The Timeseer's Gambit (The Faraday Files Book 2) (60 page)

he salamander alarm on his door was disarmed.

That was the only warning Chris had before he heard the shouting from inside the Buckley estate. Cursing under his breath, he threw open the door, stumbling in. He was soaking wet, in burned clothes, still injured, and completely exhausted, physically and emotionally.

He was not prepared, in any way, to deal with the two men facing off in his parlour.

Looking as if he’d just been spat out of the second hell, Doctor Livingstone braced himself on the back of a chair to stay upright. His voice was hoarse from lack of use, and his forearms shook as he supported himself.

Garrett Albany could not look less like the good doctor. His hat was doffed and held before him, leaving his shock of brown hair open to the air, falling half over his eyes in a boyish way that was simultaneously charming and slovenly. But his toilette was flawless, black coattails arranged as if he’d just come from a party.

“You’ve torn everything I built to pieces!” Livingstone gasped out, face red.

“What you built has been torn for
years
, old man,” Albany sneered back. “You can hardly blame the bulk of us from being tired of your mandates. Stay in the background. Don’t make waves. How are we supposed to affect a damn thing? It was about time for a change of the guard.”

“What is this?” Chris asked, his voice far too faint for someone who’d just discovered two political giants, one of whom was supposed to be in prison, arguing in his parlour. He was simply too stunned, too exhausted, to make any sense of it.

Doctor Livingstone turned. He seemed to deflate with relief at the sight of Chris and a tremulous smile touched his emaciated face. “Mister Buckley,” he said.

“Mister Buckley,” Albany echoed, interrupting him, and stepped forward. “I hope that you don’t hold it against my sister that she acquiesced when I mirrored to ask her for the code to your alarm.”

“When you―” Chris sputtered, but Albany did not stop speaking.

“You have nothing to fear from me, as I already know where Rosemary is being held. As I have this entire time. Rachel needed to give me an address to forward her mail to, after all. Have no fear, I have no interest in exploiting your sister.”

This made no sense. Miss Albany had
personally
warned him against her brother on multiple occasions. Now she was just―
giving
him the alarm codes and Rosemary’s location?

“Mister Buckley,” the doctor said, trying to insert himself into the conversation. “What Albany says cannot, can
never
be trusted―”

“Rachel told me about what happened after she bullied me out of the ball last night,” Albany continued, able to easily speak over Doctor Livingstone’s atrophied voice. “Not the attack―I read that in the papers, as hidden as it was to keep the trial of the good doctor on the front page. But rather that her life was threatened… and that you were extorted for some sort of information in order to spare her.”

The list. This was about the list? “They’re all dead,” Chris said, barely keeping up. “They shot themselves, every last one. Whatever I told them, it’s gone.”

“I’m afraid it’s not,” Albany said quietly. “One of my agents has reported to me that the traditionalists have access to that list of codenames and proficiencies that you gave them. Katie. Boathouse. Panther. Does this sound familiar?”

Chris stumbled. He fell into the closest chair. Oh, Gods. Oh, Gods, could this really be happening? He’d shelved it, the ball, what he’d seen, the deaths… giving over the list… since the traditionalist agents had all died, it had seemed the easiest thing on his plate to put away, to think about later.

Unless his father’s list had reached them after all.

“How―”

“As I said, one of my agents who’s infiltrated the movement heard of it. They contacted me immediately. We’d also heard whispers of Michael Buckley having some sort of list, of course. He was always Lowry’s dog. He could barely bind himself, and he had to earn their approval somehow. But we considered it… well, paranoia. We had nothing to do with any vast conspiracies, so―”

“You talk like you know how everything was back then. You were barely seventeen at the time,” Doctor Livingstone spat.

“And I was informed very early, Francis, you know that.”

“What is this
about
?” Chris demanded. “Why―Gods. So I―I made an error. My father’s list is in their hands. What does it matter? It’s done. I―”
I ruined absolutely everything, as usual.

“It matters because we need to move fast,” Albany said, smoothly picking up where Chris’s voice had cut out. “We believe there may be some sort of code, some pattern, to those names. As it’s not actually a list of conspirators, because there never was any conspiracy, it must be something else. We believe it’s possible that it’s the key to a plan of theirs to do something… extreme.”

“Extreme?”

“Dangerous. As you no doubt saw last night, Mister Buckley, they will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. I believe they may be intending to rebuild the Floating Castle.”

“
What
?”

“Or something like it. Another net of interlinked spirits. A second chance, if you will. Proof that they can accomplish it. The secret to how it was done was well-hidden, but your father knew the way. We think that somehow, that’s what the list actually was.”

“There is absolutely no reason to believe anything of the sort,” Livingstone said.

“Says a man who’s been in prison for three months and has no idea of the current climate.” Albany waved the doctor off like a fly. “I’m glad that you’re here, Doctor. You’ve done so much for me, for Rachel. No one wanted to see you hang. But that doesn’t change the facts: it’s time to step aside for a new generation.” He looked at Chris very intently. “Rachel says that you lean reformist.”

He went to argue, but realized it had become more true than not. He bowed his head.

“The movement desperately needs you, Mister Buckley. Things are about to get very messy. I have just enough information to know that what happened last night is only the beginning.”

“Why on earth could you possibly need me?” Chris demanded. “Even if the list is of such value, you seem to have it! There’s nothing I can give you that you don’t already have!”

“Not the list,” Albany straightened. “We need Rosemary.”

“You…
what
?”

“They’re better equipped than we are and we have to admit that. The powerful have the most to lose from the old ways being left behind. They’ve flocked to that banner from the start. We
need
something to compete with them. And under your eye and Rachel’s, there’s absolutely no way that Rosemary could be misused. You’ll be there every step of the way, Mister Buckley. But there’s reason to believe she won’t be safe where she is for much longer, and she is
needed
here in Darrington, or thousands of lives are going to be lost.”

“I―” Mister Albany spoke so quickly and with such fire and conviction that it was difficult to keep up, to remember what the risks were. If Albany already knew exactly where Rosemary was, how was she any safer there? And he hadn’t done anything to hurt her so far. With Chris and Rachel right there watching, Rosemary could ‘bind in a place where he wouldn’t have to worry about orchard children spying on her. Where he could help her grow up. And if Rachel was here… his mind flashed back to his lips on William’s and he knew that Albany saw him flinch.

“I already have tickets purchased, Mister Buckley,” Albany said. “I won’t do a thing without your approval, but this
is
the right way. All you need to do is say the word, and your sister will be in your arms tomorrow morning.”

Chris opened his mouth.

“Oh! I’m
so
sorry. Am I interrupting something very serious? The door was open, so I just walked in. Christopher, you have guests! Why, it’s the good doctor, miraculously spared from the noose. And the much,
much
less good Mister Albany.”

Olivia Faraday swept into the room like Queen Gloria herself.

The strange tension that had grown all around them seemed to shatter. Like a spell had been broken. Chris was suddenly aware of the avaricious gleam in Albany’s eye, the hopeless slump of Livingstone’s shoulders, the way that he’d―had he actually almost been about to say
yes
?

How? How was that possible? Was Albany like him? A―a heart… writer? But no. No, Chris could look back and see how his emotions had always been his own. Every moment of it. It had just been talking.
Clever
talking. And despite that, despite it just being words, Chris had
still
almost done the unthinkable.

“Tell me, Mister Albany,” Olivia said, tossing her soaked hair. Droplets sprayed Chris, cold and shocking, bringing things into full clarity. “What’s the frequency for Mister Buckley’s alarm?”

Mister Albany opened his mouth, and then closed it.

“Yes, indeed, that’s just what I thought it was. Hmm, and while you’re feeling generous,
where
is Rosemary staying, exactly?”

One of the Albany’s fanged teeth gleamed as his lips pulled into a smile. “I have absolutely no idea, madam,” he said, sweeping a grand bow. “But I was close, wasn’t I?”

“Very close,” Olivia said, as Chris reeled, “but now it’s
quite
time for you to leave, I think.”

Garrett Albany settled his hat onto his head. He gave Chris a fanged grin and a gracious nod. “Until next time, Mister Buckley,” he said smoothly. “Do say hello to Rachel for me. She and I
never
talk.” And he swept from the room as if he owned it.

“She didn’t tell him a thing,” Chris said, dazed. “I―I believed him. I believed every word coming out of his mouth!”

“It’s a skill of his,” Livingstone rumbled. He wiped his face with a skeletal hand. “Weaponized charm. He talks and talks and suddenly right and wrong just flip on their heads.”

“A skill I
badly
wished I possessed,” Olivia said. She nodded. “Doctor. What an honour to actually finally meet you. I rather thought I’d never have the chance, as you’d be taken from us by an unfortunate case of rope around the neck. I heard your verdict was being rendered tomorrow!”

“In the light of the… staggering new evidence,” the doctor said, “and the recanting of quite a few key witnesses in my case, the judge saw no reason to wait until morning. I’m a free man.” He held up his bony hands and looked at them sadly. “Of a sort.”

“Yes, rather,” Olivia chirped. “You don’t want to put your family at risk by being in a position where they can be used against you by either the Combs family
or
the charming Mister Albany. I understand. You need a place to recuperate… and to plan. Because Mister Albany is right about
one
thing, Doctor. You
do
need a plan. The time for speeches has come and gone. We need action.”

“You’re saying things I already know, young lady.” Livingstone smiled faintly.

Olivia raised a thin blonde eyebrow. “Goodness,” she hummed. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me
that
.”

“I came here for that very reason,” Livingstone continued. “I thought Mister Buckley was at least a place to start. Someone I know believed in me, someone who had Rachel’s trust, who couldn’t have been turned by her brother. What a surprise when I saw the man sitting here in the parlour.”

Olivia’s constant smile softened. She reached down and gently laid a hand on Chris’s shoulder. He started at the feeling, looking up at her. “You’re right,” she murmured. “You
can
trust him. He’s a good sort of fellow. And I’ve begun to care about the things he cares about, so you can trust me, too. And by extension, our friends.” She turned toward the window and indicated outside.

Chris shook off Olivia’s hand and climbed to his feet, peering out. He blinked in surprise. With the damage that had been done to his hedge from the sylph, he could see out to the road, where Maris and Miss Banks stood together beside a fine carriage. He fought down jealousy that rose, bitter as bile, at the way Maris’s hand rested on the small of Miss Banks’s back. How could it be that easy? Did they not notice how passersby looked at them and whispered? How did they not hate themselves every moment?

“I trust you recognize the dark-haired lady?” Olivia asked primly.

Livingstone let out a long, thoughtful hum. “Miss Emilia Banks,” he murmured.

“Indeed. The most brilliant engineer interested in alternative technologies in Tarland. I know you’ve been trying to get her to work for your movement for years. But she’s never been interested.” Olivia clucked her tongue. “Well. She’s still not interested in your movement. But, luckily, your movement seems largely uninterested in
you
these days. You’re an old wolf driven from his pack by a younger male.” She folded her hands behind her back. “I think Miss Banks would like to start something new with you. In a small town called Summergrove.”

Chris started.

Olivia gave a long-suffering sigh. “Unfortunately, the owner of a wealthy and established orchard there has recently decided that she wishes to leave her mark on the world. She’s thinking of making the place something of a… sanctuary. For people who aren’t a part of either extreme, have something to fear from both, but want to make a difference despite it.”