Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles)

by Charlotte E. English

  “Hildy will take care of it.”

  Silence fell for several minutes, and not the comfortable variety they’d often shared. Waiting in vain for a graceful opening for her apology, Clara at last gave up and settled for bluntness.

  “I’m sorry about refusing you.”

  He shrugged. “No matter. Clar, did you… overhear anything?”

  This was not the gracious response she’d hoped for; it did imply that he was still feeling hurt (or perhaps just wounded in his pride). But his subject change was decisive and she chose not to push. “Very little,” she said guardedly. “Something about the black mercury.”

  Cas sighed. “He may have been with the Ministry of Justice before, but he’s a Starcaster now. A Starcaster! He wants to warn me of some sort of danger, but how can I possibly take him seriously?”

  This style of protestation was too familiar; it could only fill Clara with foreboding. “Cas, what have you done?”

  “Nothing!” His tone was one of deepest indignation. “Surely you don’t think some kind of stone-arranging is more to be relied upon than my word?”

  Clara rolled her eyes at that and refrained from giving the obvious reply. “You’re aware, as I am, that Starcasting is a perfectly respectable science and it is in fact taught at the University. It’s hardly quackery.”

  “That’s a roundabout way of saying yes,” Cas said, not without a hint of sullenness.

  “All right: yes,” she retorted. “I recognise this, Caspar Goldstein. You’re getting yourself into a mess again, and you’re trying to keep me out of it. What have you had to do with the black mercury?”

  “Nothing!”

  Clara nodded thoughtfully. “What exactly did he say?”

  “Oh, something about casting for information about the mercury, and getting some sign or other that I’ve something to do with it. Strong sense of danger, something else about people looking for it.” He snorted. “Of course there are people looking for it. Everybody is!”

  Clara cast him a sideways glance of pure suspicion. “Are you sure he merely said ‘people’ in general, or something more specific?”

  “He did mention Inselmond,” Cas said reluctantly, after a moment’s pause. “But that’s ridiculous. Nobody even knows what’s up there. How do we even know that there are people? It’s probably empty.”

  “I don’t know about that. It’s not confirmed, of course, but Hildy said she saw signs of possible habitation while we were up there.”

  Cas shrugged. “Even if that’s true, how would anybody get down from there? And if they did, why now and not before?”

  “Maybe people have come down before, but they didn’t choose to tell the entire city about it,” Clara suggested. “Or maybe they’ve come down specifically because of this black mercury stuff. Or is that not what Mr. Mielke was telling you?”

  Cas’s silence was answer enough.

  “Whatever you’re hiding, Caspar, you’d better share it. You know I always get you out of these fixes.”

  He sighed. “Not this time. I’m not involving you.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I don’t want you to be hurt!” he flared, turning on her an expression of mounting anger.

  “Then there is some kind of danger.” Her annoyance with him grew, but so did her anxiety. “Oh, Cas, whatever you’ve done—undo it! Quickly!”

  “I can’t. But it’s nothing awful, Clarry, please don’t be worried! It’s a mere trifle and will soon be resolved.”

  He spoke with complete confidence, but Clara had heard that tone before. “I wish you would confide in me,” she said, embarrassed to realise that she sounded suddenly forlorn. “It’s not like you to shut me out.”

  “Well,” he said heavily. “Things have changed a lot lately.”

  Clara was silent, thinking of all the things he could be referring to. He was right; many things had changed, and fast. But she was sorry to think that their friendship was proving to be part of it. “We may not be working together anymore, but I haven’t changed,” she said quietly. “I’m still here for you.”

  They drew up outside Lukas’s house. Cas remained silent as he jumped out of the carriage and then handed her down. “Be there for Lukas,” he said as the cab drove away. “He’s out of a career and rendered virtually immobile. He needs all the help he can get.”

  His tone was teasing but she wasn’t deceived. She opened her mouth to retort—then shut it again as she noticed that Lukas’s front door was hanging wide open. “What the—?”

  Cas saw it and swore. “Stay here,” he said tersely, and darted inside.

  Clara followed him, wary but determined. Stepping into the small hallway, she encountered an incredible mess. Lukas’s house had been thrown into chaos, his furniture emptied of its contents and his belongings carelessly discarded all over the floor. Walking from room to room in Cas’s wake, she saw the same story everywhere. Nothing had been left untouched.

  “Oh no, Cas…” she whispered. “What in the world have you done?”

  And where was Lukas? She’d seen no sign of him. Fear twisted in her gut, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  “Has he done something?” came Luk’s voice from behind her. “If so, I’d really like to know what it is, too.’

  Clara whirled around to see Lukas himself, looking pale but very much alive and mobile. A bruise was blossoming on his temple, and a bit of dried blood marred the skin there.

  Without a word, she went to him and put her arms around him.

  “All’s well,” he murmured against her hair. “I got thumped on the head, but other than that I’m unharmed.”

  “By who?”

  He shook his head. “Took me by surprise, I’m afraid. I didn’t get a look at him.”

  Cas appeared in the doorway, his face white and serious. He looked hard at Luk for a moment, then nodded slowly and headed for the front door.

  “Cas!” Lukas called. “Is she right? Do you know what this is about?”

  “Yes,” Cas said shortly, his stride never faltering.

  “Where are you going?” Clara said.

  He halted, and turned around. “I can’t stay here. That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “But where will you go?”

  Cas had already turned away again. “Don’t worry about me!” he called back, some of his customary cheerfulness creeping back into his tone. “I’ll soon put it right.”

  He stepped out into the night, closed the front door carefully behind him, and was gone.

  Clara exchanged a speaking look with Lukas, who lifted his hands in a shrug. “I’ve a feeling I’m missing quite a few things,” he complained.

  Clara nodded. “I’ll explain, but in a moment.” She trod carefully through to the front door, opened it again, and stepped out. “Min!” she called softly, mindful of sleeping persons in houses nearby. “Min!”

  A warble came in reply, and Min’s head appeared over the edge of the roof. The nights were growing warm, and she preferred to sleep outside. “Clarry? What are you doing back already?” She flew down and settled on the doorframe.

  “Never mind that. The house has been broken into; what did you see?”

  Min was instantly a picture of shock and outrage. “Broken into? Who did it! Let me at them!”

  “Min!” Clara said, shocked. “You slept through it?”

  “What, did they bring a marching band with them?” Min retorted. “You try sleeping on the roof in this heat, and see how much of anything you see or hear!”

  Clara sighed, but forbore from further reproaches. It wouldn’t help. Quickly, she explained the situation to her pigeon friend, hoping that Min would prove more reliable with her next request than she had with guard duty. “I need you and your friends to help, please,” she said. “Keep an eye on Cas! I can’t follow him, but you can.”

  “Right!” Min shouted, and leapt off the doorframe. Winging her way back into the skies, she called back down, “Don’t worry, Clarry! That
boy won’t be out of our sight for so much as a moment!”

  She had already flown too high to hear any reply, so Clara didn’t venture one. She merely watched as Min’s colourful form receded into a dark shadow in the sky, then disappeared from view.

  Then she went back inside. Cleaning up the house could wait until the morrow: all she could think about for the present was sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  It had taken Cas a few hours to hide all his black mercury. He’d divided the stuff up and stashed it all over the city, taking every precaution he could think of to avoid being followed while he did it. He’d felt ridiculous. Few people yet knew the source of the autogyro’s sudden boost in power, so how could he be under observation over it? No one was after him. No one was trying to take it from him. It was all in his head, mere paranoia.

  But he’d done it anyway, and felt better for it. The peculiar stuff was safe, and out of his hands until he worked out what to do with it.

  But then came the business at Lukas’s house, and Quintus Mielke’s warning. Together, these two circumstances confirmed all his worst fears; and yet, he hadn’t felt vindicated. On the contrary, he’d been more inclined to wish he hadn’t done it. The damned stuff was proving to be far more troublesome than he’d ever imagined; part of him wished he’d left it where it was. His unknown pursuer would have discovered it by now, in his old house or in Lukas’s, and taken it away, and presumably left him alone after that.

  As it was, he was still in trouble. He’d made light of Quintus Mielke’s warning last night, but it weighed on his mind. Was it another Starcaster who was after him now? Is that how he’d been identified as a source of the mysterious fuel? Starcasting was a strange art, which few understood besides those who practiced it. All Cas really knew about it was that it was vague; Mielke’s words had seemed to provide support for that idea. A Starcaster who was interested in the black mercury might catch some glimpse of Cas as an involved party, but it wasn’t as though they could watch his every move from afar.

  Or at least, he hoped not.

  And what had Mielke meant by saying the mercury was more valuable than anyone realised? That didn’t bode well. Again, Cas wished himself rid of the stuff. He could just throw it away, but who would know that he’d done it? If he could find a way to catch whoever was following his trail around Eisenstadt, perhaps he could make some kind of deal. But the mysterious assailant that Lukas had encountered was too well hidden for that.

  Then there was the matter of Miss Matilda Bernat and her interesting offer. That, he felt, would be by far the best way to get the black mercury off his hands; it would accomplish the double purpose of freeing him from the burden of the fuel, and reinstating his racing career. Or so he hoped.

  He had a tolerably friendly relationship with one of Max’s secretaries, and he used that to get access to an empty building that Max owned. On repairing thither, Cas found one ancient and solitary sofa slumped forlornly in a corner of its spacious and crumbling parlour, and here he spent the remainder of the night. The water still worked, to his relief, so he was able to bathe; and late in the morning, hungry but clean, he made his way across the gently sunlit city to the University of Eisenstadt.

  This was a complex of buildings, and only belatedly did Cas realise that Miss Bernat hadn’t said in which part of it he was to meet her. He wandered around to the main gate and through it into a courtyard, around which several aged stone buildings rose, all unmarked and unhelpfully identical in nature. The sun was high overhead; as Cas stood, uncertain what to do, a clock tower on the largest building struck the noon hour.

  Then he saw an elegant woman with ash-blond hair step out of one of the doorways to his left. She came towards him instantly, her step quick and her smile wide. She had exchanged her handsome green ball gown for a pair of trousers and a wide-sleeved blouse, and her hair was only loosely bound up. She was carrying a couple of books under one arm, and wore a bag slung over the opposite shoulder.

  “Mr. Goldstein,” she greeted him as she drew near. “You’re very prompt!”

  He made her a small bow. “I may be a wastrel, Miss Bernat, but punctuality isn’t entirely beyond me.”

  “A wastrel? Now, who says so?” She smiled up at him, holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

  “My father, for one,” Cas said blandly.

  “Oh, fathers,” she replied with a smile and a sigh. “Parental expectations can be so weighty, can’t they? Now, I take it you haven’t changed your mind since last night?”

  “On the contrary, I’d like to get this arrangement concluded as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh?” She lifted an arch brow. “It’s fortunate, then, that I was able to make enquiries this morning with… one or two people. Your reinstatement can be managed, but it will cost quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

  “How much is ‘quite a bit?’”

  The figure Miss Bernat named would have seemed negligible to him only a week or so ago. Now that he had only his own resources to rely on… it didn’t seem negligible anymore. Nowhere near it.

  “Um…” he swallowed. “That can be managed, I think, but not immediately. I’ll need to raise the money.”

  She regarded him with cool blue eyes for a moment, unsmiling. “You may think me impertinent, but I’ll risk it. If you need help raising funds—something to sell, perhaps—I may be able to help with that.”

  Cas stared, his eyes narrowing. “What kind of professor are you, exactly?”

  She grinned. “Why don’t you have lunch with me, and we’ll discuss all that?”

  Cas thought of his empty pockets and demurred. “I’m not hungry.”

  That earned him an up-and-down look. “A grown man of your size? Of course you’re hungry. Come on. My treat.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she set off towards the gate and, within a few moments, had disappeared from view. Cas was obliged to hurry after her.

  “I hope this isn’t an edible bribe,” he said suspiciously. “Do you get a cut of this proposed fee?”

  She laughed. “That hasn’t been discussed. But my motives in taking you to lunch are more personal than business.” She turned her head just enough to flash him a small, secretive smile.

  Cas wasn’t sure whether that reassured or terrified him, but he saw little choice but to go along with it—for now.

  Matilda took him to a little eatery not far from the university. It was a comfortable but thoroughly genteel place, and he had no trouble believing it popular with the university staff. She procured enough food to satisfy three men, while reserving to herself a plate that wouldn’t have kept a pigeon happy for ten minutes.

  “You must believe me to be in danger of starving,” he said, eyeing the spread of cold meat and bread and coloured things he supposed were vegetables.

  “I’m just being a good hostess,” she smiled, toying elegantly with the scrap of meat on her plate.

  “Whereas you’re capable of living on air, I perceive.”

  She laughed. “This figure isn’t a work of magic, Mr. Goldstein. It requires dedicated maintenance.’

  A quick glance confirmed that her figure was, indeed, very fine, and Cas turned his attention to the food. He was starving, having eaten nothing since before last night’s ball; but she watched him with such intensity—and with such a speculative look on her face—that he felt uncomfortable, and confined himself to eating small morsels as she was.

  She broke the silence after a few minutes to say, “You asked me a question, I think. What was it?”

  “I asked what kind of professor you are.”

  “Oh, yes.” She smiled. “Actually I’m not a professor. I’m a mere part-time lecturer only.”

  “Oh? What topic?” The paranoid part of Cas’s mind waited for her to say something about Starcasting.

  Instead she said, “History.”

  Relieved, he smiled back at her. “But you’re acquainted with some powerful people. How did that happen?”

&nbs
p; “I come from a family with ambitions. My father always said it never hurts to ‘Know People’”—she pronounced those two words with peculiar emphasis— “and I agree with him. So I’ve cultivated some connections of my own over the years.”

  “And do you always employ them for altruistic purposes?”

  She shot him a sharp look, but he maintained a carefully expressionless demeanour and went on eating. “I don’t claim to be an altruist,” she said after a moment. “I’m helping you because I like you. There’s a significant element of selfishness about it.”

  Cas’s brows went up at that. “Oh? You’re hoping to get something out of it, I gather.”

  “One or two things.” She smiled. “We can discuss that later.”

  Caspar may not be a man of any particular experience outside of the racetrack, but he prided himself on not being entirely stupid either. People didn’t help strangers for no reason. That she admitted to having ulterior motives actually reassured him—though he was experiencing some mild misgivings about what those motives might be.

  He wasn’t sure what to make of Miss Matilda Bernat. Some elements of her manner towards him made him very uncomfortable; but he had no real reason to distrust her, and she was his only real hope of returning to racing.

  And since the first Eisenstadt Cup event was only days away, he didn’t have much time to think it over.

  Reaching a decision, he said, “You mentioned you can help me raise the money?”

  She nodded slowly. “You have something to sell, I’m guessing.”

  “Possibly. But,” he added quickly, “I don’t want to share any details yet.”

  “One of my associates is a dealer. He’ll give you a good rate if I ask him to.”

  “It isn’t jewellery.”

  “He deals in many things. If he can turn a profit on it, he’s probably interested.”

  “He’s that kind of dealer,” Cas said, his misgivings returning in full force.

  But Miss Bernat laughed prettily. “No, no. He won’t take anything illegal. He is perfectly legitimate, I assure you.”