Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

Tobias shook his head slowly. “I’m not proposing to crawl home like a sick dog to curl up and die. I have a wife and child. I have sisters. They need protection.” And he had friends. Bucky had urged him to join the resistance—and Bucky had a workshop crammed with a maker’s tools. “There is one thing I can do with the time I have left that will help them all.”

“What is that?” Watson asked.

“I know Keating’s war machines like no one else does. I know exactly what they can and can’t do, and I know how to make them dance to my tune. I put an end to one steam baron. I can finish the rest.”

Dartmoor, October 6, 1889

TAVERN AT THE EAST DART

1:30 p.m. Sunday

THE SCHOOLMASTER’S GATHERING of generals took place not at Baskerville Hall, but in a small tavern some distance away.

“Where the bleeding hell is this place?” Striker muttered. “We’re in the middle of feckin’ nowhere.”

“We’re there.” Nick pointed to a faded inn sign announcing the East Dart. “I think the Dart refers to the river.”

The landscape was indescribably beautiful in the bright sunshine, the sound of the rushing water a counterpoint to a flock of tiny cheeping birds. Ahead, a half-timbered inn squatted beneath a canopy of turning leaves.

“Tell me there’s beer.” Striker eyed his surroundings suspiciously, as if the birds and flowers were about to turn on him.

“Hard to say. It’s Sunday.” And if laws serving beer on the Lord’s day might vary, local customs varied more.

His friend grunted in disgust. “I know London isn’t everything for a man of the world like yourself, but at least I could count on a decent bit o’ bacon and a good pint.”

“At least the place looks open,” Nick reassured him, and pushed through the dark wood door. “Just ask for something local.”

Striker strolled up to the bar, rolling his shoulders under the weight of his heavy coat. They’d fallen back into the rhythm of their friendship within seconds, but Nick knew Striker wasn’t letting him go far without a watchdog. There was no question of Nick vanishing twice.

However, he would have to content himself with a station outside the council room door. Nick had been told to go to the back room, so he carried on through the taproom, nodding to the barkeep to his right and taking a quick inventory of the faces sitting near the fire. They looked like locals out for friendly conversation, but he catalogued them anyhow just in case.

Some of the faces he expected to see were in the back room. There he saw the Schoolmaster as well as Edgerton, Penner, and Smythe, in addition to a handful of others he didn’t know. He’d half expected Sherlock or Mycroft Holmes, but both were absent.

The Schoolmaster rose to greet him, his face splitting into a grin. “Captain Niccolo. So your journey to Cornwall was a success. That is good news.”

“I found my ship and most of my crew. Even the ash rooks.” Nick couldn’t help smiling back. Athena had been entranced with her new vessel, and the crew had been entranced with the way she could make it fly.

“Please, have a seat. Those of you who do not know the captain have heard of him, I am sure. We owe him a great deal for the intelligence he’s provided on the enemy’s weaponry.”

Nick felt the eyes of the others on him, but he’d been a showman too long for that to bother him. He sat down with as much casual sangfroid as he could summon. “You are welcome to what I could find.”

“Captain, allow me to introduce these gentlemen. Edgerton, Smythe, and Penner you’ve met. This is Lord Elford, General Fortman, and Sir Simon Yates. They are by no means all of my advisors, but they are the most directly involved with the deployment of ground forces. We’ve just been reviewing the strength we have to draw on, and where the enemy is situated. It seems the majority of the Scarlet King’s forces are in the north or else due east of here.”

“My regiment is one that Scarlet bought wholesale for his private use,” Smythe put in. He was wearing the blue uniform of his cavalry unit, and looked far more at ease in it than the civilian clothes he’d worn before. “Scarlet left our command structure alone when he took over, but now the top officers are all being replaced by the Gold King’s men. Something’s happened at the highest level. No one knows what, but our lads have had enough. We swore an oath to the queen, not some boilermaker—and certainly not a string of ’em. We’re not a box of spoons to be passed from hand to hand. Most of the regiments the barons took over feel the same. It’s not right and they’re ready to take a stand.”

“As noble as that is,” said General Fortman—probably a retired general, back in the traces for queen and country—“that only represents a small percentage of the steam barons’ total forces.”

Smythe wasn’t daunted. “We may be small, but we’re close in. We’re yours when you need a precise blow straight to the heart.”

Nick knew Evelina didn’t like Smythe, but he couldn’t fault the man’s courage. What he was proposing could easily become a suicide mission. From the expression on the other men’s faces, they knew that, too.

Edgerton spoke up next. He talked about weapons, production, and distribution of the scattered makers and the forces they had gathered. Penner put in the occasional remark that indicated he was heavily involved in research. They were young, but the others listened with attention.

“That’s all very well and good,” said Fortman. “This will be more a battle of engines than of troops. However, we need some troops besides what Smythe has proposed—men who are more than mobs.”

The Schoolmaster answered. “They have been gathering in London over the last months. Mycroft Holmes put the word out through his cronies. He found an entire network of retired commanders connected through their clubs and country house parties who were more than pleased to call their old units together.”

“We know that,” replied Lord Elford. “But those men are in London , not with the machines coming in from the countryside. The rural forces need support.”

“What they need,” Edgerton countered, “is power. We can invent what we like, but unless we have fuel to run it, we have nothing. We’ve tried power storage devices, but distribution is a problem.”

Nick sat up straight. “Your air fleet can help with both those problems. Defense and distribution.”

They all gave him a curious look. “Your steamspinner is no doubt an amazing ship, but she isn’t quite a fleet,” said the Schoolmaster.

Nick drew out the papers Captain Roberts had given him and pushed them across the table. “These men are willing to help. For a price of a pardon, certainly, but you won’t find more experienced fighters.”

The Schoolmaster picked up the papers and flipped through them. He pushed the green-tinted glasses up on his head. “Damn it all, these are the pirates!”

“They are,” said Nick. “You put the word out and they heard you. They don’t like the Steam Council any more than the rest of us. The sky patrols are bad for smuggling.”

The Schoolmaster’s expression was caught between laughter and tears. “Of course.”

“Can they be trusted?” asked Sir Simon Yates, every inch the aging dandy with his monocle and carefully tied cravat.

It was a reasonable question, and Nick didn’t mind answering it. “Some more than others. I can tell you who would be suited best to what task, but you can trust them all to fight. There are no cowards there.”

“That is excellent,” Edgerton replied. “Two of our problems solved, at least in part.”

“But can we make enough storage cells?” the Schoolmaster asked.