Cold Stone & Ivy Book 2: The Crown Prince (The Empire of Steam)

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “Life is a wondrous mystery.” He turned, greatcoat billowing like a cloak. “Come along dogs, Miss Savage. Come to heel!”

  With a sigh she followed, dragging her heart through the snow toward Lasingstoke.

  ***

  It took some time to reload the rifle attachment. He was, after all, a left-handed man and now that arm was reduced to a mass of intertwining cables, shafts, pulleys and copper wire. But once loaded, the clockwork rifle was a remarkable device. He was certain he would like it once he learned to shoot.

  He was standing behind the little house called Fifth on the southwestern corner of the estate. It was an old stone building surrounded by wild roses and gooseberry bushes, with a low roof and small windows. It was also abandoned, making it perfect for target practice. He had shattered first the windows, then the gooseberries and was moving on to the roses, their winter hips a dark red contrast against the whiteness of the snow.

  “Good shot, sir,” said VINCE, the Hall’s automaton.

  He grunted, raised his arm toward the bushes and fired just as two figures appeared in his line of sight. The first yanked the other backwards as roses shattered where a head had been.

  “Damn.” Christien Jeremie St. John de Lacey lowered his arm, smoke curling from the end like a serpent.

  “Thank you Miss Savage,” gasped Sebastien. “That would’ve taken my head clean off. Christien, you took out the rose hips most admirably!”

  “I was aiming for you.”

  “Is that a pistol attachment like Bertie’s? By Jove, it can shoot! What is the caliber?”

  He jogged up and Christien shook his head. His brother was worse than a bloody dog. No matter how many times kicked, he kept coming back. Sebastien was convinced they would be fast friends one day. Christien was convinced he’d kill himself before he let that happen.

  The latch of VINCE’s head was open with rifles, golf clubs and copper hands protruding from the top. Christien removed the rifle attachment with a twist and plucked out an aluminium hand, began the delicate process of attaching it to the copper shafts that formed his wrist.

  “How are you this morning, Christien?” asked Ivy as she stepped out of the bushes.

  He managed to keep his face expressionless. He’d always been able to mask his emotions and it seemed nothing had changed in that regard. He was a master still.

  “Fine, as always, Ivy.”

  “Why are you shooting?”

  “Because I do terrible things with a knife, I’m told.”

  She looked down at the snow. She was pretty and smart and had cut out his heart long before she cut off his arm. Truth be told, he didn’t miss the heart.

  “Do you still speak to Valerie?” asked Sebastien.

  “Valerie?” Christien glanced up. “Marie-Valerie?”

  “Of the Gilded Habsburgs. Yes, that is the one.”

  He stared at his brother for a long moment then released a breath, studied the fingers of his metal hand as they flexed and curled.

  “In fact, I’ve only today received a letter in the post. She’s invited me to a dinner party in Vienna tomorrow.” He looked up, keeping his face neutral. “I would like to borrow the airship.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Sebastien. “I’ll tag along, if I may?”

  “Why?”

  “I just drew twin eagles in the snow. That’s the Habsburg Coat of Arms, yes?”

  “Oh god,” muttered Christien. “I must learn to shoot straight.”

  “Oh you will!” said Sebastien. “I know you will! You’ll be a crackerjack shot in no time with that marvelous contraption!”

  “Then I shall shoot you and not the rose hips.”

  Sebastien laughed and clapped his brother on the arm before turning toward Ivy.

  “Have you ever been to Austria, Miss Savage? You will love it, most certainly. We’ll collect our bags at the Hall then set off for Vienna at once. It’ll take a day, I’d wager. Hmm, given your stomach for air travel, you might need a very large pot.”

  He whirled and set off in the direction of Lasingstoke Hall, dogs bounding at his heels. Slowly, Christien slipped a black glove over the prosthetic and made a fist, the leather squeaking tight. He slid his eyes in her direction.

  “A day contained on an airship with the Mad Lord of Lasingstoke and the London Ripper,” he purred. “Poor Ivy. Do you think you’ll make it to Vienna in one piece?”

  She swallowed.

  He turned to follow his brother, not sparing a glance at the speechless young writer, nor the rose bush dripping red onto the snow.

  ***

  Mayerling Hunting Lodge,

  Vienna Woods, Austria

  It was night and quiet in the lodge, save for the crackling of the fire and the sound of sighing, sad and soft, from the bed.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Rudy,” said a young voice. “You tried your best.”

  “Indeed, my love.” A man’s voice now and he reached for his cigarette case on the bedside table. “But trying doesn’t matter in my world. Only success and power and I have lost both.”

  “But you haven’t lost me.” And she pushed up onto his chest, smiling at him with sleepy eyes.

  He stroked her hair. Barely seventeen, she was a beauty. A Greco-Austrian Baroness betrothed to a Portuguese prince. He opened the case, lifted a cigarettello to his lips and struck a match, inhaling several times before the stick caught. He blew a long stream of smoke into the dark and smiled.

  He was not even remotely Portuguese.

  “I will never lose you Mary,” he said. “I would lose the Empire before I lose you.”

  “You still have Hungary.” She laid her chin on her hand, caressed his chest. “You could be king in Hungary.”

  “My father would never forgive me for being his equal not his puppet.”

  “All the more reason to do it.”

  He stared off to watch the flames dwindle in the hearth. He would need to build it up soon. There was a bitter wind howling tonight and the windows did little to stop the force.

  “I will take the Archelicht with me as a gift to the Hungarians. ”

  “Archelicht,” she cooed and her eyes shone with mischief. She was just a girl. “Can it really bring people back from the dead?”

  “That is the rumor, my darling. My mother insists it can, but well,” he exhaled and the smoke curled above him in the rafters. “You know my mother. She wants to use it to bring glory back to the Magyars, to restore Hungary to its former heights. Wilhelm wants to use it to spin rooms into gold and power his Iron Soldiers. Sophie wants it to bring back her childhood. Everyone wants this little trinket.”

  “What about you, Rudy?”

  He gazed down at her. Anything was possible with this girl. She was iron as she was silk. He loved her more than life. Or death.

  “All I know is that, because of Archelicht, I now have more gold than any Holy Roman cathedral or unholy Austrian bank.”

  The girl pushed up on his chest, eyes awake now and dancing. “I want to see it.”

  “In the morning.”

  “No. Now. Let me see it,” and she pouted. She had beautiful lips, a part of her allure and she knew it. “It must be magical.”

  His moustache twitched and he leaned in to kiss her, let it linger long and sweet. “Not as magical as you, Mary.”

  “Still…” The girl, Mary, stroked his face. “I wish to see it, Rudy. Please.”

  She was the most exquisite creature he had ever known.

  “For you, anything. You know I cannot stand against your whims.”

  The man, Rudolf, rose to his feet and crossed the floor towards the dressing room. He was wearing nothing but a linen shirt that fell past his hips. He was perfectly at ease. With Mary, he never needed to hide. In Mayerling, he was home.

  It was for the most part, a hunting lodge, with hides on the floors and antlers on the walls. The bedroom was the same, with a mirror framed in rough wood and a tapestry that hung from the ceiling. The wardro
be was easily the oldest thing in the lodge, its patina nicked but gleaming with age. He slid open its doors to reveal a pistol case cast in the twin eagles of the House of Habsburg, several vials of clear liquid and an antiquated hex-nut keypad. He punched a code with one hand and stood back, holding the cigarettello in the other. The thin trail of smoke flickered as high above, the raftered ceiling echoed with the sound of grinding gears.

  The wardrobe began to move.

  Mary sat up on the bed, clutching a sheet to her chest as a strange eerie light shone across her face.

  Behind the wardrobe, the wall slid aside to reveal a room that glowed with unnatural light. The walls, floor and ceiling had once been paneled wood but now were gleaming gold. The room was entirely empty, save for a pedestal in the centre that had the shape of marble but now shone with the brilliance of liquid amber. On the pedestal sat a glass bell jar and inside the bell, a locket.

  It was a clockwork locket, fashioned from brass, copper, silver and gold, each tiny gear a different metal, spinning in connected but opposing directions like a watch. It was housed in a polished glass orb, oblong as opposed to round, like a raindrop or a tear. Encircling the orb were rings of brass, copper, silver and gold and at the bottom apex, a pin.

  Rudolf Franz Karl Joseph, Archduke and Crown Prince of Austria, Hungary and Bohemia turned and held out his hand.

  “Come and see her, my darling. The greatest treasure in all of Europe.”

  She rose to her feet and crossed the cold floor, dragging the sheet behind her like a robe. Lights and colour flashed from the glass, creating a kaleidoscope across her face.

  “This,” he purred, exhaling the smoke yet again. “Is Arclight.”

  Chapter 2

  Of Borrowed Dresses, Bad Ideas and the Airship Chevalier of Lasingstoke

  Penny Dreadful and the Villain of Vienna

  “The Crown Prince of Austria?” asked Penny and she raised her glass of claret. “But of course Maximilian would ask for me! We’re whopping good friends!”

  “He’s afraid there will be a theft at the ball,” guffawed her father, Chief Inspector Charles Dreadful. “What with the globe-trotting antics of that rascal Alexander Dunn! He’s a brazen rogue, he is! Completely brazen!”

  Penny’s fiancé, barrister Julian Terrence Hull, studied her from the shadows, his clockwork arm ticking the night away like a hidden explosive.

  “Shall I accompany you, Penny?” he asked. “I would hate for Dunn to think it an opportune time to pounce. He does itch to sweep you off your feet.”

  “Oh, Julian!” Penny laughed. “All’s fair in love and war and international jewel thievery. Dunn has met his match in me, I guarantee you!”

  But she did find her breath catch in her throat at the thought, and quickly tossed back the claret in a most unladylike manner.

  A fact that was not lost on Julian.

  ***

  It was a remarkable dress - deep red satin with black beading and lace trim, a wide neckline, large bustle and sweeping layers of skirting. Perfect for a royal ball in the capital city of Austria, or so she thought. As a girl from London’s East End, Ivy had no idea. She had never worn anything like it in all her life.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said as she balanced on a trunk in her Lasingstoke room. “I’ve never been to a ball. I don’t even know how to dance.”

  “Ye won’t be dancin’ child,” grumbled Cookie, pins between her teeth as she tugged and pulled. “Ye’ll be watchin’ it all from the sidelines, ye will, like a regular wallflower.”

  “Ye do look smashin’ though,” said Lottie. “The Lady de Lacey ‘ad grand taste in dresses.”

  “But she were a fair sight taller than ye, child,” Cookie said. “Ye’ll need to cinch it up smart.”

  “I will,” said Ivy. “Most certainly.”

  Through the window, she could see the rounded back of a canvas rising above the courtyard walls like a breaching whale. She bit her lip. The airship. She was not good on airships and now, she was to be spending an entire day and night on one. Christien had been right. She wasn’t certain she’d make it to Vienna in one piece.

  “There,” said Cookie. “All done. Step out and don’t pull nuthin’.”

  “But don’t you see?” she moaned, stepping out of the dress and into her skirt. “I won’t fit in with Dukes and Duchesses. I won’t know what to say, even less what to do. I don’t even speak German. I’ll embarrass myself or worse, I may embarrass Christien or Sebastien.”

  “Nonsense,” said Cookie. “Mr. Christien is a smooth as English cream, and ‘is Lordship? Well, you know ‘im. Ah doubt anythin’ could embarrass ‘im.”

  “But d’ye want to go, Miss Ivy?” Lottie smiled her shy smile. “Is it what ye’re a-wantin’?”

  There it was again, the question. What did she want?

  “I don’t know. I mean, it’s Vienna. Just to think of it – the history, the art, the music, the museums. And this is during Winter Carnival. I would be a fool if I didn’t want to go.”

  “Ye may be many things, child, but ye’re no fool.” Cookie folded the dress into a brocade carpetbag, pushed it into her hands. “Off ye go, then. Don’t keep the boys waitin’. Go. Go.”

  Ivy grabbed her bowler and dashed out the door toward the stair.

  The airship filled the entire courtyard and the draft from many propellers lifted snow from the cobbles. The canvas billowed with a hunt scene of leaping horses and red-coated riders, the elusive fox nowhere to be seen. Wrapped around black iron posts, cables held the gondola to the ground while the balloon filled with gas. A thick hose ran from the workshop and many hands were needed to hold it steady. She spied her brother Davis among them and waved. He tried to wave back but needed both hands for the hose and she marveled at the pressure required to inflate such a contraption. It was like a great dragon, hissing and roaring, and her heart pounded inside her chest at the sight.

  The Airship Chevalier of Lasingstoke.

  As she stepped into the courtyard, she spied Sebastien and his uncle Rupert St. John, in the arch of one of the towers. They were surrounded by swirling snow and dogs. The Mad Lord smiled when he saw her. The Scourge did not.

  “Ah, Miss Savage,” Sebastien called as he jogged over to her side. “Let me take that bag. Castlewaite will get it onto the ship.”

  He snatched it out of her hands and made toward the ship, greatcoat whipping like wings in the draft. Much more slowly, Rupert began making his way across the cobbles, dogs wagging around his knees. He was still weak from his surgery, the clockwork heart sapping much of his usual vigor. But his blue eyes were sharp as ever and she stood a little straighter under his gaze.

  He came to a halt in front of her.

  “Vienna then, is it?”

  “Appears so, sir.”

  “Was this your idea?”

  “Not at all, sir,” she said, determined to keep her chin from rising. “I’m simply along for the ride.”

  “Naturally.” His smile was a knife, sharp and cutting and she marveled at how she still feared him, just a little. “He’s a good catch, isn’t he?”

  “Sir?”

  “You would have gotten very little if you married Remy. Just a fancy house in London and a husband who lived for his work. With Laury, you get all this. It’s a considerable trade up for an East End moll like yourself.”

  “I… I’m sorry, sir I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Laury is a good man,” he growled under his breath. “You may think him a puzzle to be solved or a game to be played, but I can assure you he is much more than that. I didn’t think you were such a girl to toy with a man, but then not three months ago, you were betrothed to one of my nephews whilst doggedly pursing the other. And here you are, off to Vienna with them both.”

  She had no words.

  “I still don’t know what to think of you, little skirt. What sort of game are you playing?”

  Her cheeks burned at the question and this time, she did not s
top her chin.

  “I’m not playing,” she said. “I just don’t know anymore. I used to think I knew but now, I realize I don’t. I don’t know anything – who I am, what I want, nothing. It’s sad but true and I won’t apologize for that.”

  The knife slid to one side.

  “Well, that’s honest, I’ll give you that.” He glanced over as Sebastien stepped out from the shadow of the Chevalier. “He’s had much broken in his life, but never his heart. If you’re the first, I will toss your bags out the door myself. Am I clear on that subject?”

  She swallowed but did not answer.

  Sebastien jogged up and the dogs wagged all the more.

  “All ready,” he said, smiling. “Just waiting on Christien,”

  “This is a bad idea, Laury,” said Rupert. “You haven’t been to Vienna for years.”

  “Christien and Miss Savage will be with me. I won’t get into trouble with them around.”

  “I can’t protect you over there.”

  “I don’t need protection, uncle.”

  “Vienna is not London,” Rupert went on. “Silver Hussars will shoot first, question later, especially in a Habsburg ballroom.”

  “Don’t worry.” He reached down to scratch a canine ear. “I simply want to see this year’s Winter School horses.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Only a little.”

  Rupert released a long, rattling breath and Ivy could see the years on his face.

  “I should go with you,” he grumbled. “I haven’t seen Franzi in a deuce’s age.”

  “Franzi?” she asked.

  “Franz Joseph. The bugger still owes me two hundred pounds. Bad day at the Derby.”

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Ruby,” came a voice from behind. “You can barely puts yer shirt on, let alone spin round a dance ‘all.”

  Mary Jane Kelly, or Marie Jeanette as she was called, swished out into the courtyard. She was a beautiful young woman, made even more so by the fine clothes she had bought during her in two months at Lasingstoke. She had traded her tattered shawl for an elegant high-necked blouse and her strawberry blonde curls were pinned up like a lady. The marvelous dimples, however, were unmistakable and she turned them on full as she slipped an arm around Rupert’s waist.