Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

“They look like the types,” Tobias replied.

Black-masked youths crowded every one of the vehicles, and those who wouldn’t fit inside were draped over the roofs and clinging to the doors. They let out a loud, trilling yell as they sped down the street. A very few years ago, that was me .

Tobias counted five Steamers and probably thirty young men and women, though it was hard to tell. They had just about reached Piccadilly when the vehicles stopped so abruptly some of the hangers-on lost their grip and flew into the street. The rest dropped off like ticks abandoning a dog, pulling the doors open to let their fellows out. They ran away from the vehicles, leaving the Steamers puffing uselessly in the middle of the street. In a span of seconds, the road was jammed with masked youths.

“Hardly Bond Street quality,” Bucky muttered.

He was right. There were plenty of silks and velvets, but none of it matched or fit. Instead, it appeared to have been pilfered from a theater’s castoffs. There were broad-brimmed cavalier hats crowned with sweeping feathers, Punchinello’s puffy breeches, and ragged uniforms straight from Waterloo. One girl wore a ballerina’s spangled costume and thigh-high boots, her hair flying loose in the wind.

One young man leaped into their path, threw back his head, and howled like a wolf. Tobias winced.

“I didn’t know lycanthropy was a problem in these parts,” Bucky said dryly, unbuttoning his jacket to be fisticuff-ready.

Tobias snorted. “The moon isn’t even full. We’re clearly dealing with amateurs.”

Oblivious to the critique, the howler ceased to bay at the gaslights and lolloped off.

The respite was short-lived. One of the Steamer crowd pulled a cricket bat from the back of his vehicle and swung it experimentally even as he loped toward a draper’s shop window. And then he shattered the glass in one mighty swing, roaring with glee as shards flew into the street. He wasn’t alone. Bats, sticks, and canes of all kinds appeared and the crashing of windows came from every side, punctuated by the shriek of a constable’s whistle.

“Bloody hell!” roared Bucky, surging into the fray. He grabbed the cricket bat out of the man’s hand and thumped the vandal over the head.

Tobias was half a step behind, using the butt of the Webley to fend off attackers. Fighting beside Bucky was a bit like guarding the back of a rampaging bear, but it was a role Tobias had played a hundred times back in school. For all his mild manners, Buckingham Penner was a full-steam-ahead kind of fighter with little regard for sneak attacks from behind.

A plump young woman in a black mask was leaning in through the broken window of the draper’s shop, dragging bolts of silk into the road and dumping them into the mud. Tobias didn’t stop to wonder why—this was just pure mayhem. Disgust surged through him until he could almost taste it at the back of his tongue. He grabbed her by the scruff and shoved her away, letting her get a good look at the Webley. Her mouth made a startled O the instant before she fled, one hand holding a purple velvet hat atop her unbound hair.

Distracted, Tobias didn’t see the fist coming. He staggered sideways, careening into the bricks of the building. His opponent—a tall man with a scruffy mustache—closed in. Tobias got one foot up in time to thrust him back. There suddenly seemed to be too many people—ordinary people and coppers as well as the attackers. There was no way he could fire the gun without risking an innocent life. And then the man was back, a nasty little knife in one hand. Tobias smashed him in the mustache before he had a chance to use the blade.

Bucky appeared at his elbow, blood running into his eyes from a cut to his scalp. “I think it’s time to go.”

Tobias wiped his mouth to see his sleeve come away bloody. “Fine. Take me to a party and then insist we leave before I’ve paid my respects to our host.”

Bucky nodded toward the end of the street. “At least one of our hosts is already in handcuffs. Best we go before we join him. I think half the constabulary in London is here.”

“That was fast. Think someone tipped them off?” Tobias wondered aloud, surveying the crowd with suspicion. The road was packed curb to curb, but there was nothing festive about the feel. A low, ugly muttering had started. And then something caught his eye. “Damnation.”

Bucky turned to follow Tobias’s gaze. Another fleet of Steamers was arriving, twice as many as the first lot. Worse, the occupants were firing shotguns at the gaslights as they went, their aim perilously bad.

“Go,” Bucky said. Tobias didn’t argue.

They turned and dove into the crowd, fighting their way with elbows and fists toward Piccadilly. It was like trying to wade through a flock of panicked sheep. Tobias began to despair of ever getting through—but then he remembered the Steamers.

He hauled on Bucky’s arm. “The one at the front. Get in.”

“With dozens of coppers around?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“We’re leaving. They’ll be in favor of two less toffs to worry about.” Tobias pushed him toward the Steamer closest to the corner. It was mobbed by the crowd, so it wasn’t easy to open the door. Bucky managed, but Tobias gave up, grabbing the roof instead and lowering himself through the open window.

Although he didn’t own a Steamer of his own, he’d driven them before. He released the brake, allowing it to roll forward slowly. Bucky leaned his head out the window. “Get out of the way! You with the bowler hat. Step aside, sir, please. Coming through.”

He kept up the litany for a block, but eventually gave up. The riot had spread for a mile around. Tobias went with the flow of the mob, grateful for the steel walls around him but unable to turn aside. Progress was excruciatingly slow, especially when he was afraid of crushing someone beneath the wheels. They’d reached the edge of St. James’s Park when the Steamer finally ran out of fuel. Tobias put on the brake and they got out.

“Are we any better off?” Tobias asked, taking stock around them. It was less crowded by the park, but he wasn’t any closer to the safety of his bed.

“No one has tried to hit me in the last ten minutes.” Bucky’s scalp had stopped bleeding, but he looked a fright with blood smeared down his face. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Worry tugged at Tobias. He wasn’t going to be happy until Bucky’s wound was properly cleaned and bandaged. They were closest to his house, but it was still far away. However, his father-in-law had property all over London. “Keating Utilities has an office across the park. We can wait out this nonsense there.”

“Are you sure that taking refuge on the Gold King’s property is the best idea? Someone is bound to set it on fire.”

“Since when are you so full of gloom?”

Bucky stopped, exasperation plain on his face. “Tobias, think about it. We don’t want to go there.”

“Why not?”

“Cast your mind back. SPIE was made up of four young, promising men of excellent education and deep pockets.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Think!”

“About what?” Tobias asked with a snarl. “Is this some convoluted point of logic?”

“I thought returning to the clubhouse might refresh your memory, but it seems you found that distasteful.”

Tobias’s mind ricocheted from one idea to another, not liking any of them. “Am I somehow to blame for something?”

His friend pressed on. “Smythe’s regiment has been in chaos since the Scarlet King purchased them for his own private army. Edgerton’s ruined. My father is well on his way to disaster. You’re the only one still standing and that is due solely to the fact that you bowed down to Keating to keep the wolf from your family’s door. The only people who do not loathe the steam barons are the barons themselves, and even they don’t like each other.”