Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

The day was dry, if not sunny, and cool enough to make a brisk walk pleasant. Still, it was a long journey around the park near Cavendish Square—about twice the circumference of the world when one had an infant in tow. By the end Poppy had been tempted to weigh Jeremy to see if the quantity of liquid emerging from the baby in various forms corresponded in any way to what went in, or if he was somehow pulling all that fluid from the aether. Alice took it utterly in stride, mopping up her infant with a doting calm.

Some of the fussing was surely because, having discovered that he could squirm from one place to another, Jeremy was already plotting his next adventure. Being carted about like luggage was beneath his dignity—at least for the next dozen yards. After that, he began to content himself with a speculative gumming of his blanket. The state of blissful silence lasted until they arrived back at Alice’s door.

Poppy gathered their shopping while Alice sent one of the footmen out to wrangle the perambulator. Jeremy was starting to nod off, face squashed against his mother’s shoulder, and Alice mounted the stairs to the nursery, not even bothering to shed her wraps.

Poppy let Alice go ahead, the fresh air making her yawn. She stowed the packages of embroidery thread and adventure novels that she’d bought—all of them took place in exotic lands and one even had headhunters!—and took off her coat. Then she trotted upstairs, hearing the faint clatter of the housemaids in the kitchen, she hoped making tea.

Alice was just tucking Jeremy into his nest of blankets when Poppy slipped into the room. Alice bent over to kiss her son, a loose strand of her fox-red hair sliding over her brow. “He misses his father,” Alice said.

“How can you tell?” Poppy asked dubiously—but still with a pang of guilt and worry.

“I just can.”

There was no point in arguing, and after Madam Thalassa and Mouse and Bird, Poppy wasn’t sure what to doubt anymore. “I’m sure Tobias wishes he were home.”

Alice gave a half smile, her eyes full of complexities. “Thank you for coming today. I was very glad of the company.”

Poppy bent over the cradle, wanting to tickle the sleeping baby but knowing better. “I was glad to. I like having someone to visit on my own.”

Making a considering sound, Alice turned to adjust the curtains. “It was hard, you know, coming into your family. You and your friends are all so close knit. I didn’t have brothers and sisters, so it’s been a bit hard knowing how to make a place for myself.”

That surprised Poppy. “I think we all just barged our way in.”

“Even Evelina?”

“She’s always been around,” Poppy said, and then wished she hadn’t. Alice had tensed—but Poppy soon realized that sudden hunch of the shoulders had nothing to do with what she had said. Thunder was rolling through the air.

“Come look at this,” Alice said, the curtains pushed back in one hand. The gray afternoon light washed over her, making a strong contrast to the dim room.

Poppy came up beside her, wary of the tension in her voice. “What is it?”

“Look at that dirigible.” Alice pointed to the skyline. “Isn’t that the Helios ?”

“Yes.” The shape of it was seared into Poppy’s brain, a souvenir from the night of the air battle. “I wonder what it’s doing right over London? It’s flying awfully low.”

And then its belly opened, and tiny black shapes spilled out. “Damnation!” Alice cried, grabbing Poppy’s arm so hard pain shot through it.

“What?” But Poppy found out in the next instant. The windows rattled as a distant boom shook the entire world, as if a giant boot had just stomped the earth. Not thunder at all . Three more rumbles followed in quick time, and Poppy grabbed for Alice—but she had whirled away, snatching Jeremy from the cradle and clutching him close.

Mrs. Polwarren, the wet nurse, flew into the room, the baby gown she had been mending still in her hand. “Ma’am, what is it?” she demanded in a querulous voice. “What is going on?”

Whatever it was, Poppy couldn’t make sense of it. She scrambled back to the window, trying to see more, but there were trees and buildings in the way. What she could see was dirigibles appearing in twos and threes in the northern skies, their balloons a bloody red. The Scarlet King’s air fleet .

But the Scarlet King was dead. Someone else was raining down destruction. Who? Why? She started to shiver even as she craned her neck to see the airships fly over like swift, silent birds of prey. This was a nightmare. It was completely illogical and awful. She fixed her glare on the dirigibles, willing them back to where they came from. There are people down here. What did they do to deserve this?

Then Alice was at her elbow, still holding the baby as Mrs. Polwarren rustled in the drawers behind them. Alice spoke quietly. “I told her to pack a bag in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

Suddenly Poppy wanted to be home so badly her stomach twisted. Im was there, and her mother. “And go where?”

“I don’t know,” Alice said, her blue eyes suddenly bright with tears. “Someplace safe for Jeremy. I wish Tobias were here!”

She looked so terrified, every bit as bad as Poppy felt. She leaned in close, dropping her voice to nothing. “He is; he’s at Bucky’s toy factory.”

Surprise bloomed on Alice’s face. “What?”

Poppy held a finger to her lips, and Alice gave a short, sharp nod. The next moment, a fresh barrage of rumbles growled low and distant. Mrs. Polwarren knocked a picture over on the dresser, making everyone jump. Jeremy started to cry.

Poppy’s nerves howled in sympathy. I have to get home . She felt like a small animal needing to bolt for her burrow, and she would feel even better if Alice and the baby came along. She laced her fingers together, squeezing hard to stop the convulsive trembling in her hands. “I can’t see anything from here. I’m going up to the attic.”

“No, it’s too dangerous!” Alice protested, but Poppy was already rushing for the stairs. There was no more danger up there than anywhere else in the house if an airship dropped one of its explosives.

What she wanted wasn’t just the attic, but the tiny iron balcony that ran outside the window of the maids’ chambers. Poppy hurried through the small room with its sloping walls, stepping carefully around the sewing machine with its pile of mending to get to the window. The balcony was just big enough for a few potted plants and it had the view Poppy wanted. She pushed up the sash and stepped outside, easing her feet between the clay pots filled with geraniums.

The first thing she saw was people milling below, looking up and pointing. A few noticed her and started pointing her way instead.

“What do you see?” a man called up from below.

Poppy shaded her eyes. It wasn’t sunny, but the gray sky still held a glare. And now to the east the gray was joined by roiling black smoke. “They’re all going toward the Tower,” she said.

“Whitechapel?” he called back.

“Closer, I think.” At least it wasn’t in the direction of Hilliard House. Maybe that was a selfish thought, but she wasn’t about to apologize. I want to go home!

Poppy began to feel queasy and gripped the window frame behind her. The balcony didn’t have a railing to speak of beyond a lip of black iron curlicues as high as her bootlaces. Fear and vertigo were mixing in her stomach in a most unpleasant way.

But all thoughts vanished when a heavy shadow crept over her, blotting out the light. All noise on the street below stopped. Poppy lifted her face slowly, more than her hands shaking now. The huge belly of an airship was right above the house. She could see the flat wooden bottom of the gondola, close enough that she could make out the edges of the bomb bay doors. Her teeth chattered, and she felt as if it would squash her as mindlessly as a boot sole snuffed out an ant. But that wasn’t the right comparison. That flat, threatening expanse above her was more like a face—featureless, pitiless, and wondering if perhaps she ought to be crushed.