by Anne Renwick
Black’s jaw clenched.
Lady Amanda ignored them both. She continued, “From the location of the gold fibers in the superior orbital fissure, he attempted to establish a connection with the trochlear nerve, the fourth cranial nerve—and failed.”
He nodded. “Consistent with our expectations.”
“There’s more. Look.” She ripped the magnifying goggles from her head. Tongue depressors clattered to the ground as long strands of wavy hair spread wildly across bare shoulders. He felt a pang of regret as she handed the goggles to him. “Here.” She lifted a blunt-nosed probe and indicated a bit of the gold wire she’d teased free of the congealing tissue. “Remember from the last victim how the threads wove together in a tight concentric pattern?”
“Yes.” He pulled the lenses over his eyes and studied the gold fibers. “The weave pattern is less compact. Almost web-like.”
She began to pace. “It’s exactly as we feared. The eye doctor is making his own improvements to my neurachnid.” Her eyes blazed with insight. “It’s genius. The eye doctor may be evil, but he’s also brilliant. If… I need paper.” She crossed the tiled room to the sink, her ruined gown dragging behind her. She washed her hands with determined concentration. Meanwhile, he pulled open drawers, dragging forth a dull pencil and autopsy forms. The backs were blank.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the pencil and paper. Standing at the cold, steel counter, Lady Amanda began to sketch. He watched, entranced, as her idea took form before his eyes. She paused, tapping the pencil against the paper in irritation. “It’s missing something. How can we connect the…”
He plucked the pencil from her hand and added a small modification. “With an extension of the pin here and a size three spring there.”
“That would do it.” Her voice was tight, her gaze fixed upon the design.
The gears and pins and rods modified as she indicated, along with some programming changes to the Babbage card, would adjust the pincers so that they could angle through the supraorbital fissure in a manner that would allow wires tipped with rare earth elements to penetrate the brainstem in multiple locations, thereby tapping into the diffuse elements of the cranial nerve.
It was nothing short of brilliant, but he kept his admiration to himself. She was a member of his laboratory, nothing more.
“That,” she stabbed the paper with a finger, “is what our eye doctor is attempting. His modifications are incomplete, and the ineffective nerve agent sabotaged his most recent effort to test his spider improvements.”
“Unfortunately,” Thornton said, “we’re no closer to discovering who the eye doctor is, or where he conducts his experiments.”
Black spoke up. “Nevertheless, his failure buys us time.”
Luca shifted, drawing attention. “But at what price?”
Chapter Seventeen
AMANDA DIDN’T CONSIDER a chaperone necessary for an afternoon walk with Henri along Clockwork Corridor. It was a public thoroughfare. If the still-burning gas street lamps only served to give the fog that swirled about her skirts an otherworldly glow, she could at least claim the street was well lit.
They passed a number of storefronts that possessed such parts as were required for the neurachnid’s modifications, but few possessed them at both the minuscule size and the quality required. Such was the ostensible reason they searched for Nicu Sindel’s vardo.
The other reason was personal. She worried for her sister’s safety. For the safety of her impending niece or nephew. For Luca, for Nadya, and even Nicu himself. Though most of the eye doctor’s targets had been young and male, knowing what she now did, there was no reason to think the murderer would not select a different target. Perhaps, now that they were on alert, the eye doctor would avoid gypsies altogether.
After rushing home to attend to her appearance, she’d attended classes then reported to the laboratory—attempting normalcy—to find the great man himself cloistered within the eye laboratory and unavailable. Though disappointed, Amanda knew proper channels must be followed before the Queen’s agents and Black would grant her permission to view the phaoscope.
The idea intrigued her more than she cared to admit. She was desperate to know the details of this ground-breaking research. That the phaoscope was a more advanced eye providing its user with super-human visual acuity was certain—as was its secretive nature, but from the look of pride on Thornton’s face she knew there was more.
But Henri had been awaiting her arrival.
With a broad, welcoming grin, he’d clapped his hands and rocked back on his heels. “I hear a brilliant modification is to be made to the neurachnid?”
She smiled in return; it was impossible not to return such a greeting. “A breakthrough, perhaps. A modification of the pincers should allow us to access the very origin of the cranial nerve inside the brain.”
“Ah, we will slide inside the very fissures and foramen of the skull.”
“That is the plan.” She had pulled the sketches from her satchel and handed them to him.
Henri stroked his goatee as he perused the pages and noises of pleasure escaped his throat. At last he spoke. “Brilliant. A vast improvement over our method for installing the acousticotransmitter. It might prevent all the resultant intense nausea and dizziness.” His gaze rose. “Once again, we need supplies. Have you a list?”
“Of course.” She waved a long strip of paper.
“Only Nicu will do. Shall we?”
He’d offered his arm, she’d accepted, and they had set out on their quest into the gloom of London’s streets. Last night’s fog had yet to lift.
They searched the entirety of Clockwork Corridor without success and began turning down narrow side streets. Nicu was proving elusive as he had for the past several days. Amanda hadn’t seen him in the camp on Putney Heath, but the fog and the trees and the time pressure hadn’t allowed her to search for him there. But perhaps he was, perhaps he remained for the funeral services, in which case their search was in vain.
“Pardon me,” Henri said. “You look tired, my lady. Too many late hours working on your invention?”
Chasing after it, rather. “It’s exhausting,” she admitted. “Living two lives.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“The social expectations of a lady of the ton do not mesh well with that of medical student.”
“Ahh. Yes. It is hard for Lord Thornton as well.”
“Hard?” she scoffed. The man wanted no social life. “He buries himself in his work. I don’t believe he has ever been sighted on a ballroom floor or on Rotten Row. Not even before his injury.”
“He broods too much over things he cannot change. You are good for him.”
Her head jerked in his direction. “Good?”
“You bring him out of his shell.” Henri’s voice radiated approval. “He attended a ball last night, did he not? The man could use some feminine distraction.”
It was not her presence at a ball that had drawn him there. Realizing two of his daughters were now involved in the gypsy murders, Father had taken it upon himself to personally oversee the situation. It seemed Father was Thornton’s superior, though the hierarchy eluded her. In any case, the Duke of Avesbury crooked his finger and, quite probably against his will, Thornton appeared.
It annoyed her to no end that Father had seen fit to give Thornton Emily’s location directly, an attempt to keep Amanda herself from visiting the gypsies. If not for Simon’s overzealousness in his suit and Thornton’s injured leg, they would not have found themselves locked in a dark, moonlit room where, for a moment, she’d glimpsed cracks in the man’s hard exterior.
“I don’t think he wishes to be distracted,” Amanda answered. “Not by me. He scurried quickly back inside that shell.” The moment rational thought returned and he realized he’d kissed a student.
“A shame. If that’s what you want, leave him there. Otherwise, lure him back out. The man, he has inside such life and loyalty
if only…” Catching sight of a vardo, Henri trailed off, but it was not the one for which they searched.
Despite Thornton’s clear determination their relationship would remain professional, she’d no intention of ceasing her attempts to break through the man’s hard exterior. During that brief experience, when all of that passion had been directed at her… Something inside her had certainly cracked.
Her world had shifted and now hung askew, and the easy assumption that she would marry Sommersby had grown exponentially harder. Not only did that man have two left feet—one of the many reasons she’d thought to hide—but he lacked vision, drive. Passion.
Once she’d thought to content herself with a permissive, passive husband. One she could control. One she could predict.
Now she wanted something… more. She wanted a husband whose touch sent blue flames jumping across her skin, a husband whose mind and ambitions were equal to her own. She wanted a partner, not simply a spouse.
“He’s shown incredible loyalty to Lord Huntley, agreeing to keep his wife on as an assistant in his laboratory after he committed such treachery.”
Henri laughed. “Is that what you think? My dear, Lady Huntley is no burden. How do you think she met Lord Huntley? I am told he was no more inclined to attend a ball than Thornton. That he attended through duty. No, they met through a shared passion for science.”
“Really?” Misplaced envy flared.
He nodded. “A sad, sad tale. The long-distance transmitter was her invention, you see. Without her invention, the acousticocept would not be. I am told it was a whirlwind romance, a swift wedding and, dreadfully, a marriage cut short.”
They ought not be gossiping so, but if Amanda was going to pursue Thornton, the more information she had… “I’m told Lord Huntley sold a device under development to the Germans, a prototype.”
“When Thornton was brought to me, he’d lost quite a bit of blood. That was bad enough, but the infection, the bacterially secreted toxins, left him raving. From what I could piece together, Lord Huntley transmitted their location to the Germans the entire time they were in the air. Airship pirates, ha!”
“Yet they killed him, Lord Huntley,” she said, forcing her feet to move again.
“So they did. Sliced his neck the moment they had what they’d come for.” Henri paused a moment. “Thornton rewarded those who were faithful. He saved Lady Huntley by making her his most trusted assistant, and he opened opportunities for me. Here, I am compensated well enough to take better care of Mama. She is ill.”
Amanda glanced at Henri. “What ails her?”
He shrugged. “No one can say. Not even the best physicians Thornton makes available. Yesterday a letter arrived informing me she has taken a turn for the worse.”
“Can she not come here?”
“Will not.” He shook his head. “I make plans to visit her. Soon.”
“Henri! Old friend,” a voice hailed. In the fog, Nicu’s figure shimmered before his maroon vardo. Behind him stood his grumpy apprentice, Milosh.
“At last,” Henri said. “So, enough of what is past. The present is enough for now. We will find the parts for this newest spider modification and do as we must to access the cranial nerve roots. Still, I think, you and I will work to be certain that one day soon, your neurachnid can spin a filament that will repair Thornton’s leg.”
“We will.” Even if it meant she did not sleep for the rest of the month.
They climbed the stairs into the caravan, exchanging greetings, politely declining Nicu’s offer to have Milosh serve tea and biscuits, and moving swiftly to business.
“Those fish claw pins you asked for, Henri, I have found them.” Nicu pulled a wooden box from a shelf and handed it to him.
“Wonderful,” Henri exclaimed. Monocle in place, he began to pluck through the various pins, muttering excitedly under his breath. Then, suddenly remembering himself, he looked up. Beneath his crooked top hat, his magnified eye seemed to bulge in alarm. “So sorry, Lady Amanda, let us first attend to your list.” He lowered the box.
She fought the temptation to laugh at the picture he presented. “No, Henri, find what you need. Take your time.”
“Milosh,” Nicu said. “Please see to Henri’s needs. I have some very special pieces I wish to suggest to Lady Amanda.”
Milosh glowered, but moved to stand beside Henri.
Nicu took her list and drew her aside, deeper into the vardo near a wooden partition that divided the business half from the living half. The door providing entry was ajar, beyond it nothing but a simple bed and a small table and chair.
He spread an array of clockwork components before her, his smile fading. “Lady Amanda, the Romanichal currently of Putney Heath are in disarray. My sister, Nadya, despairs. She is certain your chemists will not be able to replicate the formula without the bloom of the amatiflora. The elders wish to move on, immediately. The younger men wish to seek vengeance and actively hunt this eye doctor.” He shook his head. “Now there are gadjos living among us, desecrating our camp. These men claim to be there at Lord Avesbury’s request, yet refuse to tell us anything about what is happening. Is any progress being made? Any hint as to who this murderer might be?”
Father had inserted guards at the gypsy camp? She shook her head. “None. We know only that he is very clever. And German, or likely so. He seeks to use my clockwork spider and Emily’s formula to his own government’s end.” Guilt tightened her chest. Even sharing this much felt like a betrayal. “As to the potion, I’ve heard nothing.”
“Yet you continue to build another spider and ask Emily to continue her work on the formula.” His voice was bitter. Unlike Amanda, his loyalty was not divided. “It seems to me, that like the Germans, the British have their own nefarious goals.”
“Those of self-preservation,” she replied. “We do not, will not, resort to such unethical means to make scientific progress. The eye doctor, he has no such scruples. Will you help?”
Nicu shook his head. “Not directly. We claim no citizenship. We only wish to live in peace.”
“The eye doctor is unlikely to allow that.”
“Nor is the British government.”
Amanda sighed. “Then we must all do what we think is best and hope to end this soon.”
“Guard this device well.” His expression was stern. “I did not teach you all I know only to see it turned upon my people.”
“I will.” Every day she regretted not installing a more secure lock upon her laboratory door. “You will guard Emily?”
“Of course. We all will,” he said. Nicu pointed to a golden gear. Back to business. “This one. The cogs are tempered with iridium and will not bend.”
Chapter Eighteen
WITH THE PARTS THEY required in hand, Amanda and Henri returned to the laboratory and set to work. The afternoon hours melted into those of the early evening. The great iron door opened and closed as laboratory technicians departed one by one, until only she and Henri remained.
Then Henri too reached for his coat. “It is late. Perhaps that is enough progress for today?”
Amanda sat back, flipping up the lenses of her glasses. Her eyes were dry. Her neck ached. And she deeply regretted her fashionable choice of attire. The too-tight corset she wore dug into her ribs, but she’d wanted Thornton to look at her again with heat in his eyes, now more than ever. There was more between them than work alone, and Amanda intended to explore those possibilities. She didn’t care that his leg was failing. She could help, if only he’d let her. If physical beauty was the key to drawing his attention…
Amanda sighed. She’d seen neither hide nor hair of the man she’d worn it for, not since this morning’s anatomy lecture. Even then, he refused to so much as look in her direction. She flirted with disaster, but for a man like Thornton, she would take the risk.
If only he would return the sentiment.
Alas, all he seemed interested in pursuing was the neurachnid and the nerve age
nt. Yet even after the spider was rebuilt, even after the formula was reconstituted, how would it bring them any closer to catching the eye doctor?
She wanted to do something. Something to lure the eye doctor from his lair, but she couldn’t act on her own. So, until Thornton or Black saw fit to include her… She glanced at the tightly closed door to the inner laboratory.
“Oui. He is inside. It may be hours before he emerges.”
“I’ll just adjust the tension on this spring then…”
“Bien sur. Do as you think best.” He gave her a knowing wink and exited the lab.
Amanda sat there, screwdriver in hand. Was she being tested to see if she could continue working for him after their… moment? Or punished for daring to confront him? She looked around the empty laboratory. Or perhaps just forgotten.
Whichever it was, she’d had enough. Under the watchful eyes of the rats, she locked the neurachnid in its safe, along with the as yet unused clockwork pieces, and reached for her cape. The rats suddenly froze, every whiskered nose pointing toward the door at the back of the laboratory, every sensitive pink ear on alert. The door’s many gears began to turn.
Lady Huntley stepped from within, her face tight and unreadable. “Amanda, if you’re ready, Thornton and Black have arranged for a one-time visit to our interior laboratory. If you’ll place your hand here.” She gestured to a security pad much like the one used to unlock the laboratory’s great iron door.
Her exhaustion forgotten, Amanda crossed the room and placed her hand on the glass plate. As Lady Huntley made adjustments in the device, she studied the woman. Dressed in full mourning, the absence of color only highlighted the woman’s bright hair and pale complexion. An ethereal beauty. The moment a full year had passed, the moment the color of her attire lightened, gentlemen would be in pursuit.
“I was sorry to learn of your… situation,” she offered. All too easily it could have been Amanda in her position.
