then pulled me tight in a long,
long
embrace. Then . . . very softly: “Come with me.”

My heart stopped. Had I heard him correctly? Surely not . . .

But he pulled back a little to meet my eyes. “You could come with me, Mina,” he whispered, tightening his arms. “Just think of what you could learn! And it's so different there—like, you could wear pants whenever you wanted to.”

My brain felt as if it had exploded.
Go with him. Go to the future
.

“I . . .” Words simply wouldn't form. I was . . . exhilarated by the thought, stunned, and curious. I could leave everything behind. I could be in a world where a woman didn't need to marry and bear children to be considered worthwhile. I could experience all of the things he'd told me about—voting, aeroplanes, electricity! Something called the Internet. I could leave this behind, forget about the Ankh and my father and my mother, and . . .

Miss Stoker would have to carry on by herself. With Inspector Grayling's help. And Miss Adler's. Likely Mr. Pix as well.

Perhaps they would be successful in capturing the Ankh.

I could leave this behind. This world.
My
world. A world where I'd just begun—with the help of Dylan, and Evaline and Miss Adler, and even Grayling—to fit in. To find a place.

No
.

I was already shaking my head, despite the excitement and curiosity still rushing through me. “I . . . I can't,” I
whispered. “I couldn't . . . leave . . . them. Leave this. I . . . 
drat
it, Dylan, I don't belong here . . . and yet somehow I do. I
do
. I've found my place.”

He nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright. His laugh was a little strained. “That's my Mina. Tough and certain and, as usual, completely right. You're right. You
do
belong here. I'm just . . . really going to miss you.” And then he pulled away, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. “I'm ready. Better go before I change my mind.”

Miss Adler gave him the scarab and Dylan crouched in front of the statue of Sekhmet. With one final glance back up at us and a quick wink at me, he set the scarab in place and crawled beneath the statue.

I heard a sound . . . a soft
swoosh
 . . . and felt a shiver of something in the chamber.

There was a crack of light, and when I opened my eyes, Dylan was gone.

Just like that.

S
t. Sequestrian's was silent as a grave and dark as the sea.

Of course it was—for what time other than midnight would Pix want to meet?

I supposed we were making some progress, I thought, as I edged my way silently down the last pew on the right. He was sending me messages now, instead of merely lurking outside my bedchamber window.

Perhaps dying did that to a man.

I slipped into the seat, for it was a few minutes before midnight. I hadn't seen him since we left Magpie-alley, me riding off on Grayling's steamcycle, and Pix rushing off to Miss Babbage's without a backward glance.

I gritted my teeth, refusing to think about what sort of reunion the two of them might have had.

So why was I here?

I didn't know.

Yes, I did know. I had so many unanswered questions, and though I didn't really believe he would answer them—I supposed I hoped he would.

“I wasn't certain ye'd come.”

The voice, though expected, startled me a little. It came from behind me, a whisper over the back of my neck, from where he'd silently appeared.

I didn't respond. My heart was thudding hard enough I could feel it pounding in my ears. He stirred the air as he moved to sit next to me, bringing with him that scent of cinnamon and spice and whatever else it was that was Pix. I choked on a laugh when I realized he was wearing priest's robes. Beneath the garment, his leg brushed against mine, warm and solid. It was hard to believe only four days ago, he'd been tortured, and then killed.