by Chris Paton
“Yes,” Hari took a step closer to Robshaw.
“Then you must do something for me, for Luise.”
“What must I do?”
“Now that they have the device, that slowing machine, they mean to get rid of its inventor.” Robshaw turned toward Hari. “They mean to kill Luise.”
“Truly?” Hari searched Robshaw’s face for ticks and tells. “You know this?”
“I may have been bullied into the role of messenger and errand boy, but I won’t stand by and let a friend be harmed by foreign thugs.” Robshaw’s lips curled into a snarl. “I courted Luise Hanover for her looks,” he shook his head, “but her brains proved too much for me.” Robshaw gripped Hari’s wrists with his hands. “We were never physical, I did not touch her. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” Hari tilted his head back, away from Robshaw’s face.
“They mean to seek her out. To track her down using some man, someone they have used before.” Robshaw let go of Hari’s hands and stared at Shahin as she stalked around the bloodstained floor. “A Welshman.”
“Blaidd?” The knuckles on Hari’s hands cracked as he tightened his fingers into fists.
“Yes, Blaidd,” Robshaw nodded. “It means wolf, did you know? They mean to set the wolf loose.”
“It won’t be the first time.”
“No, but this time you don’t have Luise’s machine to save her,” Robshaw paused, “if he succeeds.”
“He won’t.” Hari studied the burn mark on his right palm. “Can you tell me anything more?”
“There’s not much more to tell. Only that they intend to use the race as a diversion to get the device out of London.”
“How will they do that?”
“Romney and I will compete against one another. I will win and cross the finish line. She will experience problems with her racer and slip down a side street and out of the city.” Robshaw looked Hari in the eye. “They have a dirigible waiting.”
“A what?”
“An airship. Another German design.”
“Where?”
“In Victoria Park.” Robshaw paused. “There is another in Scotland, if she cannot get into the park.”
“And Romney will race all the way to Scotland?”
“That is the back-up plan, yes. The globus tank that the Germans have fitted on these racers is huge, and the fuel is easily replenished. It can burn anything from twigs and branches to solid lumps of coal.”
“When is the race?”
Robshaw looked out of the window at the first shadows of the evening. Reaching inside his jacket pocket he tugged a watch into the palm of his hand and flipped open the cover. “Preparations will begin at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Hari gripped Robshaw’s wrist and turned it toward him. “Then I have a little under twelve hours to catch a wolf and find Miss Luise’s device.”
“You can’t do both.” Robshaw closed the lid of the watch. “You don’t have time.
“Perhaps not,” Hari let go of Robshaw’s wrist and plucked the watch from the man’s hand. He held it up between finger and thumb. “But a good friend of ours has proved that time is no longer beyond our influence.” Hari smiled and slipped the watch between the outer fold of his turban. He dipped his head and winked at Robshaw. “Good luck with the race.” Hari turned and jogged toward the door.
“The race is rigged,” Robshaw called after him.
“Truly,” Hari waved, “is not everything?”
Robshaw flinched as Shahin flapped her great wings past him and then he was alone in the mill surrounded by the treasonous litter of the Germans.
҉
Romney grazed the knuckles of her left hand on the wet brick wall as she splashed down the alley between the warehouses. She angled her body as the alley narrowed, the bricks pressing against her shoulders, the rusted pipes and empty coal sacks clawing at the heels of her boots. Romney stumbled onto her knees. Her fingers slipped in the mud as she pushed herself onto her feet. She looked up at the darkening sky. She looked behind her, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the slim form of Bremen’s assistant slip inside the alley.
“Where are you running to, little mouse?” Hannah von Ense left her heels at the entrance, the mud squelching between the painted nails of her toes as she picked her way along the alley.
“What do you want with me?” A single tear formed at the corner of each of Romney’s jade green eyes as she slapped the palms of her hands against the metal drums blocking her path.
“You know what we want, Romney, dearest.” Hannah closed the gap between them, stopping a sack’s length in front of Romney. “What you do best. To race. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Hannah tucked her elbows into her slim hips and held her forearms locked straight in front of her. Romney stared at the razor tips lining the edges of each of the woman’s brass knuckles. Hannah followed the direction of Romney’s gaze to her fists. “Wicked,” she licked her lips, “aren’t they?”
“You’re...” Romney hesitated.
“Talented? I know.”
“I’ll come quietly,” Romney shivered.
“It’s a little too late for that.” Hannah slid her right foot forward. Opening her right hand, she lunged forward and closed her fingers around Romney’s left wrist. She tugged the steamracer off balance and slid the sleeve of Romney’s jacket upward, exposing freckled skin. Hannah made two quick incisions with the knuckles in her left hand. Romney screamed.
“Why?” Romney pressed her right hand upon the wound.
Hannah shrugged, “A reminder.” Gripping Romney by the collar of her leather jacket, Hannah pulled her close. Pressing her lips against Romney’s ear, she whispered, “Something to make you sweat at night.” Hannah tugged at Romney’s ear lobe with her teeth and then thrust the steamracer in front of her. She gripped the waistband of Romney’s trousers in her fist and pushed her back up the alley and into the road.
“You found her then?” Armbrüster opened the doors of the steam carriage. Hannah rolled her eyes and pushed Romney up the steps and into the carriage.
“Take us to the starting line.” Hannah stepped into the carriage. “And get my heels.” The carriage rocked as she closed the door behind her.
҉
Bulbs of slow burning sodium crystals hung from flamboyant chandeliers above Egmont in the plush-carpeted hallway. At the other end, far from where he stood waiting, Egmont was observed by two of the queen’s senior courtiers. He ignored them and concentrated on standing at ease while the queen’s corgis sniffed at the steam piffing out of the Admiral’s leg.
“Stop it,” Egmont growled. He flicked the tip of the limb at the nearest dog. The corgi ruffed and wiggled its behind into the plush carpet. Paws outstretched, it waited for the Admiral’s next move.
“Admiral Egmont.” The taller of the two courtiers approached Egmont and gestured to the thick oak doors behind him. “I see you have met the queen’s pups.”
“They’ve shrunk since last time I saw them.”
“Shrunk?” The courtier laughed. “Died is what they did. These are new.” He pushed opened the doors. “And a damned nuisance if you ask me, or any of the house staff.”
“You’re not as staid as the last lot of courtiers I met. Did they die too?”
“Retired,” the courtier smiled. “My name is Marsland. Has it been a long time since you were here last, Admiral?”
“Forty-six years,” Egmont followed Marsland to the end of the receiving room.
Marsland stopped at the door to the Blue Drawing Room. “Forty-six years? If I may ask, why have you not been here since?”
“That,” Egmont smoothed the tails of his dress uniform, “is a very good question.” He leaned closer to the courtier. “How would you describe Her Majesty’s mood today, Marsland?”
Marsland smiled. “Her Majesty is in a playful mood today, Admiral.”
Egmont rolled his eyes. “Then it is just my luck to put an end to that.” He straightened as
Marsland placed his hands on the doorknobs of the drawing room doors. “How do I look, Marsland?”
Marsland stepped back to take in the tight-fitting cut of Egmont’s dress uniform. “You look splendid, Admiral.”
“Then let’s get this over with.”
Marsland turned the doorknobs and pushed the doors open fully. Stepping forward, he stopped in front of Egmont, bowed and clasped his hands behind his back. “Admiral Egmont, to see Her Majesty.”
Egmont stumped forward as Marsland stepped to one side. He stopped and bowed as the corgis came tumbling in through the drawing room doors.
“Ah, Admiral. Do come in.” Queen Victoria sat on the edge on her chair and fussed the dogs as they rushed to greet her. “You can leave us, Marsland.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.” Marsland winked at Egmont as he left the drawing room and closed the doors.
“Now then, Admiral,” the queen gestured at the chair opposite hers. “It has been such a long time. I believe it was King William who received you last. Am I correct?”
“Yes, your Majesty.” Egmont paused at the side of the armchair as the bolder of the two corgis worried at his leg.
“Stop that Spick,” the queen reached forward and shooed at the dog. Egmont sat down. “They are such devils,” she smiled. “Now, what is this all about?”
“A conspiracy, I am afraid.”
“Ooh, I do enjoy a good story. Who are the main characters?” The queen played tug-of-war with the smaller corgi. Tiny feathers burst out of the small embroidered cushion clamped between the dog’s teeth. “Naughty dog,” the queen tugged the cushion free of the corgi and tossed it into the corner of the room. She laughed as the corgis raced after it.
“It’s not a story, your Majesty. It is all too true.”
“Really?” The queen turned away from the dogs and gave the Admiral her full attention. “And the characters, are they real too?”
“Only too real, I am afraid.”
“Might I soon hear more about them, or are you keeping me intentionally in suspense, Admiral?”
“One of the main characters involved is...” Egmont paused.
“Yes?”
“Is a Hanover, your Majesty.”
“A Hanover?” The queen’s shoulders sagged as she slumped back into the armchair.
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
҉
Beads of rain collected upon the shoulders of Jenkins’ carriage coat as he waited for Smith and Luise to lock the laboratory door. He flicked his eyes at the night sky, leaned back against the back of the driver’s bench and retreated beneath the brim of his bowler hat. He didn’t see the dark shape steal around the back of the carriage and open the side door.
“I’m not sure why I am bothering to lock the door, Mr. Smith.” Luise slipped the key into the pocket of her jacket. Receiving her satchel from Smith, she tugged at the shoulder strap as he escorted her the short distance from the pavement to the carriage.
“If anyone does climb through the broken window, they will find little more than the mess made by the previous intruder, Miss Hanover.”
“The man who shot me.”
“Yes,” Smith opened the door to the carriage and held out his hand to help Luise up the steps.
Luise stopped at the steps and looked at Smith. “Did we ever learn his name?”
“His name is Blaidd.”
Luise whirled at the voice coming from inside the dark interior of the carriage. She peered inside. “Hari?”
“Yes,” Hari twisted the dial of the sodium lamp and reached out to help Luise inside.
“Hari, it is you,” Luise beamed as she flopped onto the cushioned bench beside him. “But where is...”
“Shahin?” Hari pulled down the window and stuck his arm out into the rain. Shahin swooped down to the carriage and he whistled the hawk onto his wrist.
“There she is,” Luise smoothed the hawk’s feathers with the tips of her fingers as Hari pulled her inside the carriage.
“I think we will have to find a new driver,” Smith grumbled as he clambered inside. “Jenkins makes for a lousy lookout if he failed to spot you.” Smith wiped the rain from his balding scalp with the sleeve of his coat. He smiled at Hari. “It’s good to see you again, Hari Singh.”
“Truly,” Hari dipped his head, “it is good to be back.”
“Now then,” Smith rapped his knuckles on the wall of the carriage. “Time to be off.”
“We don’t appear to be moving, Mr. Smith.” Luise stopped stroking Shahin and placed her satchel on the bench. “Perhaps if I go and wake him up?”
“Wait, Miss Luise,” Hari placed his hand on her arm. Luise’s pupils dilated into soft black orbs as Hari caught her eye. “Will you hold onto Shahin for a moment?” Hari gently pulled Luise’s arm straight and guided Shahin onto her wrist. “It helps if you tuck the fist of your free hand behind your elbow, like this,” Hari repositioned Luise’s hand, his fingers lingering on her skin. “I will check on Jenkins.” Luise looked up as Hari removed his hand and stepped smartly out of the carriage.
Luise watched as Hari leaped lightly to the ground. She flinched as Shahin pecked at her fingers. “Ow.”
“I have heard that females can be a little protective of their males,” Smith smiled in the soft light of the carriage interior.
“Female hawks or...”
“Just females,” Smith’s smile grew into a chuckle which he hid behind a cough.
Hari leaned into the carriage. “I am going to close the door for a moment. Stay inside.”
“Is something wrong, Hari?” Smith stopped coughing.
“I am not sure.” Hari closed the door and disappeared from view.
Padding to the front of the carriage, Hari pulled himself quietly up and onto the bench beside Jenkins. He stopped, casting a wide look around the carriage, up and down the road and along the rooftops to both sides. The rain trickled down Hari’s cheeks as he leaned forward and prodded the driver in the shoulder with the knuckles of his left hand.
“Jenkins,” Hari hissed.
The driver’s body slid slowly sideways. Hari gripped his arm and pulled him upright. Jenkins slumped forward and lay flat upon the steering wheel. The moon slipped free of the rainclouds in the night sky and lit the small object standing proud in the driver’s back. Hari grasped the object in his right hand and tugged it free. With a quick glance up and down the road Hari looked down at the butterfly knife in his hand.
“Blaidd,” he whispered.
Chapter 12
The Greater London Derby, Horse Guards Road
London, England
May, 1851
Geysers of steam and clouds of smoke drifted from one side of the road to the other, filming the windows of steam carriages and wooden caravans with a layer of soot. Romney stumbled between the carriages and trailers as Hannah pushed her toward the largest caravan, distanced from the rest by a cordon of men and equipment. Three broad steps led from the trampled grass to a wooden deck and the door of Bremen’s caravan. Hannah jerked Romney to a full stop outside the door with a firm grip upon the waistband of her trousers.
“Wait here. I’ll let you know when you can come in.” Hannah followed Romney’s furtive looks to either side of the caravan. She gripped the wound on the racer’s arm. “Do I have to remind you of what happens when you run off?” The red bangs curling from her hair obscured her eyes as Romney shook her head. “Good.” Hannah let go of Romney’s arm. “Wait here.”
Romney forced herself to look through the door as Hannah walked up to Bremen’s desk and leaned over her employer to whisper in his ear. The wet gauze on Bremen’s face glistened in the lamplight as he turned to look at Hannah. His left eye flickered from Hannah to focus on Romney. The skin around Bremen’s right eye was inflamed, the eye socket burned black and weeping. Romney shuddered.
“Come in, Fräulein Wallendorf,” Bremen leaned around Hannah and beckoned Romney with a wave of his bandaged hand. Romney stepped through th
e door and walked to Bremen’s desk. “Quite a sight, eh?”
“What happened?” Romney let her hair fall in front of her eyes.
“A little accident with my cane,” Bremen pointed at the black shaft with the ivory pommel leaning against the bookshelf opposite the desk. “In my enthusiasm,” Bremen chuckled, “I over-amplified the charge.”
“You should have the doctor come and change those dressings,” Hannah reached out to lift the corner of the gauze covering the right side of Bremen’s face.
“It can wait, Hannah,” Bremen pushed his assistant’s hand away. He turned to Romney. “Your friend Robshaw arrived about an hour before you did. He is resting before the race. I suggest you do the same.” He pointed at the door behind him. “There is a soft bed made up in the room behind me. Get some rest. We will go over the route in the morning.”
Taking a single step toward the door, Romney hesitated.
“Yes?” Hannah walked around the desk. “Do you need an escort to the bedroom?”
“No,” Romney took a step away from Hannah. “I was...”
“You were what?” Bremen rested his bandaged hand on the arm of the chair.
“I don’t understand why all this is happening.” She pointed at Bremen’s face. “Why you look like that. Why she attacked me.”
“Hannah attacked you?”
“Yes.” Romney’s lower lip trembled.
“My dear Romney,” Bremen stood up. He gestured for her to come closer. Putting his arm around her shoulders, Bremen steered Romney to the bedroom door. “You are a long way from home, all of a sudden, and I am sure it is all a little bewildering. But,” he squeezed her shoulder, “it will all become clear in the morning, and, come the evening, you will be on your way home to Frankfurt.”
“You’re sending me home?”
“Of course,” Bremen smiled and reached forward to open the bedroom door. “To tell you the truth, it will be best if you were out of the public eye for a while, after the race. Besides, in Germany you won’t be pestered by British reporters wanting a comment as to how you lost the race.”
