Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

“That’s it?” Captain Niccolo exclaimed from where he stood beside Miss Cooper.

Edgerton nodded. “That’s all that’s left. They’re hoping to capture additional supplies along the way. It’s a desperate gamble.”

The Schoolmaster rested his forehead against the window, silently cursing. He’d heard the northern armies were short of supplies, but seeing their condition brought it home. Desperation made people do foolish things, including him. He had anticipated the shortage of fuel, but he had counted on having more time to solve the problem. He’d encouraged the makers to go ahead and build their battle machines. But that time had never materialized, and now—because no one could deny the urge to fight for their freedom, not even for lack of coal—the men below stood an excellent chance of being captured and slaughtered once their engines died. He needed a miracle.

He sighed and turned to the young lady with the dark shimmering power, praying that she was his answer. “Miss Cooper?”

EVELINA CLUTCHED THE owl in one hand and Nick’s hand with the other. When she had made Mouse and Bird, there had been a ritual with amber and blood and the words her Gran had taught her. But she’d raised the devas on the moor without formal tools, and she needed that freedom again.

The pewter owl, warm from her grasp, dug into her palm. It would serve as a focus—a simple object that would be her touchstone within the physical world. Nick’s fingers wrapped firmly around hers, the wild magic skimming along their flesh in a continuous current. She was the conduit between those poles—magic and reality—and would twist the energy coursing between them to her purpose.

Evelina’s eyes unfocused as she drifted inward, searching for the power she needed. With the bracelets on, the process had been like rummaging for whatever she could find. Now it was like running her fingers over the treasures of a jewel box, judiciously selecting the piece best suited to the occasion. Her hunger stirred, but she forced herself to look past those darker magics. What she needed now belonged to a different path, to the herbwives and folkways of the olden times. Magnus’s power would serve only as an amplifier.

She cast her mind toward the earth below. It had been lush not long ago, but now was scarred with smoke and ash. Her consciousness turned toward the remnants of the grass and trees, flitting through them with the speed and grace of a swallow. There were devas there, clustered in the safety of the green places.

There were many versions of the summons that would bring them to her hand, but she chose a simple rhyme.

I summon you by Will

To perform a task for me .

If you do it well ,

I’ll reward you willingly .

With Blood I give you strength

And with Tears I pay your fee;

With Words I give you wisdom

And my leave to fly home free .

She felt their attention stir, pricked to life by the touch of wild magic and then called by the ancient spell. In her mind’s eye, Evelina could see them—a cloud of colored orbs drifting like falling petals. Each one should have had its own tree or stream to live in, but that wilderness was gone. As her consciousness swept past, they spun and eddied in agitation.

The collective of their thoughts coalesced. What do you want from us?

Evelina smiled to herself. Do you wish to fight the men who took your home?

The devas swirled faster, rising like a sparkling funnel, the song of their excitement the pained howl of the Earth.

THE SCHOOLMASTER LOOKED down in disbelief as a cloud of light appeared and then vanished in a wash over the army below. Then he blinked, unsure whether or not he had actually seen it. Perhaps it had been a trick of the dawn light.

But then a sigh seemed to pass from Evelina Cooper, and the scene below shimmered at the same instant. And then, to his gaping astonishment, the devices drawn by the carts came to life. The guns swiveled, legs extended, wheels rolled—and the machines bumped off the carts to trundle forward on their own. And it wasn’t a disorderly mob of rampaging machines, but rather a quiet and businesslike maneuver respectful of the human shepherds in their midst. Yet the machines had a defined notion of where they were going, just slightly off the path they had been following heretofore.

The Schoolmaster’s body tightened, every nerve screaming that what he saw wasn’t supposed to be happening. He had seen magic before, but not on this scale. And it might have been what he’d hoped for, but nothing had prepared him for a self-propelled aether cannon, barrel jauntily swinging in march time toward the rising sun. “Where the fardling hell are they going?”

“Wherever you like,” said Miss Cooper softly. “As long as they can make one stop along the way.”

“Where?” He put one hand against the frame of the glass, leaning casually while he tried not to pass out.

The captain answered in a tone of bloody satisfaction. “Manufactory Three. There used to be a forest there. The devas would like to clear the way for it to grow back. It won’t take them long.”

The prince felt the ship change course, following the stream of marching machines. “Lovely. Um, do you suppose they could invade London when they’re done?”

“Absolutely,” said Miss Cooper with a dangerous smile. “And there are plenty more where those came from.”

London, October 16, 1889

PENNER TOY AND GAMES

6:14 a.m. Wednesday

PEOPLE ARRIVED IN ONES AND TWOS IN THE CRISP EARLY hours of the morning. Despite the bombing, there were still buildings standing behind the toy factory, and there was still an alleyway where folk could congregate out of sight of the main road. Not that there were many passersby that morning to see the growing crowd. The air along Threadneedle Street stank of ash and aether, like cigar butts drowned in mint liqueur.

Tobias leaned against the back wall of the factory, falling into conversation with the arrivals as Bucky handed out tin mugs of tea. It was bitter and dark—not at all the drawing room beverage Lady Bancroft would have served—but it went perfectly with the heavy bread one of the local bakers brought around in enormous wicker baskets.

The baker had come like the rest, gathering in the alley behind the factory in response to Lord Bancroft’s summons. “If you don’t mind my saying, it’s past time to put an end to this, Mr. Roth,” the big man said. His name was Moore, and though he wore no apron there was still flour clinging to his clothes. He seemed not to notice it. “First they tell me I have to buy coal instead of burning good wood as before and then the bread never tastes right. And then we go to central heat at twice the price, and all the lights have to be gas. And then the Gold King or the Green Queen or whoever puts their lights on my street wants a piece of my profits. Well, sir, there won’t be any this month. The banks are all gone and no one in these parts”—he waved a huge hand at the burned-out streets—“is going to be buying cinnamon pastries for some days to come.”

Tobias swallowed his mouthful of bread, wishing there were a few of those pastries looking for a good home. Lately, his appetite came and went, sometimes fading under a wash of nausea. Last night, he had felt particularly bad. But the thick, fragrant bread was going down easily. Moore had talent with salt and flour that said his business was well worth fighting for—but he also had mentioned a family, and that made Tobias balk. “If we march on the Gold King, we’ll be facing the Yellowbacks. Some of us won’t make it through.”