Kevin Anderson - The Mammoth Book of Nebula Awards SF

“And we are everywhere. If you’re wondering why your match isn’t producing any light, it’s because of that damned — excuse me — that device you tripped just now. It’ll be at least an hour before we can see anything again.”

“In fact, I can see now, Mr. Ludbridge.” She blew out the tiny flame.

“I beg your pardon? Oh! Mrs . Corvey. You’re the lady with the… do forgive me, madam, but I hardly expected the GSS to send the ladies’ auxiliary to my aid. So the flash hasn’t affected your, er, eyes?”

“It does not appear to have, sir.”

“That’s something, anyway. Er… I trust you weren’t sent alone?”

“I was not, sir. Some of my girls are upstairs, I suppose you’d say, entertaining Lord Basmond and his guests.”

“Ha! Ingenious. I don’t suppose you happen to have a hacksaw with you, Mrs. Corvey?”

“No, sir, but let me try what I might do with a bullet.” Mrs. Corvey set the end of her cane against the root where the manacle’s chain passed over it, and pressed the triggering mechanism. With a bang the chain parted, and white flakes of root drifted down like snow. Ludbridge’s arm fell, a dead weight.

“I am much obliged to you,” said Ludbridge, gasping as he attempted to massage life back into the limb. “What have you found out?”

“We know about the levitation device.”

“Good, but that isn’t all. Not by a long way. There’s this thing in the tunnel that makes such an effective burglar catcher, and I suspect there’s more still.”

“What precisely is it, Mr. Ludbridge?”

“Damned if I know, beg your pardon. You saw the laboratory, did you?”

“Indeed, Mr. Ludbridge, I entered that way.”

“So did I. Crawled through and had a good look round. Took notes and made sketches, which I still have here somewhere…” Ludbridge felt about inside his coat. “Yes, to be sure. Had started up the other tunnel when I heard the trap opening above and someone starting down the ladder. Put out my light in a hurry and ducked into what I’d assumed was an alcove in the wall, hoping to avoid notice. Bloody thing crumbled backward under my weight and I fell in here.

“I heard quick footsteps hurry past, in the main tunnel without. When I felt safe I lit my candle again and looked around me. This place is only the entrance to a great network of tunnels, you know, quite a warren; it’s a wonder Basmond Hall hasn’t sunk into the hill. I could hear water and felt the rush of air, so I thought I’d explore and see if I could find myself a discreet exit.

“That was two weeks ago, I think. I never found an exit, though I did find a great deal else, some of it very queer indeed. There’s a spring-fed subterranean lake, ma’am, and what looks to be some of the ancestral tombs of the Rawdons — at least, I hope that’s what they are. Midden heaps full of rather strange things. Someone lived in this place long before the Rawdons came with William the Conqueror, I can tell you that! I’m ashamed to admit I became lost more than once. If not for the spring and my field rations I’d have died down there.

“Having found my way back up at last, I was proceeding in triumph down this passageway when I ran slap into the — the whatever-it-is that makes such a flash-bang. I was knocked unconscious the first time. When I woke I discovered I’d been chained up as you found me. That was… yesterday? Not very clear on the passage of time, I’m afraid.”

“Clearly Lord Basmond had noticed someone was trespassing,” said Mrs. Corvey.

“Too right. Haven’t seen him, though. He hasn’t even come down to gloat, which honestly I’d have welcomed; always the chance I could persuade him to join the GSS, after all. Just as well it was you, perhaps.”

“And what are we to do now, Mr. Ludbridge?”

“What indeed? I am entirely at your disposal, ma’am.”

Mrs. Corvey turned and looked intently at the floor of the tunnel. She saw, now, the braided wire laid across their path, and the metal box to which it was anchored.

“I think we had better escape, Mr. Ludbridge.”

He must have fallen,” declared Sir George Spiggott.

“A lamentable accident,” said Ali Pasha, looking very hard at Sir George. So did Jane, who had trailed after them clutching her chiton to herself.

“What becomes of the auction now, may I ask?” said Prince Nakhimov.

“He had bones like sugar-sticks,” said Pilkins through his tears. He was on his knees beside Lord Basmond’s body. “Always did. Broke his arm three times when he was a boy. Oh, Lord help us, what are we to do? He was the only one with… I mean to say…”

“The only one with the plans for the levitation device?” said Lady Beatrice. Pilkins looked up at her, startled, and then his face darkened with anger.

“That’s enough of your bold tongue,” he shouted. “I’m not having the constable see you lot here! I want you downstairs, all of you whores, now! Get down there and keep still, if you know what’s good for you!” He turned to glare at Dora, who had just come up in a state of respectable dress from the kitchens.

“Suit yourself; we’ll go,” she said. Looking around, she added “But where’s Maude?”

“Where is the Count de Mortain? He cannot have slept through such screams,” said Prince Nakhimov.

“Perhaps I’d better go fetch her,” said Lady Beatrice, starting up the stairs.

“No! I said you were… were to… oh, damned fate,” said Pilkins, drooping with fresh tears. “Go on, get up there and wake them up. And then I want to see the back of you all.”

“Happy to oblige,” said Jane, striding past him to go downstairs. Lady Beatrice, meanwhile, ran up the grand staircase and along the gallery, where the faces of Rawdons past watched her passage. The moonlight had shifted from her portrait, but Hellspeth Rawdon still seemed to glimmer with unearthly luminescence.

Lady Beatrice knocked twice at the door of the bedroom that had been allotted to the Count de Mortain, but received no response. At last, opening the door and peering in, she beheld one candle burning on the dresser and Maude alone in the bed, deeply asleep.

“Maude!” Lady Beatrice hurried in and shook Maude’s shoulder. “Wake up! Where is the count?”

Maude remained unconscious, despite Lady Beatrice’s best efforts. Lady Beatrice sniffed at the dregs remaining in the wine glass on the bedside table, and thought she detected some medicinal odor. There was no sign of Count de Mortain in the room.

When this fact was communicated to the parties downstairs, Sir George Spiggott exclaimed, “It’s the damned frog! I’ll wager a thousand pounds he pushed Lord Basmond down the stairs!”

“You had better send for your constabulary now, rather than wait for morning,” Ali Pasha told Pilkins.

“In the meanwhile, perhaps someone would assist me in getting Maude downstairs?” Lady Beatrice inquired. Prince Nakhimov volunteered and brought Maude, limp as a washrag, down as far as the Great Hall; from there Lady Beatrice and Dora carried her between them down to the kitchen.

“How awfully embarrassing,” said Jane, from the hearthrug where she was bathing. “We were supposed to be the ones administering drugs!”

“We ought to have expected this,” said Lady Beatrice grimly. She went to the sink and pumped a bucketful of cold water. “I should think the count drugged her and then killed Lord Basmond, meaning to steal the device.”

“What?” Jane looked up from soaping herself. “I thought his lordship fell down the stairs.”

Dora explained that Lady Beatrice had found Lord Basmond dead in his bedroom before his body had been flung down the stairs. Jane’s eyes narrowed.