The Impostor

by Lang, Lily

  The porter accepted the letter, tore it open and regarded its contents with suspicious eyes before finally stepping grudgingly aside to allow them in. Tessa followed Sebastian inside and found herself in a small, dark hall.

  “This way,” said Sebastian, evidently familiar with the place.

  She followed him down the hall and up a set of narrow dingy stairs. They passed several closed doors, behind which she could hear pens scratching as well as voices speaking in low, hushed tones.

  At last they came to a door at the end of yet another long hall. Sebastian knocked. No one answered for a long time, but when Sebastian knocked a second time, the door swung open to reveal a fat, balding man, even shorter than Tessa. He wore a red waistcoat, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, and a truly ferocious scowl that made him look like an outraged mole rat.

  “Hello, Brears,” said Sebastian calmly.

  The man’s scowl somehow managed to deepen when he saw who stood in the doorway.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Montague?” he demanded, baring all his long teeth.

  “I have permission from Old Hooky himself to come here,” he said. “And I brought a lady, Brears, so you may wish to reconsider your language.”

  Brears scowled at Tessa as well. “Who’s she?” he asked, looking even more suspicious.

  “She is my assistant,” said Sebastian, which made Tessa scowl at him as well.

  Brears snatched the letter, read it closely and finally took a grudging step back. “Very well,” he said, sounding as though he considered it a personal insult to invite them inside. “You might as well come in then, since the General says I’m to let you look through whatever you like.”

  They followed him into a large, cavernous room filled with rows and rows of wooden crates, as well as shelves crammed full of books. Tessa blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. There were no windows.

  “Tell me, Brears,” said Sebastian, as he looked around him. “Did Sir Francis Hughes ever come here?”

  “Hughes. Hughes.” Brears frowned, and then his brow cleared. “Ah yes. That ass from the War Office?”

  “Ah, yes. Youngish sort of chap. American accent.”

  Brears snorted as he unlocked a door at the back of the room. Beyond him, Tessa could see a room full of even more crates. “That’s the one. He certainly did.”

  Tessa exchanged a quick glance with Sebastian. Excitement coursed through her.

  “When was Sir Francis here?” she asked.

  The old man shrugged. “He was here several times,” he said. “Started coming, oh, over a year ago, I suppose. But I haven’t seen him in quite some months.”

  “What did he want to look at?” asked Sebastian. “War dispatches?”

  The corners of Brears’s mouth drooped into a considering frown. “War dispatches? I suppose he went through some of those, yes, but mostly he was interested in documents the American consulate sent here a year and a half ago.”

  The answer was so unexpected that Sebastian came to a dead halt in the center of a room. “What documents?”

  Brears shrugged his sloping shoulders. “Some papers by a man named Robert Fulton. The Americans didn’t want them, so they sent them to us for safekeeping.”

  “And Francis wanted to see these papers?” asked Sebastian.

  “Yes.” Brears shrugged again. “Don’t know why. A lot of nonsense.”

  “Can we see them too, Mr. Brears?” asked Tessa.

  “I suppose so,” said Brears grumpily. “The General said you were to see whatever you wanted, didn’t he? Come along then.”

  He led them to a table on the far end of the room, waving a hand as though indicating they should sit. Then he brought over a large box full of papers and slammed it onto the table, narrowly missing Tessa’s hand.

  She snatched her fingers back, alarmed.

  “There you are,” said Brears. “Good thing for you I knew exactly where they were. Will you need anything else?”

  “Yes,” said Sebastian, already reaching into the box. “Bring over all dispatches that were classified Omega.“

  Brears glared at him. “At your service, your lordship. Anything you want, your lordship. Not that I have anything else I have to get done.”

  When the man had disappeared down an aisle to rummage through boxes, Sebastian let out a breath.

  “What else can he possibly have to get done here?” he whispered.

  Tessa couldn’t repress a smile, her heart lightening for the first time in days. “I don’t know,” she whispered back. “Perhaps he needs to make a nest or a burrow somewhere.”

  Sebastian snorted. He pulled a large envelope out of the box and handed it to her. She managed to take it without touching him, an achievement that gave her a certain amount of satisfaction.

  As he rummaged through the box, Tessa watched him, remembering the many times they had sat thus across from each other at a table in Wellington’s headquarters, pouring over dozens of intercepted messages, trying to decipher them. She remembered their laughter and their easy conversation, the warm, secret glances they had exchanged.

  She had not forgotten a single one.

  “I wonder why the American consulate would send papers here,” he said, breaking her reverie.

  Tessa shook her head slightly to force away the fresh pang the memories brought. “I don’t know,” she said.

  Brears reappeared at their side like an evil elf. “Someone broke into the consulate about a year and a half ago,” he said, slamming another box down onto the table. The word OMEGA was stamped into its side.

  “Oh, yes, I recollect now,” said Sebastian, frowning thoughtfully. “A guard was shot, I believe. The Americans believe the thief was interested in these papers?”

  Brears nodded. “They thought it best to rid themselves of it,” he said. “They didn’t want the papers, and they didn’t want any more of their men getting shot.”

  When he had gone, Tessa lowered her voice again and leaned closer to Sebastian. “So they sent it here to be guarded by two cranky old men?”

  “I’d like to see you try to steal something from Brears.” His breath was warm on her ear, his tone low and deep. She suppressed an involuntary shiver.

  “He seems perfectly capable of gnawing off one’s arm with his teeth if he suspected thievery.”

  He grinned and the lines of his face relaxed. For a moment he looked like the boy she had known in Spain and her heart turned.

  Resolutely she turned away from him and picked up a sheaf of papers. They rummaged through the box for some time. Finally, Tessa opened yet another envelope and found a pile of meticulously drawn blueprints of a peculiar-looking, teardrop shaped ship with a single, large, fan-like sail and a large propeller at the end of a long ribbed hulk.

  For a moment she stared at it, uncertain of what she was seeing. Then, as the full implications of the device struck her, her hand began to tremble.

  “Seb—my lord,” she said, her voice faint, “I believe I have found what Sevigny was looking for.”

  An hour later, surrounded by over half a dozen more boxes that a resentful Brears had unearthed for them, Tessa leaned back into her chair and examined the notes she had made on a piece of foolscap.

  “So in 1793,” said Tessa, “an American inventor by the name of Robert Fulton designed a submersible underwater vessel called the Neptune. The Neptune could operate beneath the surface of the ocean and tow along a carcass of mines that could be attached to enemy ships and detonated.”

  Sebastian consulted his own notes. “The French Minister of Marine then granted Fulton permission to build this vessel at the Perrier boatyard in Rouen. The Neptune was first tested in the Seine near Rouen in 1800. By 1801, Fulton, with two crewmen, could take the Neptune twenty-five feet deep for five hours. But Napoleon wasn’t interested.”

  Tessa picked up the blueprints and studied them again. “Napoleon has always been surprisingly short-sighted about marine warfare,” she said, e
xamining a peculiar device on the top of the ship’s drome that appeared to feature a spiked eye.

  Sebastian nodded and picked up another piece of paper. “Meanwhile, the Crown, while perfectly aware the French were not interested in this device, decided to pay Fulton eight hundred pounds to bring his design to England. He set up a workshop near Walmer Castle in Kent, where he built a second Neptune.”

  “And the list of craftsmen who worked on this Neptune includes a pair of Kent craftsmen who also served Fulton’s crewmembers.” Tessa closed her eyes briefly. “Ron and Peter Howard.”

  Sebastian nodded grimly. “Yes,” he said. “The first of the old Omega Group to disappear.”

  Tessa nodded.

  “The British, however, also lost interest in Fulton’s work after Trafalgar destroyed the French navy,” said Sebastian, once again consulting his notes. “Deeply frustrated, Fulton returned to America in October of 1806. But before he departed, he left his papers with the American consulate in London.”

  “Sevigny must have been the one to break into the consulate,” said Tessa slowly. “And when he failed to retrieve the papers and the Americans moved it here, he kidnapped Sir Francis and possessed him in order to access them here. My lord…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “I believe Sevigny intends to recreate the Neptune. He has the Howard brothers, after all. With their particular Gift for metal work and their previous experience with Robert Fulton and the second Neptune, the task would not be difficult.”

  Sebastian was silent for a moment. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he said at last. “The war is over. Napoleon is in exile, the Omega Group was disbanded years ago. And yet Sevigny is rebuilding the Neptune. Almost all the other members of the Omega Group have disappeared or died.” He shook his head. “Why? Why would he want to do this?”

  Tessa turned back to look at him again. “Can you think of no one who could use such a vessel, my lord?” she asked. “Can you think of no reason he might wish to ensure the Omega Group ceases to exist? Can you think of no use to which Sevigny might put the Neptune and Dr. McGrigor, the only known Gifted healer in the world? Sevigny, who served Napoleon so faithfully through seven coalition wars and would have continued to serve him in an eighth?”

  Sebastian stared at her. “That’s insane,” he said flatly. “You are implying that Sevigny intends to build a submarine to rescue Napoleon, force Dr. McGrigor to restore him to his former strength and overthrow the restored Bourbon monarchy?”

  “I believe that is exactly what Sevigny intends to do, my lord,” said Tessa, standing.

  For a long moment, Sebastian continued to sit and stare at the plans in his hands. Finally, he gave a single nod.

  “I believe you are right,” he said at last.

  “Of course I’m right,” said Tessa, though she was feeling rather dizzy and breathless from the magnitude of this revelation.

  “And if Sevigny is building a submersible vessel with the intention of slipping past the Royal Navy to St. Helena’s, healing Napoleon of his disease and freeing him from exile…” Sebastian shook his head. “It sounds mad,” he said. “It sounds utterly insane.”

  “I know,” said Tessa. “Then again, I do not think anyone has ever accused Sevigny of being sane.”

  Sebastian stood up. “If Sevigny intends to do all this, he will need to be stopped. We had better get going.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Tessa, glancing back at the table strewn with papers. “Oughtn’t we put everything away? Brears—”

  “Never mind Brears,” said Sebastian. “We should go to Francis’s offices in Somerset House immediately. There might be something there.”

  Chapter Nine

  Half an hour later, Tessa stood gazing up at the graceful façade of Somerset House, a large, beautiful, neoclassical structure that stood on the south side of the Strand, overlooking the Thames, which lapped at the south wing of the house. Sebastian had told her that in addition to the Royal Academy, the building also housed the Royal Society, the Society of Antiquaries and the Geological Society.

  “Why are Sir Francis’s offices here, instead of at Horse Guards or at the secret military annexes off Abchurch Street?” Tessa asked, as yet another elderly porter admitted them through the great front door.

  Sebastian kept his voice low, so it would not echo off the marble and stone. “His official cover is as a Fellow of the Academy, studying natural sciences. This way.”

  He had apparently visited Francis here before, for he made his way unerringly through a maze of marble halls and lobbies. They walked so quickly that she hardly had time to look around her at the profusion of treasures that crammed the halls—the statuary in the niches and plinths, large bones of strange beasts, and, curiously, a human skull grinning savagely in an alabaster bowl. At last they came to a large door at the end of a long, spacious corridor, and Sebastian knocked sharply.

  There was no response.

  After a moment, when it was clear no one was going to come, he turned to look down at Tessa. She raised her head to meet his gaze with a questioning one of her own. The light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling window behind her seemed to dapple them both in gold.

  He reached out a hand and passed it lightly over the thick fawn-colored braids pinned close to her head. She drew in a quick breath, but he hardly noticed as he rubbed his callused fingertips against her hair.

  “My lord?” she asked uncertainly.

  He did not respond. Instead, he slid his finger along her scalp, igniting her nerve endings, sending a shiver down her spine, and for a moment she could not move, could not breathe.

  But she was a fool. He merely worked a hairpin loose from her braids. Then his hand lightly grazed the edge of her ear as he withdrew the pin, and for a long moment they stood staring at each other, neither able to look away.

  Only the sound of footsteps down another hall shattered the moment. Sebastian turned and began to work the lock of the door with the pin.

  A few minutes later he swung the door open to reveal a dark, windowless study within. Ushering Tessa in quickly, he shut the door behind her and struck a match.

  The sudden flare of light illuminated a large, vaulted room, furnished in heavy leather and mahogany furniture. Tall bookshelves lined two walls, filled with large, leather-bound volumes. Two large portraits hung on opposite walls. A thick layer of dust covered everything.

  Sebastian moved quickly toward a large desk on the other end of the room, where he lit two tall candles and handed one to her. Tessa accepted it, running her free hand over the dusty surface of the desk.

  “He hasn’t been here in some time,” she said.

  Sebastian shrugged. “That doesn’t signify. He almost never remembers to have this room cleaned.”

  With some confusion, Tessa watched as Sebastian, grunting and straining, dragged the desk to the center of the room, then put the chair on top of the table. Then he found a pen, climbed on top of the chair, and stretched himself just far enough to press the pen into the open mouth of the grotesque and bearded Green Man grinning down from the ceiling boss at the intersection of two ribs.

  To her amazement, one of the bookshelves swung open like a door, which opened onto darkness. Tessa lifted her candle, and the faint flame lit a passageway within.

  “Francis is telekinetic, of course,” Sebastian said dryly, leaping back onto the floor and picking up his walking stick. “It makes hitting the switch much simpler.”

  Clutching the candle, Tessa followed him into the passageway, which led down a long, narrow flight of steps into blackness below.

  “Francis keeps his true offices below the one given to him by the Academy,” said Sebastian. “It allows him to keep secret files and meet privately with his agents.”

  She did not know what to expect. Her heart pounding, she followed Sebastian down the flight of steps, and found herself in a large square chamber, which, judging from the number of doorways opening onto other spaces, was but one in a labyrinth of room
s.

  She raised the candle. The weak light illuminated a scene of total destruction.

  The study had been searched, carelessly and completely. The tapestries and charts that hung on the wall had been slashed with a knife. All but the heaviest of the furniture had been broken and destroyed. Broken objects were scattered across the room—brass instruments, statues made of wood and stone and clay, shattered oil lamps and empty goblets turned on their sides.

  “Stay close to me,” said Sebastian, making his way through the wreckage to an archway that led to the next room.

  Her heart still pounding like a war drum, she followed him into the next chamber, and stumbled over an abacus missing nearly all of its beads. Chess pieces, several of which had been crushed as though by a heavy foot, lay strewn across the carpet. A broken hourglass spilled sand everywhere. Pens and overturned bottles oozing black ink also littered the floor.

  And everywhere, scattered like leaves and branches after a storm, the debris of torn books and loose papers. Only two winged seraphim, flanking a bronze door to yet another room, seemed untouched.

  Despite his limp, Sebastian’s tread made no sound on the thick carpet as he picked his way through the destruction.

  “Francis must have fought back ferociously,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tessa. She made her voice gentle. “I know he was your friend and dear to you.”

  He glanced sharply at her, and for a moment she wondered if she had revealed too much. But he only bent to examine a few chests that lay crumbled and broken against the far wall. In the weak light of his candle, his dark hair gleamed like dark silk seen through water.

  “Why was he taken but not killed?” Sebastian asked. “What use did Sevigny have for him?”

  But before Tessa could think of a response, they both froze. The sound of footsteps and faint voices came through the great bronze door.

  “Go back upstairs,” he said, snuffing out his candle immediately. “Get back in the carriage and wait for me there.”

  “But—”