by Amanda Quick
Griffin drummed his fingers on the mantel. “Regardless, if Caleb Jones suspects that I have used the lamp to stabilize the three talents—”
“The three levels of your one talent.”
“Rather than to reverse the Cerberus process, he will likely err on the side of caution.”
“Do you really think he will attempt to have you killed?”
Griffin shrugged. “It’s the logical thing to do and Jones is nothing if not logical. If I were—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” She silenced him with an impatient wave of her hand. “If you were in his place you would take that sort of drastic step. I told you to stop saying things like that.”
“Sorry.”
She sighed. “Has there always been this enmity and lack of trust between your family and the Joneses?”
“You could say it’s in the blood.” He looked at her. “Earlier, when we were in the wall passage, you said Smith had one of those red crystals when he tried to kidnap you.”
“Yes. He used it to kill the brothel manager.”
“That was several years ago. If those devices had been on the streets all this time I would have heard about them. I would have tried to buy some.”
She frowned. “It would appear that the crystals are useful only to those who possess a fair amount of talent.”
“I know this will come as a great shock, Adelaide, but there are actually some members of the criminal class who are talents.”
She angled her chin. “There is no need for sarcasm, sir. I am well aware of that fact now.” She hesitated. “You told me at our first meeting that very little happens on the streets of London without your knowledge.”
“I may have exaggerated slightly for the sake of my reputation. Nevertheless, I cannot believe that devices as powerful as those crystals could have been floating around in the underworld all this time without coming to my attention.”
“So the question becomes, after thirteen years, why have two more crystals suddenly appeared in the hands of a pair of street thieves?”
“Unfortunately, that is only one of many questions that must be answered, and quickly.”
24
THE KNOCK ON THE CONNECTING DOOR CAME JUST AS SHE finished putting on her nightgown and robe.
She crossed the small space and opened the door. Griffin stood there. He was in his black dressing gown.
“I thought you were going to get some sleep,” she said.
“I attempted to do just that.” His mouth twisted. “Suffice it to say the effort was not a success.”
“I could not sleep, either,” she admitted. “I was thinking about going downstairs and helping myself to a glass of your excellent brandy. What have you been doing?”
“Thinking.” He scrubbed his face in a weary gesture. “Although the brandy may be a more useful idea.”
“You’ve been thinking about the intruders and those gas canisters and crystals?”
“No,” he said. “As it happens, I was reflecting on the night I was shot.”
Surprised, she opened the door wider. “I’m listening.”
He moved into the room as though he had every right to be there. Like a husband, she thought, or a longtime lover. Then, again, it was his house.
“Initially it seemed logical to assume that Luttrell or one of the other brothel owners sent an assassin to the theater to kill you,” he said. “But in view of what occurred here a few hours ago, I am inclined to believe that that assumption was wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if the gunman at the theater went there to kidnap you, not kill you?”
“If that was the case, why did he try to shoot me?”
“Maybe you weren’t the target,” Griffin said. “Maybe he was just trying to stop me from getting to you first.”
A strange shock of understanding went through her. She moved away from the door and sank slowly down onto the dressing table chair.
“I think I see what you mean,” she whispered.
Griffin began to pace the small space. “The episode at the theater was never about the brothel raids. It was about the damned lamp.”
“But who could have known I had the lamp in my possession or that I could work it?” She spread her hands. “Who else besides you would even care about that blasted artifact?”
“The one other person we know for certain has previously displayed a keen interest in both you and the lamp.”
“The man who purchased me when I was fifteen years old,” she whispered. “Mr. Smith.”
“Yes.”
“But I do not know his real identity. He wore a mask that night, so I never even saw his face.”
“You would recognize his dreamprints if you saw them again, though, correct?”
She shuddered. “Yes. But how can we go about finding him?”
“I think I know where to start the hunt.” He started to turn away. He paused. “By the way, you’ll want to pack a bag.”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“Because you and I are going to disappear for a while.”
25
“THEY’RE NOT GOING ON A HONEYMOON, MRS. TREVELYAN,” Delbert growled. “They’re going into hiding.”
“I’m aware of that,” Susan Trevelyan said. She finished wrapping the large wedge of cheese in brown paper. “But there’s no need for them to go hungry.”
“They won’t starve.” Delbert eyed the fresh loaf of bread, the jar of pickles and the apples she had already packed in the bag. “Not with that amount of food.”
“No telling how long they’ll be gone.”
“It’s just for the evenings,” Delbert said. “The Boss can’t really disappear. He has to take care of Consortium business. Got a reputation to protect. He just wants to make certain that no one knows where Mrs. Pyne is at night.”
“I understand.” She positioned the package of cheese in the bag. “But you must admit, it is all rather romantic.”
Delbert frowned. “How in blazes do you figure that?”
“Slipping off together. Spending the night in a secret location, just the two of them. It’s like one of those lovers’ trysts you read about in a sensation novel, don’t you think?”
“Never read a sensation novel.”
“You don’t know what you’ve been missing.”
“No, I reckon I don’t.” Delbert watched her closely. “What about yourself, Mrs. Trevelyan? Do you fancy slipping off for trysts and the like?”
“Heavens, no.” She closed up the canvass bag. “I’m thirty-nine years old and I’ve been in service since the age of ten. I assure you, I gave up romantic notions years ago.”
“What happened to Mr. Trevelyan?”
“There never was a Mr. Trevelyan. I took the title when I applied for my first post as a housekeeper. I thought it made me appear older and more experienced. Of course, now I am considerably older and considerably more experienced. I could probably drop the ‘Missus,’ but I’ve gotten used to it.”
Delbert nodded. “I understand. Time has a strange way of passing, doesn’t it? One day you’re young with all your fine plans for the future. The next you’re in the future and it doesn’t look at all the way you thought it would.”
“What about you, Mr. Voyle? Was there ever a Mrs. Voyle?”
“Yes. A long time ago. Lost her to an infection of the lungs.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
“Would you like some more tea?”
“Yes, please.”
She poured two cups and sat down at the table across from him. Delbert might be a member of the criminal class but there was a solid strength about him that she found inordinately appealing. He also possessed a very manly physique, she thought. A woman would no doubt get lost in those powerful arms.
“Do you ever think about making new plans for a different future?” she asked.
“Too late for that,” Delbert said.
“Yes, I suppose so.�
��
“I think about it sometimes, though,” Delbert said. “You?”
“Sometimes.” She picked up her tea. “But as you said, it’s a bit too late. Dreams are for young people.”
“Not too late for us to make plans for tonight, though.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Strikes me that with the Boss and Mrs. Pyne away for the evening, we’ll have the Abbey to ourselves.”
“Except for Leggett and Jed,” she reminded him.
“Except for them,” he agreed. “But I think they can be persuaded to stay out of our way.”
“What did you have in mind, Mr. Voyle?”
“Some cards in the library, perhaps. And a bit of the Boss’s excellent brandy.”
“Mr. Winters won’t care if you help yourself to his expensive spirits?”
“Got a feeling he’ll have other things on his mind tonight.”
She smiled slowly. “I think you’re right. A game of cards and a spot of brandy sound like a very pleasant way to spend the evening.”
“Not as exciting as a romantic tryst in a secret location.”
“It will do nicely,” she said.
26
“I GOT YOUR MESSAGE.” MR. SMITH CLENCHED THE ARMS OF the chair. “You said there would be no problem obtaining the woman and the artifact. You told me that the two men you planned to hire were specialists in this sort of thing.”
Luttrell leaned back in his chair and contemplated Smith across the broad expanse of the elegantly inlaid desk. Like everything else in the office, the desk was of the finest quality and workmanship. He took a great deal of satisfaction in surrounding himself with only the sort of expensive furnishings and artwork that would have graced the household of a true gentleman. The antiquities on display were all originals, with the exception of the small statue of the Egyptian queen sitting on his desk. But he would soon deal with that issue.
He had come a long way from the gutter in which he had been born. He savored the knowledge.
“There was a small setback last night,” he said.
“You call it a setback?” Smith was outraged. “We had a bargain, Luttrell.”
His name was not really Smith, but until now Luttrell had allowed the polite fiction to stand.
Smith was tall, with angular features, and he carried himself with the sort of irritating upper-class arrogance that could only be bred in the cradle. At one time his hair had probably been quite dark, but it was now almost entirely silver and starting to thin.
He was a powerful talent of some kind but the energy that spiked and pulsed in the atmosphere around him was disturbed and erratic. Luttrell had survived the treacherous waters of London’s underworld long enough to recognize the telltale indications of mental instability when he sensed them.
“Our arrangement still stands,” Luttrell said coldly. “I told you that moving against the Director of the Consortium would be a tricky business. Nevertheless, you have my word that the project will go forward.”
“Winters will be on his guard now.”
“I think it is safe to say that he has been on his guard since the night your very inexperienced young villain botched the attempt to grab Pyne at the theater. That debacle is why you came back to me, remember? You did not know that it was Winters who took her that night. I’m the one who discovered that he was holding her prisoner in his household. Hell, you weren’t even aware that Griffin Winters was the Director.”
“I still find it astonishing to believe that Winters is this notorious crime lord you describe.”
“But now that you know he has taken a great interest in the Pyne woman, everything has changed, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, yes.” Smith clenched his hands into fists. “If the Director truly is Griffin Winters, as you say—”
“He is. We inhabit the same world, Winters and I. We know each other as only two enemies can. Believe me when I tell you that the Director of the Consortium is Griffin Winters.”
“Then, indeed, everything has altered,” Smith whispered hoarsely. “If he was willing to risk his life to protect Adelaide Pyne it can only mean that he has the lamp and needs her to work it.”
“And you want both, Pyne and the lamp.”
“Don’t you see? It is clear now that it is my destiny to succeed where Nicholas Winters and his descendants failed.”
“I’ve got one question,” Luttrell said. “Why did you want Pyne even before you suspected that the lamp had been found?”
Smith bristled. “I had recently concluded that I had another use for a strong dreamlight talent.”
Luttrell’s intuition hummed softly. “Something to do with the red crystals?”
“If you must know, I have gone as far as I can in perfecting them.” Smith moved one hand in an irritated fashion. “But there is a possibility I can make greater advances with the focusing power of the devices if I have the assistance of a strong dreamlight reader. When you told me that Adelaide Pyne had reappeared in London, I thought I could make use of her. But now that I know that both she and the lamp are within reach—”
“I will get the artifact and the lady for you, never fear.”
“What did those two thieves tell you?” Smith demanded. “What went wrong?”
“I have not had an opportunity to speak with the two men who were sent to the Abbey,” he admitted. “They have disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“That tends to happen to those who annoy the Director. It is the reason why I have gone to such great lengths to ensure that there is nothing about this venture that can be traced back to me.” He paused for emphasis. “Or to you, either, of course.”
Smith surged out of the chair and started to prowl the room. “I can assure you that the crystals were not at fault. Each was properly tuned.”
“I have no idea what went wrong,” Luttrell admitted. “Perhaps the vapor canisters did not function properly. All I know is that the two men are missing and will likely never be found.”
He did not add that he had a man searching for the pair just in case they had escaped the Abbey. If they were found they would disappear again immediately. This time into the river. But it was unlikely they would ever turn up. Winters had a reputation, after all.
“There is no cause for alarm,” he continued. “I assure you that I will have both the woman and the artifact by the end of the week.”
Smith halted in front of the desk. “Are you certain?”
Luttrell smiled. “You have my word on it.”
“I had given up hope of ever recovering the lamp, let alone of finding the dreamlight reader again. You have no notion of how long I have waited.”
“You’re wrong,” Luttrell said softly. “I know exactly how long you have waited.”
Smith scowled. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“You acquired the lamp twenty years ago. It took you another six years to locate Adelaide Pyne. You lost them both in a brothel fire.”
Smith’s mouth worked a few times before he recovered from the shock of the statement.
“You know about the brothel fire?” he hissed. “I very nearly died that night.”
“I also know that the only reason you escaped the blaze was because one of the guards fleeing the scene found you unconscious and carried you to safety. He thought you might reward him, you see. Imagine his disappointment when you recovered consciousness and ran off without giving him so much as a penny. Left him with a very bad impression of the upper classes, I’m afraid.”
“I can’t believe you know all this.”
“I make it a practice to know all the secrets of those with whom I do business. By the way, before you leave, I’ll have the new crystal you promised to deliver today.”
Smith’s sallow features reddened with anger. “I’ll thank you not to talk to me as if I were a carpenter or a tailor, Luttrell. I’m a man of science.”
“I seem to be surrounded by scientists these days. The crystal, if you plea
se. The first one you gave me is exhausted. Nothing but dead glass now.”
“I warned you that they do not last long, especially if one attempts to focus a great deal of energy through them,” Smith grumbled.
But he reached into the pocket of his overcoat, took out a red stone and handed it across the desk.
Luttrell took the stone. “I’ll be in touch.”
Smith hesitated, annoyed. It was obvious that he did not like being sent on his way as though he were a tradesman. On the other hand, he was no doubt relieved to escape the company of a man whom he considered his social inferior.
He picked up his hat and let himself out.
Luttrell examined the crystal, excitement pulsing through him. The stone had the bright clarity that indicated that it had never been used. It was the ultimate personal weapon for a man of great talent, he thought, a man like himself.
All things being equal he preferred to do business with those who were sane. Men who hovered on the border of madness were inherently unpredictable. But he was willing to make an exception in Smith’s case.
In addition to his ability to forge the red crystals, Smith possessed one crowning attribute that more than compensated for the state of his mental health. In fact, it made him invaluable: Smith was a member of the General Council of the Arcane Society.
27
“ANOTHER TUNNEL,” ADELAIDE SAID, RESIGNED. “I SHOULD have guessed.”
“Sorry,” Griffin said. He ducked his head to avoid the low stone ceiling of the underground passage. “If there were any other safe way to take you from the Abbey to our destination I would have used it.”
“I understand. Just keep moving.”
Maintaining a swift pace through the underground passage helped, she had discovered. So did elevating her talent. What did not help was the pack she had slung over her shoulder. As she had explained to Griffin, she refused to go into hiding without a change of clothes and a set of silk sheets. Griffin was also carrying a pack. It was considerably heavier than her own but it did not seem to slow him down.
