by Anne Renwick
“Enough about me.” Ian reached through the bars, caught Elizabeth’s hand and slipped his fingers around to her wrist. Her pulse beat steadily if weakly. “How long have you been here?”
“A week?” Elizabeth tipped her head. “Perhaps more.”
Zheng prodded him with the sharp tip of his blade. “Say goodbye. There is work to be done.”
Ian ignored him. “Is this the first time you’ve been experimented upon?”
She nodded, then drew in a shaky breath. “Don’t help them, Ian. My life is not worth the devastation the count would unleash.”
“He has no choice,” Zheng barked.
“Keep up your strength,” Ian said. “Watch for signs your body is rejecting the cells. Chills. Body aches. Nausea. Pain or swelling. I want details.”
“Very well.”
“Enough!” Zheng shoved the sword point into Ian’s shoulder, breaking skin and drawing blood. Pain bloomed.
Ian stepped and spun, slamming Zheng’s sword arm into the iron bars. Elizabeth screamed and stumbled backward.
But his only advantage had been surprise. Without so much as a stick with which to defend himself, the upper hand fell to Zheng, who blocked his next move. A second later, Ian froze as the sharp edge of the curved blade cut into his throat.
“Enough!” No spite laced Zheng’s voice. Merely a hint of amusement. “Now. Through the door and down the stairs. Doktor Warrick awaits you in the laboratory. With your wife.”
~~~
The hinges of the laboratory door creaked.
Olivia quickly shoved the various scraps of metal and sharp rocks she held beneath an empty wine barrel. She hadn’t found much. The most promising implement lay in plain sight, an iron auger, a corkscrew that someone had been using to tap into the count’s wine supply. Given it lay next to a wine-stained beaker, it wasn’t hard to guess that that someone had been Warrick, the very man who now stepped into the laboratory with the countess upon his arm.
“Ah, Countess, it seems Lady Rathsburn shares my fondness for your wine.” Warrick crossed the room and held out his hand. “Time for a new cask. Red or white, my lady?”
“Neither.” Olivia’s fingers tensed about the auger, but it was bad form to injure a man who might yet be useful. “How can you sample wines while your fiancée languishes in a cage? Perhaps it would be more appropriate to explain this supposed cure you’ve developed, Mr. Warrick.”
How could he care so little for Elizabeth as a person, preying upon her hopes and dreams of a family to ensnare her into a marriage where she would serve as his personal laboratory rat?
It struck her like a cane behind the knees. She too was equally awful. She had detested Carlton, yet planned to marry him, to bear his children, to manage his home all the while reporting his every action to the Crown. Yes, he was a traitor, but did that alone justify her actions? Could she have taken such steps without eventually coming to detest herself?
Katherine’s laugh brought her back to the moment at hand and reminded her now was not the time for self-doubt. “For all her lush beauty and golden locks, it seems Olivia is as intensely focused and relentlessly driven as her husband.”
“Beauty, you say?” Warrick narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips as he raked his gaze over her from head to toe. He clearly found her wanting.
She returned the favor, raising her eyebrows as she paused to take in the lack of a cravat, the fraying cuffs of his shirtsleeves and the buttons of his waistcoat that strained against a burgeoning waistline. It only made his lips curve in smug acknowledgement of her notice.
“Red it is.” He plucked the auger from her fingers and strolled off into the stacks of barrels, leaving the two women alone.
“I have to admit, the low cut of my blue silk was a poor choice on my part for today’s activities,” Katherine said conversationally. “Perhaps something more demure tomorrow?”
She wanted to discuss fashion? Now? After casually electrocuting a man whose bed she’d once shared? “Why are you involved?” Olivia lifted her chin and took a step forward. “What do you stand to gain by watching Germany invade British shores? Your family lives in London.”
“Do they?” Her voice was cold. “I should still claim them after they forced me to wed Count Eberwin? No, Lady Olivia Ravensdale, my loyalty is to myself. Remember that.”
Olivia’s mouth fell open. This woman was not at all who she seemed.
“Yes, I know well who you were. And perhaps are still.” Katherine moved to close the gap between them, looking down her nose. “Though I very much doubt your marriage and your skills, I have every desire to see Lord Rathsburn’s laboratory endeavors succeed. See that you make yourself useful.”
“Olivia!” Ian called from the doorway.
“How timely.” With an evil gleam in her eyes, Katherine faced him. “Our brilliant scientist arrives. Feeling… inspired?”
Concern burning in his eyes, he stalked past her to Olivia’s side, catching her hand and lifting it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “I was so worried.”
A lump formed in her throat. How was it possible that he’d come to care about her in such a short time? She gingerly touched the nasty lump that had formed at his temple. “As was I.”
“Leave,” he snapped at Katherine. “We have work. Your presence accomplishes nothing but to waste my time.”
Warrick reappeared, a flask filled with red wine in hand. Smug smile firmly in place, he crossed to the countess’ side. Lines had been drawn. “Don’t let our presence disturb you,” he said. “We but wish to observe the count’s newest protégé. And his assistant, of course.”
Olivia was done with these two. She tugged Ian in the direction of the laboratory space. “If they will not assist, let them watch. We need to work. I didn’t want to start without you.” She hoped he heard the underlying cry for help in her words. He needed to orient her, and quickly.
“Of course.” Ian too turned his back on Katherine and Warrick and escorted her to a long, waist-high table that stood beneath overly bright lamps. Aside from a single rat in a cage, it was covered in glassware and rubber tubing and all manner of disconcerting steel items that she could not begin to name. Save the syringe. That horrid device would haunt her nightmares for years to come. Tensing every muscle, she forced down her revulsion.
“I thought we might set you up here,” he said, “in proximity to this odd collection of batteries.”
A thousand or more tiny, sealed copper canisters were lined up like an army of miniature soldiers across the back of the table. Wires protruded from their tops, coiling and twisting upward, connecting with the overhead lights and various pieces of equipment.
“Gantz batteries!” Olivia was desperate to lay claim to any expertise she could for the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on high alert under Katherine’s scrutiny; any misstep on her part could have fatal—or worse—consequences. “The Hungarians recently developed them to install inside steambots. Except, can they correctly be termed steambots if they require neither coal nor steam to function? Batterybots?” She looked at Ian with wide eyes, suddenly aware she was overplaying her role as a technician, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “The Gantz battery is rumored to provide enough power to allow a bot to function uninterrupted for some twenty days. Days!”
“Is that so?” he said calmly as he stretched out a padded cloth. “Then one Gantz battery should easily generate enough voltage to drive the electromagnetic osforare apparatus motor. I expect you’ll need to modulate capacitance and resistance.”
The silver case of nightmares rested upon the counter. Time to release the fanged contraption from its prison.
Ian cleared his throat. He was looking at her expectantly, his eyebrows drawn together. “Ready?” he whispered.
She nodded, and he opened it with a flourish to reveal the osforare apparatus. Glass vials, India rubber tubing, wires, brass hinges, an iron framework. Horrid steel needles. She tensed every muscle in her body and counte
d to ten, then forced herself to relax. “It seems to have survived the journey relatively intact,” she pronounced.
Careful to avoid its many teeth, Ian lifted the device from its padded velvet case onto the table before her, positioning it so that she could easily reach the card-reading cartridge.
Katherine and Warrick drew closer, peering at the contraption as torchlight flickered in the reflection of its many sharp needles. Though black spots dotted her vision, Olivia congratulated herself upon remaining upright. Fainting at this juncture would plant seeds of doubt in their minds. It was unprofessional, and she could not afford to have doubt cast upon her story or her abilities.
“I thought we might remove the needles for now,” he said. “They require sterilization, and we wouldn’t want to inadvertently snap any while making modifications.”
Thank the aether. Olivia made herself busy, arranging the punch cards beside it in meticulous order. Anything to avoid looking directly at the apparatus.
Warrick inserted himself between them. “This is how you propose to deliver what exactly?” He lifted a finger and reached out to touch the device. “It looks… painful.”
“No more than a bone marrow core.” Ian swatted his hand aside. “Do not touch. You will not be involved in this aspect of my work.” He slanted his head sideways. “Unless you wish to volunteer as a test subject?”
“How droll.” Though Warrick’s lips curled, there was worry in his eyes. Served him right.
“Then step aside.” Ian’s fingers flew over the osforare apparatus, unscrewing knobs and plucking out its sharp needles. “My wife has much work to do.”
“Come, Doktor Warrick,” Katherine commanded. “I grow bored. There are other matters that require your attention. Something copper if I recall correctly? Lord Rathsburn, let us know when you require a test subject. An aspiring guardsman will be delivered.”
The door banged shut and the key turned. Unsteady, Olivia sank onto a stool. She took a deep breath and wiped her damp palms upon her skirts. It was time to turn herself into that expert. “So these cells of Warrick’s will heal broken bones. That I understand. But how is it that they make the bone stronger?”
“Antimony.” Ian lifted a small glass vial from a wooden rack. At the vial’s rounded bottom rested a small amount of a silvery, white powder. “A poison in larger amounts, this element is key. It crumbles easily, but when it replaces the phosphate found in bone, when it combines with calcium, it forms a biological alloy that is four times heavier and at least four times stronger than normal bone.”
Her mind spun, but latched on to one particular word. “Wait. Poison?”
“Yes.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he began to pace. His voice shook with agitation. “Those cells you witnessed Warrick injecting into Elizabeth’s hip? They will migrate into every bone, demanding antimony at levels that would kill an untreated individual.”
Needy cells. Not only were the guardsmen—and Elizabeth—doomed to develop bone cancer, in the meantime they would be chemically dependent upon whomever controlled the supply of antimony. “And if she fails to receive it?”
“The cells will scavenge phosphate from any source they can.” Eyes glazed and distant, his hand waved in the air as if the answer ought to be obvious. “Hypophosphotemia would result.”
“There you go with those impossible words again,” she said. “I believe we’ve had this conversation.”
“Low phosphate levels,” he said. “Leading to mental confusion, muscle weakness and ultimately kidney failure. Should anyone withhold antimony from Elizabeth, she will die within a matter of days.” He rolled the vial between his fingers, his face drawn and tense.
Die. Too many lives were on the line. She looked at the small amount allotted to them. “Is it rare, antimony?”
“For our purposes, yes. Zheng, I’ve learned, is in possession of an antimony mine. He closely monitors and rations all antimony usage. No doubt he aims to become the principal supplier to the Kaiser’s unbreakable army.”
A profitable endeavor to control the substance that kept an army alive.
The count and his countess. Warrick and Zheng. Alliances constantly shifting as they all struggled to win at this morally reprehensible game. Time to control that which they could. “So. Cure your sister and the guardsmen. Plot an escape.”
“And prepare to demonstrate my device as if we plan to commit treason,” Ian finished. His expression was pinched, but he’d carried that contraption away from British shores knowing he might well be forced to use it.
This was not at all an assignment a Queen’s agent would undertake. “It won’t come to that, will it?” she asked.
“I desperately hope it will not.”
But with their backs against a wall…
“Well then.” Surviving this “adventure” was priority number one, and working on the device would buy them more time to plot an escape, more time for Mr. Black and his men to track them down. A demonstration was one thing, but pains must be taken to ensure technique was never placed into their enemy’s hands. Olivia rose to her feet, surprised to find she did not feel the least bit weak. Instead, she felt the urge to do something, anything. And to do it now. “My skills are yours to employ. Show me how this contraption works.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
A CONFUSION OF QUESTIONS churned through Ian’s mind. Had Olivia been sent to stop him? Help him? Did he protect her with this sham marriage—or was it the other way around? He wouldn’t put it past Black to send such an unlikely reinforcement. If such was the case, the man deserved both a sharp uppercut to the chin, followed by a warm pat on the back.
As she worked, he took a long hard look at her. Blonde ringlets had pulled from the twist of hair at the base of her skull to curl against her cheeks. He had the absurd idea to reach out and give one a tug, just to see if it bounced. So very beautiful and feminine. Most men would look no further than the surface. Lord knew he hadn’t.
Kissing her this morning had been as much about satisfying a deep, nagging urge as it had been about establishing their cover. Though rather than satisfaction, he’d found only frustration. The first man to kiss her. Him. Though he couldn’t seem to stop turning that particular piece of information over in his mind, he’d now glimpsed what lay beneath Olivia’s façade. Loyalty. Vulnerability. A keen intelligence. Thank goodness for that.
“This program card is but a raw prototype,” she said, examining the pattern of punch holes beneath the argon light. “There are a number of discrepancies. You say it’s never been tested?”
There was much she wasn’t telling him, but even if she’d been sent to stop him, to return him to British shores, it was clear that she would not do so without first attempting to save his sister. She would work to save even the lives of the count’s guardsmen.
For now, he would place his trust in her—though he fully intended to insist upon detailed answers to his earlier questions. He was certain she worked for the Crown, but perhaps she didn’t answer to her father. Perhaps she answered to Black.
“Ian!” Olivia waved the paper card before his eyes. “There is no telling how long the count and his minions will leave us undisturbed. Explain to me, in painstaking detail, exactly how you expect this device to function.”
She was right.
Though he had every intention of departing before it became necessary, the count was bound to insist upon a demonstration. He pressed a palm against his chest, against the packet secreted within his waistcoat and prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
“The osforare apparatus has never been utilized,” he admitted. “Though nearing completion, it was still being constructed when I… appropriated it.”
“Stole it,” she corrected.
Ian lifted a shoulder. “I had assistance. Your own brother-in-law looked the other way.”
“Did he?” Her voice was disinterested, but her fingers tightened on the punch card.
Interesting.
“Have you ever worked
with him, Lord Thornton?”
“I attempted to, but he was largely unconcerned with the finer points of ice sculpture even though it was his own wedding.” She peered down at a card, pencil in hand, ready to transform mathematical operations into a pattern of holes.
“I wager he drives your father mad.” Would she elaborate?
But she didn’t bite. “May we discuss my relatives another time?” She tapped her fingernail on the Babbage card. “We need to focus.”
“Fine.” He tugged the leather gloves from his hands and pointed. “Pressure sensitivity of these spring mechanisms is the greatest concern. The transformative liquid needs to be deposited precisely beneath the periosteum.”
“A density occlusion shift algorithm might be the answer.” She scratched a few notations on a nearby sheet of scrap paper. “Go on.”
Ian spoke at great length, marveling at her ability to rapidly internalize both vocabulary and concepts. Occasionally, he lifted the pencil from her hand to sketch a diagram to further clarify his words or to point out particular features built into the apparatus. If his fingers brushed over the surface of her skin as he did so, it was entirely accidental. Her breath hitched at the lightest of touches, but even more satisfying? She didn’t pull away.
At last she looked up, eyes sparkling. “I think I’ve got it.” She tucked the pencil behind her ear and began to gather up the papers strewn across the workbench. “I’ll work with this card stock for now, but the apparatus is constructed to accept a two-by-three copper punch card. A sturdier material will better withstand frequent usage.” Her face paled and her hands began to shake. “Frequent. Will I be required to operate the device?”
