Ticker (19 page)

I’ll not hold you captive.

I held out my hand, and the Brimstone took flight on the next gust of air, dipping and twirling like the autumn leaves that rained down from the trees. Soon their bare branches would be frosted over. The city would don the ice-sequined cape of winter. I could already feel the chill of it in my bones. But, for now, there were golden leaves and Butterflies winging their way free of the city.

I desperately wanted to crawl back into my bed and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I downed the entire bottle of painkiller the doctor left upon the side table and tore off the bed cape, unwilling to suffer its frills a second longer. Stripping down to my bloomers and chemise, I pulled an ancient woolen sweater over my head, wincing as I jostled my bruises, then matched it with a belted uniform kilt in gray wool. So ironic that an unprecedented sale of Ferrum Viriae surplus garments had sparked a brief military fashion craze this spring! It meant that, for the first time, I looked the part of Tesseraria.

“Marcus wants a proper soldier?” I said, setting my hands on my hips. “Let’s show the Legatus what kind of warrior a girl with a clockwork heart can be.”

In his haste to depart, he had overlooked a daguerreotype half-hidden by my bedding. Handling it with the utmost care, I went to my desk and adjusted the lamp. There was something familiar about the glass, something that teased around the edges of my mind. I’d seen pictures like this before, but where? Try as I might, I couldn’t bring the memory into focus.

Probably due to malnutrition.

I reached out and lowered the filigree mouthpiece that funneled my words downstairs. “Dreadnaught?”

On the wall above me, a wafer-thin speaker labeled “Kitchen” vibrated with the chatelaine’s reply. “Yes?”

“I think I’m ready for something more substantial than blancmange. And I need a frock to wear tonight aboard the
Palmipède
.”

NINE

In Which Our Heroine’s Social Circle Makes a Study of Fluid Dynamics

If war were to be waged, it would be in fashionable style. By the time I finished the considerable contents of my dinner tray, Violet returned with her composure and her evening frock. I don’t think either of us gave a china pig about our clothes, except as a disguise to aid in infiltrating enemy territory. The two of us prepared for battle standing before the mirrors in my room. Her wine-colored voile was caught up with small pinwheels of bronze and black, leaving a peep of striped silk stockings on display.

“Given half a chance,” she told me, adjusting fingerless black lace gloves, “I’ll strangle anyone who gets between us and Nic.”

“Agreed.” I studied myself in the looking glass. A careful application of actor’s greasepaint and face powder concealed the worst of the bruising, and Dreadnaught’s artful arrangement of my curls obscured the stitches on my forehead. Given a lack of options and time to send out for another gown, I’d donned one of my mother’s dresses: cinnamon silk, trimmed with freshwater pearls and silk
confetti fringe. Mama wore it only once, the night of Dimitria’s birthday party. I felt like I’d raided a tomb to retrieve it from the trunk in the attic, but the scent of my mother’s rose water raised my courage to new heights.

I was going to find my family. I was going to see Warwick brought to justice.

“We’re very likely walking into a trap,” I said.

“No doubt.” Turning around, Violet looked at me. “But we’ll have Sebastian with us, half a dozen covert Ferrum Viriae, and Marcus, of course.”

“Of course.” I needn’t apply any rouge, not with the persistent flush that colored my face whenever I thought of him. “He left here in high dudgeon.”

Violet arched an eyebrow at me the very moment someone rang the bell at the front door. “You picked a fight with him, I’m sure.”

“If we were sparring, he threw only one punch.” I hadn’t told her about Marcus funding Warwick’s research; perhaps I never would. Taking up my gloves, I did my best not to meet her eyes. “I can’t seem to spend more than three seconds in his company without arguing with him.”

“Or wishing you could kiss him?” There was a touch of sadness in the suggestion, reminding me that her last words to Nic before his kidnapping were angry ones. I started to say something, but she quickly added, “The young Legatus is quite dashing, especially in uniform.”

“Shut up, Vi.” I smoothed my gloves up over my elbows and buttoned them at the wrist. “The last thing I need right now is the distraction of an ill-fated love affair.”

“Pity,” Sebastian noted from the hallway, able to eavesdrop through the wide-open door. “And here I was working up the courage to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“Sebastian!” We pronounced his name with varying numbers of syllables, all of them indignant.

“Just how long have you been standing there?” Violet added.

Assuming his best Lord of the Manor air, he lolled against the doorjamb and checked his pocket watch. “Long enough. Might I offer a bit of unsolicited advice?” He continued before either of us gave him permission. “In matters of love or otherwise, play your cards close to your vest.”

With a last, fleeting glance at the mirror, Violet turned to ask, “Any other well-meaning counsel?”

After thinking it over a moment, Sebastian said, “Never hit on a seventeen. That, and you oughtn’t keep Marcus waiting. He’s in the foyer and wound tighter than a twenty-five hour clock.”

“I think we could all use an extra hour about now.” I put the Pixii in my beaded purse and closed the wardrobe. “But you arrived just in time to escort us downstairs. Make certain we don’t trip in these wretched heels.”

Marcus was indeed pacing the carpet. He’d traded his uniform and iron bracelets for a discreet fake moustache and evening dress far more colorful than anything I’d seen him wear before; maybe he’d consulted the good Mister Stirling in that department. The gaslight slid across the broad expanse of his shoulders and along the impressive
musculus biceps brachii
that even a topcoat with tails and a vividly striped vest couldn’t disguise. When he caught sight of us descending the stairs, he paused in his foot-soldiering activities.

Sebastian offered down Violet first. “The lovely Miss Nesselrode.”

Marcus put his heels together, letting his “kiss” linger an inch or so above her hand, lips never making contact with the lace. “You look resplendent.”

“Thank you, Legatus.” She stepped aside, and Sebastian handed me forward.

“And Miss Farthing.”

“Tesseraria.” The formality of the address was tempered by the note of warmth, an unspoken plea for understanding, and Marcus pressed his mouth to my glove.

I felt a tingle run all the way up my arm, as though he’d shocked me with my Pixii. It would have been easy to smile at him, to squeeze his hand in a gesture of clemency. Instead, I extracted myself from his grip. “I hope you brought suitable artillery.”

His expression hardened, and he turned on his heel to lead us into the study where an arsenal was set out on the mahogany table. “The fingerprint on the vase was a match for the lead florist at Scent & Sentiment on High Street. The order was placed in person, but the only thing the clerks remember about the patron is that he was young and of medium build. The search at the gunpowder mills turned up nothing of importance. We’re going into the
Palmipède
blind, and I want everyone carrying whatever arms they are comfortable using.”

“No sense shooting oneself in the foot,” Sebastian agreed.

He might tease, but the weekends at Carteblanche had been good preparation for this. Violet put the smaller revolvers in her velvet purse and tucked a throwing knife into her bodice. Sebastian had his cane sword and two MAGs slipped into a leather holster under his dress jacket. Already carrying his usual sidearms, Marcus secreted a dizzying array of small explosives on his person. I had the Pixii and chose twin black-powder pistols. Pulling back yards of copper fabric, I buckled on above-the-knee gun garters.
As warm as any hearth fire, Marcus’s attention slid over me; I tried not to wonder if it was due to the exposure of my stocking-clad legs or concern about my borrowed weaponry. I fixed him with a look, a deliberate “Excuse you, sir” expression that caused his eyes to narrow, and he homed his gaze in upon me like he was sighting a target on a field.

But I’m no man’s bull’s-eye.

Letting my silk skirts ripple back into place, I took up my fan and purse. When Marcus offered me his elbow, I swept past him murmuring, “Hands to yourself, unless you want to get riddled with bullets.”

Marcus’s Combustible glided along the dusk-painted streets, the night air rushing past the windows. Bazalgate was in a rare mood tonight, poking finger holes through the fog to reveal flashes of a star-bedecked sky. Concentrating on the road didn’t keep the good Legatus from lecturing us about his battle plan.

“We’re only after information,” he said. “If the mercenaries’ contact is aboard, do not engage him in any way.”

I felt his gaze upon me in the rearview mirror. “I have no intention of letting him slip through our fingers, even if that means tackling him over a gaming table.”

“You’re not going to help Nic or your parents if you get shot tonight, Penny,” was his firm rejoinder. “Make no mistake, this is going to be risky, and any rash actions on your part could put everyone in danger.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I replied, wording it so that I wasn’t making promises I couldn’t keep.

“We’ll be able to gather twice the information as two couples rather than a group of four,” Sebastian suggested, firing off a series of aethergrams on his own encrypted RiPA, lack of light be damned.

I leaned forward to tap him on the shoulder. “Who are you messaging?”

He jumped as though I’d rammed a live wire into his tympanum. “Tesseraria, you just made me tell them we’d be there ‘presemently.’ Kindly cease your abuse upon my person. I’m making final arrangements for our boarding. Half a dozen plainclothes Ferrum Viriae should already be aboard, if all has gone according to plan.”

“With any luck, we’ll be able to get the information we need without too much fuss,” Marcus said. “I don’t want to cause citywide panic by letting things get messy.”

“I think we bypassed messy when Warwick escaped.” I held all feelings of helplessness at bay by trailing my fingers over the weapons concealed on my person. “If we’re splitting into couples, I’m with Sebastian.”

Marcus’s shoulders stiffened for a brief moment, and his hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I prefer you stay with me.”

Undeterred, I shook my head. “The
Palmipède
is Sebastian’s territory, and people are more likely to speak to him than you, especially once they get a good look at that ridiculous mustache.”

“Penny,” Violet started to argue, but I looked daggers at her, and she subsided into perturbed silence.

“I must say, I’m flattered,” Sebastian said, preening just a bit. “Do try to remember this later when we’re all running for our lives.” Returning his attention to the road, he indicated Marcus should turn at the next intersection. “Here we are.”

“This is it?” Violet peered out the window as we pulled into a deserted and dismal area on the River Aire waterfront.

“It is.” Turning up the collar of his coat, Sebastian added, “Best tuck under a blanket. Some time may pass before the
Palmipède
arrives, and it’s about to get chilly.”

True to his word, a damp mist swirled about the car within minutes. Violet and I shivered under the scratchy, woolen throw she unearthed, the boys huddled in their overcoats, and all of us retreated into an uneasy silence. I entertained glorious thoughts of rescuing everyone and seeing them safely home. Violet cracked her knuckles as she fretted for Nic. Marcus was probably making contingency plans for everything from fire to flood. And Sebastian?

Well, Sebastian’s always up for an adventure.

The minutes ticked by on the various pocket watches until I could no longer feel the end of my nose.

“I could really use a h-h-h-ot toddy,” Violet said, sounding more irked than pathetic, “and this damp cannot be good for Penny.”