Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

Both Penner and Edgerton shook their heads. “We’re moving mountains to fill the need,” Edgerton said. “But we could use that supply of coal.”

Nick frowned. If they ever needed Evelina and her ability to mix magic and mechanics, it was now. She had created Mouse and Bird by coaxing devas to take up residence in the clockwork toys, and more or less brought them to life without the need for any kind of fuel. Centuries ago, Athena had been created in a similar way. Nick didn’t have the skill himself, but he knew enough to see the possibilities. “Have you thought of working with magic users?”

An uneasy rustle went around the table. The Schoolmaster looked at him curiously. “The use of magic in warfare is not something this council has been able to agree on, but there are some besides yourself with talent in the Baskerville fold. Did you not hear about the destruction of Her Majesty’s Laboratories last night?”

“No.” Nick had been on the road, and then in the air.

“The building and most of the workers were destroyed by an attack coordinated by the Parapsychological Institute.”

As the words soaked in, Nick experienced an odd moment of displacement, as if his reality had shifted. The laboratories hung over the head of everyone with a drop of the Blood. To find out they were gone was …

“Of course,” said the Schoolmaster. “Holmes knows more of the details.”

“What did he have to do with it?” Nick asked, and then it became clear. Evelina! That’s why she was here! And, he realized with a wrench, she hadn’t told him anything about this.

But his rising anger was forestalled by the look in the Schoolmaster’s eye. “Holmes was present,” the Schoolmaster said. “I will receive his account of the event when I return to Baskerville Hall tonight. But for now I’m sure you’ll be interested to know that it was arranged for Miss Cooper to go with the members of the institute when the deed was done. Their representative sent a runner with news that the mission was a success, and not one of our number was injured.”

“Where are the representatives of the institute now?” Sir Simon asked.

“In hiding,” the Schoolmaster replied.

Evelina is free! A rush of hot joy spilled through Nick, making it nearly impossible to remain in his seat. She might be in hiding with the other magic users, but she was out of the Gold King’s clutches. He closed his eyes, a wave of impatience and energy lending him hope.

The Schoolmaster carried on. “Gentlemen, we’ve already struck a decisive blow against the Steam Council with the destruction of one of their favorite weapons of oppression. It has a literal value, but also a symbolic one. And we’ve done it just in time, because now is the critical moment when the citizens of the Empire must choose their leader.”

He paused, his gaze traveling around the table and touching on each man there. “I have a piece of news that changes the game entirely. A telegram arrived this morning. By now you have all heard that the last of my brothers, the Prince of Wales, is dead.”

His brother? Nick stared, as stunned as if someone had knocked him on the head. He wasn’t the only one—Penner, Smythe, and Yates were also wide-eyed with confusion.

The Schoolmaster pulled a telegram from his pocket and held it up. “But there is more you may not know. The word from Mycroft Holmes is that Palace physicians have confirmed that the crown prince died of poison, and not from typhoid as the newspapers report.”

A general babble erupted around the table.

“Just a moment,” Nick said, his voice rising above the others. “ Athena called you vasiliàs.”

“Yes,” said the Schoolmaster, his face pale. He pulled off his tinted glasses, abandoning them on the paper-strewn table. “Athena was correct. I’m the last living prince, and now I’m taking back my throne.”

Southwest Coast, October 6, 1889

SIABAHTHA CASTLE

5:12 p.m. Sunday

PANIC ONLY TOOK A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS SO FAR, AND EVELINA was impatient to be on her way. She wasted no time in investigating every crack and corner of her room—a process that took the remainder of her first day in Magnus’s castle aerie. She repeated the entire process the second day, just to be sure she had missed nothing.

The door was locked with a heavy iron affair that belonged in a dungeon. Evelina wasn’t sure she could lift the key that opened it, much less pick the wretched thing. Access to the chimney was blocked with an iron grate. The casement window was not locked, but looked over a sheer drop to the crashing waves below.

The floor and walls were all solid, unless one counted a few chinks in the mortar large enough for rats. The tapestries hid no secret doors or listening holes, and, though faded, appeared to have been recently cleaned. Lifting the carpet—a threadbare affair of Persian design—revealed nothing, either, outside of a hidden pile of dirt one of the maids had sought to disguise.

Defeated, she sank to her knees on the carpet before the fire. Her fingers traced the geometric pattern of the border, wishing its symmetry would help her think. Weariness pawed at her, seeking to smother her in a gray fog of despair. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself. At least she had basic creature comforts—fresh clothes, a warm room, and adequate food. She had the key to her bracelets so that every twelve hours she could fend off their pain. The wood fire—so rare in the steam barons’ London—gave off the comforting scent of well-seasoned pine. Magnus’s plans depended on her continued health—but those were about the only positives. It was bad enough being Keating’s prisoner, but at least he let me attend the college . There would be no smuggled notes to her uncle here, and the only lessons would be of Magnus’s devising.

Evelina closed her eyes and propped her forehead on her knees. She’d spent the night crying and was wrung out, her emotions worn thin as a garment sent too often through the wash. Now was the time for a clever plan—except she had no idea where to begin. Do I really not know? Or does some slippery part of me not want to know? How do I trust my own impulses now that Magnus has already given me a taste of power?

There had to be a test, some objective measure that her uncle Sherlock might design, but he wasn’t there to guide her. She could feel the hunger coiled inside her, quiet for the moment, but alert to any opportunity to hunt.

She’d wondered what would happen without the restraint of her bracelets. Now it seemed she would find out. Twelve hours was almost up again, and the silver bracelets were tingling, ready to be deactivated one more time. Evelina drew out her necklace with the tiny key Dr. Watson had filched from Tobias and turned the key in each of the locks.

But instead of fading away, the sensation coursing up her arms increased. Panic surged through her. The key wasn’t working anymore. There must be a limit as to how many times the bracelets could be stalled, or maybe there was another trick she didn’t know. The tingling had become prickling, and that had swelled to a stabbing that reached from wrist to elbow. The key slipped from clumsy fingers, falling useless to the carpet. Evelina staggered to her feet, tripping on her hems because her hands were too numb to lift her skirts. I don’t know what to do!

It was the last coherent thought she had before pain dynamited through her. As if smashing a barrier, it no longer seared through her arms; it made her entire body an open wound. Evelina shrieked, the sound ringing against the high stone walls. Then sight and sound attenuated, as if the searing sensation in every nerve stretched them out of focus. She had no idea if she was still screaming. She was gasping for air, trying to move away from the agony, but direction had ceased to have meaning.