Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

“I read about that,” Nick said, chewing a last slice of bread and butter. “Train stations are a treasure trove for old newspapers. It was all Big Ben, stock prices, and cholera.”

“The steam barons have taken to selling water they have to pump. The poor have gone back to some of the old wells. It was only a matter of time before disease broke out.”

Nick swore under his breath. Victims of cholera died of dehydration, too weak to escape their own filth. It wasn’t a death he’d wish on his worst foe.

“It surprises me that you came here first.” There was no judgment in the Schoolmaster’s voice, but there was caution. “You’re a pirate first and a rebel only a distant second, or so you’ve always told me. You began by saying you weren’t a rebel at all.”

Nick dusted the crumbs from his fingers. He decided to skip the fact that he’d had no other place to go. “I was never locked away before. Now I have something precise to hate.”

The man nodded, as if he’d heard that story before. “Can I trust you?”

That made Nick blink. “Of course.”

The Schoolmaster laughed. “It seems like a strange thing to ask, but I wouldn’t believe you unless you had that astonished look on your face. Honest men never anticipate that question. Liars do.”

Irritation prickled. “I thought you already trusted me.”

“With some things. If you are going to work with us, there are other details you will need to know.”

“I want vengeance. All I need is a place to report, and I’ll fight.”

“That’s just it. There is no rebel army in the conventional sense. Our weapons makers are scattered all over the country, and I am the only one who knows where they are. That gives me rather a lot of responsibility when it comes time to rally the troops.”

Nick frowned. He liked the Schoolmaster, but wondered if he was as good as the rebel army got. “What about Mycroft Holmes? Wasn’t he preparing a shadow government to take over after the dust settles?”

“Yes. He is our liaison to the queen. Oh, don’t look so shocked. We count ourselves patriots.”

“But …”

“But?”

“What military experience do the rebels have? If you’re coordinating the makers and their war machines, how much do you have?”

The Schoolmaster pulled off his glasses, giving Nick the full power of his blue eyes. All at once Nick felt churlish for doubting him. “About as much airmanship as you had when you became captain of the Red Jack . But I know when to stop talking and listen. Like you, I have gathered a seasoned crew.”

“I had one,” Nick said quietly, the hollowness inside telling him that he’d lost too many friends. “I have to go to Cornwall to find out if any of my men are left.”

“Cornwall?”

“We were building a ship there. We chose a village along a forsaken bit of coast where no one would bother to look for an enormous steamspinner under construction.”

“A steamspinner?” The Schoolmaster was impressed. “That would be a welcome addition to our air forces.”

They were in Nick’s territory now. “What’s your strength?”

“Not enough. The Merchant Brotherhood of the Air has taken umbrage with the Steam Council, but they aren’t battleships. We want to attract a few pirates and have dropped the word in one or two taverns, but you captains are hard men to reach these days. The air over London is constantly patrolled, and smugglers are having a hard time bringing in their wares.”

“Perhaps I can help with that,” Nick said. “Though it may take time.”

“If we win, any man fighting for us will be pardoned of his crimes.” The Schoolmaster gave him a significant look. “Gentlemen of the airways included. We have Queen Vicky’s word on it, and she does love a dashing hero.”

Nick heard that with a mix of emotions. The Schoolmaster was right. He was a pirate first. On the other hand, a rebel victory might rewrite his future. War would bring death but there might also be opportunity. And of course, there would be vengeance.

He allowed himself to hope just a little. Just enough to take a leap of faith. “I’m your man,” Nick said to the Schoolmaster. “But there is one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Before I went to the Manufactory, I kept hearing about a mystery group of aristos calling themselves the Baskervilles. That was the code word you gave me when I took Mycroft Holmes north.”

“Ah, you want to know what it means. I should never have used that as a code word. Unfortunately, it became a rallying cry.” The Schoolmaster filled their brandy glasses again, his eyes bright with mischief. “I suppose it is only fair to know for whom you fight.”

He set the bottle down and held out his hand. “My name is Edmond Baskerville.”

“You? You’re Baskerville?”

“Indeed. My father is Sir Charles Baskerville, a quiet country gentleman. I, on the other hand, am an infamous sluggard who prefers low taverns and music halls to anything resembling honest work. If it appeared otherwise, I would need more than Mrs. Pennyfeather guarding my door.”

Nick was speechless.

The Schoolmaster grinned. “As it is, I’ve been picked up for questioning more than once because of the name, but as you can see”—he swept a hand around the derelict room—“there was nothing to find.”

So this was the famous Baskerville. Nick’s doubts came back. The young man was capable, charismatic, even a little ruthless—but he seemed far too civil to lead a country to war. It made Nick wonder what he wasn’t seeing.

The Schoolmaster drank off his brandy and pushed his glasses back into place. “I’m leaving London soon. You might as well come with me since your ship is in the south. We can go part of the way together.”

“Where are you going?”

The Schoolmaster’s voice was suddenly brisk. “I’m calling a council. I’ll show them what you found on the body of the Scarlet King’s airman. That’s an important find. Thanks to you, we’ve known for a while what weaponry the Blue King commands, and we’ve had an informant in the Green Queen’s ranks. The question is whether or not we can wait for more. It might be time to pull our forces together and prepare for action.”

Nick paused, a question working its way to the front of his brandy-addled brain. “Why do you fight? What’s this war to you?”

The Schoolmaster froze, his eyes unreadable behind his tinted glasses. Then he smiled, but it was bitter. “The steam barons killed too many people who were close to me.”

“You want vengeance, too.”

“I want order with at least a teaspoon of social conscience. I want clean, free water so that no one even remembers what cholera does to the body. I want everyone to be able to read. I want everyone to have access to heat and light. What the Steam Council offers is the amoral governance of greed. I’m not a philosopher, but even I can tell that’s a bad idea.” He gave an apologetic grimace. “And that is enough of my moralizing. Will you leave London with me?”

The abrupt question pushed Nick’s weary brain into action. He hadn’t made up his mind whether to look for Athena or the crew first, but traveling with the Schoolmaster might answer some other lingering questions about the Baskerville business—such as who else was involved. “Yes, but there is someone I must see first, if she is still in London.”

The Schoolmaster’s face grew wry. “The fair Miss Cooper? Holmes’s niece? Wasn’t she the one who went with you to spy out the Blue King’s army?”

“Yes.” Nick’s stomach grew chill. “Has something happened to her?”

“You’ll find her at the Ladies’ College. Holmes gave me her address in case—well, in case his work prevented him from being able to watch over her. I don’t know the details, but I’m told the Gold King has her under his thumb.”