The Fallen (The Sublime Electricity Book #3)

by Pavel Kornev

  And I would have done just that, if it weren't for that damned responsibility. I had spent my whole life caring about nothing but my own life, and was devilishly unaccustomed to the level of attachment I felt for my new love interest.

  I clenched my teeth and walked out of the car with a crooked smile.

  I hadn't run – what could I say? I'd have to be the hunter and make the first strike. All the more so given I'd never get used to this...

  Liliana had already found her father, who was waiting for her on the platform and told him with a laugh that she managed to walk to all the shops, and that the heat in the capital was simply unbearable. The Marquess chuckled, but when the porters started unloading carboard boxes and paper bags from the train car with tons of purchases belonging to his daughter, he softened and calmed down.

  I walked over to greet him, getting out my wallet as I walked.

  "Thanks for the money you loaned me, George," I said, counting out the difference between the first- and second-class tickets.

  The Marquess looked strictly in reply, but said nothing in Liliana's presence and accepted the bank notes.

  "Updated your wardrobe?" he asked, shooting me a cautious gaze.

  "Good eye," I smiled. "And now, you'll have to forgive me. I have business."

  Liliana arched her brow.

  "And what business could you possibly have at such an early hour?"

  "Urgent business."

  "Lev, I hope you won't refuse to have breakfast with us?" Lilianna begged, supporting the Marquess. "We can have you brought into town afterward, it’s no trouble."

  I thought over the suggestion and nodded.

  "If you say so, George."

  The porters loaded the baggage onto a cart, and we headed to the Montague’s carriage, parked in front of the station. I ducked into a newspaper kiosk on the way, picking up a fresh edition of the Atlantic Telegraph, a notepad, a pencil and a brochure with train schedules.

  "How'd you like the trip, Lev?" the Marquess inquired politely after the coachman had strapped on the boxes and suitcases, taken a seat on the coach box and, with a flick of the whip, forced the horses to get moving.

  "My trip was quite a busy one," I answered, not even slightly bending the truth. "I had a lot of meetings."

  "Was the weather really that horrible?"

  "Dad!" Liliana reproached me.

  "Daughter," the Marquess smiled, "discussing the weather is an irreplaceable part of respectable conversation."

  I wasn't planning to contradict Lily in any case and confirmed her words with a calm heart.

  "The weather was just horrid. First, we were languishing away in heat, but when we arrived at the train station, we nearly got washed away by a downpour, accompanied by some very fierce lightning. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen weather like that."

  "Astonishing! There hasn't even been a drop here for two weeks..."

  The carriage didn't have to drive into town. Almost immediately, it turned onto a narrow street that looped between the forested slopes of the steep hills then, ten minutes later, we had already arrived at the Montague family estate. The guard threw open the gates, and we rolled down the shady lane through a huge yard that, while much worse cared-for, was no less scenic.

  When the carriage stopped near the front porch of the mansion, the servants began carrying our suitcases, boxes and bags into the building. Liliana, meanwhile, ran up to get dressed and put herself in order after the journey. The Marquess offered me a coffee, and I didn't refuse.

  On the familiar terrace, there was a small table already set. Lily's father was smoking a cigar and taking occasional sips from a tiny cup of very strong coffee. Instead of overthinking things and coming up with a cunning plan, I asked for some milk and sugar.

  "So then, was it all due to the heat?" the Marquess asked a little while later.

  "To what are you referring, George?" I clarified, having taken a deep breath of the fresh mountain air.

  "My daughter returning so early, Lev. What else?"

  "Don't ask me to try and judge her motives. We didn't have much of a chance to talk. I was simply overwhelmed with business," I told him and extended the man the newspaper I'd bought at the train station. "Just look at page three. After what you told me about the events in Calcutta, I think it explains a lot."

  Yesterday's big sensation had been squeezed out by news about her Imperial Majesty requiring urgent hospitalization but, still, having a gang of stranglers shot down in the city was just too hot a story for the papers to ignore completely. And though perhaps the thugees really didn't deserve a place on the first page of a fresh edition of the Atlantic Telegraph, its competitors didn’t mention the story at all, even in the crime blotter.

  George only needed one look at the headline to see how the event was connected with his daughter's sudden return from the capital.

  "Ooohh!" he drew out, looking at me. "And how's Lily?"

  "She didn't want to discuss it with me."

  The Marquess nodded, then frowned in annoyance.

  "Damned Indians! Just spit in a random direction these days, and you're bound to hit a phansigar!"

  I was entirely in agreement with the man, but I stayed silent and took a few gulps of the heavily milky coffee, which was starting to get cold.

  A servant left the guest room and invited us to the table. George put out his cigar, pressing it into the bottom of the glass ash-tray and pointed to the open door:

  "Please..."

  The ladies were waiting for us, having taken places opposite one another on other sides of the table. The Marquise was wearing a dark blue dress with a high collar standing up around her ideally straight spine. That combined with her hair, done up in a ponytail, made her look reminiscent of a strict school-marm. It was completely obvious that she wasn't happy.

  But as for Liliana, she was smiling joyously and even sent me a cheeky wink before her father turned back around.

  "So, what wonderful food will we be treated to today?" I asked the Marquess with a smile. In his wife’s presence, he was no longer slouching, his gut was sucked in, and his shoulders were spread wide.

  "The usual, my dear," his wife informed him. "Just the usual."

  I took the words into account and decided to limit myself to toast and jam, but suddenly found I was hungry as a wolf. In the end, I threw off my trepidation and just gorged myself, making sure to sample each and every dish.

  The Marquise didn’t eat much, and when tea and cookies were brought out, she asked her daughter:

  "And how was your trip to the capital? I hope your noble cavalier didn't let you get bored?"

  Liliana smiled sweetly and told her:

  "Unfortunately, Lev was very busy the whole time. We barely spoke."

  "I do say, young sir, it isn’t very polite to leave a girl alone like that in a big city."

  The statement put me quite beside myself, but I didn't have time to think up an answer before Lily interjected on my behalf.

  "Come now, mother! Lev is a true gentleman. He even proposed we elope to the New World!"

  I choked in surprise and placed a napkin to my lips in a vain attempt to hold back a cough. Who wouldn't choke in that situation? The Marquise's light gray eyes nearly burned a hole in me.

  "No need for jokes, Lily," George lightly scolded. His daughter laughed happily and shot me a good-natured smile. "Look, you've made Lev blush."

  "It just went down the wrong pipe," I answered chokingly, finishing my tea.

  "So Lev, how do you earn your keep in life?"

  The Marquise's question didn't catch me off guard. I was expecting something like that from the very beginning, so I gave an answer that made me sound like a man of substance, while not really saying anything at all:

  "I am independently wealthy."

  "Mother, why the interrogation?" Lily sighed fatefully and got up from the table. "Lev, won't you join me?"

  "Go, go," said George, letting us pass.

 
Following Liliana, I walked into her room, closed the door firmly behind myself and shook my head.

  "You're some joker!"

  Lily turned and rolled her eyes.

  "Leo, did I ever even say one word that wasn't true?"

  "You did. Several, in fact," I announced, looking over my surroundings with interest, as I had never been in a girl's bedroom before.

  But it was all as usual: a made-up bed, a desk with a kerosene lamp and a pile of worn books, a dresser for fine clothing, a vanity with a mirror and a fairly large collection of cosmetics.

  "And in what way did I profane the truth?" Liliana squinted.

  I walked over to the wide-open window, took a seat on the sill and picked up a book that must have been forgotten there. A morning chill blew in from outside. Birds were chirping in the garden, and the last thing I wanted was to spoil such a wonderful day with bickering. And I wasn't planning to.

  "First of all, I never made any secret proposal. And second, who said anything about marriage?"

  Liliana arched a brow.

  "So you were suggesting I go with you to the New World as a mistress?" But she couldn't maintain her serious expression long, and almost instantly burst into laughter. "Calm down, Leo! Unlike the majority of my stablemates, I'm not the type to dream about rushing into marriage!"

  "Is that so?" I smiled, demonstrating the book I took from the window sill. "Are you sure?"

  The cover read: "When a Man Marries."

  "Leo, you cannot possibly think so low of me!" Lily reproached me. "It's Mary Rinehart! She writes detective stories, not romances. Have you really never read The Circular Staircase?"

  "Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar," I admitted and placed my hand to my chest. "I feel like you've removed a stone from my heart!"

  "Woah there!" Lily threatened with a finger. "Don't think I'll let you off the hook that easy! There's going to be a reception in the old Maxwell mansion today. I have been invited, and you will accompany me."

  "Not the best idea."

  "Leo!" Lily leaned in over me. "You don't want me to feel like an old maid, do you? Tell me it isn't true!"

  I tried to grab Liliana by the waist, but she slipped away and asked:

  "Where are you staying? I'll come get you at six."

  "I don't know," I confessed. "I was just about to get around to that. I think I'll rent apartments near the lake."

  "Then let's meet for lunch at Old-Time James. Will you be free by two?"

  "I think so, yes."

  "Alright, then. I’ll see you there. And another thing..." Lily started digging in the book shelf and pulled an advertisement from between the pages of a well-worn little tome. "This is the best rental agency in town. Go to them. You can leave the suitcase here for now."

  "That's just what I was going to do."

  I stuck the ad in my pocket and pulled Liliana close. This time, she didn't try to invoke my good sense and kissed me back eagerly.

  "You should go," Lily whispered after that. "I'll see you at lunch. And don't be late!"

  I picked up the bag with my evening suit and walked down to the first floor in Liliana's company. On the porch, she stopped and bid me a dry farewell:

  "See you later, Leo!" But she didn't forget to add a wink.

  "See you!" I smiled and got down from the steps to the carriage awaiting me. The familiar coachman was already sitting on the driving box.

  The journey into town didn't take much time, as I didn't have to wander any of the confusing alleys. The agency, as the coachman told me, provided rentals for the majority of vacationers who came to the spring, and was located in a manor right on the electric streetcar line.

  Despite his protests, I tipped the family servant a two-franc coin before leaving the carriage. The door to the booking office was left wide open and even propped with a heavy paving stone to make sure it stayed that way. But all the same, it was uncommonly sultry inside. It should be said, though, that I immediately forgot about the sweltering air, because I was overwhelmed by the level of service. I even felt somewhat awkward when offered a whiskey and soda water. "Just a splash," as the manager put it. I refused, naturally.

  The reason for such opulent hospitality was simple: in the runup to the opening of the restored amphitheater and the grandiose gala-concert, the majority of the rental properties in town were already occupied. The only remaining options were the very most expensive apartments. No one told me this directly, but some things can be read between the lines perfectly well.

  "I suggest we work like this," I decided. "First, tell me if it would be possible to rent a building with a basement or a room on the first floor of such a building for the whole summer. Not for me, for an acquaintance."

  "Outside the ring? No problem."

  "Outside the ring?" I didn't understand. "What ring?"

  "The ring line of the electric streetcar. You must have heard of it. It's one of our main attractions."

  I considered it and clarified:

  "Would such accommodations be appropriate for an elderly man?"

  "Of course! It would be both cheaper and more comfortable. Shall we look over options?"

  "Please!"

  The manager called a clerk with a thick catalog. We quickly selected a place for Alexander Dyak. In the end, I decided against renting him a whole house, choosing instead a wing with a carriage house. The inventor wouldn't need more than that.

  It took me a bit longer to explain exactly where Albert Brandt was staying so they could find me a rental apartment not far away.

  "Here, look!" the clerk shuddered, digging through his papers. "Part of a building with a separate entrance. There is a kitchen and guestroom on the first floor, and two bedrooms on the second. There is also a basement and attic. It has a view over the lake, all amenities and gas lighting. The back yard is shared."

  "What's the catch?" I smiled.

  The manager sighed.

  "It isn't cheap."

  "And?"

  "The windows from one of the bedrooms look out over the ocean, but an electric streetcar line runs between the building and the shore. And the streetcar starts at six in the morning."

  "But there's nothing between the building and the rails?" I clarified.

  "A small square," the clerk remembered. "And after that, you're on the lake."

  "I see." I thought it over for a short time, then opened my checkbook. "I'll write you out an advance now, but if something is not to my liking..."

  "We can certainly look over other options," the manager assured me, not wanting to let a monied client go. "You don't even have to sign anything now. We'll take you there!"

  I took a folded brochure from my pocket with the train schedule, and underlined an arrival time.

  "Ah, you'll have to meet my friend and show him to his new place. Can you do that?"

  "Of course!" the manager promised and dipped his quill into the inkwell. "What did you say his name was?"

  "Alexander Dyak," I answered, filling out the check. "I'll pay the rent on the wing for a month in advance. Now as for my apartment..."

  I liked the apartment. It was on a calm little street filled with green. The back yard of the divided manor looked out onto a square, which stretched along the quay. The rooms were bright and spacious. The furniture wasn't new, but it was high quality. Albert Brandt rented a place not far from there, just a few blocks away.

  I wrote him out another check and immediately got the keys to the gate, front door and back door. I walked around the building, went down into the basement, and checked out the attic. From the quay, I could hear the clunk of wheels from the self-propelled streetcar, but it wasn't very loud. With closed windows, I probably wouldn't even have noticed a vibration.

  Just fine.

  Through the back door, I walked into the unpeopled square and walked a bit among the lindens. After that, I went over the rails and stood at the quay railing. The building was located on a hillock, and it had a wonderful view of the boat
docks. The little island where I'd spent some of the least enjoyable moments of my life was hidden just out of view behind a forested cape.

  The slope of the hill was overgrown with bushes and trees. The stone steps leading down to the water got lost in vegetation at points, but the snaking path never disappeared entirely. I walked down, and the city was quickly left behind me. There were anxious birds flitting from tree to tree. Lizards digging among the stones dashed into the grass. A large fish jumped and splashed into the water. I often had to duck down to get under branches. It immediately became clear that neither vacationers nor locals came down here very often. And that was perfect for what I needed to do.

  On the craggy shore, I walked down to the water’s edge, pulled a clip from my pocket and pressed the bullets out of it onto my palm. With a wide swipe, I cast them into the lake. The brass walls of the casings gleamed in the sun and careened down to the bottom like little yellow fish. I sent the Steyr down after it. It gave a respectable glug and sank down together with the holster. The water was clear as glass, but there were enough dark stones, muck and seaweed on the bottom that the gun would never be seen from the shore or a boat.

  Why get rid of it?

  What else could I have done? It was a rare pistol, of a rare caliber. It had never been released for sale to the public, and the whole shipment was intended for our allies in the New World. Ramon had told me that, and I had no basis to disbelieve him.

  Bastian Moran would be sure to start looking for any mention of this model in all the Atlantean crime blotters. The last thing I needed was to end up in his field of view. And certainly not because of my own complacency!

  Somewhere up above, another self-propelled streetcar thundered over the rail joints. I loosened my neckerchief and headed back home. There simply wasn't time to admire the beautiful nature.

  First, I went to the bank, filled out an authorization to withdraw cash from my account via the local branch, then took out fifteen hundred francs so I would at least have some money if everything went wrong again. After that, I popped into the telegraph office and made use of its intercity telephone service. I called Ramon and told him to get rid of the stolen pistols, because Department Three would certainly be trying to figure out where the person who killed the thugees had managed to get his hands on such a rare weapon.