“Twelve pounds a hundredweight, and a premium for smaller quantities.”
“Twelve pounds? Damn me!” Bedford exclaimed. “You must be the most expensive powder merchant in London.”
“And the least inquisitive,” Folkard added. Devlin nodded.
“How much powder did you sell Mister Snide?” Nathanial asked.
Devlin opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. His eyes narrowed and he smiled ruefully. “Ah, that’s a very pretty trap you set for me, Mister Young Gentleman. You’ll know from what’s in me tuck, won’t you? All right, I sold him two six-pound kegs for two pounds even, and threw in a roll of quick fuse free of charge. And yes, he could get it in a store for half that, if they’d let him out the door without whistling up the crushers.”
“Is that more or less than he purchased the last time?” Nathanial asked.
Devlin looked from Bedford to Folkard, perhaps calculating his chances of escaping this encounter alive. Folkard held the derringer slightly higher and Devlin licked his lips again. “If I tell you everything I know, will you let me go?”
“We’re going to tell the authorities. We have no choice,” Folkard answered.
“Yes, I sees that I does, but that ain’t what I’m askin’. Tell them the story, give them the barge and all the powder in the hold, and they’ll be happy enough. One neck stretched, more or less, won’t make that much of a difference.”
Folkard and Bedford exchanged a look and hesitated.
“Yes, let the scoundrel go,” Nathanial said, “provided what he has to say is worth anything to us.”
“Oh it is, sir, that it is,” Devlin insisted, nodding vigorously for emphasis. After a moment Bedford nodded and then Folkard agreed as well.
“This was less powder as he bought last time, and I hear that was a mighty bomb he made to blow up one man. Now he’s making a smaller bomb to blow up half a dozen. Makes you wonder, don’t it? Made me wonder, and I asks him. He says, ‘Dev, the stupid bastard’s bringin’ his own bomb with him. This here’s just for the trigger.’ I don’t know what he meant by it, but he meant summat. You blokes keen enough to sort it out?”
Bedford, Folkard, and Nathanial exchanged a look. Although they said nothing, Nathanial knew what this meant and so must the other two. The Austrian ambassador was arriving by zeppelin, its lifting cells filled with flammable hydrogen. Bringing his own bomb indeed.
3.
ANNABELLE BELIEVED DOCTOR Dumba looked considerably healthier today. The cold may have run its course, but she also suspected Dumba as a man who thrived on intrigue, and if it skirted the boundaries of legality, all the better. He had even nodded a cool greeting to Fairfax, and Fairfax had returned it, although neither of the old enemies spoke to the other.
They sat around Mrs Collingwood’s dining room table after the breakfast dishes had been cleared, and had to pull up three extra chairs for Nathanial, George, and Captain Folkard. Doctor Dumba sat at the head of the table in Mrs Collingwood’s chair and she had pulled the sliding doors shut behind her after serving tea. Dumba laid his gold watch on the table before him, a reminder of how little time they had left, and then heard what they had discovered on the previous night, and what they had concluded from it.
“Yes, you are quite correct in your assessment, gentlemen. Ambassador Hengelmüller arrives by zeppelin at the Hanover Square landing tower by Hyde Park in approximately two hours.” Dumba unrolled a street map of Central London and pointed to Hanover Square. “There will be an initial reception there, attended by the Prince of Wales and several government ministers. Then they will travel by steam carriage down Park Lane to Piccadilly, east to Trafalgar Square, then south on Charing Cross and Parliament Street to Westminster. The route is lined by two battalions of the foot guards for security and crowd control. At Westminster there will be another reception in the Old Palace Yard. The Lord Chancellor and the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod will welcome him on behalf of the House of Lords. Lords Chillingham and Belvedere will be present there as well.”
“But Chillingham will not be at Hanover Square,” Nathanial said.
Dumba’s eyebrows went up slightly and he leaned back in his chair. “That is correct. Police preparations at the Old Palace yard have been very energetic, I understand, under the assumption any attack will take place there, once the party is joined by the senior members of the House of Lords. Elsewhere it has been less thorough.”
“How do you know all this?” Major Blount asked.
Dumba made a dismissive gesture. “I have my contacts, some even in the Metropolitan Police.”
Blount shifted in his seat and frowned. “Rather irregular that some foreigner could learn all this so easily,” he said, shaking his head. “No offense,” he added.
Dumba simply looked at him for a moment and then turned to George. “Commander Bedford, I agreed to bring your circle of confederates into our counsels because time is very short. The ambassador arrives momentarily. If this plot succeeds, Europe may be torn asunder. Alliances will break and nations may go to war, although which nations and where they will fight I cannot sort out, and that is itself frightening. But how will your country react to the death of the Prince of Wales and half the cabinet? I think it will change your domestic politics in ways unimaginable from where we sit, but I will tell you this: what sets Britain apart now is your sense of self-confidence and security in your own island. It is sometimes infuriating to those of us who live elsewhere, but it is a source of strength to you. This plot will shatter that, and you will not recover it for a generation, if ever. I cannot help but believe your politics will become bitter as a result, and even more strident than they are already. If you value your country, you must prevent this thing. You must.”
Was that true, Annabelle wondered? Could one explosion so change the course of history, or the spirit of a country? Perhaps.
“I think we all understand that, Doctor,” George answered as if echoing her thoughts.
“I hope so,” Dumba said. “Now, as to the attack, if we are to believe this informant of yours, it seems clear the attack will take place while the ambassador is still aboard the zeppelin or shortly after he disembarks. I think the latter is more likely. From what you told me of this Devlin’s remarks, it seems certain the plot is aimed at killing many rather than just the one, so it must be planned for when the ambassador is actually at Hanover Square along with the first welcoming party.”
“Yes,” Nathanial said. “If Snide shared his intention to murder a half-dozen men with Devlin, it says as much about his confidence as his intentions.” It was the first thing Nathanial had said since arriving and he had yet to meet Annabelle’s eyes.
Bedford had told her some of what had happened to Nathanial, how his brother had perished in a fire which had nearly taken his life and Folkard’s as well. That must account for some of his changed demeanour, but certainly not all of it. Why had he made no effort to contact her? She still could not understand that. Until a few weeks ago she had thought herself closer to him than any other person alive, almost like brother and sister, and she had little enough real family as it was. All of those feelings now seemed lost.
Was it because of her growing feelings for George? Did Nathanial entertain a secret romantic attachment toward her? She had a hard time believing it, and if so he had certainly kept it very well concealed. But if that was the explanation it made little difference. Jealousy was no reason to discard a friendship, unless the friendship had no great value to begin with.
“We are agreed, then, that the attack must take place at Hanover Square,” Doctor Dumba was saying. “Once the zeppelin is in position over the reviewing stand, an explosion will almost certainly bring it down on the assembled notables below. Some may escape, but many will certainly perish, as well as scores of bystanders. So how will Snide deliver his bomb to the zeppelin?”
“Once it crosses the channel, will the airship stop anywhere in England? Possibly for fuel?” Colonel Wyndham asked.
&nb
sp; “No, it will come immediately to London and will not touch down until it reaches the Hyde Park tower—is actually not allowed to do so sooner. Your animal and produce quarantine rules are quite draconian.”
Annabelle looked around the table and saw brows furrowed in thought. Major Blount studied the street map as if the solution might be found there. Colonel Wyndham leaned forward and joined him, looking at the outlined blocks of buildings to the east.
“Do we know the direction from which the airship will approach?” Wyndham asked. “If its route will carry it over a particularly tall building, the saboteurs might throw the bomb from a roof, or even launch it using a sling, or perhaps a rocket.” George and Folkard both began shaking their heads before Wyndham finished speaking.
“There’s no fixed approach path because you never know in advance the wind direction or velocity,” Folkard said. “That determines your angle of approach to the tower. You always want to approach into the wind, never across it and certainly not with it at your stern.”
“Why not with it at your stern?” Annabelle asked.
George turned to her. “We don’t like doing it because a sudden gust of wind can push you into the tower before you can back engines. As it is, the tower extends its mooring shackle on a long arm and the airship approaches into the wind and connects to it with its nose coupling. The support arm drops away leaving the shackle connected by a steel cable to a steam winch in the docking tower. The airship then cuts its engines and the winch takes over, reeling it in.”
Annabelle looked around the table. “Well then, assuming the reviewing stand itself will be guarded and inspected, there is only one place the saboteurs can be.”
George and Folkard exchanged a look and nodded in agreement. “Quite right,” the captain said. “They will be in the docking tower. Doctor Dumba, can you turn this information over to the police?”
“Of course. Whether it can get to the correct person in time for them to act on it is a different matter.”
“Assuming their superiors want them to act on it,” Nathanial said and Dumba looked at him for a moment and then nodded.
“Well, do your best, Doctor, but I believe we must act as well,” Folkard said “Bedford, you and I will go. I’m sure Professor Stone will also want to accompany us.”
“Cartwright as well,” George said. “He keeps his head in a fight.” Annabelle smiled at that. She knew George did not care for Fairfax, which was hardly surprising given the difference in their temperaments and interests. But George was too used to commanding men of every different stripe to let personal antipathy cloud his judgment as to a person’s worth.
“I will of course be going as well,” Annabelle announced.
Folkard’s eyes grew wide and George shifted in his seat next to her. “But my dear, there will be stairs to climb.”
“And your arm to help me do so, or Fairfax’s if you are not so inclined.” Fairfax made a small bow from across the table. That last bit was unfair, she knew, but it ended the argument and they had no time for pointless disputes now. “Major, I will thank you again to guard my uncle and the ladies of the house in our absence. Colonel Wyndham, I wonder if Doctor Dumba’s powers of persuasion with the police might be augmented by the presence of a distinguished retired officer.”
“An excellent idea, my dear. I will be happy to accompany him.”
“Are you armed, Mister Cartwright?” Dumba asked, the first words he had directed at his former rival of the heart.
“I have my fists, Doctor Dumba, which have stood me in good enough stead so far.”
Dumba made an irritated face, drew a revolver from his pocket, and slid it across the table to Fairfax. “Use this, but try not to lose it. It is one of the first production numbers of the new model Rast und Gasser.”
Fairfax picked it up and hefted it. “The latest in Austro-Hungarian weapons technology?” he asked with a trace of sarcasm.
“Do not bait me, Cartwright.”
Fairfax coloured slightly but then nodded. “You are quite right. Thank you, Konstantin. I will see that this does our common cause some good.”
There was a knock at the door and everyone at the table turned to see it slide open and reveal her Uncle Cyrus standing in the archway, his face alert and composed.
“Uncle, are you all right?” Annabelle asked.
“Why yes,” he said, “as a matter of fact I am splendid. I remember everything which has transpired these last weeks and I want you to know my mind has cleared, quite suddenly. I suspect it is because the Heart has again begun communicating with me. I had no idea it was capable of communicating at this remove, but the evidence is incontrovertible. I think we had better contact the authorities—perhaps the Admiralty, although the Colonial Office might be better. Mister Chamberlain strikes me as a sensible sort.”
“Uncle Cyrus, I am delighted to hear that, happier than I think you can know. But it will have to wait. We are off to thwart an assassination attempt on half the British cabinet and the Prince of Wales, and have only a little more than an hour to do so.”
“Oh. Well you run along then and we’ll talk when you return. I have a great deal to tell you.”
If we return, she thought.
4.
CAPTAIN FOLKARD PULLED his respirator mask off, the better to see. The air wasn’t all that bad this morning. The sun shone through a thin yellow haze, which a pleasant force three breeze from west nor’ west never allowed to gather into heavy clouds of soot. He peered through the branches of a park hedge as Bedford crawled forward beside him and pulled off his own mask.
“One guard,” Bedford observed. “A soldier. Is all well and proper here after all?”
The soldier stood at order arms in front of the door to the squat brick boiler and furnace room of the landing tower. The more slender tower itself, also brick, rose from the centre of the structure, ending in the iron copula and revolving mooring shackle. The support arm for the shackle was already extended and aligned with the wind direction. Beyond the building Folkard heard the murmur of the crowd assembling in Hanover Square for the arrival. Folkard turned his attention back to the soldier: white cork helmet, red tunic, blue trousers—the colours of the national flag repeated as a uniform.
“The foot guards are providing security today. That fellow has been in the service before, I’d say, but he’s no guardsman—he’s too short. And look at his trouser cuffs, all bunched up around his boots. Any colour sergeant in the guards would strangle a soldier before he let him out of barracks dressed like that. No, I’ll wager we’ll find the real owner of that uniform inside the furnace room, bound up or dead. This is the place, all right. I don’t expect we can convince Miss Somerset to go for help while we storm the place?”
“I’m afraid I sacrificed all of my credibility on that score by not informing her of our boating expedition last evening.”
“Are you going to marry that girl, Bedford?” Folkard asked. He’d been wondering that for some time now and this was as good a time as any to ask. Bedford couldn’t very well engage in a lengthy argument here and so he might get a simple answer. Instead Bedford only gave him an annoyed look. “Well, you’re a fool if you do, and a bigger one if you don’t.”
“Thank you, sir, for your assessment,” Bedford said dryly. “Now how are we to overcome this guard?”
“Can you tell if he was one of the toughs you fought in Whitechapel?” Folkard asked.
“Not through his respirator, no.”
“Right. Well, there’s too much chance he’ll know you or Cartwright by sight from that fracas, and of course their gang will recognise any peg-legged woman, by reputation if not by sight. I’m afraid that leaves it up to Stone and me. Don’t imagine he’ll fancy it, as he doesn’t seem to think much of me these days. Nothing for it, though.”
5.
NATHANIAL BRUSHED HIS hand past the pocket of his coat to feel the reassuring bulk of his knife, but as Captain Folkard had suggested, he did not put his hands in his po
ckets. Better to let the false guard see his hands, and that they were empty. Folkard’s hands were occupied with the street map Dumba had loaned them, raising it to look, then lowering it and looking around in bewilderment. Nathanial had to admit it was a convincing act.
“You know, that coat still smells frightful from your immersion last night,” Folkard said. They had already agreed to sustain a continuous banter between them and pay no attention to the guard until challenged.
“Yes, thanks to our mutual friend. I changed clothes but this is the only heavy coat I have. It’s still damp, too. I’ll probably catch my death,”
Folkard laughed for the benefit of the false guard, as if Nathanial had delivered a choice bon mot.
“’Alt, ’oo goes there?” the guard said, his words muffled through the respirator. He raised his rifle to the ready.
“Ah, a trooper. Splendid!” Folkard said, closing the distance to the man. “We seem a bit lost. Is this Wellington Place up ahead?”
“Move along,” he said and gestured with the muzzle of his rifle.
“Really, it’s a simple enough question. I mean, you must know where we are. We’re trying to find the Cavalry Barracks.”
“Move along, there’s a good gent,” he said with a hard edge to his voice
Folkard exchanged an outraged look with Nathanial and then glared at the soldier. “Such disrespect! Outrageous. Why, I’ll find your sergeant and have you up on charges! Where is he? Over there with those other men?”
Nathanial saw the man hesitate and shift uncomfortably, then pull his respirator down around his neck. “Awright then, calm down. No need for that. That there’s ’Anover square. Wellie’s Place is sout’, and the barracks just west o’ there.”
Folkard moved over beside him and held up the unrolled street map. “South? Show me here, could you? We seem all turned about. Where are we?”
The man let out a sigh of annoyance but looked at the map. As he lifted his finger to point he froze, feeling the point of Nathanial’s knife against his throat, having slid between the bunched straps of the respirator. Folkard kept the map held up so no casual onlooker from the distant crowd would see even a glint from Nathanial’s knife. They had no more interest in summoning the troops at the moment than the conspirator did. Alarming the villains inside might thwart the worst of the plot, but also might cause them to detonate the charge prematurely, and who knew how many innocent people below would be killed and injured?
series 02 01 Conspiracy of Silence Page 21
