True to his word, a damp mist swirled about the car within minutes. Violet and I shivered under the scratchy, woolen throw she unearthed, the boys huddled in their overcoats, and all of us retreated into an uneasy silence. I entertained glorious thoughts of rescuing everyone and seeing them safely home. Violet cracked her knuckles as she fretted for Nic. Marcus was probably making contingency plans for everything from fire to flood. And Sebastian?
Well, Sebastian’s always up for an adventure.
The minutes ticked by on the various pocket watches until I could no longer feel the end of my nose.
“I could really use a h-h-h-ot toddy,” Violet said, sounding more irked than pathetic, “and this damp cannot be good for Penny.”
“I’m fine,” I lied before Marcus could lodge a similar protest. A soft noise danced across the water, equal parts foghorn and steam whistle, and I peeked over Sebastian’s shoulder. “What was that?”
“The boat is here,” he said. “Mind where you put your feet. The cobblestones are slippery.”
The moment I stepped down from the car, I spotted the ghostly apparition gliding toward us through the mist. Painted in shades of gray and palest yellow, the Palmipède was nearly indistinguishable from the fog. No lights illuminated the exterior of the vessel. The only sound to mark her progress was the gentle slosh-slap of water against her sides.
“It’s not anything like I imagined.” I shifted from one foot to the other, impatient to be aboard.
“What did you expect?” Sebastian retorted. “For her to glide out of the fog like a waterborne circus spectacular?”
If I didn’t know him better, I would have thought he sounded nervous. “Strung stem to stern with colored lanterns, perhaps accompanied by flash trays and shooting stars?”
Sebastian tucked my hand in his elbow, a return to his usual gallantry. “We’ll save that sort of thing for your next birthday celebration, all right?”
“If we make it to my next birthday.”
The moment the vessel glided to a halt, silent workmen bridged the space between boat and dock with a short gangplank. We stepped aboard single file and followed Sebastian to a small door where he silently withdrew a hundred aureii from his pocket and paid our admission fee.
“Take this.” He pressed a similar stack of coins into my gloved hand. “You’re going to need pocket money.”
“You know I haven’t any talent for the cards.” The hallway stretched out before us, its darkness tempered only by the dull red glow of a lantern hanging at the far end. One step, two, three . . . I bumped into Sebastian’s back when he paused to open the inner door.
“Live without limits, my dear Penny,” he advised, leading me inside.
Here was the circus. Light and color and noise exploded around me. Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, causing jewels to wink from coiffures, slim throats, and white-gloved wrists. Polished wood gleamed against flocked velvet wallpaper that was darker than blood. Chance wheels were spun, cards shuffled, and dice thrown under the scented haze of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke. Waiters threaded through the assembled patrons with trays of brandies and imported cigars, and I very much hoped that Marcus’s undercover officers could be counted among the men and women crowded into the room.
The boys shrugged off their outer coats, and we all handed our wraps to a servitor. Marcus drew us into the corner nearest the bar, identifying possible threats.
“I don’t see any of the Ferrum Viriae aboard yet,” he said. “We’re not staying if we don’t have backup.”
“Perhaps they’re just doing a better job blending in than you are,” Sebastian said. “Do try to relax, there’s a good chap. Your posture is a dead giveaway.”
With a flicker of a scowl, Marcus loosened up his jaw and his shoulders. “That better?”
“Marginally,” Sebastian said. “You still look as though you forgot to take the hanger out of your coat before putting it on. Think happy thoughts, if you please.”
“Kittens.” Violet undercut the suggestion with an assassin’s gaze. None of us believed Nic would be concealed aboard the boat, but she looked as ready to wring information from someone as she had back in the interrogation room. The wicked smile that followed confirmed my suspicion. “Multicolored light refractions and double-horned narwhals.”
“Madame, I will have you know I have never in my life entertained a single thought that included narwhals.” Opening a slim silver case, Marcus extracted a cigarette. I’d never seen him smoke, but I had to admit, it did play into the part of debonair, devil-may-care gentleman.
Sebastian held out his monogrammed gold lighter before Marcus could locate his own. “There’s no use standing about like a brace of pheasants asking for the shot. We need to mingle and see what information we can glean. What game will you have, Penny?”
Mama’s dress felt a bit tight around my ribs when I tried to take a deep breath. “The wheel it is.”
We stepped out, Sebastian at my right elbow and Marcus escorting Violet. Everyone was suspect in my eyes: the demoiselle in the peacock-blue gown settling into a card game, the group of five young men raucously knocking back liquor at the bar, the mutton-chopped servitor gliding ahead of us as we crossed to the felt-covered tables. Sorting out the wheat from the chaff would be a tricky business.
Swearing under my breath, I dropped a golden aureii on the felt. “White, please.”
The attendant moved my money to a mother-of-pearl plate and spun the wheel. “Stakes, ladies and gentlemen. Place your final stakes.”
Others dropped bills and coins on either the white square or the onyx black. The attendant dropped an ivory ball into the wheel and announced, “Bets closed.”
Watching it spin in a sickening circle, I knew differently.
All bets are off.
The ball whirled around and around the wheel, dancing in and out of the black-and-white slots before finally settling into place.
“White,” the attendant declared, returning my coin to me along with its twin.
I pressed both of them back into his hand and lowered my voice. “Perhaps you could help me locate someone? We’re seeking a man with a talent for making discreet business arrangements.”
The attendant kept the tip but answered my query with a blank stare. “My deepest apologies, Miss, but you’d do better to seek the help of a reputable employment agency. Would you care to place another bet?” He turned to the group and raised his voice. “Place your stakes, please.”
I set my coin on black this time and addressed Sebastian behind my fan. “That was less helpful than I’d hoped.”
“Only your first query. And it’s early yet.”
The ball landed on black; I’d won again. Far from pleased, I accepted my winnings with a curt nod of thanks and moved away from the table. “Time to circulate.”
A quick glance put Marcus and Violet at the Speculations table, so we headed for the dice. I winced when someone jostled me on our way across the room.
Sebastian acted as human shield, guiding me to the far corner of the bar. “You’re still hurting.”
I didn’t respond, taking a careful seat at the counter.
“I have something that ought to help.” He held up a hand to signal a waiter. “A bottle of Effervescence, please.”
It arrived within seconds, cork popped and glasses filled over low murmurs of “There you are, sir,” and “If there’s anything else you desire, please let me know.” Sebastian waved him off with a practiced flick of fingers and extracted a vial from his pocket. Cobalt glass glinted in the light from the chandelier.
“What is it?” I had to inquire, seeing as how it lacked a label. “And where did you acquire it?”
“It’s called Quick-Heal, and I discovered it on one of my many and varied adventures abroad. Experimental but effective.” Unscrewing the lid, Sebastian added three drops of the dark tincture to my Effervescence. The medicine broke against the bubbles and twirled through the liquid like a clockwork balleri
na dancing on copper tiptoes.
“Should it be mixed with alcohol?” I asked as he handed me the glass.
“That actually helps with delivery to the circulatory system,” he said with a professional nod.
“Thank you, Doctor Stirling. Be certain to send me your bill.” I raised the flute and toasted him before taking a hesitant sip. At first, I could taste nothing save the sweet tang of the sparkling wine, but within seconds, I could imagine the grapes themselves, the vine on which they’d flourished, the sunshine and wind and rain and dirt in which they’d grown. My pulse sped up by my second sip; this time, I tasted oak aging barrels with the undertones of caramel and vanilla and smoke that my father had always described. Dazed, I closed my other hand around the bottle and slid the Quick-Heal into my reticule. “I’m going to keep the rest of this, if you don’t mind. With the week I’ve been having, I’ll probably need it.”
Sebastian cheerfully clinked his crystal flute against mine. “In a few minutes, you ought to feel well enough to swim to Meridia.”
A bit unsteadily, I crossed to the nearest gaming table. The smallest of details now loomed large in my eyes. Every whisper was a scream in my ear. The man to my left tossed the dice, and they rolled with a clatter to the far end. A loss, so the crowd groaned and money moved like partners changing in a waltz. I reached out and captured the dice before anyone else could claim them. My throw sent them dancing down the felt to a win.
A second toss, another win.
A third.
Somewhere between the fat stack of silver denarii pushed my way and the fourth throw, I finished my glass of sparkling Quick-Heal. Another toss of the dice and yet another win. It was as though Sebastian’s beloved Lady Luck wished to make up for the chaos and heartache by lining my pockets, but the weight of the coins did nothing to fill the emptiness inside me. More people gathered about us, heads tilted back with laughter, garish silks and jewels on display. Leering gentlemen leaned over my shoulder to toss money onto the table. Looking around, I found myself trapped in a stained-glass window, locked inside the lurid colors, light pouring through me, all substance drained away.
“Steady there,” Sebastian’s voice was low in my ear, close enough to ruffle the curls on the back of my neck. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”
“Right,” I said slowly. When the attendant passed me yet another stack of coins, I left a golden aureii in his hand. “We wondered if there was someone we could speak to about a special hire.”
The attendant glanced over at Sebastian and then nodded. “Might be. The boss occasionally arranges jobs of a delicate nature.”
Luck was with us again, it seemed. “And is he aboard this evening?” I ventured.
“He is.” When the attendant paused, I gave a second gold coin into his keeping. With the smallest of bows, he tilted his head at a hallway to our left and said, “Private Room Seven, the owner’s suite. But you’ll have to hurry. He usually leaves at midnight, and it’s nearly that now.”
A glance at the clock revealed there was only a minute or two until everything was pumpkins and lost glass slippers. Marcus and Violet were wholly absorbed in a conversation with the doorman. I had to decide: charge ahead without them or risk losing the fox in this hunt.
“Wait!” came Sebastian’s strained protest from behind me, but the combination of adrenaline and Quick-Heal sent me skimming down the hallway as though my heels had wings. Rucking up my skirts as I ran, I pulled the pistols from their holsters. Closed doors alternated on either side, and it took me only seconds to reach Private Room Seven. Skipping over the nicety of knocking, I kicked it in and entered with arms extended, guns cocked and ready to fire.
The room was empty except for polished wood and expensive antiques. Moving carefully, I checked behind the bar and the larger pieces of furniture, but our quarry wasn’t hiding in any of the corners. Disappointment spiraled through me.
“Damn all the Bells, that attendant lied to us.” Lowering my guns, I exhaled through my nose and tried to slow my hammering pulse. “He’s not here.”
Sebastian closed the door behind him, slid a key into the lock, and turned it with a horrible finality. “Yes, he is.”
I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. That I was looking at the owner of the Palmipède. That I had indeed met up with the man responsible for hiring the sneak thieves, for arranging the break-ins at Glasshouse and the Bibliothèca. All the blood drained from my head, but I still lifted both pistols and aimed at his chest. The barrels wavered a bit because my hands shook, and I prayed he wouldn’t reach for his own guns. “You should start explaining.”
“You want answers,” Sebastian said smoothly, taking a step toward me, “and I want you to put the weapons down. One must happen before the other, pony before the cart.”
We exchanged a long look, my gaze trapped by the blinding blue of his eyes. Friend, companion, cohort—but what possible explanation could he make for his actions? I owed it to him to listen. I owed it to myself to proceed with the utmost caution. By inches, I lowered the pistols . . .
Just far enough to shoot him once in the leg. Trying to avoid any major arteries, I aimed so the bullet grazed his left thigh. Eyes widening with shock, Sebastian dropped his walking stick and reached into his coat for his guns, forcing me to fire again, this time at his knee. Crippled by pain, he crumpled to the ground.
In half a heartbeat, I stood over him, pressing the point of my shoe into the uppermost wound. “Pull out your MAGs, Sebastian, and give them over. If you so much as twitch a finger toward the trigger, I’ll aim higher and shoot again.”
Silently, he reached into his coat and pulled out both guns.
“Toss them aside,” I ordered him. When he complied, I stepped back immediately, giving him tacit permission to clutch at his leg. “Now explain to me how you got caught up in this mess. When did you start working for Warwick?”
Groaning, Sebastian pressed his hands over the oozing bullet holes. “I’m going to bleed to death. You need to call for a doctor.”
“They’re flesh wounds. And luckily for you, I have a bottle of amazingly potent healing fluid in my reticule. You can have it, just as soon as you sing me a little song.” Thinking about the blue glass bottle, I added, “You got the Quick-Heal from Warwick, didn’t you?”
“He’s been tweaking the formula for months,” Sebastian admitted, his face pale. “To use when he swaps out your old Ticker for the new one.”
“Have you been working for him all that time? Arranging for his escape? Setting up the burglaries at Glasshouse and the Bibliothèca? Nearly killing Nic in that damned explosion at the factory?” Remembering my brother lying in the ruins of his office, I found it difficult to keep my voice even. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“It was a distraction!” Words spurted from his mouth. “He wasn’t supposed to be there. Warwick never wanted to hurt him.”
“But he’s hurt so many people. Why, Sebastian? Why would you help him?”
He gave a short laugh, one entirely lacking in mirth. “Do you have any idea how much money people would pay to live beyond their time? There’s a fortune to be made in Augmentation, my dear. You know I never let a profitable business opportunity pass me by.” With great effort, he started to stand.
I leveled the pistols at his chest. “Don’t move.” He didn’t stop. Every dragging step was a struggle, but still he came at me. “I mean it.” I took another step back. “Damn it, I don’t want to kill you, Sebastian!”
“That’s the genius of it all.” He gifted me with his lady-killer smile, except now it was the sort that strangled women and left them in alleyways. “You’re not going to kill me, Penny.” Giving me a wide berth, he made slow and terrible progress to the far wall. With the pull of a lever and a soft grunt of effort, he opened a hatch. A small rowboat was moored to the side of the Palmipède. Beyond that extended a black canvas unrelieved by lantern or lamplight. “You’re going to get in the boat and let me take you
to Warwick.”
“Like hell I will.”
“He’s going to fix your Ticker. Nic and your parents are waiting for you.”
I stepped toward Sebastian, but only so I could take better aim. “Where’s he keeping them?”
“Get in the boat.”
Finally losing my patience, I shouted, “Tell me where he’s keeping them!”
Hands hammering at the door distracted us both, and the wood-muffled cry of “Penny!” came from the far side in two-part harmony.
“Stirling, what’s going on in there?” Marcus shouted, following that with a vehement kick to the door.
Sebastian lunged for me. Had I fired then, at close range with the guns aimed at his chest, I surely would have killed him. But if I wouldn’t pull the trigger, I wasn’t going to let him turn the weapons on me either. I twisted in his grasp and threw them as hard as I could out the open hatch. They hit the water with twin splashes. Looking out at the limitless darkness, I was momentarily tempted by Sebastian’s insanity, by how comforting it would be to reunite with my family, to have my Ticker fixed, to see this come to an end.
Still trapped in the hallway, Marcus ceased pounding on the door. “I’m setting explosive charges,” he warned through the wood. “Move back!”
“Get in the boat, Penny!” Sebastian urged again.
The wall behind us blew inward, showering everything with splinters. I could resist, or I could jump.
When I ducked under Sebastian’s arm, his own forward momentum and my swift shove launched him out the escape hatch. I pulled the hatch shut with a heave and a gasp as Marcus and Violet emerged from a cloud of plaster dust, weapons raised.
“Where is he?” Marcus demanded.
“Learning the finer points of rowboat operation,” I answered, pushing past him and heading back into the hall. “Have him followed. He’s working for Warwick.”
“I’ll wring his highborn neck!” Then Violet let loose with a string of profanity the likes of which I hoped never to hear again.
Marcus only blinked once and muttered, “I was afraid of that,” before relaying the information via his RiPA.