Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

Bucky poured wine into elegant glasses. He must have brought them with him, because nothing so fine had survived five minutes in the clubhouse. “Do you know the remnants of that giant automated squid are still in the yard? Quite rusted now, but it certainly brings back memories.”

That it did—memories replete with friendship and the sweet taste of irresponsible youth. There had been four charter members of SPIE, all full of ideals and devious plans. They’d scattered since, each to his own career. Of any of them, Tobias saw the least of his old companions. He walked forward and took the wine Bucky offered, tempted to drink it off at a swallow. “Those were simpler times.”

“Good God, you sound old.”

“I feel it.”

Bucky didn’t argue, but instead applied himself to his own glass with savage determination. He was a big man—he had inherited the physique of his blacksmith grandsire—but it was all fit muscle. He could hold his liquor, but he’d never sought oblivion the way Tobias had. Watching him gulp down the wine made Tobias wonder what was amiss—beyond the obvious, of course. Bucky had been betrothed to Imogen; they had been ready to elope when she had been kidnapped. Needless to say, there would be no wedding now.

“How is she?” Bucky asked, not needing to specify whom.

“Unchanged.”

Wisely, Bucky didn’t press the subject. He still came to sit at Imogen’s bedside when Tobias’s mother, Lady Bancroft, was alone in the house. She let him mourn in peace. Lord Bancroft blamed him for luring his daughter away.

“And how is your wife and scion?” Bucky asked.

Tobias blinked. It was easy on days like this—days so fraught with ghosts—to forget that he was married and had a son. But that said a lot about his marriage. It was all so damned complicated. “In good health.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

Unhappiness made Tobias truculent. He fell into the chair opposite his friend, dangling one leg over the arm. “So, did you ask me here just for old times’ sake?”

Bucky refilled their glasses. “Do I need a reason? Maybe I just like to revisit happier times.”

But Tobias knew his friend well enough to suspect there was a reason lurking in the wings. He would just have to wait to find out what it was. He looked around at the moldering furniture and the derelict worktable crouching against the wall. “Memories are like the dirty dishes after a party. Best cleaned up and put away.”

“You make our past sound like a catalogue of disappointments.”

Whether he liked it or not, Tobias’s mind drifted back to the last of SPIE’s heyday. Back then, he’d almost become the man he’d wanted to be. It had slipped through his fingers, of course, but he’d felt his own potential with all the tingling excitement of thrusting his hand into a magnetic field. That last episode—with the squid and Dr. Magnus promising him the world—had lasted for skull-popping days before collapsing like a deflated dirigible. Before he’d lost Evelina Cooper and sold his soul to the Gold King.

Disappointment? What welled up was closer to grief. Still, Tobias made himself laugh. “Too much has happened. Being here feels a bit like walking on my own grave. There’s something dead in this place and I think it’s me.”

Bucky let his head loll back, sliding in his chair as if speared by the dart of exquisite boredom. “You always were the most maudlin bastard. Did you read Childe Harold one too many times?”

“I hate Byron. He whines.”

“Imagine the burden of listening to that.”

“Very droll.” And then he remembered that it was Bucky who had asked him to the clubhouse, and the reason for going there was suddenly clear. It’s Bucky who wants to remember that time. It’s been a year and he still pines after Imogen when most men would have drifted away . Guilt raked Tobias, and he wished he’d thought before opening his mouth. Bucky wasn’t the kind to make a show of grief, but his emotions burned stronger than those of anyone else Tobias knew. He wouldn’t give up on Imogen until the bitter end.

It was too much. Tobias needed light and cheerful noise before melancholy pulled him under. “Shall we get out of here? There’s got to be a club with comfortable chairs and a proper fire.” Tobias tossed off his wine and rose, promising himself he would talk about Imogen if his friend wanted it—just not here.

With a groan, Bucky followed and before long they were back in the alley, picking their way through the smelly grime between buildings. Tobias fingered his Webley again, feeling only slightly better with company along.

Unfortunately, the ghosts of SPIE trailed after, poking at memories of afternoons building machines, drawing plans, drinking, joking. There had been four members: Tobias, Bucky, Captain Diogenes Smythe, and Michael Edgerton.

“Do you even talk to Smythe anymore?” Tobias asked as they walked side by side.

“I don’t,” Bucky said evenly. “We fought a duel over your sister, remember? And he’s away with his regiment most of the time. I do see Edgerton now and again. We took flying lessons together. We’re both qualified to pilot a private dirigible now.”

Tobias cast him a sidelong look, suddenly worried. “Edgerton is rather on the wrong side of the law these days.”

“Only because his father’s ironworks in Sheffield fell afoul of the Scarlet King.”

Tobias stepped around a suspicious puddle. “I’ve heard he’s thrown in with the rebels.”

“Edgerton’s family was ruined, the way yours would have been if you hadn’t gone to work for the Gold King.” Bucky paused, his broad shoulders tensing. “The way mine well might be. Both my father and I work in the Gold King’s territories, for all he’s in Yorkshire and my concerns are in London.”

They were on Bond Street now, walking southeast in the vague direction of St. James’s Park. It was drizzling faintly, not quite enough to admit that they were getting wet. Passersby walked in twos and threes under the gold-tinted gaslights, but it was nothing like the crowds of even six months ago. There weren’t many women, and fewer still looked respectable. That, more than anything, spoke to public unease.

Tobias considered Bucky’s statement, wondering where this conversation would lead. “Your father’s always been on good terms with the steam barons. He makes firearms and beer. Everyone loves that.”

“But he’s come under pressure to double his production, and he’s wondering why the Gold King is ordering so many shipments of arms. He wants to know if there is any truth to the rumors of war with Bohemia.”

“And you think I know the answer? Is that really why you asked me here tonight?”

“Not particularly, but I thought I might as well ask the question.” Bucky shrugged, the motion stiff with embarrassment. “You’re the Gold King’s chief maker. You married his daughter. You would know if something was coming.”

“My esteemed father-in-law doesn’t tell me everything.” What was more, Tobias didn’t like being lumped together with the Gold King’s camp. It made him feel soiled. “I haven’t heard anything about a foreign war. And why would we invade Bohemia, anyway?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Then the war’s to be at home? My father doesn’t fancy making guns to blow up his countrymen. If that’s the case, he’ll refuse.”

“As I said, I don’t know everything.” Tobias was about to add that denying the Gold King anything at all was a very bad idea—but he never got the chance.

A fleet of Steamers careened down the street, the tall back wheels churning with a skull-splitting rattle. Engines belched smoke and steam out the high, crooked exhaust pipes, fogging the streets in a foul cloud. Bucky coughed. “What are they burning in those things? Old libraries?”