Colleen Gleason - The Clockwork Scarab

“Aye,” he said, his voice deep. “Every bit o’ ye, Evaline Stoker.”

I swallowed and tried to find my voice. “How—how dare you.” He was a thief and a criminal, and he was here in the middle of an opium den. Not at all the type of man who should be kissing a young woman like me.

Not at all the type of man a young woman like me should be allowing to kiss her.

Instead of being put off by my outrage, he grinned crookedly and stepped back. “I’ll take care o’ that one,” he said, gesturing to the original guard, who still stood at the other end of the chamber. The one I’d forgotten about in the last few moments, when Pix had had the audacity to push me up against the wall and kiss me.

He’d kissed me.

I reached up to touch my lips, then froze. But he’d already started off and, thank the blooming fish, didn’t see. I needed another sniff from the vial. Head clearer, I slipped the tiny tube into my pocket and let myself through the door back into the hidden side hallway.

In here, the air was cooler and clearer. The last bit of my mottleness faded. I had to find out what was happening with the Inner Circle, but more importantly, I had to drag Miss Holmes out of there before she got herself in trouble. There were times when one couldn’t plan for things. I didn’t know what Pix was doing here, but he seemed perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

First he kisses my hand, then he kisses me? Who did he think he was?

Right. Forget about him. I had a job to do. I focused on that.

I was correct: the side corridor ran parallel all along the chamber where the Ankh had taken Mina. But drat! The hallway was no longer unoccupied.

The woman and I stared at each other in the same frozen moment, but I recovered more quickly. By the time she opened her mouth to scream, I was flying through the air toward her.

We tumbled to the ground. The unexpected force knocked the breath out of her so that she didn’t have the chance to cry out. I shoved her facedown on the ground, my knee pressing between her shoulder blades to hold her immobile. She was unable to draw a deep breath even to speak. I was just about to use the leather trim on my bonnet to tie her wrists together when I had an idea.

She was one of the twin females—either Bastet or Amunet—who’d led Mina and the other girl away. I decided I would take her place. Pleased with my plan, I tore a piece of my petticoat away and tied it over her mouth, then bound her ankles together.

Then I pulled her long, black, shapeless shift up and off and tied her wrists together behind her back. This left her clothed in a plain white chemise and her underthings. She might be a little chilled, but it wasn’t completely improper.

It would normally be impossible to undress myself, with all the lacings and buttons that marched up the back of my clothing, as well as the ungainly petticoats. But since I was wearing a costume borrowed from the theater, it was made to be donned and removed more quickly and easily than a normal gown. Why didn’t they make all gowns so simple to wear?

For the finishing touch, I placed my hat, with the red curls attached, on my captive’s head. With my dark hair still pinned in place, anyone would mistake me for her from a distance for a few moments. I tucked my pistol, knife, stake, and other tools into the handy pockets of the tunic.

I was just about to enter the room where Miss Holmes was when I saw a shadow at the other end of the passage. Pix was back, and he looked satisfied. I took that as an indication that he’d “taken care of” the guard.

“No’ bad,” he said, gesturing to my prisoner and taking in the sight of me dressed as her.

I was still furious with him for taking liberties, so I glared. “What are you doing here?”

“Ye can’t go in there alone,” he said, pointing to the chamber.

“I certainly can. And you—if you want to do something useful, you can get all those young women out of here. I’m sure you’ll find at least one of them grateful enough to allow you to kiss her.”

He flashed a grin, then sobered. “Ye can’t go in there alone.”

“If you know who I am, then you know I’m made for this, Pix,” I told him. “This is what I have to do. I’m not helpless. I’m stronger and more capable than any other man or woman—even you. But those young women back in there? They are helpless. They need help. I don’t.”

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he gave a short nod. His lips were a flat line. “A’right. I’ll take ’em an’ Jemmy an’ the other boys out o’ ’ere.”

“What are all those young men doing here, anyway?”

Pix’s eyes grew dark. “She—’e—whoever ’tis—lured ’em in t’work fer ’em. F’the Society. But ’twas a bait and switch, an’ half o’ ’em are opium-eaters now and canna leave. I come t’find Jemmy and bring ’im ’ome.”

“That’s what you were doing at the museum that night, weren’t you? Trying to find him? They were there, weren’t they? The Society and the Ankh.”

“I ’ear things, luv. I ’ear lots o’ things on th’ streets and in th’ stews. Not all of ’em are good. No’ all of ’em ’re true. But sometimes . . .” He shrugged.

“I must go. Thank you, Pix,” I said, surprised how much I meant it. I couldn’t help watching as he slipped off back down the passage. Then I opened the door to the Inner Circle.

No one in the room seemed to notice when I crept inside. I looked around, mentally marking exits, potential weapons, and traps. Unlike the other chamber, this one was well lit. The Arabian thieves’ den decor was nonexistent. The walls were beige, and electric sconces lined the space. Part of the roof was open to the night sky, as if it had been folded back like the pleats in a fan. Above, floating like eerie dark clouds, was a trio of sky-anchors. And beyond them, high in the heavens, was a sprinkling of stars and moonlit gray clouds.

Beneath that opening in the roof was a small dais with four wide steps leading to it on each side. A white table stood at the front, and arranged on it was a long, golden scepter, whose knob was the head of a lion, and an object that looked like a long golden loop with three bars running through it. The sistrum of Sekhmet? Next to the altar was the large statue of Sekhmet we’d seen at the previous gathering. Had Mr. Eckhert really traveled back in time using that thing?

The Ankh stood on the stage. In front of him was a large, ancient book on a small podium, its pages held open by a set of metal fingers. To one side was another table containing several items: a gleaming golden bracelet and a crown; candles suspended in intricate brass and bronze holders contained flames that danced in the night breeze; and golden bowls, cups, flasks, and other utensils. Standing behind the table was a device that resembled a crude skeleton made from metal: it had spindly legs and even spindlier arms. Wires protruded from its body.

Two male guards stood to one side. Although they weren’t identical in appearance, as the female assistants were, the two men wore similar clothing and resembled each other in stance, height, and the darkness of their hair.

Miss Holmes stood nearby, her eyes darting about the room, obviously taking in every detail. She couldn’t see me; I stood far back and to her right. The other young woman who’d been recruited from the opium chamber stood next to her . . . Della Exington, niece of Lord Ramsay. The remaining female attendant stood between the two young women holding a pistol.

The Ankh was reading an incantation, his voice ringing out in a foreign language I assumed was Egyptian. He had his arms spread and looked from the book up to the open night sky and back down again as he chanted.

I eased farther into the room as the Ankh took a pinch of something from one of the smaller bowls and crumbled it into the largest one. He poured a sparkling red liquid from one of the flasks and added another ingredient that looked like small seeds. By then I could smell the pungent scent of something exotic and indefinable. All the while, he chanted, imploring some entity in the sky above.