by Anne Renwick
Wei lit a second rocket and, as a succession of bangs resulted in yet further chaos at the castle walls, Ian shoved the gate outward.
They hurried down the muddy road that curved around behind the castle’s base, leading ever downward. At last the road reached the winding, cobblestone streets of the village where tall, half-timbered houses stood shoulder to shoulder, rising upward, overhanging the streets and providing an illusion of protection.
Wei led them toward a stone bridge that arched over a river swollen by the melting snow. On the far bank, water diverted into a wooden trough poured and splashed onto a water wheel’s slats, spinning it at a furious pace. Beside the water chute loomed a squat building of rough plaster and exposed wooden framing. Its windows were securely boarded.
The mill. Almost there.
Olivia stepped onto the bridge, veering to avoid a lone, drunken man crossing in the other direction while staring at the sky in bewilderment—but his shoulder slammed into hers, throwing her sideways.
“Tut mir leid,” he murmured. I’m sorry. He caught her elbow, steadying her.
“Mir geht es gut,” she answered. I’m fine.
But he didn’t let go.
She looked up. His face was half-shrouded by a dark, woolen hood. But not shrouded enough. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to react. He gave her a sharp nod, then slid his hand down her arm and pressed a piece of paper into hers before limping onward. Hurrying, she stuffed the note into her bodice and caught up to Ian who waited beside a narrow path.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Her chest tightened at the lie, but she curled her hand tightly about the paper. “A drunk staggered into me. I’m fine.” She’d promised him no secrets, but that was before Ian had all but forbidden her contact with Mr. Black.
“Come!” Wei beckoned from beside the spinning water wheel.
Ian waved her ahead, and Olivia stepped onto the narrow path that led to the mill house. One glance at the door told her the building housed something of value.
“A Kreuger-Schalterhammer lock,” she whispered on an exhale. Impressive. “Forty-seven pins and a level containing a liquid mercury trigger.” Captain Jack could manage forty-six.
“Is that complicated?” Ian asked.
“Yes. It’s a significant investment in a lock for such an old building.” Impossible if one wasn’t a well-versed sneak thief with the latest advancement in technology available. “But nothing I can’t handle. Hold this.” She shoved her reticule into his arms and dug deep. Extracting Watson, she tapped his spines. “I can’t do this with picks alone.” She reached into Watson’s back and retrieved a tube of alkisorcyn and—
“Captain Jack’s Tension Torque,” Ian said.
As a former Queen’s agent, he would be versed in its use and an excellent assistant. “We use both this and my picks. I’m going to need your help.” Even then… Olivia rolled her shoulders. This was no time for self-doubt. She placed the zoetomatic upon the ground. “Tremor mode,” she ordered. Dutifully, Watson rose up upon hind legs and, pressing his front feet to the door, began to shake.
“What Watson doing?” Wei asked.
“Dispersing the mercury along a long thin tube inside the lock.” She looked to Ian. “Once I begin the process, I’ll have only one chance. If the tube tips and the mercury pools, a chemical reaction will dissolve the pins.”
He set down her reticule and moved closer. “Tell me what to do.”
“On my word, slowly depress the plunger on the tube while I hold a number of lock picks in place.”
“Ready.”
She took a deep breath, then carefully inserted the copper coil into the key hole and readied the alkisorcyn. Reaching into her bodice, deep inside her corset, she pulled forth two highly-specialized lock picks. Ones she rarely used. Wind blew upon her bare fingers, stiffening them as she slid her picks past the copper tubing, probing, searching for the quartz tumblers.
There.
“Now,” she told Ian, letting the cold fix her fingers in place. “Slowly and steadily.”
The gel oozed inward, solidifying. When she was certain her picks would hold, she released them and turned her attention to Captain Jack’s specialized dial. She pressed her ear to the vibrating door and made a few fine adjustments, waiting for the faint… click.
The glass level shattered, and she grabbed the handle, pushing the door open.
“Most impressive, Olivia.” Ian’s eyes flashed with admiration.
Beaming, she picked up her reticule and stepped inside. Perhaps a future as a field agent wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
The ground floor of the mill was dim. Ian withdrew the bioluminescent decilamp from one of the many pockets hidden inside his waistcoat and gave it a good shake. The microorganisms, re-energized, demonstrated their approval by casting a green-blue glow into the room.
He directed the beam of light at the axel of the water wheel, an axel that extended inward from the outside water wheel to run parallel to the floor. An axel that connected to— She let out a low whistle. “A three phase generator.”
This was the power source for Warrick’s alternating current—and an alternating current was an oscillating one.
“An easy, inexpensive way to generate electricity,” Ian said.
Warrick had disconnected the water wheel’s axel from the many gears that once turned the millstone, grinding wheat into flour. Instead, the power generated by the water wheel had been re-directed into creating electricity.
A thick metal ring—a large magnet—was attached to the end of the axel. It spun in a blur of gray. Quite motionless inside this ring was a gear-like disc. Coil upon coil of copper wire wound about the disc.
“Ingenious,” Olivia said. “How many wraps did he use?”
Ian bent to examine the disc. “At least forty.”
Wei’s brow wrinkled. “They use this to make electricity?”
“Yes,” Olivia said. “It’s a way of taking mechanical energy—the rushing water over the wheel—and turning it into electricity.” She pointed. “The magnet spinning about the copper wire generates an electric current. The more wire wraps, the more electricity.”
“What’s impressive is the huge amount of wire used.” Ian shook his head slowly. “The time it must have taken to wrap the disc…”
“What’s this?” Wei pointed.
“Don’t touch!” they both yelled at once.
Wei jumped several feet backward, hands in the air.
Using the torch’s light, Ian traced the wires that extended outward from the disc’s center to wrap about a tube, a tube constructed of two wine barrels placed end to end. Yet more copper wire—a vast length of it—enveloped the barrels.
A wide board, a kind of platform, was suspended inside the tube. The perfect length and width for one guardsman, for one patient to lie upon.
“A half-inch thick wire wrap!” Ian exclaimed.
Wei tipped her head, considering the crude yet clever arrangement of wood, metal, and wire. “They power… a tube?”
“It’s an electromagnet,” Olivia said.
“When its magnetic fields oscillate, the electrical forces will imitate physical stress which, according to Wolff’s law, will in turn stimulate bone growth.” Ian pressed a quick kiss to her lips and yanked Warrick’s papers from his waistcoat. “Now I just need to calculate the exact dosage of arsenic and the length of exposure to the oscillating magnetic field.”
Wei rolled her eyes. “I go inspect building.” She wandered off.
Ian spread out the notes upon a rough workbench containing a rudimentary assortment of laboratory equipment. Propping the bioluminescent torch beside him, he ran his finger over Warrick’s scribblings, over the mathematical formulas and Greek letters that filled the page. There was a wild, feverish look in his eyes as his mind wrestled with the problem, on the verge of forcing Warrick’s notes to surrender their final secrets.
“Mendeleev’s
1871 periodic table places arsenic in the same group, the same column as antimony,” Ian muttered under his breath. “It explains the chemical properties they share. From that I can conclude that if his cells bind phosphate to arsenic, and the cells’ metabolic activity is accelerated, then the dosage…” He dug a pencil from his waistcoat and began to scratch upon the pages.
Lost in calculations, he no longer registered her presence.
Turning her back on him, she paced the perimeter of the room, pretending to examine the boards nailed to a window set high upon the wall. In truth, she sought the dull beam of light that struggled through a narrow crack between planks. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she tugged Mr. Black’s note from her bodice. Unfolding it, she squinted to read.
Found signal yesterday. Almost killed investigating creatures in woods. Beware Russian Agent Katerina Dyatlova. Local Roma stand ready to assist across border. Situation report received. Require update.
Gypsies? That was Mr. Black’s plan, to transport them from Germany into France by caravan? She’d hoped to read the dirigible was repaired and waiting. Clockwork horses could never outrun the count, not if he was mounted on a pteryform. She bit back her frustration. Rolling the note into a tiny ball, she popped it in her mouth and swallowed. The ink was bitter, but without a fire close by, there was no other option.
An update. How was she supposed to accomplish that? With one acousticotransmitter in Ian’s pocket and the other in the castle kitchens, she had no way to contact Mr. Black save to send Wei out into the streets. She closed her eyes and tried to think logically.
“That’s it.” Ian slapped a hand on the table. “I have the exact numbers to effect a cure.”
“A cure?” Wei jumped from the rafters and ran to his side.
“The two elements, arsenic and antimony, have a number of similar properties, allowing both of them to bind to phosphorus in bone matrix.” Ian raised a finger. “If a patient consumes arsenic—instead of antimony—while the bones grow extremely rapidly, the concentration of the poison will rise in the altered osteoblasts, causing them to die,” he smiled, “curing the individual of bone cancer.” Ian aimed the light at the wire wrapped barrels. “The alternating current surging through the wires of this tube creates an oscillating magnetic field that imitates physical stress to the bone, inducing new growth.”
“Forcing the cells to accumulate the arsenic,” Olivia finished. “This will cure Elizabeth?”
“Yes.” Ian’s voice was euphoric. “A cure for anyone who received transplants of Warrick’s cells.”
“We shove people inside?” Wei asked. “On the board?”
“We do,” he said, eyes flashing with excitement. “Time for our first patient. Can you sneak out and find Stephan? Ask him to bring us a guardsman, one willing to defy the count in order to save his own life.”
“Yes!” Wei darted away.
“How many can we cure with the single vial of arsenic we possess?” Olivia asked.
“Four,” Ian answered. “Perhaps five.” He drew her into his arms. “But it will take hours of work. Each patient is going to need four separate treatments lasting two hours each.”
“Days, weeks.” Olivia pressed her face against Ian’s chest. Wrapped in his strong arms, she felt safe. “Months. The guardsmen will grow wise to the rockets, and with Katherine under our bed…”
“Tension will soar in the castle.” He lifted her chin with a finger. Concern flooded his eyes. “You should leave—now—with Black. Take the osforare apparatus. I don’t wish to be remembered as one who betrayed his country.”
“But… I thought…” she sputtered. “How?”
Reaching into his waistcoat, he pulled forth the acousticotransmitter. The green light pulsed. “I turned it on before we left the castle. This is how he found you on the bridge.” He tried to press the listening device into her hand.
Olivia tucked her hands beneath her arms. “No.”
“You’ve said yourself, over and over, that you’re not a spy. This is your best chance to escape. I’ve worked with Black before. He’s a good agent. He’ll keep you safe.”
“No. I won’t leave you. If I turn up missing, the count will take out his anger on you, on Elizabeth, and he’ll hunt for me, with Zheng at his side.”
“He won’t find you, not if you’re already aloft—”
She shook her head. “The escape dirigible is not airworthy yet. Mr. Black’s current exit plan involves ground transportation via gypsy caravan. We need to make a coordinated exit. All of us at the same time.”
Ian opened his mouth to argue—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He slid his knife from its sheath.
The mill door cracked open, and two dark eyes peered upward—Wei.
Ian swung the door open, and a young guardsman stumbled in. A wary hope filled his eyes. “Wei says you can cure me?”
Chapter Thirty-One
ONCE IAN DOSED the guardsman with arsenic, stretched him out upon the board and slid him inside the pulsing solenoid tube, there wasn’t much to do but watch and wait. For quite some time, worried the arsenic might kill rather than cure, he monitored pulse, breathing rate, lip color—but though the man was weak, his condition didn’t worsen.
Thank the aether.
Earlier, he’d forced the acousticotransmitter into Olivia’s hand. She’d given him a cold shoulder and moved to a distant corner to speak into the device, filling Black in on the latest developments. He watched her now, wondering how to convince her that she must leave.
Safe. His aching heart needed her safe. She caught his stare, frowned, and turned away.
Likely she informed Black that their exit from Germany must be delayed. Black wouldn’t agree. He would insist she cease this unauthorized mission and return to British shores. Any minute now, he would knock upon the door and carry Olivia away against her will. Ian would help him, but not before he had some answers, beginning with the Duke of Avesbury’s role in this mess.
For falling in love with the daughter of the Duke of Avesbury had certainly deepened his predicament. He would miss her, his unexpected and originally unwanted stowaway. Which made returning to London victorious more important now than ever, for only marriage would ease the pressure inside his hollow chest.
How could he have known his approach to hunting for a wife had been entirely wrong? All that time he ought to have been searching for a would-be spy. He smiled sadly. Yet he’d walked right past her—repeatedly—dismissive of her fluttering fan, her silly giggles and batting eyelashes.
There had to be a way to win her hand.
How could he convince her father to agree to his suit? After he’d accused the duke of complicity in the Warrick affair, of knowing about the inhumane experiments proposed, of providing laboratory space, supplies and funding to allow such a trial to proceed. Of heading the Committee for the Exploration of Anthropomorphic Peculiarities.
Doubt gnawed at his stomach.
In his mind, Ian could see the duke still. He’d stood, silent, behind that massive wooden desk in his study, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes burning holes into his skull. Not a single syllable had passed the man’s lips as Ian turned in his TTX pistol.
Despite Black’s insistence, he saw no future for himself as an agent.
But perhaps—if he managed to escape and return to London—he might still work with the Queen’s agents. Warrick’s cells, this solenoid, he would see destroyed. It was too dangerous and too labor intensive. Cell implantation followed by constant treatment with arsenic and magnetic fields wasn’t a feasible technique. It would be all too easy for a soldier in the field to miss a treatment and suffer a horrible death.
Ian’s device and his transforming solution, however, had much to offer the Crown. Agents had a tendency to break many, many bones—all but the three comprising the inner ear. Those, they crushed. If human trials proved successful, they would need him, for agents would require hands-on training to use the osforare apparatu
s in the repair of a broken bone.
And, to date, the punch card was only designed to fix the ulna and radius, the forearm. The Babbage programming would need further development to address an additional two hundred and four bones. For that project, Ian would need the assistance of a Rankine engineer. One in particular came to mind.
But, assuming he didn’t end his days in prison, there were Olivia’s own aspirations to consider. Would she risk her career for him? Or insist upon continuing to Italy to marry this Italian baron in the hopes of becoming a young widow?
Ian glanced at his pocket watch. Soon they would be missed. With luck, he could slip back into the castle and make his way to the laboratory. Once there, he would claim Katherine had escorted him. She certainly wouldn’t be contradicting him.
Flipping a switch, he cut power to the solenoid. “That’s two hours.” He helped the guardsman slide from the board that suspended him inside the barrels. Already, he seemed steadier upon his feet, and a touch of color had returned to his face.
Olivia left her corner to join them.
“How do you feel?” he asked the guardsman. She repeated his question in German.
The man spread his arms out. Wiggled his fingers. Bent at the waist, at the knees and answered. Olivia translated. “Strange. Am I cured?”
“No,” Ian replied. “Not yet. You’ll need at least three more sessions in the solenoid, maybe more. Wei will find you for your next treatment.”
A slow smile spread across the guardsman’s face as he pressed a palm to his heart. “Vielen Dank.” Many Thanks. The guardsman left the mill, his step a little lighter.
Once Olivia was safely away and all of Warrick’s residual cells destroyed, Ian would announce the discovery of a cure to the count. He would point to a crabbed note in the corner of Warrick’s notes—scratched there by Ian himself—about the solenoid in the mill, and treatments for all the guardsmen would commence.
