by Anne Renwick
“My brother will refuse to leave without that information,” Elizabeth finished. “John Warrick is a madman.”
“Even the rantings of a lunatic sometimes contain core truths, and his work has not been entirely unsuccessful. Think a moment. Has he mentioned anything about your future, about how your treatment might proceed? Odd words, scientific jargon?”
“No.” Elizabeth blinked, then reached to a small bedside table. “But he did give me this. He called it a promise stone. It’s strange. Watch.” She tapped the gray metallic lump against an iron bar. It stuck.
“A magnet?” Olivia frowned. Perhaps Warrick’s words about a cure were nothing but braggadocio in the face of Ian’s arrival and the count’s threats.
“What it might have to do with my condition, I’ve no idea.” Elizabeth tugged it free and dropped the smooth nugget into Olivia’s hand. “Keep it. Give it to Ian and see what he makes of it.”
She slid the odd stone into her pocket. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to die here in this awful castle, behind bars.” Elizabeth closed her eyes. “If there’s no cure, I want to return home. Six months.” She swallowed. “That’s time enough for one more English spring.”
Olivia nodded, then eyed the lock that held the iron door closed. Another basic, rudimentary lock. It would take her mere seconds to open. The tools in her corset would suffice, but two women brazenly exiting this chamber wouldn’t make it far. First they needed a plan.
“Have you met Wei?” Elizabeth asked.
“She visited you here?” Olivia’s heart gave a great thud at the thought of the girl climbing seven stories up the side of the castle wall, of her gliding down seven stories.
“Before your arrival, she offered to free me.”
Her heart stopped even as her lungs demanded more air. “She has suggested you jump from the window and glide to freedom. But your… condition. You could easily break several bones.” Ian would refuse.
“Not once Warrick’s cells lodge themselves in my bones. Soon I will be unbreakable,” Elizabeth reminded her. “Alas, there is the matter of my prison and the question of where I would go once—if—I reach the forest floor.”
Biting her tongue against the temptation to reveal any more of her skills, Olivia walked to the small window in the far wall. She lifted the latch and swung the casement inward. Cold air blasted into the chamber as she leaned outward. Overhead, a dark shadow passed. Odd to see a pteryform circling in broad daylight. But the wildlife was none of her concern. The distance to the ground concerned her much more. Far, far below, like a tiny toy boat, the Sky Dragon floated in the river. Her heart thudded against her breastbone in terror at Wei’s acrobatics.
She pressed a hand to her heart. “Pistons and pipes.”
“I am in complete sympathy,” Elizabeth said. “If only she could bring the airship to my window instead.”
Olivia wiped her damp palms over her skirts and turned to face Elizabeth. “If it came to it, if I could find a key, would you? Jump and glide? Are you strong enough? Brave enough?”
“Stark, raving mad enough?” Elizabeth finished with determination, wrapping her hands about the iron bars. “I just might be. Just enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
IAN CRUMPLED THE PAGE of notes he held. He stared at the closed laboratory door, his mind unwilling to believe his eyes. With movements that spoke of considerable practice, Olivia had slid a lock pick from her bodice and slipped through the cellar door in a matter of seconds. Was she mad?
Though he’d done his best to focus on the work before him, his unruly mind kept drifting back to her cry of pleasure as he’d slipped his fingers beneath the edge of her corset. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to rip the apparatus from his arm and drag her into a shadowy corner of the wine cellar to finish what they’d started.
Maybe then he could once again think clearly.
For as she’d worked at the table behind him bending over the osforare apparatus and its cards, his imagination had spun every sigh of frustration at her calculations, every rustle of her gown as she shifted positon upon her stool into unsated yearnings, and he’d slowly begun to go insane.
So when she’d stood, he’d held his breath, refusing to turn about yet hoping to feel her touch on his arm.
But she’d uttered not a word. And then she was gone. It shouldn’t surprise him. Sneaking about was the skill that had landed her in his escape dirigible. Any moment now, he expected a guardsman to toss her back into the room. She’d mentioned plotting an escape, but the door to the wine cellar had been locked, a guard posted directly outside.
He pressed the base of his hand to his forehead. He should have known. Upon discovering his stowaway, he’d assumed she’d coaxed a porter into allowing her entry to his suite aboard the Oglethorpe airship, but…
Crossing to the door, he tried the handle. Unlocked. The door bumped into something soft but solid. A guardsman lay prone on the floor. No pulse. Had Olivia…? Unlikely. There was no sign of a struggle. Likely bone cancer had claimed yet another life. Still, he couldn’t discount the possibility.
Where had she gone? He had to find her before someone else did. He slipped down the hallway.
A voice. Hers. But speaking in German. As he’d suspected, she used her soft curves to obscure more than a penchant for programming. He’d been a fool to underestimate her. He was about to glance around the corner when he heard the unmistakable sounds of boots aimed in his direction.
Moving quickly, he ran, ducking into the nearest room—the kitchens. A cast iron range crammed into an enormous old hearth. A long and scarred wooden table covered in various cooking implements. And a variety of rusty steambots struggling to make the next meal. The cook looked up from the thick lump of dough in her hands. “Herr Rathsburn,” she whispered. Then her wary gaze moved past his shoulder.
A low-pitched laugh full of dark amusement met his ear. “Slipped your guard, have you? Abandoned your wife? How convenient,” the countess purred. “Though I’ve just returned from a ride, any excuse to take the air with a handsome gentleman. Cook, do let my husband know tea shall be delayed.”
Caught.
Ian turned and inclined his head. “Katherine.”
She sauntered forward slapping a riding crop upon her gloved hand. Only then did he note her attire. Her bodice was cut for ease of movement and beneath a split skirt, she wore leather leggings and riding boots. Aviator goggles hung about her neck, her dark hair was tightly braided.
Aviator goggles?
“If you’ll come with me,” Katherine pointed her crop at the kitchen door, one that lead to the castle courtyard. “I’ve a proposal to make.” Her eyes flashed. “Of an entirely different nature.”
He thought of Olivia wandering through the castle. Any attempt to follow her now would only expose her to danger and—suspicion reared its head to remind him—she seemed to know what she was about. Better to drag answers from her later, in a more secluded, private location.
If Katherine was about to tip her cards, he couldn’t afford to miss the chance to see what hand she held. With grim reluctance, he followed her into the cold winter afternoon. She raised her arm overhead, flexing her wrist so that the flat of her palm faced upward. The dark shadow of a pteryform blotted out the weak sun as it plummeted to the ground and landed, its sharp talons clicking on the cobblestones as it crouched low. Ian gaped while Katherine climbed onto the beast’s back, settled into a saddle strapped to its back and took up the reins.
“Meet Sofia,” she said.
He recalled the odd flapping of her hands aboard the balloon over the Thames, the day he attempted to propose. Not fear at the approach of the gliding man, but hand signals to the pteryform. All that time she’d kept her beast close by—an attempt to prevent the count from contacting him.
A tame pteryform. Britain might have more to worry about than the theft of his research. He swore. He’d been such a blind fool.
A mixture of awe and revulsion washed over him as he climbed astride. The creature ran, leaping into the air, half-flying, half-clawing its way up the castle walls in a terrifying, near vertical takeoff. Without stirrups or reins of his own, he was forced to wrap his arms about Lady Katherine’s waist to keep from falling off.
With a final kick, the beast launched them into the air. Beneath him, the pteryform’s back was hard and rigid, shell-like. Ian’s legs, tightly gripping the animal’s neck and shoulders, informed him that the rest of its hide was equally solid and unyielding. Yet its leathery wings beat with supple power.
He was no cryptozoologist, but insofar as he was aware, pteryformes were no more than winged lizards. Accidental air collisions with dirigibles often dropped them from night skies. Yet none of those towed by crank carts from London’s streets had possessed any kind of natural body armor.
Had Katherine ridden this creature from London all the way to Germany? A direct flight would certainly explain how she’d managed to arrive before him. Though he’d known she must be a foreign agent from the minute she’d been introduced as the countess, without a network to consult he had no idea—yet—for which government she worked. Her lack of empathy for Elizabeth’s state suggested it wasn’t his own. Or did she hate all other women on principle?
They soared over the castle, the icy wind biting into his skin and tearing at his clothes as the pteryform slowly widened its circles. Beneath him passed the castle’s walls and gates, a road that twisted down into the sparsely populated village to cross a river flowing swiftly with the melting snow. The few streets that led beyond the village wound their way into a vast expanse of woods that climbed ever upward into the surrounding hills.
Though escape by foot appeared impossible, Ian committed the view to memory, mapping out the route he would take the moment he could free his sister from her cage.
Here and there, tendrils of smoke stretched upward from the blanket of trees into the sky, suggesting that the forest was not uninhabited. As the pteryform circled again, Ian caught sight of a clearing, of wagons drawn together to form a half circle about a central campfire. Gypsies.
Black sometimes traveled as one of them. Though the Queen had forbidden border crossings, might Ian’s disappearance have forced her to make a single exception? Had Black managed to track the acousticotransmitters before they were destroyed? Was it possible he camped there now, eyes trained on the castle walls? If so, how long did Ian have before he interfered?
As they reached the distant crest of a hilltop, the winged reptile began to descend, dropping steadily toward a thick stand of coniferous trees. At the last possible moment, the creature folded its eight-foot wingspan, and gravity took over. The landing was bone-jarring, dropping them into a clearing beside a small, squatting hut. Four additional pteryformes were chained to nearby trees. The beast they rode tossed its head back, screeching a greeting that the others returned. A young man, their apparent caretaker, fell to the ground upon his knees, his head bowed.
“Meet my dowry,” Katherine said, ignoring the caretaker. “Otto believes them a gift of the Kaiser, a reward for taking on the difficult daughter of a German spy raised in London. It is near enough to the truth.” She swung her leg from the creature’s neck and slid to the ground. An order barked at the boy in German sent him disappearing into the hut.
“The perfect transport for men who lumber about with metallic skeletons,” Ian said. Their situation was more dire than he’d thought. “Only five?”
“They will breed, come spring,” she answered. “But what good are my steeds without riders? Warrick’s cursed project has consumed my husband’s funds, and we’ve nothing to show for it yet but deformed and dying guardsmen.”
Ian wrinkled his nose. Without the wind whipping about, a vile smell amassed. The beasts reeked, a sour smell bringing to mind burnt hair and rotten eggs. “You seemed confident of his success earlier.”
“He might yet redeem himself, but his methods are slow, awkward and ponderous. If you were to offer me a more appealing alternative,” she waved at the pteryformes, “you could take his place.”
Not a chance. “You don’t intend to remain in Germany?”
“No longer than I must.” She stroked the crest extending from the pteryform’s skull. The beast hissed, but otherwise ignored her.
So the pteryformes weren’t quite tame. He glanced at Katherine. Neither was she.
And to think he’d proposed.
Though he hesitated to ally himself with her, one did not turn down a possible escape plan out of hand. If there was any chance of steering these pteryformes toward home… “Am I meant to infer you offer me safe passage? If so, where? Austria? Hungary?” Certainly not England.
“Further still,” she said. “Russia. The count overstates his influence upon the Kaiser. You were right to doubt his offer of a position in Berlin. I, however, am already authorized to offer you your own laboratory among the Kadskoye scientists.”
Ian kept his face impassive. The rumored Russian biological research facility, location unknown. Whispers of great technological advances occasionally reached Lister Laboratories. Such as the existence of an armored mammoth.
Exactly how much influence did she wield, a women sent to work with—marry—the likes of Count Eberwin? “I don’t think I’d care to live in Siberia,” he ventured.
Katherine’s boots crunched upon the snow as she stepped closer, until her face was inches from his. “You will learn its location upon your arrival, not before. So you are aware, I extend the offer to both you and your so-called wife.” She toyed with a button upon his coat. “I had great plans for us. Imagine my disappointment when my fiancé married another. While I know the game we play, I am not convinced Olivia does.”
Ian stepped back. “Bigamy doesn’t suit me.”
She let go of the button, flashing him a smile. “How unfortunate. I do like to keep men scattered about in castles and manors. Sometimes I even tuck them away in secret laboratories.”
Ian rather believed she did. “Anyone I know?” How many were enemies of Britain? Did any work within its borders?
She laughed. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you.”
The young man returned, a sack in one hand, a terrified, flapping chicken in the other. He tossed the bird upward, and the beast they’d ridden snapped it out of the air with a razor sharp beak, scissoring the screaming animal in two.
So the beasts were useful for more than mere transportation. No doubt one of the reasons Katherine felt safe bringing him here alone. If he lunged for her, would he lose an arm?
She gave the man further orders in German. He handed her the sack before running, slipping and sliding upon the icy path, back into the hut.
“What of my sister?”
“Think of me as recruiter of talent,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Sadly, Elizabeth has none. Olivia, on the other hand, has value beyond her programming skills.”
He swore.
“Yes, exactly. I know who she is. We met at her debut. The Duke of Avesbury himself bowed over my hand at her ball.” She pressed a hand to his arm. “It gave me great pleasure to steal his daughter’s targets.”
“Targets?”
“Interesting.” Katherine’s eyebrows lifted. “You don’t know. Perhaps you are one.”
Suspicion wormed its way deeper into his mind, but Ian stayed silent. He would take up the topic with Olivia directly.
“Regardless, I offer you a choice. Stay and labor tirelessly for the count in his austere laboratory. Enough of Otto’s wealth remains that you may expect supplies to last through summer. Or leave and avail yourself of the vast resources made available to the personnel of Kadskoye. Either way, know that in the end, I will have what I want.”
Ian did not intend to avail himself of either option, but until an alternative presented itself…
“Although your offer is intriguing, I will not leave without my sister.”
“This again.” Katherine sighed. “Are you not even curious? Look before you at the creatures we have altered.” She reached into the sack and pulled forth a yellow lump. “Sulfur, I am told, is a key component of keratin.”
“A protein found in horns and hooves.”
“And skin.” She tossed the sulfur crystal to the pteryform, who swallowed it whole. The young man, now back at her side, handed her a… flamethrower? “Much like you seek to modify human bones, your potential scientific comrades have discovered a way to modify the skin of a pteryform. Provide them with enough sulfur in their diet and…”
She lifted the flamethrower and pulled the trigger. Flames roared forth. Ian took a healthy number of steps backward as she pointed the blaze at the beast’s chest. The pteryform reared on its hind feet, spreading its wings and throwing back its head to bare its chest to the flames. Katherine stepped forward and methodically swept the creature’s torso from sternum to pelvis.
When the roar ceased, she turned to him. “I’m told it catalyzes a sulfur-mediated cross-reaction of the modified keratin in her scales. All that is needed to develop a natural protection, resistant to almost every weapon.” She tipped her head. “And the man who developed this process, he specifically asked for you. So. Will you come?”
Irritation pricked his skin. How had reports of his research reached Siberia? “Not without my sister.”
Katherine swore in Russian, then shoved the flamethrower back into the arms of the young man. “Time to face reality, Ian. Elizabeth’s days are numbered. Warrick is not half the scientist you are.”
Only a truly horrible woman could think flattery made up for blithely predicting his sister’s death. “You doubt his cure then?”
“I’d be a fool not to.” She paced in a circle, then threw up her hands. “Fine. Elizabeth can come upon one condition. You must prove to me—here, in Germany—that your bone treatment works.”
