Tobias caught his breath. Behind the bra.s.s cover of the distiller was a gla.s.s plate, and behind that a double helix of clear tubing. Inside was the bright lime-green fluid that was distilled aether, snaking in a continuous journey that spiraled up and back through the tube. But rather than the clear jewel-like serpent Tobias should have seen, it churned with agitation. Tobias had a moment of mild surprise-not that it was about to explode, which was obvious, but that it was such a stellar example of improper installation that he wished he could show it to the apprentice mechanics.

The housing began to make a loud ticking sound, the temperature inside obviously out of hand. Visions of flames and flying roof tiles crowded his brain. Maybe a crater where the street used to be. Surely it wouldn't be that bad, but he was on top of the thing and didn't fancy ending up as bits of gooey muck on the walls. Tobias jammed his fingers into the glove again and dug down inside the workings, feeling for the hose that was supposed to take in fresh air and release excess heat outside the gla.s.s housing. Even if McColl shut down the steam engine, it would take too long for everything to cool to a safe level.

Tobias felt his feet slipping and gripped the dome hard with his left hand. He could feel the hose he wanted, twisted uselessly under some pipes instead of venting like it was supposed to. All he had to do was. .h.i.tch himself up and lean a little farther in. He did, dangling a moment, but he got hold of the tube. It was a special material, a combination of rubber hardened to withstand extreme temperatures and a finely knitted steel, so flexible it crumpled like cloth. It burned him right through his glove, and experience had taught him to beware the scalding steam trapped inside.

Then McColl slammed a gear, jolting everything. Tobias had a good grip with his hands, but his feet flew free. That jerked the hose, and all the pressure that should have been loosed for the last hour shot out-and so did he. Tobias sailed backward, shrieking as steam knifed out just inches from his skin.

He landed hard, but years of riding lessons had taught him to fall. He rolled to a stop, gagging with pain. For a moment, the world rotated, reminding him of an era when he'd spent most days drunk, and for an instant he wanted desperately to go back there.

The sound of feet skidding to a halt jerked him back to the present. McColl was leaning over him. "Guv? You all right, guv?"

An eerie silence hung over the place. Every other pair of hands had stopped moving, all attention on him. Tobias sucked air between his teeth with a hiss. It felt like his body wasn't sure where to begin hurting, but he couldn't exactly start moaning. He wasn't just the spoiled son of an aristocrat, he was the Gold King's head maker, and there was an example to be set.

He cleared his throat. "What's the green light at the top doing?"

"It's gone out, or just about."

"Good."

"What's it mean?"

Tobias sat up, and that sent his gut rolling like a wind-tossed airship. "We don't die today."

McColl looked happy about that, then twisted around when the door to the offices slammed. Keating was marching toward them, the silence growing so profound as the workers quieted their tools that Tobias could hear the soles of his employer's shoes scuff the floor.

"What happened to you?" Keating demanded.

Tobias looked down at his arm, which seemed to be hurting worse than the rest of him. There was a strip of flesh between the gauntlet of the glove and his shirtsleeve, and it was lobster red from the blast of steam. "d.a.m.nation."

"Get up," Keating ordered. "I take it the transport is not working yet?"

McColl had already faded into the sea of workbenches and mechanical monsters. Tobias found his feet, though quickly discovered moving his arm hurt like blazes. "The new unit needs adjustment."

Keating grunted. "So do you. Better get some ice on that. Let's go someplace where we can talk."

They went through the door to Tobias's work s.p.a.ce, which was a separate room with an adjacent office attached. Long tables covered with disa.s.sembled parts lined the walls of the main room, evidence of his interrupted work.

They went into his office. It was utilitarian, with plain white walls, st.u.r.dy oak furnishings, and a small window that looked onto a featureless back alley. Tobias didn't care about the lack of a view. Keating had workplaces all over the city, but Tobias preferred the simple, workmanlike utility of this one.

They sat down at the small, square table and waited while the young doctor who worked on site iced and bandaged Tobias's arm. It hurt somewhere beyond reason, and Tobias gratefully accepted the gla.s.s of whisky Keating poured for him. Now that the crisis was over, he felt an odd agitation, as if he wanted a fight. He'd got off lightly, but was still furious at having to take such a risk. And of course it was his right arm, which would hamper him for days.

"How long do you think it will take to get the transport working?" Keating asked as the doctor left.

"It will take a day or two of tinkering and we can test it again."

"We need to get it into production as soon as possible." Keating paced the room, circling it like one of those exotic fighting fishes that constantly prowled the confines of its tank.

Tobias tried to watch him but then gave up, since every blink seemed to jostle his throbbing burn. Wearily, he wondered how many of the transports would roll out of Keating's factories. Tobias had designed half the weapons, but Keating hid the finished product from everyone but a handful of warehouse workers. No one knew just how strong the Gold army might be, and Keating liked it that way. "Is there a time constraint that I should be aware of?" Tobias asked.

"Yes," Keating said conversationally. "There's going to be a war. Surely you've noticed?"

"You sound like my father."

Keating's look was dryly amused. "Lord Bancroft and I see eye to eye on very little, but I think we agree on this point. The natives are restless. Why do you think Reading was on edge at your father's party?"

Because he was working up his nerve to ask me to play traitor. But mentioning that now would only open the door to a conversation Tobias didn't have the energy for that day. Not with his arm throbbing and the Gold King already spoiling for a fight. "He was drunk."

"He's up to something. Most of the time he knows far better than to draw attention to himself. Or to challenge me-especially when we have agreed to an alliance."

But the bargain Keating offered was enough to make anyone wary. The Gold King wanted Scarlet's fleet of dirigibles, but he had little patience for the man himself-and Keating tended to dispose of things he couldn't use. "What are you going to do about him?"

"I'll bring him around," Keating said shortly. "Can you tell me anything new about the abomination?"

That was Keating's way of referring to the bug. Undoubtedly, there was something about saying "the sanct.i.ty of my territory was destroyed by a giant bra.s.s mosquito" that irked the Gold King past endurance.

"You don't think Reading had anything to do with it?" Tobias asked.

Keating's look was impatient. "Of course I've thought it. Everyone has after that disreputable performance at your father's party. It's the one reason I think it's unlikely. He's not subtle enough to do something that obvious."

Spoken like a steam baron. "Who else?"

"If I've learned anything from Holmes, it's the value of evidence. What have you found since last night? Anything besides that steering system? You've had a week."

Tobias was tempted to say something unwise. A week wasn't a long time when it came to the amount of work involved in disa.s.sembling a machine of that size and complexity. Not when every bolt had to be examined for clues. But Tobias rose, a little dizzy from the pain, and motioned for Keating to lead the way toward the workroom. "Whoever manufactured this machine used parts from other ships. Finding out where it was made will be a challenge."

Keating moved to center of the room and gave the ring of worktables an imperious glare. "You told me that already, and it's not particularly helpful information."

Tobias crossed to the nearest heap of parts, running one hand over the smooth bra.s.s. "I have men researching where the donor ships might have been located. I'm hoping we'll find a wrecking yard in one city with the right combination of old ships." Of course, given that air travel was relatively new, he wasn't even sure such a selection of salvage existed. He'd asked the Merchant Brotherhood of the Air for help, but so far they'd been coy.

Keating swore. "There is nothing? Nothing at all you can provide?"

"I've mentioned the steering system." He pointed to another table, where a steel cube bristled with copper wires. "The logic sorter is interesting. It is different enough that I'm concentrating my efforts there."

"Good. Spend more time on it."

"And what about the transport?" Tobias waved his good hand in the direction of the main workshop.

"Keep on it. We need it faster." The Gold King leaned against one of the tables. "Understand this. The air battle over London stirred public resentment. The Red Jack was a popular icon, the captain something of a romantic hero. The man in the street has a soft spot for rogues."

Nick. Tobias hadn't known the man well, but he had saved Imogen. The thought left a guilty, bitter feeling that had Tobias reaching for his whisky gla.s.s. If Nick had been a popular hero, he'd paid for that status with his life.

"And that battle was not the only cause of resentment," Keating continued angrily, crossing back into Tobias's office long enough to return with his bottle of whisky and a second gla.s.s. "Who knew Dr. Magnus's theater was so popular? The Steam Council was blamed for the fact that his automaton ballet was destroyed, and for the fact that the Whitechapel Murderer was never caught."

"At least he's stopped killing," Tobias offered.

Keating huffed. "None too soon. Rebel sentiment has grown in the last year, and I intend to be ready to defend myself. I defy you to find a member of the Steam Council who is not."

That was no more than he'd guessed, but Tobias still felt a frisson of unease. He sat silent for a moment, considering. Keating was surely holding something back. "Have you heard anything further about the Baskerville affair?"

Keating gave him a hard look. "Why do you ask?"

"I saw another mention of them in the papers." He wasn't sure where the name came from, exactly, although he'd heard there was a small estate somewhere in Devonshire belonging to a Baskerville family. For some reason the word had become a rallying cry for dissidents, especially those of good birth. "You know, the usual blather about how, if only the aristocracy banded together, everything would go back to the good old days."

"When dukes were dukes and peasants were footstools," Keating growled, pacing back into Tobias's line of sight. "Everyone is quick to take what the Steam Council provides, but no one wants to pay the price for what we offer."

That was a bit like saying n.o.body appreciated the excitement of being raided by Vikings, but Tobias kept his mouth shut.

"Do you know what the latest ploy is? The latest insult against me?" Keating asked conversationally. "Psychical societies."

"Palm readers and the like?" Tobias instantly regretted his incredulous tone. But really-what could they do to someone like Jasper Keating? Illusion was always permitted for entertainment purposes-mostly because no one believed those tricks were real. The moment true magic was suspected, there would be an arrest and trial.

"It's not as innocent as you might think. These societies claim they're investigating rumors of witchcraft. All based in science, of course. Except they're bringing in celebrated pract.i.tioners to educate them." Keating finally sat, running a hand over the perfect wave of his white hair. "This came in the mail this morning. If that's not sedition, I don't know what is."

He pulled a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket, unfolded it, and thrust it out. Tobias took it. It was a sheet of ordinary writing paper, but the words upon it were cut from a newspaper and glued into a single sentence. Tobias read it, and then reread it: Bite me and I will sting you in the fullness of time. The spirits so decree.

Sting. Time. It was a clever reference to the bra.s.s bug. His first impulse was to snicker, but he got that under control before he spoke. "This is a threat. There's nothing psychic about it."

Keating gave him a withering look. "I know that much. But I gave this to Holmes immediately, along with the envelope it came in. He had an answer within the hour. The newspaper these words were cut from was printed on the same date as a meeting of a prominent parapsychological society. And what's more, that meeting was at the same hotel on the same night as the last whispering of Baskerville activity."

"Baskervilles? You are quite serious?"

"You heard me. Holmes confirmed it."

"And none of this has to do with the actual Baskerville family in Devonshire?"

"No," Keating said, annoyed. "We've investigated them a dozen times. Sir Charles is as prosaic as they come, and his adopted son is no more than an idler. We're speaking of the political movement."

"And you think the political Baskervilles are in league with tea-leaf readers?" Tobias asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice. "They must be desperate."

Keating shrugged. "You know what they say about strange bedfellows."

Personally, Tobias loathed magic-deeply-but there were many prominent men who did not. Nevertheless, true rebels would choose bombs and bullets for an attack, not a deck of tarot cards. "This has to be nothing more than a political statement. How great a threat is it?"

Keating refilled their gla.s.ses. "You've heard of Madam Thala.s.sa, haven't you?"

"I've seen notices for her performances. She talks to the dead, I believe?"

"So she claims. She's been in hiding since she caught our attention, but now she's frequenting these psychical salons."

Keating took a sip of his drink, his expression between derision and anger. "Salons that are in the same time and place as my sworn enemies. She spoke at the one connected to the Baskervilles. Apparently the spirits predicted my a.s.sa.s.sination within the year."

Whisky caught in Tobias's throat. "Good of them to inform you."

"There are too many questions here. Too many coincidences." Keating set down his gla.s.s, his voice a sudden frost. "Holmes suggested I look in on a society run by one Miss Barnes, a spinster nurse. She has requested Madam Thala.s.sa's presence at her next gathering. Word has it that she will come."

There was a long pause. "And?" It didn't sound like Holmes to give anyone up to Keating, but Tobias wasn't going to raise the point. The detective was up to something.

"I want the medium taken prisoner."

The room went perfectly quiet, Tobias's own breath the loudest thing. His arm throbbed, nausea hovering at the back of his throat. "You do?" he asked stupidly, distracted by a fresh wave of pain.

"Whether or not she had a role in the abomination's attack on Westminster, I don't allow disrespect to go unpunished. One way or the other, I mean to see her dead."

Tobias felt as much as heard the rage in Keating's tone. It was neither hot nor cold, but something else, like the potential disaster he'd seen in the bubbling green distiller. It was an explosive force under pressure and just looking for a way out. An edge of fear pulled details into sharp focus and Tobias could see every fold in the white linen wrapping his arm, every crease and shadow on the pasted letter before him. Madam Thala.s.sa is just an old, angry woman, but he doesn't see anything but the fact that she won't bow down. "How do you mean to find her?"

"Evelina Cooper."

Involuntarily, Tobias clenched his fist, and then gasped as the gesture pulled at his burn. Keating laughed long and low.

Tobias chose to let the threat fall unacknowledged. "Why Evelina?"

"Why not? She's my prisoner at my disposal. She understands magic."

My prisoner. Tobias shifted on the hard chair. b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

His own feelings for Evelina were a snarl. He had loved her. The question was whether he still did. He'd never seen a single sign of Evelina's magic, and never tasted it on her lips. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he'd wanted to marry her. But learning she was one of the Blood had turned his stomach. Unfortunately, even that couldn't completely purge her from his system. A person didn't just stop loving as if a switch had flipped.

"But she is at college, isn't she?"

"Indeed. She just blew up the laboratory."

"She what?" Tobias's lungs froze with panic. "Was she hurt?"

"No, it seems she needs a bit of excitement to keep her occupied."

Tobias's mouth had gone dry. "Why would she hunt down one of her own kind?"

"Because Evelina is mine to do with as I please." Keating narrowed his eyes. "And I please to make her your responsibility."

"Mine?" Tobias jolted upright, but this time didn't even notice the pain. "What do you mean?"

Keating shrugged. "From now on, you will be the one to look in on her. Chaperone her if needed, deliver my orders, and make sure that she does what she's told. If I tell her to hunt, you'll make it happen."

Confusion turned his thoughts to soup. Clearly Evelina was getting dragged into a larger game, and so was he. Somehow this medium and Holmes were involved as well, and the only reason Keating seemed to be oblivious to it was that he was distracted by so many other threats.

Or maybe the Gold King was just changing the rules. Not so long ago, Keating was threatening dismemberment if Tobias ever looked at Evelina again. Now he was throwing them together. "Are you sure I am the best choice for this?"

"Why not?" His amber eyes were predatory as they searched Tobias's face. "Because now that you have taken my daughter to wife, Evelina Cooper means nothing to you anymore. Or am I mistaken on that point?"

"Of course not," Tobias replied, bleaching the syllables of any meaning. That didn't stop the maelstrom inside him, since his indifference was an utter lie. He had never stopped wanting Evelina, even when he had driven her away. Why open this wound? Why fetter me to a woman I can't have? Why try to smash what little accord Alice and I have built? Because, even if he wasn't sure that he loved Alice, she deserved the best of whatever he had to give.

"There is a war coming," Keating said. "I need to know who plans on obeying my orders."

"You're testing my obedience?" Tobias snarled, forgetting his mask.

Keating pushed the whisky bottle in Tobias's direction, his smile that of a man who's just checked the king. "What other reason is there for anything in this world? Take it from me, boy, what hold you have over other people is the only currency that really buys anything."