Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

Reading smirked. “Did you know the secret of these red waistcoats? There is very fine chain mail inside them, a very particular steel alloy that I’ve developed. No bullet will penetrate it. My hat and coat are similarly protected, so you’ll have to be a very good shot to get me between the eyes, even at this distance. You don’t look the type, and I don’t think that Webley is up for fancy shooting. Put away your gun, Mr. Roth, it’s melodramatic even for you.”

The Scarlet King clearly hadn’t noticed the Webley was customized—hard to see since Tobias had done the job with a view to minimal size and weight. Tobias thumbed a switch and the gun made a faint click, switching over to the aether setting, but the Scarlet King didn’t even blink.

“What did you poison me with?” Tobias’s heart was thundering, but the emotion seemed distant. He should at least be sad or angry about being murdered, but he wasn’t. Clearly, he was losing his mind. Or maybe he was coming to his senses. He couldn’t rid the Empire of the entire Steam Council, but he could get rid of one viper.

“If you’d been a better friend, I might have told you. But since you weren’t I’ll simply tell you there is no antidote, so don’t waste your time on useless questions.”

“If there was, would you tell me?”

“No.”

“How long does it take?”

Reading’s blue eyes were cold and reptilian. “Ah, that’s the interesting thing about it. A day. A month. Dosage is so unpredictable in cases like this.”

Tobias couldn’t think of anything else to ask. So he pulled the trigger. The one thing Reading hadn’t calculated on was that he was a crack shot, and hitting him at this distance was a toddle.

The aether blast hit with a vicious smack. Reading’s skull and brains splashed across the office like a thick, viscous rain. The body toppled backward into the door, sliding down to leave a wide red slash of blood.

Tobias watched with detachment, vaguely aware that there had been a loud noise in the room. The air stank of spent aether and shredded flesh.

And then in slow, inexorable increments, horror combed chill, dead fingers up Tobias’s nape as he slowly realized what had happened. I just killed a member of the Steam Council .

Tobias wondered what that would mean for the Empire, and then decided he didn’t want to know. If there hadn’t been a war before, there would certainly be one now. And I did it .

What it meant for him was easy to discern. He was in this so deep he was never getting out. Maybe it was just as well he was going to die.

That last thought opened the floodgates of panic.

London, October 2, 1889

HILLIARD HOUSE

6:35 p.m. Wednesday

ALICE ROTH MOUNTED THE BROAD STAIRS OF HILLIARD House with her head high and her heart in her throat. This wasn’t a social call. She’d been summoned—and by her father, which was worrisome. Why was her father demanding she come here, to Lord and Lady Bancroft’s house?

Furthermore, the tone of his note had been sharp, and that had raised her ire. It was beyond annoying that her father could snap his fingers and she—a married woman, a mother, the wife of a steam baron’s maker—didn’t have the courage to tell him to go polish his gears. But Jasper Keating wasn’t a man one disobeyed lightly, and though she had always loved her father, she’d seen a side of him in the last year that made her afraid.

The door opened before she’d even reached the top step, a footman bowing her in. “Mrs. Roth.”

Even after months of marriage, the name still made her blink. “Would you please let the family know that I have arrived?”

“At once, madam.”

Madam sounds so old . Alice fidgeted, smoothing the trim on her smart green dress. She had just returned from walking with her son and his nursemaid before she was summoned. At least she had been dressed to go out. But what is this about? And where is Tobias? Her hands were growing damp inside her gloves.

She heard a young voice cry in disgust, and then feet pounded up the curving oak stairway that loomed just out of Alice’s sight. Poppy . She smiled to herself. The girl brought a touch of drama to every occasion. Then Bigelow, the butler, appeared and intoned, “This way, madam.”

If Bigelow himself has come to fetch me, this is a grand occasion indeed . She suspected her father’s hand in it. He liked a touch of staging to set a serious mood. Alice followed, keyed up to the point that the tip of her nose had gone numb. But she was too well trained to let it show. The doors of the small drawing room stood open, and she entered without breaking stride, putting on her brightest smile.

It was a beautiful room, with a tall bay window and a grand piano in one corner where Imogen used to sit and play. The furniture had been recovered with one of those bold Kelmscott designs—big pink flowers on a green and wine background.

The first person she saw was her mother-in-law. “Good evening, Lady Bancroft.”

The older woman rose, taking her hands. She looked tired and drawn. “Alice, my dear, I am so delighted to see you. But where is our grandson?”

“Down for a nap with his nurse.”

“That’s all very interesting,” came her father’s voice from behind her, “but please sit down, Alice. There is business to discuss.”

She knew that tone of voice, though it was softer with her than it would have been with anyone else. He was in a dour frame of mind. Alice turned to where he was enthroned in a large wing chair and curtsied. “Father.”

Alice made one last curtsy, this time to Lord Bancroft. He half rose and gave her a cold bow. She wasn’t his favorite person, but then the feeling was mutual. “It is not my opinion,” Lord Bancroft said dryly, “that including the young Mrs. Roth in this discussion is wise. We require objective viewpoints, and it is not reasonable to ask a new wife to decide such pressing family matters.”

Alice found a seat and realized it was just the four of them. Family matters? “What happened? Where is my husband?”

“There has been an accident, my dear,” said Lady Bancroft in a faint voice.

They all looked at one another in a way that said that had been an understatement. Alice bounced out of her chair again, heart skittering with alarm. “Where is he?”

“Sit down, Alice,” said her father curtly. “We need to make some decisions.”

But Lady Bancroft said “Upstairs” at the same time, raising her hand to catch Alice’s and keep her there.

She was already out the door, racing up the staircase, past the longcase clock and up to the bedrooms. Something had happened. Was he shot? Downed by some dread illness? Had this bizarre family of his finally driven him foaming mad? She hoped Poppy was there, because they had been allies in the past. If anyone would tell Alice what was going on, it would be her.

But the hallway was empty. Imogen’s door was shut, her sister-in-law no doubt still in her unending sleep. Then she heard a noise—the rattle of drawer pulls and the scrape of wood on wood. Her steps quickened again, and she was at Tobias’s old bedroom door.

Alice stopped, her skirts swinging with the sudden cessation of movement. She could hear Tobias moving. She knew his breathing, the way he’d stop to think halfway through a motion. What’s going on? Why aren’t you downstairs with the others?

Her chest squeezed with tension. The door was open a crack, and she pushed until it drifted open on silent hinges. And there he was, rummaging in his dresser, a large leather satchel open on the bed. He was packing.

“Tobias?” she cried, bewildered. “What are you doing?”