The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

As she worked through the complicated steps to free the deadbolt, she heard a squeal which cut off abruptly. Rufus, wearing his night-vision monocle, rounded the corner, a terrified, half-dead mouse hanging from his jaw.

She held the door wide for the orange cat, and he trotted in, dropping his offering at her feet as he passed, then leapt to the counter where he sat with his back to her, tail twitching, his displeasure at her recent neglect clear. Only when she produced‌—‌and opened‌—‌a tin of sardines, were her recent absences forgiven.

Amanda pulled dusty boxes of Emily’s chemistry equipment from their storage space beneath the workbench and set about converting her workspace into a makeshift apothecary. Then, as Rufus curled into a ball on the discarded packing material, she followed Emily’s specific directions, setting about the tedious task of distilling the oils from the dried flowers.

With nothing left to do but wait, she sat down on a narrow cot she’d set up in the corner of her laboratory to review Emily’s notes again. It was late. Really late. The words of Emily’s notes began to blur and run off the edge of the page as she read. Her head jerked, and Amanda realized she’d nearly nodded off despite the chill in her laboratory.

Emily’s knowledge of plants was extensive. Nadya’s even more so. It appeared they’d tried nearly every bloom that might be related to the
amatiflora
, and some that were clearly not. Still, the original formula had flaws that went beyond a specific, unavailable flower. Several.

The protocol Emily had sent was maddening in its complexity, and there were non-standard measurements, chemicals named without their ionic states indicated and, most baffling of all, a host of Romani superstitions. Those, at least, she could discount. What potency could picking the
amatiflora
flowers during a full moon possibly impart?

As the hours passed, Amanda napped on the cot, managing to rouse herself every hour or so to check on the small glass still. The distillation of essential oils from flowers was a long, slow process. Several small, controlled flames burned beneath various pieces of glassware, concentrating liquids and speeding along chemical reactions.

Dawn was still a good hour or more away when, blinking the sleep from her eyes, Amanda pushed herself up from her makeshift bed and stretched away her stiffness. She bent close to the glassware. Finally, enough oil had collected in the amber vial. She could attempt the final step.

With a pipette, she dispensed the oil into the burette positioned above a flask containing a thick orange-red liquid. Drop by drop, the oil fell. The oil became sulfurous, then several drops later, shifted color to glow a sickly green.

She closed the stopcock. Retrieved the limp mouse from its cage. Filled a clean syringe with the green fluid. And injected the nerve agent near the injury sight.

Now came more waiting. Hoping.

Smoothing loose strands of hair from her face, she sought out her cot once more. Just as she began to sink into sleep, a knock sounded on the door.

Amanda’s heart stopped. Then thudded back to life as she recognized her brother’s voice.

~~~

“Amanda?” Ned called. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.” Hens rustled in their nests. Dawn approached. He was out of time.

He’d lost track of how many hours he’d been standing outside her laboratory, his forehead pressed against this new door, ringed with gears and pins and deadlocks. It was an intimidating door. More because it seemed a symbol of all the secrets he kept locked within himself. Ever since he’d made the mistake that ended with him in these monstrous mechanical legs.

It gnawed at him, his sister’s angry confession that she sacrificed all hope of marital happiness in the practical pursuit of a man who would allow her to continue to labor on his behalf.

What right had he to ask that of her? Particularly when his own impatience had sabotaged her project. He knocked again, harder this time and the gears began to turn, pulling iron bolts from their slots.

“Ned?” Amanda’s face was pale and drawn. Dark circles beneath her eyes echoed his own. Except guilt kept him awake through the wee hours, while worry for her brother and a need to solve his problems kept his sister awake.

It needed to stop.

“May I come in?”

She opened the door wider.

Ned stepped‌—‌or rather his mechanical legs stepped‌—‌into a mad scientist’s laboratory. Gone was the familiar clockwork. Instead, bottles of all shapes and sizes held liquids of colors that defied description. Brass scales and weights were poised ready to measure out undefined white powders resting near a porcelain mortar and pestle. A small glass still dripped a viscous liquid into an amber vial.

A little brown mouse, eyes unblinking, lay upon a cloth pad, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only hint he still lived.

“I thought you were working on the spider.”

Amanda sighed. “Not here. I can’t. Because of the theft, my neurachnid work is confined to Lord Thornton’s facilities.” She waved her hand at the apparatus before them. “This is an attempt to recreate Emily’s quieting nerve agent.”

He nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from the mouse, hating that he needed to add to her burdens. “I’ve something to confess.”

“Confess?”

He ran both hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. “I’m the person who stole your spider. There was a physician, a Dr. Millhouse, who promised…‌” Ned swallowed. “Promised I would be his first patient, but he disappeared. Took the spider with him. I’ve sent runners looking, but none return. I’m so very, very sorry, Amanda.”

Her jaw dropped and her knees folded as she dropped abruptly and heavily onto a rumpled cot. “You?” She choked the word out.

“It was wrong of me.”

“Oh, God,” she breathed, then shook her head. “Ned, it wouldn’t have worked.”

“How can you know that for certain? For Georgina I’m willing to risk it all. Please. I’m begging you. I don’t need
this
,” he waved his hand at the chemicals. “I’ll endure whatever pain is necessary. Just please don’t let me miss the only opportunity I’ll ever have to bid for Georgina’s hand. I need to be a whole man.”

“I can’t.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Won’t.” Yes. He was being selfish again, but he only wanted this over so they could both lead the lives they were meant to live.

“No. Can’t.” Amanda dropped her face into her palms, her hair falling forward to hide her face. “The neurachnid isn’t ready, and the procedure will not work with an un-quieted nerve.”

“You’ve every right to be furious.”

“Oh, I am.” Her voice hardened. “How could you?”

“It’s been five years, Amanda. How much longer am I expected to wait?”

“As long as it takes!” The orange cat his sister favored raised his head at her exclamation, fixing his malevolent gaze on Ned. Amanda threw her hands in the air. “You have no idea what you’ve done! None.”

“What?” His own voice rose now. “I said I’m sorry. I’ll talk to Father about moving his deadline. You deserve better than Sommersby.”

She gaped, then shook her head.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you aware of the recent rash of gypsy murders?”

How could this possibly be relevant? But he nodded. “The one the papers call the eye doctor?”

“The very one.” She paused. “I can’t divulge details, but we know what he’s trying to do.”

“We?”

“We, Ned. I’m involved. Ever since the eye doctor stole my neurachnid.” She stood now. “He’s experimenting on them.”

“Altering their eyes?”
Oh, God. No.
“Using the spider? How? Why?”

She shook her head. “I cannot share anymore details.”

His blood ran cold. His fault. “How close is he to succeeding?”

“Is that all you can think about!” Amanda yelled. “Yourself? And whether or not a
murderer
might have perfected what I could not?” She fixed him with a glare, then turned her back on him. “Leave. I need to think.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he objected. Bitter bile hit the back of his throat. How many gypsy deaths were on his shoulders? “If he’s close…‌ if he succeeds, he’ll stop.”

“Yes, Ned. If he succeeds, the gypsy murders will likely stop. But this device? In the hands of our enemies, many more lives will be destroyed.” Amanda turned and lifted the limp rodent. “And he’s not likely to share any progress
he
makes on the neurachnid.”

She slid the mouse into some kind of examination chamber. She turned a series of dials, bringing the animal’s wound into graphic view. She pushed a button and flipped a lever. There was a loud, electrical zapping sound. Several of her loose hairs lifted away, floating in a charged cloud about her head. She bent close to the monitor, her face hopeful. Then her shoulders sagged.

“Amanda?”

“It didn’t work,” she muttered.

He watched as she grabbed a packet of papers and began leafing through its pages, grumbling. “Amanda,” he said again.

“Why are you still here? Leave. I have work. Without a functioning nerve agent, the neurachnid cannot properly spin its web.”

He couldn’t leave. A sneaking suspicion had crept upon him as she worked. “There’s more.”

She ignored him.

“Tony has been searching for Dr. Millhouse. He thought he was getting close.”

Amanda looked up.

Today, for the first time in five long years, Tony had failed to arrive for work. Ned had sent round a footman to his lodgings, but Tony was nowhere to be found.

Only now did the full significance register.

Ned shut his eyes and swore. “Tony’s missing.”

~~~

Brilliance could not be rushed. A grim smile pulled at Wasp’s lips. Still, it had taken Lady Amanda long enough to figure it out. A spider able to make diffuse connections was finally under construction.

When Wasp had first learned of her device, then beheld its brilliance, it was clear Lady Amanda Ravensdale was nearly a mental equal. Worth watching. Worth keeping close. Worth prodding into reaching her potential.

She suspected nothing. For now, Wasp would continue to employ only soft suggestions, gentle assistance, and careful watchfulness to nudge her along while maintaining a normal routine.

Annoyance had surged when Lord Thornton became involved in her life, pulling her under his wing and into his laboratory. Seeing her eyes shine for the titled lord was an irritation that was a struggle to bear, but it seemed her infatuation was to be to an advantage. Wasp certainly couldn’t have foreseen the enormous investment of time and effort she would devote to her clockwork spider, all to please a man.

Such cliché.

Though Lady Amanda labored diligently away, it was bad form not to attempt independent modifications to the neurachnid.

A rotating blade was not the solution. Attempting the procedure on the other eye had not been worth the bother. Wasp had chosen instead to send a message to the old gypsy woman that her efforts did not suffice. Yet today, Wasp had new hope. This new pin and spring might allow the neurachnid to make the multiple insertions necessary to connect to the entire cranial nerve root.

But all this work would be wasted unless the old gypsy provided the necessary numbing agent. The green fluid that had filled the neurachnid’s abdomen was key and long since depleted.

Diethyl ether left a test subject unconscious but also made the nerve root incapable of responding to the spider’s gentle probing. The resulting gold web was too diffuse and often misdirected. Accuracy was required.

If Nadya did not produce a new sample soon, Wasp would be forced to provide motivation. Discovering that Lady Amanda’s sister lived among the gypsies as one of them had been…‌ revelatory.

It was an effective screw to turn.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A
T THE END OF
the last lecture for the day, a selection of students was called to the front of the lecture theater to stand before Professor Quimbly for a public shaming. Amanda was one of them.

She deserved this. In favor of spending more hours in Thornton’s laboratory‌—‌and now in her own‌—‌she’d neglected her studies. In this particular case, her failure was to review the slew of assigned histological slides in the microscopy facility. Now, like the others at her side, she was being taken to task for failing an unannounced quiz.

Exhausted past the point of caring, she kept her gaze downcast. She’d taken on far too many tasks for one woman and the balance had finally tipped against her. School, the neurachnid, the nerve agent. Husband hunting.

She glanced at Simon.

She’d arrived in the lecture theater to find he hadn’t moved from his usual seat. She hesitated, but only briefly. Amanda refused to let the end of their courtship displace her. Sitting in the back with her female classmates was not an option. Nodding in greeting, she’d settled herself beside Simon. He was all that was polite, pleasant and proper, though her arrival had been met with a noticeably cooler reception.

Eventually, Mother would comment to Father that Mr. Sommersby had ceased to call on Amanda for tea and her social obligations would increase.