“She pays on time, every month,” Miss Frasizka was saying. “She’s a good girl, that one. Never makes trouble.”
“I regret to inform you, madam, that’s no longer the case. Miss Aevar is now at the center of a murder investigation, and I need to search her room.” He doubted he’d find anything, but he had to be sure. The commander would have his arse if he and Ritsuko didn’t come up with something soon.
“Oh. Oh no. That poor girl.” The woman reeled against the wall, her face the color of chalk.
Mikani wished Ritsuko was here, as she was better at dealing with these situations. Unfortunately, he had to handle this one. “Your assistance could mean the difference between a killer getting away with murder and justice for Miss Aevar.”
“Aevar,” she repeated.
He could tell she recognized the name and was pondering just how much trouble could drop on her head if she didn’t offer full cooperation. “I want to help you, but first, if you could show me your ID?”
A wise precaution. He flashed his credentials, and she nodded.
“Good, good.” The landlady unlocked the narrow door leading to the attic stairs and waved him up. Mikani turned sideways against the wall to pass the woman, who was half his height but his match for brawn. “You go up and take a look. I hope you find something helpful.”
Mikani glanced around as he reached the top of the stairs. Cira had rented the entire attic. Swathes of fabric crisscrossed the sloped ceiling; dressmaker dummies crowded the far wall in various states of undress. Tights, hose, and shirts covered the scant furniture. A seamstress’s table and an articulated wood-and-brass mannequin dominated the center of the room. He crossed the space, slipped on his gloves, and headed for the armoire in the corner.
Within, he found the fine silks and wool of a House scion, with the Aevar crest emblazoned on a traveling cloak and short coat. More rummaging unearthed a handbag, high-heeled ankle boots, and a scarf. This was the everyday garb of the daughter of a noble House. Mikani frowned. The everyday garb . . . those boots are not made for walking. But she didn’t ride the train back home every night.
He headed back down then and dug in his coat for his cigarillos. As he stepped onto the street, he lit up and drew deeply. The messenger he had knocked over was waiting for him, a tight ball of anger and righteous indignation.
“You blind, mate? Knockin’ over honest folks, all—” Mikani held up two silver coins, and the courier shut up.
“Inspector Mikani, CID. I apologize for disrupting your route, citizen.” He inclined his head to the kid, who was surprised into an awkward tip of his riding hat and goggles in return. “In return, I’d like to engage your services to carry a note to CID Headquarters, down in the Courts of Law.”
Mikani dug out his scarcely used notepad and scrawled a quick note for Gunwood to send a laboratory team to the boardinghouse. He passed note and coins to the boy, who dashed off with a reckless abandon that Mikani appreciated. With a rueful shake of the head, he turned back to his search for any sign of where Miss Aevar might’ve begun her double life.
Hansoms and buses dotted the avenue, bicycles, tricycles, and steam cars adding to the flow of traffic as the city awakened. Businessmen in dark suits and expensive silk vests, sporting good derby hats, hurried to work, while bondsmen scuffed their feet, reluctant in their tasks. They, too, wore hats, but they were made of cheap materials and had simple flat brims, separating them from the free men.
Not here. Too busy.
Mikani rubbed the rough scruff on his cheek and peered into the nearest alley. Narrow but uncluttered, it provided access to the street behind the boardinghouse and a small, neglected park. It was also dark enough to offer the illusion of secrecy to a young girl who didn’t want to be spotted. He headed into the alley, letting his fingertips brush the walls. Emotion flooded him.
Countless minutes later, Mikani rocked on the balls of his feet, finding himself squatting at the mouth of the alley with blood dripping from his upper lip. His eyes burned, bruised from the friction of his fists as he tried to rub away the pain. Taking a shuddering breath, he straightened.
His rumpled suit rubbed at the nape of his neck and sat wrong on aching shoulders. With a slow roll of his head and a loud pop of stretching tendons, he wiped his face. He’d felt Cira; she’d been up and down the alley often enough to leave traces of her presence in sunlight and the giddy excitement of going against her family’s wishes. She’d been happy here, the slight melancholy of her return home overshadowed by the joy of her journeys toward the Royale.
But more than that, he’d caught a whisper of the same faint presence as in her room. Someone had been following her, someone who could sneak into a fortified House undetected. Perhaps it had been a member of the household, tracking Cira across the city. Maybe her grandfather was not as clueless as we thought. If Aevar had stuck a tracker on the girl, they might have more information than they were sharing. If not . . .
If not, we have a hell of an infiltrator, a traitor, or a ghost. Mikani sniffed, wiping at his bloody nose and squinting against the growing light. When he heard the distinctive low rumble and whistles of a CID cruiser approaching, he grimaced and patted his coat in search of his darkened glasses. Heading back to the boardinghouse, he slipped them on and lit a fresh cigarillo. His head was pounding, his vision was blurry, and his mood was foul. He couldn’t wait to talk to Aevar again.
• • •
SUNDAY WAS SUPPOSED to be Ritsuko’s free day. No thoughts of the job.
Under normal circumstances, she took the day off happily. With a case like this one, however, she couldn’t afford more than a few free hours. So after she met Mr. Higgins for lunch in the park, she went straight back to work. She’d managed to get all the files on the actor, Gregory Toombs. On paper, he was a solid suspect. Though he hadn’t been on the list she received at the Academy, he had an engineering background. He’d taken some courses; had worked for two years in a clockwork firm that specialized in the gimbaled telescopes used on sailing ships. Then he abruptly switched his focus to theater, so that gave him a plausible skill set for building the murder machine. So far she didn’t have a motive, but she hadn’t located the man, either. Since his last production closed down, nobody had seen Toombs.
The CID had sent notices to all train stations and the docks, containing a description of the actor and a warning to deny him passage out of the city as a possible suspect in an open investigation. All mirror stations and post-service offices throughout Dorstaad and the nearest settlements received the same notification. Some associate of Mikani’s had agreed to do the same for the less official ships within the Free Trader guilds. As a result of those combined efforts, Toombs was, in theory, trapped inside the city. And without access to most official services or forms of employment, his choice of hiding spots was slim: the tenements, the docks, or with friends or family.
While Ritsuko had no idea who Toombs called a boon companion, she did have an address for his parents, provided they hadn’t vanished. That would just be too strange. She pulled her coat on, collected her things, and headed out. It was a chilly day, with the earlier sun clouding over to hint at rain; it was always damp when the weather cooled, sad after long days of endless light. Today, however, it fit her mood. Ritsuko didn’t murmur her usual apology as she navigated the crowd. She didn’t want to interrupt these people and give them cause to worry about their son.
But that’s my job.
Toombs’s parents lived in a small building off a small street near the Bayside Market. The area had once been prosperous, before the Houses had abandoned the eastern wards to move closer to the park or into outlying, self-contained fortresses. With their leaving, their money had stopped trickling in, and entire neighborhoods lost their shine. Ritsuko checked the faded bronze plaque against her notes and headed up the stairs.
The smell of various casseroles drifted from several apartments along the long passage. Hints of sweet spices and stew mingled as early suppe
rs were prepared, the sounds of children playing in the building’s courtyard loud in the quiet Sunday afternoon. She rapped on the door, waited as someone shuffled to the door.
A woman in her early sixties opened it, her eyes dark but encircled with deeper shadows. Her short white hair looked as if she hadn’t combed it today, disheveled by careless fingers. Her look turned suspicious when she took in the badge Ritsuko held. She started to slam the door, but Ritsuko stopped it with a firm palm.
“I need a few moments of your time.”
Mrs. Toombs sighed. “This is about Gregory, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m looking for your son. He might be able to aid in an ongoing investigation.” Mrs. Toombs looked dubious as she tried halfheartedly to push the door shut again. “It’s important. Do you know where I can find him?”
Mrs. Toombs sighed and released the door. “You may as well come in. Don’t want the Drusses knowing more of our business than they need to. Our next-door neighbors. Busybodies, the lot of them,” she added as she headed into the cluttered confines of her small apartment. An elderly gentleman—Mr. Toombs senior, Ritsuko surmised—slept in an overstuffed chair near a window. “Don’t mind him. He’ll be more trouble than help, I’d reckon.” The woman headed into the kitchen. “Tea?”
“That’s very kind, but no thank you.” The décor led her to imagine that there was no money left in the budget for pretty things. That usually meant there was little food to spare as well, so she wouldn’t ask the woman to prepare a snack she didn’t really want.
Ritsuko sat on a worn blue settee, preparing pen and paper. The other woman seemed alarmed by this, as if that made the visit more official. “What are you writing?”
“I just want to make sure I get all the facts right. I wonder if you could tell me a little about your son, first. His likes, dislikes, hobbies, what he was like as a child, that sort of thing.”
Mrs. Toombs glanced at Ritsuko’s notepad, then at her sleeping husband. “Gregory is a good boy, you understand, miss.” She fidgeted as she spoke. “We were so proud when he joined the Academy, we were; his father always worked the docks, see. But our Gregory, well, he had a chance of making something of himself. So bright, my Gregory.” Mrs. Toombs smiled, her gaze far away. “So clever, fixing watches and all those complicated devices that they gave him for his classes. Such wonderfully adept hands, such a clever, clever boy. If he hadn’t fallen in with that crowd—” She looked up, bit her lip. Then she shrugged, soldiering on. “Oh, but I suppose you know, or you wouldn’t be here looking for him, would you?”
As Mrs. Toombs grew more agitated, her voice rose, until Ritsuko feared her husband might do more than stir and snore in his nest. “What crowd?”
“It’s those theater folk, I tell you! They were the ones that led him astray with their harlots, their drinking and gambling.”
Ritsuko had already known Toombs was connected to the Royale though he hadn’t been seen there lately. But the gambling and the devices? That was new information, solid gold, but she concealed her excitement beneath a professional mien.
“How much money did Gregory owe?” she asked, taking a guess. “And to whom?”
The other woman sighed, her hands trembling in her lap until she had to clasp them. “I’m not sure, but . . . I’m afraid it was a lot. The last time he was here, he wasn’t himself. I’d never seen him so . . . To be honest, miss, I feared you’d come to tell me they found his body.”
Hm. Would a desperate man kill a young girl for money? Toombs seemed like an unlikely assassin, but one could never be sure how far another person would go when his back was to the wall. Maybe, she decided, to save his own life. She had no idea what Cira Aevar had done to earn such enmity, but perhaps it was political, a blow against one of the ruling Houses.
She shook her head. “I’m just trying to find him so I can ask some questions. It’s possible he could be in danger, so any information would help.”
“If I knew where he was hiding, I’d tell you. Maybe you can protect him from those thugs who beat him up.”
“Do you have any idea who they worked for?”
“No . . . but I bet Mrs. Drusse would. She spies on everyone.” A scowl drew her pale brows together.
Thugs always have a boss. And that’s probably who holds the marker on Toombs’s debts. Ritsuko stifled a sigh. Two more people I need to talk to. This case was like a worm; the minute she thought she’d narrowed it down, it split in two more directions. I’ll talk to the neighbor on my way out.
“Before I go, do you have anything that your son might’ve built, one of those lovely gadgets you mentioned earlier?”
Mrs. Toombs perked up. With a huge smile, she stood and walked to the mantel, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, goodness, yes. Why here, he dropped this off the last time we saw him. It’s nice, don’t you think? It shines like the sun proper when the light hits it just right.” She turned to Ritsuko, beaming with pride as she tapped a finger against the small device.
It looked like an intricately carved hemisphere at first. When Mrs. Toombs touched it, though, it slid open with the tinkling of little gears and levers. It blossomed like a polished brass flower; Ritsuko had to agree it looked lovely. Oh, bronze gods. It also looks familiar. When the mirrored surfaces clicked into their final positions, Gregory Toombs’s parting gift to his parents was also a miniature replica of the murder machine.
CHAPTER 12
BUTTERFLIES FLUTTERED IN AURELIA’S STOMACH. AT LENGTH she rifled through her closet to locate a dream of a dress, all gossamer silk and deceptive lace. It was a misleading blend of bridal innocence, whereas any society matron could elaborate on how inappropriate such a choice was for Aurelia Wright. Deciding it was perfect, she slid into it.
Pearly powder and lipstick completed the picture. She paused in the doorway of her flat before steeling her nerve and locking the door. Outside, she found the hansom waiting as he’d promised, and she clambered into it, settling for a fair ride.
Through gray privacy screens, she watched the city come to life for the night. Softening the old facades, a gentle ocean breeze soothed the day’s heat. The dark stone seemed warm in the approaching twilight; columns and patterns of lights previewed the stars yet to appear. They drove along the park to Main before turning toward the city center. House scions and pedestrians were starting to appear as the night shift of vendors and hawkers came to their posts. Bondsmen slouched along the streets, in no hurry to complete their work, as most of them were working off prison sentences. For the most part, it was an efficient system, putting criminals to work instead of incarcerating them. The worst offenders were banished outside the city and eventually made their way to outlaw settlements in the far west.
They left the city limits, passing through the northern gate, cleared land giving way to sparse brush, then forest, as the road wound up a gentle slope. Cleaning the window with her palm, she saw how the silver crescent moon draped the heavy woods in a curtain of ethereal light, and in the distance, she glimpsed her destination: white marble and red tiled roof amid primeval forest. She had been riding nearly two hours by that time, which placed his home on the slopes of the foothills. Outside Dorstaad, the Summer Clan owned the roads, but they didn’t bother her.
Soon, the vehicle hissed to a stop in front of the house, and Aurelia disembarked. The air was sweet with oleander, honeysuckle, wild strawberries, and mowed grass, all borne by a soft wind. All around her, the night sang quietly, noises unfamiliar to her. Aurelia had rarely left the city, and even when she traveled, she tended to visit other metropolitan locales. When she tried to pay the driver, he flashed her a cocky grin and followed the circular drive behind the lodge.
“Theron has style,” she said aloud.
For a long moment, she simply stood, listening to the crickets and frogs, the whirring wings of insects she’d never heard. The rustle of bats and crackle of nocturnal creatures in the undergrowth nearby stirred Aurelia from her appreciative trance. Certain beasts sh
e preferred to encounter only from afar. In motion once more, her heels clicked against the stones as she crossed to the door, lifting the knocker on a deep breath.
As brass met brass, the opening of the door softened the sharp sound. Before her stood a man of middle height and nondescript features. He was average in every way, but his smile was friendly, a complement to his uniform. The servant beckoned her in.
No coat to surrender, she waited only a moment before the chamberlain led her into the white marble atrium, austere in line and adornment. Only the play of reflections broke the initially sterile impression. As they passed through the far doors, however, that perception was soon dispelled. Tiled in elaborate patterns, the open walkway surrounded a garden. White pillars held lights, the frosty shimmer of the globes the only concession given to modernization that she had seen so far, and they served to frame what must be the pride of the villa. The style was different from what she saw in the city, probably the influence of some early settlers during one crossing or another.
Blooms of all shades flourished against a lush background of plant life. Trees and bushes Aurelia was certain she’d seen nowhere else fought for space against the central fountain. The weather was different from the city as well, and from the tingle on her skin, magic must go into maintaining this unseasonal warmth. A soft spray misting about the fountain, the liquid sound of splashing water reached her as she stood, gazing around. Amazed, she would have continued to do so if the steward had not gestured.
Stirring, Aurelia glimpsed a table beyond the fountain, and upon it, twin candles flickered like captive fireflies. With a parting smile, she picked her way across the courtyard, her heart thundering in her ears. He’s wearing white linen. Aurelia felt strangely startled, as she’d never seen him in anything but dark suits.
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