The Silver Skull (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 2)

by Anne Renwick

  “I will speak to him.” Ian opened the cell incubator, removed one of Warrick’s Petri dishes, and filled a large bore syringe with both fluid and cells. “Time to study the destruction your cells have wrought. We’ve no time to waste. Fetch me a rat.”

  Warrick stood, arms crossed, a belligerent look upon his face.

  “Go!” Ian snapped. “Or I will tell the count you refused to assist. That should make for interesting conversation about the dinner table this evening.”

  Minutes later, Warrick dropped a vehemently objecting feral rat inside a makeshift cage upon the laboratory bench top. “Catch the next forty-nine yourself. I am done working for the day.” He snatched up an empty flask and a barrel spigot—and disappeared into the gloom between the stacks of wine barrels.

  A certain grim satisfaction surged through him at Warrick’s hot-headed abandonment. Would the count’s temper flare upon learning his cherished “doktor” refused to assist? Ian contemplated the rat before him. Until he’d assessed his sister’s situation, he would make every appearance of cooperation, beginning with a thorough assessment of Warrick’s so-called progress.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE GUARDSMAN IN FRONT of Olivia finally stopped climbing yet another twisting flight of worn stone stairs—to the relief of her poor, constricted lungs and frozen feet—and set Ian’s valise down before a wooden door to fumble an iron key from his pocket. That was when she noticed this particular man’s hands. “Your fingers.” She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, then pointed at the lumps protruding from his knuckles, the reason they were here. His joints barely flexed. “Do they hurt? Are you in pain?”

  Behind her, Katherine’s breath caught. Had the woman thought she wouldn’t notice?

  “Pain?” The guardsman scoffed. “A soldier accepts pain. What he does not accept is death. You will fix.”

  Fix. Yes, that was what she and Ian were here to do, fix the tumors she’d already noticed upon the jaws and fingers of a number of guardsmen. Presumably such growths affected bones in other locations, locations a physician and his assistant would inspect. There was no escaping total immersion into the medical field. Biology lessons concerning bone growth and development would continue and, as they veered to the pathological, would grow more morbid.

  Her stomach curdled.

  Lifting the valise, the guardsman led them into a room. The castle was in bad repair. It was cold and drafty and—from what she’d glimpsed so far—poorly furnished. This bedchamber she and Ian were to share was no different.

  Though a generous size, Olivia suspected that—were she to yell—her voice would echo off the bare stone walls. A minimum of furniture occupied the space, and the bed took center stage. Heavy, green brocade curtains fell from a carved wooden canopy supported by four sturdy posts. The mattress itself rested upon a platform so high that three wooden steps had been built to allow a person to climb inside. Inside. For the bed seemed to be its own room.

  Aside from a simple writing desk and chair, seating in the room was limited to a stone bench built into the wall beneath a tall window, their sole source of light. Currently of the gray and dim variety. A number of its panes were broken, rags thrust into the cracks the chosen method of repair.

  An insert in the old fireplace across from the bed was the only visible attempt at modernization—a carbonite steel stove optimized for burning coal, though why one would bother in the middle of a forest… She crossed to hold her hands above the vent, scooting her frozen feet as close as possible. The heat emitted was meager and, given the paltry ration of coal in a scuttle, there wasn’t much hope of raising the temperature of the room above bearable.

  “Sie können jetzt gehen,” Katherine informed the guardsman. You can go now. She held out her hand.

  He frowned and shook his head, refusing to drop the key into her waiting palm. “Ich warte draußen.” I wait outside.

  Interesting.

  Olivia gave no indication that she understood their exchange. Had the count instructed his guardsmen that his countess was not to be trusted? Lady Katherine, as she’d been known once, had been the most selfish debutant of Olivia’s first Season. She’d ruined a number of young girls’ marital prospects that year. Including Olivia’s.

  At her debut ball, Katherine had swept in, uninvited, turning all male heads in her direction. A number of targets invited expressly for Olivia’s perusal had failed to take interest in the duke’s daughter, favoring instead the tall, raven-haired beauty.

  Mother had been furious.

  But Katherine had a proclivity for luring eligible men into gardens—and of turning down their subsequent proposals. One day, she’d simply disappeared. Her parents, thin-lipped and rigid, had faded from society, leaving the ton to embellish upon a variety of rumors.

  Olivia allowed herself a small smirk for now she knew the truth of Katherine’s fate. Forced marriage to an impoverished German count, life in an ancient fortress deep in the primeval forest. After all the hopes and dreams she’d ruined, it was hard to dredge up much sympathy. She frowned. Though her husband was a kidnapper and a philanderer. No one deserved that.

  The door closed behind the guardsman and, nose wrinkled, Katherine turned her attention to Olivia’s attire. “Take off that coat. Let’s see if the blue silk can be rescued.”

  Silently, Olivia slipped Ian’s woolen greatcoat from her shoulders and draped it over the chair. She had no desire to become fast friends with this woman. Every moment spent alone in Katherine’s presence was a threat to her cover. Any second the countess might recall her true identity.

  “Turn around.” Katherine twirled her finger in the air, clucking her tongue. “It’s hopeless. Whatever happened?”

  Olivia spun. “An unfortunate accident and an unanticipated early departure.” Best to stick as close to the truth as possible. “There was no time even to change. My husband suspected he was being watched.”

  And he’d been right. She only hoped Zheng’s detection of the acousticotransmitters hadn’t led Ian to the conclusion that she was the one who had been tasked with surveillance. Given the man’s intelligence, it was a rather feeble hope. Should she be worried that a small part of her wanted to drop all pretense in his company?

  “My red gown will fit without alterations,” Katherine pronounced. “I will have it—and its matching slippers—sent to you. Along with my white, silk nightgown. It is the only one fit for a new bride. It is thin, but…” she tipped her head as if amused, “it will help you cope with the cold.”

  Olivia frowned.

  “By drawing your husband close, of course.” Her laugh held a note of ridicule that pricked at Olivia’s skin. “Have you not yet shared a bed?”

  “Of course,” Olivia said, her face hot. Would he kiss her again? She hoped so, for she’d been too terrified to soak in the marvelous sensation of his lips pressed to hers. Her eyes darted to the massive bed. Did she dare encourage further explorations? Desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere, she continued, “I only wondered about a bath. But, this castle, it seems its distance from civilization must make modernization… difficult.”

  “This drafty old heap needs repairs that would empty the count’s coffers. Better to let it crumble.” Katherine waved a hand dismissively. “I will see if hot water can be managed. In the meantime, do make use of the wash basin. Facilities are, regrettably, primitive.”

  Katherine opened the door and leapt backward, barely managing to avoid collision with a mechanical maid who careened forward into the room bearing a tray. Steam rose from a large bowl. Beside it rested a loaf of dark, brown bread. Olivia’s stomach growled in a most unladylike manner, reminding her that it had been nearly a day since she’d last eaten.

  “And the steam staff is in an equal state of decay. Rusty beasts, all of them.” With a huff, Katherine exited the chamber, slamming the door behind her.

  The aged steambot lurched about the room like a spider with multi-hinged legs—a necessity when one lived in a castle
with no ascension chambers and only spiral staircases connecting one floor to another—but its steps were so uncertain and unbalanced that a good portion of the soup spilled over the edge of the bowl, soaking the bottom half of the bread with broth.

  Desperate to save what was left, Olivia rushed forward and snatched the tray from the steambot’s arms to set it down upon the window seat. Ignoring hunger pangs, she turned to study the steam maid and considered the unlikely solution that presented itself. Where better to secrete an acousticotransmitter than inside a household steambot, one that moved about the castle and was in frequent contact with its inhabitants?

  She pressed a hand to her chest. The glass and crystal wand Zheng had waved over her clothing wasn’t able to detect an inactive, non-transmitting device. But she couldn’t keep the device behind her corset. Not when a thin, silk nightgown threatened.

  Plans. It was time to form one.

  By now, Mother would have alerted Father as to her disappearance. Agents would be deployed to locate her. The sooner this acousticotransmitter was activated, the sooner help would arrive. Mr. Black would be angry that she required rescuing, yet he would also be proud. If not for her actions, the acousticotransmitters would all be destroyed, and the Queen’s agents would know nothing of the bitter enemy that inhabited this castle.

  She called out, “Stillgestanden!” Stand still!

  The steambot staggered to a halt.

  Careful contemplation of the steam made led her to the conclusion that it was of a similar age to Steam Clara. Therefore, it should contain an equivalent cipher cartridge. She could slip in a few of her steam maid’s Babbage cards. “I hearby dub thee Matilda,” she said aloud, and her voice did indeed echo.

  Olivia blew on her stiff knuckles, flexed them against the cold and set to work aware that at any moment the door could open again, summoning Steam Matilda back to the kitchens. She reached behind the edge of her corset, drawing forth one of its steel stays—the one that concealed a warded pick.

  Aural chambers were a challenge to open—even with the proper tool—but they were on level with the human mouth and sufficiently removed from noisy internal mechanisms. The perfect place to conceal an activated acousticotransmitter.

  Flipping the switch to the “on” position and adding a touch of remaining adhesive, Olivia managed it inside of two minutes. A new record.

  She tucked away her pick with a self-satisfied smile. Provided Zheng did not march about the castle waving his crystal wand over the steambots, it should escape discovery. Once Mr. Black was within range, he was certain to pick up various bits of conversation. She hoped some of it would be useful. At the very least, it would lead him to her.

  Now to make Steam Matilda her very own personal castle steam servant. Lifting the simple black gown that covered the steambot’s iron framework, Olivia set about accessing the cipher cartridge. She fanned through the programming cards, tugging some out to replace them with Steam Clara’s commands.

  Worried about Steam Matilda’s overall condition and the not unlikely possibility that her mechanics could fail at any moment, perhaps ending her in a dusty broom closet, Olivia focused her attention upon making minor adjustments to various components of the steambot, both internal and external.

  With a hairpin, a dull pencil and the flat end of a spoon at her disposal, there was only so much she could do, but as she wiped gear grease from her hands on the hem of her ruined skirt some time later, Steam Matilda walked without the slightest wobble. Even a solid shove against her shoulders failed to topple the steam maid. “Stop fussing with the innards of the steambots, Olivia.” She planted hands on her hips and pitched her voice to match the tone Mother always used. “Such talents will never serve your purposes.”

  Ha!

  With the exhilaration of a task well done, Olivia at last sat and turned her attention to the tray devouring the—now cold—watery broth and hard, brown bread. Amazing how hunger could make the worst food taste better than any confection served at a proper English tea.

  A sudden blast of icy cold air blew into the room, howling its displeasure. One of the rags stuffed into the window pane had fallen free. Shivering, she moved to replace it when a small, pale hand stretched inward and caught the latch. Olivia gasped as the window swung inward and Wei appeared in its frame.

  Olivia reached for the child. “Nuts and rivets, get in here before you fall to your death.”

  But the girl quickly hopped past her outstretched arms to the floor. “I don’t fall,” Wei declared. “Almost never. But that is the why of wings.” The girl spun and pointed over her shoulder to her back. Strapped to her torso was a folded contraption built of wood and canvas and metal hinges. “The stone of castle big and lumpy. Many hand holds. Toe holds. I climb around mostly.”

  “In snow storms?” Olivia gaped.

  Wei shrugged. “I’m strong. Not so hard.” The girl waved at the rag in Olivia’s hand. “Why you wait? Is cold. Close window. Stuff it back in.”

  Olivia jammed the damp rag back into the broken glass, then turned back to her unexpected guest who now stood with her hands outstretched above the iron stove.

  “Quite the talented explorer, aren’t you?” she observed. “Swinging from ropes. Rock climbing. Flying.”

  “Gliding,” Wei corrected, but her eyes gleamed with pride. “Only go down. But is fun.”

  “Fun?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Scary seems a better term.”

  Wei shrugged. “Zheng, my uncle, is traveling chemical man. We live on airship. I learn as safety precaution.”

  Zheng was her uncle? Olivia would need to guard her words. “There’s another airship here?”

  “Sky Dragon,” Wei said. “Uncle commands. I come to your airship from Sky Dragon. You see by river when snow stops.”

  Ah. Though she’d been panicked at the time, it made sense that a rope hanging in the air must be attached to something. That something was, in this case, a Chinese dirigible. “Sky Dragon. I like that name. Are your parents aboard?”

  “No parents. Not since I was—” Wei held out a hand at knee height. “I grow up traveling with Uncle.” She unbuttoned her padded jacket and reached inside. “Think you want this.”

  “My reticule!” Olivia exclaimed as the girl pulled forth the ruffled, oversized item. “Thank you ever so much!” She dropped the bag upon the desk and looked inside, grinning widely. Her tools. Her punch cards. Captain Jack’s Tension Torque. And her friend, Watson. She’d thought them lost to her.

  “I no tell anyone about bag.” Wei tipped her head. “Or metal animal. Uncle has stone heart. Would order guardsmen to take toy if they know. One took my bird. Returned broken.” She tugged a tiny mechanical nightingale from her coat pocket. Thin sheets of copper shaped like feathers fluttered and jointed copper cylinders formed feet to grip Wei’s finger. As she gently stroked its head, the bird’s tiny beak opened and closed. “It not fly now.”

  “Let me see.” Cupping the zoetomatic bird in her hand, Olivia carefully lifted its wing. She opened the small panel, studying the beautiful craftsmanship of the toy’s inner workings. “It’s nothing but a stripped gear. I think I have…” She dug into the bottom of her reticule and produced a gear of comparable size.

  A few minutes later the little brown bird fluttered about the room.

  Wei clapped her hands with glee. “Thank you!” She pointed at Watson. “You show me how yours works?”

  “I will.” Olivia was glad of the distraction and grateful to the girl for returning Watson along with her tools and cards. She put the mechanical hedgehog through all its paces, teaching Wei simple commands and delighting in her excitement at the metal animal’s antics. As a grand finale, she sent Watson rolling across the floor to disappear beneath the bed.

  All was brought to an abrupt end by a knock at the door.

  Wei’s eyes grew round. She whistled, calling the nightingale to her outstretched finger. “I must go,” she said, tucking the bird into a pocket before rushing to the
window and throwing it wide. She buckled a wooden strut to each wrist and climbed upon the window seat.

  The knock came again.

  Outside the storm had finally died down, leaving a blanket of snow covering the ground, the trees. Likely the stone sides of the castle were icy or wet or both. “This can’t be safe,” Olivia objected, stashing her reticule beneath the bed. “You can hide here, under the bed with Watson.”

  “No worry. Easy. Watch.” Flashing her a quick grin, Wei jumped with her arms held wide. Without hesitation, without fear.

  Heart pounding, Olivia ran to the window. Though icy wind lashed at her skin, she ignored her stomach’s queasy protest and leaned out the window, unable to look away. Canvas wings unfurled, spreading wide upon the jointed wooden frame, and caught the wind. First Wei flew in wide circles, then in ever smaller ones, spiraling down to a river that wound its way around the castle and through a small village. People on the streets and paths paused to look upward, to stare at her descent. A moment later, Wei landed upon the deck of the oddest—and most beautiful—airship Olivia had ever laid eyes upon. Strange, to see an airship floating upon water and not upon air.

  Its balloon took the form of a dragon, long and sinuous. At one end was the face with wild eyes and snarling teeth. Red scales began at the head and traced down the spine to the very tip of the pointed tail, which snapped in the wind as if annoyed with the unsettled weather. Four clawed feet reached down to grip iron fastenings bolted to the deck. And the gondola, both boat and airship it seemed, was built of golden wood that gleamed in the sun.

  Zheng might be the girl’s uncle, but she couldn’t help but think Wei might prove a most useful ally. Perhaps she might know of a way to send a message over the mountains through the snow-dusted forest and across the border into France.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IAN ARRIVED TO FIND his wife wringing out a wet cloth as she crouched before a bucket of steaming water in a state of undress. Her gown lay in a heap upon the floor, her ruined silk stockings beside it. The smell of bouillabaisse hung in the air.