by Rod Duncan
PRAISE FOR ROD DUNCAN
“Steeped in illusion and grounded in an alternative history of the Luddite Rebellion, Duncan’s strong supernatural mystery serves ably as both a standalone adventure and the start to a series. Strategically placed steampunk tropes inform but do not overwhelm Elizabeth’s headlong quest to find a missing aristocrat sought by the Patent Office, which is fixated on both achieving perfection and eliminating ‘unseemly science.’ A hazardous border crossing into the permissively corrupt Kingdom of England and Southern Wales provides ample excitement, and a glossary at the novel’s conclusion hints enticingly at a much more involved story to come.”
Publishers Weekly
“It’s all steampunk and circus wonder as we follow the adventures of Elizabeth Barnabas. The double crosses along the way keep the plot tight and fun, and the conclusion sets us up nicely for book two.”
The Washington Post
“The Queen of all Crows is a smart and entertaining read, among the best of the steampunk subgenre I’ve read. It continues the story of Elizabeth Barnabus in an alternative history where they take intellectual property protection a little too seriously.”
Craig Newmark, founder of Craigslist and Craigconnects
“A tumultuous and utterly wonderful series.”
Smorgasbord Fantasia
“I’ve read all of the books in the Fall of the Gas-Lit Empire series, and I love how inventive the whole series is. Each book has a strong story and fantastic characters. The Map of Unknown Things series takes us outside the main Gas-Lit Empire to other parts of the world that the author has created. I love that these are great adventure stories, but also have a more thoughtful side to them – the worlds we visit are all very different and flawed in very different ways, but inhabited by people who have been shaped by the nature of those worlds. It’s very clever, but also very engaging – I find myself completely drawn in, unable to predict what will happen next. I also have a strong sense that there is an overall plan to the whole series – this is building into a fantastic overall tale. Really looking forward to the next instalment!”
Clare Littleford, author of The Quarry
“I absolutely loved The Queen of All Crows. It’s a gripping alternative history adventure set in an intriguing world. Among the fast-paced plot twists the novel also provides keen insights into power structures, particularly when it comes to gender roles as social constructs. Elizabeth Barnabus is possibly my favourite steampunk main character ever: resourceful, fearless, unusually observant and emotionally intelligent. I was thrilled to follow her to the ends of the world as a reader.”
Emmi Itäranta, award-winning author of Memory of Water
“If I had a bowler hat, I’d take it off to the author of this beautifully crafted steampunk novel.”
Chris D’Lacey, author of the Last Dragon Chronicles
“Let’s get this out of the way: The Queen of All Crows is an excellent book, full stop. Duncan has managed to infuse the world of the Gas-Lit Empire, and the character of Elizabeth Barnabus herself, with a new jolt of life, color, and depth. Clear your schedule, because you won’t want to stop reading this until you’ve finished, and then you’ll want more.”
Eric Scott Fischl, author of The Trials of Solomon Parker
“Elizabeth Barnabus is a uniquely intriguing character who will take readers on a fascinating journey through the strange landscapes of the Gas-Lit Empire. Rod Duncan’s storytelling skill brings his fictional world to a mysterious, vibrant life.”
Stephen Booth, bestselling author of the Cooper & Fry series
“Rod Duncan’s The Bullet Catcher’s Daughter is a magic box pulsating with energy. Compulsive reading from the get-go, the blend of steampunk alternate history wrapped in the enigma of a chase makes for first-rate entertainment in this finely crafted novel.”
Graham Joyce, author of Year of the Ladybird
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE FALL OF THE GAS-LIT EMPIRE
The Bullet-Catcher’s Daughter
Unseemly Science
The Custodian of Marvels
THE MAP OF UNKNOWN THINGS
The Queen of All Crows
The Outlaw and the Upstart King
Backlash
Breakbeat
Burnout
ANGRY ROBOT
An imprint of Watkins Media Ltd
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Please welcome to the stage…
An Angry Robot paperback original, 2020
Copyright © Rod Duncan 2020
Cover by Kieryn Tyler
Edited by Eleanor Teasdale, Paul Simpson, Claire Rushbrook
Set in Meridien
All rights reserved. Rod Duncan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
Angry Robot and the Angry Robot icon are registered trademarks of Watkins Media Ltd.
ISBN 978 0 85766 844 8
Ebook ISBN 978 0 85766 849 3
Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by TJ International.
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
THE FUGITIVE &
THE VANISHING MAN
CONTENTS
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
PART TWO
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
PART THREE
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
PART FOUR
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
PART FIVE
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
AFTERWORD
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PART ONE
The con artist and the spy, each hiding beneath layers of disguise. Snake-like, they shed their skins, revealing new ones underneath. Thinning themselves by slivers, they wonder, when the last disguise has been sloughed off, if they might vanish even to themselves. And there perhaps find peace.
CHAPTER 1
Standing in the washhouse cubicle below a glassless window, Elizabeth could smell the air from the waterfall thundering outside.
“Hold me,” she said, and he did. John Farthin
g. He enfolded her. She pressed her face into his coat, breathing him instead of the dank air, inhaling the memory of his body, of parting.
Somewhere outside the washhouse, her friends would be looking for her. They’d stepped off the boat together, gone through the ordeal of searches and questioning in that bare border post by the river. Her pistol had been their chief concern: a finely-made thing with the emblem of a leaping hare inlaid in turquoise on the stock. But for all its beauty, it was nothing more than a flintlock. It offended no rule of the Gas-Lit Empire, so at last the guards let them pass and they stepped from the wilds into the Free States of America.
Climbing the long flight of steps up the side of the gorge, she’d looked back and seen the full circle of a rainbow hanging in the air, bright against the darkness of the Niagara’s far bank. It was a wonder of the world, the boat captain had said, and now she knew the truth of that. As great a miracle as the miracle of her having lived to see it.
She was halfway up when she saw John Farthing looking down over the railings from the top. Just a glimpse: the silhouette of his head and shoulders. But she knew him. The spark of recognition set a fire in her heart.
Running up stone steps slick with mist from the falls, quickly out of breath, her thighs burned. And then at the top, seeing him looking back at her from the side of the washhouse. He slipped behind it. She went to him, took his hand, led him inside, into one of the cubicles, bolting the door behind them.
The dripping of water in a cistern. That dank waterfall smell.
Having sent word ahead, she’d expected to be met by agents of the Patent Office. But not by John. That was beyond her dreaming. He had crossed the Atlantic to see her. He had come to the border itself.
His fingers kneaded the lines of muscle in her back. He kissed her hair.
“You’re thinner,” he whispered.
She found herself laughing. “You feel just the same.”
She went up on her toes to kiss him, but he angled his face for her lips to find his cheek instead of his mouth. She felt the rub of fine stubble.
“They’re going to want to talk to you,” he said.
“I know.”
“The way they’re saying it, they didn’t think you’d manage. To risk it all and come back, I mean. With Julia as well.”
“And Tinker,” she said. “I brought them both. You didn’t believe me either.”
“I never doubted that you could. But storms and tides – they’re beyond controlling. Even for you.” There was a shudder in his chest, a catch of breath. “You’ve seen things. Out there in the wilds. Things our spies have never seen.” She felt the warmth of his breath through her hair as he spoke, but found herself shivering.
“Please just hold me.”
“You’ve got to listen, Elizabeth. We don’t have much time. They’re going to tell you to go back. Across the border, I mean. But they don’t have the power to force you. They’ll say they do. They’ll say anything to make it happen. You just need to keep saying no.”
“I missed you,” she said, hoping he’d say the same, listening for a change in his heartbeat.
There was a shout from outside, Julia calling, trying to find her.
Elizabeth pulled back, to look up at him. “Where do we go?”
“To the hotel. I’ll take you.”
“Other agents will be there?”
He nodded. “This – your crossing – it had to be quiet. That’s why it’s only me here to meet you. Your handler. But they have their questions.”
Handler. She wished he’d meant it as a joke.
“Elizabeth? Where are you?” Julia was close outside.
Farthing opened the cubicle door. “You’d better go.”
So she did.
The sunshine dazzled after the dark of the washroom. Julia seemed relieved to have found her. But when Farthing stepped out, Julia’s expression transformed into a coy smile and she averted her eyes.
They found Tinker, leaning over the railings. Elizabeth had never seen the boy awed by anything before. Or rather, he would usually hide any sign that he might be impressed. But the falls had him gripped. When he glanced back at her, she saw the wonder in his face, as if he was comfortable with the emotion. Strangely, it made him seem older.
“It’s time to go,” she said, feeling a wave of sadness that she couldn’t have explained. She’d done everything she set out to achieve and come back with her loved ones alive. Unharmed. It was a moment to be celebrated. But as they followed John Farthing along the road to the hotel, her feet felt leaden.
“Was your reunion sweet?” Julia whispered.
“Yes,” she said, the lie too easy.
“And so will be mine, with Robert.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth with more conviction, finding it easier to believe in Julia’s happiness than her own.
The hotel was a wide brick building of two storeys, with a balcony running all the way around. She stepped out towards the grand entrance, but Farthing called her back and she found herself following him with the others, down the side until they reached a small black door, unmarked and without a handle. Unlocking it, he ushered them through to a cramped passage and a narrow set of stairs, by which they came to something akin to a drawing room, comfortably furnished but impersonal. Windows ran the length of one wall. Long net curtains shifted in the breeze.
Two men in grey stood as they entered, one dark-skinned, the other light. Their smiles seemed false. Elizabeth had no doubt they were agents. She and Julia shook hands with each. Tinker went to the window.
“Welcome,” said the fair-skinned one.
“Do you need to rest?” asked the other.
She hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. But her mind was racing and she knew it would be impossible. “Do you suppose they could bring a pot of tea?”
There were six doors off the drawing room. One led to a bathroom with flushing toilet and hot water on tap. After life in the wilds, such luxuries seemed like a miracle. Four doors led to bedrooms and one gave access to the balcony, blocked off to left and right. When Tinker tried to use it, they called him back.
“It’s best no one sees you.”
Afterwards Elizabeth couldn’t have said which agent had spoken.
The tea things arrived via what seemed to be a small cupboard built into the wall, but which proved to be a dumbwaiter. However, the pot held only hot water. Dry tea leaves rested in a small metal caddy. She sent it all back with instructions:
Please warm the pot. Add two measures of tea leaves. THEN pour in boiling water. Thank you.
In all the months of her travelling beyond the border, she’d thought of this moment – her first cup of tea. She wouldn’t allow it to be less than her imagination.
There was no exit but for the flight of steps by which they’d entered, and down which she now saw John Farthing slip away.
“Are you well?” Julia whispered.
“Yes.”
“You seem… distressed.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s not the tea, is it?”
“I am fine!”
Elizabeth had dreamed of many things in the wilderness. But John Farthing had gone and she wanted a cup of tea and if it wasn’t made right, she thought she might pick up one of the chairs and hurl it through the window.
With a squeak of pulley wheels and the tinkle of a bell, the dumbwaiter returned. This time it had been done right. She poured through the strainer into a rose-patterned cup. They had sent a small jug, but it contained cream instead of milk, so she sipped it black. It was too hot to taste, but some deep part of her felt the rightness of it.
Tinker must have sensed something because he came to comfort her, put his arms around her shoulders and pressed his forehead into her cheek. That broke the dam of her tears. She ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
She pretended to sleep, which kept them away for a time. They talked in hushed voices in the other room. Soon she was smelling roasted
meat and listening to the clink of crockery. When she did sleep and wake again, it felt as if only a few minutes had passed. Someone was knocking on the door and calling her name. A man’s voice. It wasn’t John Farthing.
“What is it?”
“Miss Barnabus, we need to talk.”
“I’m resting.”
“You’ve been in there six hours.”
She looked through the window and saw a streak of red in the darkening sky.
A fresh pot of tea was waiting, cool enough to drink. They’d brought chairs and a writing table to the unused bedroom. She sat facing them. Steam twisted from her cup. The men’s faces were hard to read with the window behind them, and the last of the daylight fading.
“What are your names?” she asked.
“Agent McLeod,” said the dark-skinned man.
“Agent Winslow,” said the other. “We need you to tell us everything.” He opened a writing book, unscrewed his fountain pen and dated the top corner in a generous, looping hand. Elizabeth read it upside down.
“Everything? It’s too much. There is too much to tell.”
“Start from the beginning.”
“But where is that?”
“Newfoundland,” said Winslow.
McLeod shook his head. “Start before that. The North Atlantic whaling fleet.”
Elizabeth’s story had started further back even than that, with the loss of Julia as she crossed the Atlantic. The trauma of it had ended her secret affair with John Farthing. It had set her off into the wilds on an impossible mission, to find her friend. She stared at the sunset sky behind the agents, at a streak of dirt on the glass.
“You dressed as a man to disguise yourself,” McLeod prompted. “Do you think the sailors of the fleet were duped?”
“Duped?” There was a wrongness to the word. A discordance.
“Taken in,” said McLeod.
“They thought me a man, if that’s what you mean.”
Winslow’s pen nib whispered as he wrote.
“Could you tell us how you came to disappear?”
“Our ship was captured.”
