Tobias shook his head slowly. "I'm not proposing to crawl home like a sick dog to curl up and die. I have a wife and child. I have sisters. They need protection." And he had friends. Bucky had urged him to join the resistance-and Bucky had a workshop crammed with a maker's tools. "There is one thing I can do with the time I have left that will help them all."

"What is that?" Watson asked.

"I know Keating's war machines like no one else does. I know exactly what they can and can't do, and I know how to make them dance to my tune. I put an end to one steam baron. I can finish the rest."

Dartmoor, October 6, 1889.

TAVERN AT THE EAST DART.

1:30 p.m. Sunday.

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S GATHERING of generals took place not at Baskerville Hall, but in a small tavern some distance away.

"Where the bleeding h.e.l.l is this place?" Striker muttered. "We're in the middle of f.e.c.kin' nowhere."

"We're there." Nick pointed to a faded inn sign announcing the East Dart. "I think the Dart refers to the river."

The landscape was indescribably beautiful in the bright sunshine, the sound of the rushing water a counterpoint to a flock of tiny cheeping birds. Ahead, a half-timbered inn squatted beneath a canopy of turning leaves.

"Tell me there's beer." Striker eyed his surroundings suspiciously, as if the birds and flowers were about to turn on him.

"Hard to say. It's Sunday." And if laws serving beer on the Lord's day might vary, local customs varied more.

His friend grunted in disgust. "I know London isn't everything for a man of the world like yourself, but at least I could count on a decent bit o' bacon and a good pint."

"At least the place looks open," Nick rea.s.sured him, and pushed through the dark wood door. "Just ask for something local."

Striker strolled up to the bar, rolling his shoulders under the weight of his heavy coat. They'd fallen back into the rhythm of their friendship within seconds, but Nick knew Striker wasn't letting him go far without a watchdog. There was no question of Nick vanishing twice.

However, he would have to content himself with a station outside the council room door. Nick had been told to go to the back room, so he carried on through the taproom, nodding to the barkeep to his right and taking a quick inventory of the faces sitting near the fire. They looked like locals out for friendly conversation, but he catalogued them anyhow just in case.

Some of the faces he expected to see were in the back room. There he saw the Schoolmaster as well as Edgerton, Penner, and Smythe, in addition to a handful of others he didn't know. He'd half expected Sherlock or Mycroft Holmes, but both were absent.

The Schoolmaster rose to greet him, his face splitting into a grin. "Captain Niccolo. So your journey to Cornwall was a success. That is good news."

"I found my ship and most of my crew. Even the ash rooks." Nick couldn't help smiling back. Athena had been entranced with her new vessel, and the crew had been entranced with the way she could make it fly.

"Please, have a seat. Those of you who do not know the captain have heard of him, I am sure. We owe him a great deal for the intelligence he's provided on the enemy's weaponry."

Nick felt the eyes of the others on him, but he'd been a showman too long for that to bother him. He sat down with as much casual sangfroid as he could summon. "You are welcome to what I could find."

"Captain, allow me to introduce these gentlemen. Edgerton, Smythe, and Penner you've met. This is Lord Elford, General Fortman, and Sir Simon Yates. They are by no means all of my advisors, but they are the most directly involved with the deployment of ground forces. We've just been reviewing the strength we have to draw on, and where the enemy is situated. It seems the majority of the Scarlet King's forces are in the north or else due east of here."

"My regiment is one that Scarlet bought wholesale for his private use," Smythe put in. He was wearing the blue uniform of his cavalry unit, and looked far more at ease in it than the civilian clothes he'd worn before. "Scarlet left our command structure alone when he took over, but now the top officers are all being replaced by the Gold King's men. Something's happened at the highest level. No one knows what, but our lads have had enough. We swore an oath to the queen, not some boilermaker-and certainly not a string of 'em. We're not a box of spoons to be pa.s.sed from hand to hand. Most of the regiments the barons took over feel the same. It's not right and they're ready to take a stand."

"As n.o.ble as that is," said General Fortman-probably a retired general, back in the traces for queen and country-"that only represents a small percentage of the steam barons' total forces."

Smythe wasn't daunted. "We may be small, but we're close in. We're yours when you need a precise blow straight to the heart."

Nick knew Evelina didn't like Smythe, but he couldn't fault the man's courage. What he was proposing could easily become a suicide mission. From the expression on the other men's faces, they knew that, too.

Edgerton spoke up next. He talked about weapons, production, and distribution of the scattered makers and the forces they had gathered. Penner put in the occasional remark that indicated he was heavily involved in research. They were young, but the others listened with attention.

"That's all very well and good," said Fortman. "This will be more a battle of engines than of troops. However, we need some troops besides what Smythe has proposed-men who are more than mobs."

The Schoolmaster answered. "They have been gathering in London over the last months. Mycroft Holmes put the word out through his cronies. He found an entire network of retired commanders connected through their clubs and country house parties who were more than pleased to call their old units together."

"We know that," replied Lord Elford. "But those men are in London, not with the machines coming in from the countryside. The rural forces need support."

"What they need," Edgerton countered, "is power. We can invent what we like, but unless we have fuel to run it, we have nothing. We've tried power storage devices, but distribution is a problem."

Nick sat up straight. "Your air fleet can help with both those problems. Defense and distribution."

They all gave him a curious look. "Your steamspinner is no doubt an amazing ship, but she isn't quite a fleet," said the Schoolmaster.

Nick drew out the papers Captain Roberts had given him and pushed them across the table. "These men are willing to help. For a price of a pardon, certainly, but you won't find more experienced fighters."

The Schoolmaster picked up the papers and flipped through them. He pushed the green-tinted gla.s.ses up on his head. "d.a.m.n it all, these are the pirates!"

"They are," said Nick. "You put the word out and they heard you. They don't like the Steam Council any more than the rest of us. The sky patrols are bad for smuggling."

The Schoolmaster's expression was caught between laughter and tears. "Of course."

"Can they be trusted?" asked Sir Simon Yates, every inch the aging dandy with his monocle and carefully tied cravat.

It was a reasonable question, and Nick didn't mind answering it. "Some more than others. I can tell you who would be suited best to what task, but you can trust them all to fight. There are no cowards there."

"That is excellent," Edgerton replied. "Two of our problems solved, at least in part."

"But can we make enough storage cells?" the Schoolmaster asked.

Both Penner and Edgerton shook their heads. "We're moving mountains to fill the need," Edgerton said. "But we could use that supply of coal."

Nick frowned. If they ever needed Evelina and her ability to mix magic and mechanics, it was now. She had created Mouse and Bird by coaxing devas to take up residence in the clockwork toys, and more or less brought them to life without the need for any kind of fuel. Centuries ago, Athena had been created in a similar way. Nick didn't have the skill himself, but he knew enough to see the possibilities. "Have you thought of working with magic users?"

An uneasy rustle went around the table. The Schoolmaster looked at him curiously. "The use of magic in warfare is not something this council has been able to agree on, but there are some besides yourself with talent in the Baskerville fold. Did you not hear about the destruction of Her Majesty's Laboratories last night?"

"No." Nick had been on the road, and then in the air.

"The building and most of the workers were destroyed by an attack coordinated by the Parapsychological Inst.i.tute."

As the words soaked in, Nick experienced an odd moment of displacement, as if his reality had shifted. The laboratories hung over the head of everyone with a drop of the Blood. To find out they were gone was ...

"Of course," said the Schoolmaster. "Holmes knows more of the details."

"What did he have to do with it?" Nick asked, and then it became clear. Evelina! That's why she was here! And, he realized with a wrench, she hadn't told him anything about this.

But his rising anger was forestalled by the look in the Schoolmaster's eye. "Holmes was present," the Schoolmaster said. "I will receive his account of the event when I return to Baskerville Hall tonight. But for now I'm sure you'll be interested to know that it was arranged for Miss Cooper to go with the members of the inst.i.tute when the deed was done. Their representative sent a runner with news that the mission was a success, and not one of our number was injured."

"Where are the representatives of the inst.i.tute now?" Sir Simon asked.

"In hiding," the Schoolmaster replied.

Evelina is free! A rush of hot joy spilled through Nick, making it nearly impossible to remain in his seat. She might be in hiding with the other magic users, but she was out of the Gold King's clutches. He closed his eyes, a wave of impatience and energy lending him hope.

The Schoolmaster carried on. "Gentlemen, we've already struck a decisive blow against the Steam Council with the destruction of one of their favorite weapons of oppression. It has a literal value, but also a symbolic one. And we've done it just in time, because now is the critical moment when the citizens of the Empire must choose their leader."

He paused, his gaze traveling around the table and touching on each man there. "I have a piece of news that changes the game entirely. A telegram arrived this morning. By now you have all heard that the last of my brothers, the Prince of Wales, is dead."

His brother? Nick stared, as stunned as if someone had knocked him on the head. He wasn't the only one-Penner, Smythe, and Yates were also wide-eyed with confusion.

The Schoolmaster pulled a telegram from his pocket and held it up. "But there is more you may not know. The word from Mycroft Holmes is that Palace physicians have confirmed that the crown prince died of poison, and not from typhoid as the newspapers report."

A general babble erupted around the table.

"Just a moment," Nick said, his voice rising above the others. "Athena called you vasilias."

"Yes," said the Schoolmaster, his face pale. He pulled off his tinted gla.s.ses, abandoning them on the paper-strewn table. "Athena was correct. I'm the last living prince, and now I'm taking back my throne."

Southwest Coast, October 6, 1889.

SIABAHTHA CASTLE.

5:12 p.m. Sunday.

PANIC ONLY TOOK A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS SO FAR, AND EVELINA was impatient to be on her way. She wasted no time in investigating every crack and corner of her room-a process that took the remainder of her first day in Magnus's castle aerie. She repeated the entire process the second day, just to be sure she had missed nothing.

The door was locked with a heavy iron affair that belonged in a dungeon. Evelina wasn't sure she could lift the key that opened it, much less pick the wretched thing. Access to the chimney was blocked with an iron grate. The cas.e.m.e.nt window was not locked, but looked over a sheer drop to the crashing waves below.

The floor and walls were all solid, unless one counted a few c.h.i.n.ks in the mortar large enough for rats. The tapestries hid no secret doors or listening holes, and, though faded, appeared to have been recently cleaned. Lifting the carpet-a threadbare affair of Persian design-revealed nothing, either, outside of a hidden pile of dirt one of the maids had sought to disguise.

Defeated, she sank to her knees on the carpet before the fire. Her fingers traced the geometric pattern of the border, wishing its symmetry would help her think. Weariness pawed at her, seeking to smother her in a gray fog of despair. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself. At least she had basic creature comforts-fresh clothes, a warm room, and adequate food. She had the key to her bracelets so that every twelve hours she could fend off their pain. The wood fire-so rare in the steam barons' London-gave off the comforting scent of well-seasoned pine. Magnus's plans depended on her continued health-but those were about the only positives. It was bad enough being Keating's prisoner, but at least he let me attend the college. There would be no smuggled notes to her uncle here, and the only lessons would be of Magnus's devising.

Evelina closed her eyes and propped her forehead on her knees. She'd spent the night crying and was wrung out, her emotions worn thin as a garment sent too often through the wash. Now was the time for a clever plan-except she had no idea where to begin. Do I really not know? Or does some slippery part of me not want to know? How do I trust my own impulses now that Magnus has already given me a taste of power?

There had to be a test, some objective measure that her uncle Sherlock might design, but he wasn't there to guide her. She could feel the hunger coiled inside her, quiet for the moment, but alert to any opportunity to hunt.

She'd wondered what would happen without the restraint of her bracelets. Now it seemed she would find out. Twelve hours was almost up again, and the silver bracelets were tingling, ready to be deactivated one more time. Evelina drew out her necklace with the tiny key Dr. Watson had filched from Tobias and turned the key in each of the locks.

But instead of fading away, the sensation coursing up her arms increased. Panic surged through her. The key wasn't working anymore. There must be a limit as to how many times the bracelets could be stalled, or maybe there was another trick she didn't know. The tingling had become p.r.i.c.kling, and that had swelled to a stabbing that reached from wrist to elbow. The key slipped from clumsy fingers, falling useless to the carpet. Evelina staggered to her feet, tripping on her hems because her hands were too numb to lift her skirts. I don't know what to do!

It was the last coherent thought she had before pain dynamited through her. As if smashing a barrier, it no longer seared through her arms; it made her entire body an open wound. Evelina shrieked, the sound ringing against the high stone walls. Then sight and sound attenuated, as if the searing sensation in every nerve stretched them out of focus. She had no idea if she was still screaming. She was gasping for air, trying to move away from the agony, but direction had ceased to have meaning.

And then the smell of the room changed to a choking smoke. Hard hands grabbed her, dragging her from her feet to the floor. She was aware of something heavy smothering her and she beat at it feebly, her arms no longer obeying her commands. Dimly, she realized it was the blanket from her bed and someone was using it to put out whatever was burning.

"Did you mean to set yourself on fire?" Magnus barked harshly. "Fashion be praised, at least there were layers of petticoats between your skin and the smoldering fabric."

Had she blundered into the fireplace? Evelina struggled to focus, but the world around her was a vague shadow beyond a searing wall of hurt. She tried to lift her hands and wasn't sure she succeeded. Her mouth worked, chewing at the words before she could get them out. "Get these off."

She felt his hand, cold as death, through the biting agony. He lifted her wrist, cursed, and dropped it again. A few heartbeats later, she realized he was gone. She surrendered, her limbs going boneless. There was nothing more she could do.

And then he was back, busying himself with tools. He spoke a handful of words she didn't understand, and the right bracelet sprang open. He tossed it aside and began working on the left. "Buck up, my girl; this is the last of Keating's hold on you."

But Evelina remained sprawled on the floor, barely twitching as he worked. The pain didn't stop immediately, and when it did begin to recede it left her like a drowned body washed up on sh.o.r.e. Magnus picked her up and deposited her on the bed.

"I apologize for not noticing the condition of the operating spell before now. I should have seen it winding down, but there was rather a lot going on."

And it was a sign of how much he had lost. The old Magnus would have spotted it in seconds. Evelina blinked, the first motion that didn't make her nerves squeal. She realized that she could think again.

"Thank you." She still wanted to stab Magnus through the heart, but she was prepared to give credit where it was due.

He turned, his dark eyes guarded. "You're welcome. Those bracelets are a vile contrivance."

Then why didn't you take them off before? But there was no point in asking-this was Magnus. "I had hoped somehow they'd break when the laboratories burned down." Her voice was thready, and she coughed. That still hurt.

"I'm afraid they don't work like that. There is a controlling mechanism operated by sympathetic magic. It probably sits on Mr. Keating's shelf. No doubt it just put out a piercing alarm to indicate that you have slipped his leash." Magnus propped her up with another pillow, but the motion made her dizzy. She lay back, closing her eyes in hopes the world would stop spinning.

"Let me get you some sherry," Magnus said with a note of concern.

Evelina gave a weak smile and opened her eyes. Then she cursed softly. Now that she was sitting up, she could see the ruin of her dress. She'd been lucky he'd pulled her out of the fire.

He chuckled. "There are more clothes in those trunks."

"I liked this dress."

"Consider it a fair trade for disposing of your unwanted jewelry." As if by magic-which was entirely likely-one of the taciturn servants appeared with a bottle on a tray, and Magnus poured out a measure, handing it to her.

Her hands were just steady enough to take a sip, but the smooth, sweet burn of it made her take another. It was very good quality, no doubt stored in the castle cellars for a very long time. She immediately began to feel better.

Magnus picked up the remains of the bracelets, opened the cas.e.m.e.nt window, and hurled them into the gathering dark. "Good riddance."

She could tell he was putting on a bit of a show, but she was still grateful to have the bracelets off. "Will there be any lasting effects from those?"

"Outside of a dislike for silver bangles, I think not." Standing with the mullioned window behind him, his features lost in the soft, firelit shadows, he looked like himself again. "I think we shall resume your lessons tomorrow, now that your collar and leash are off."

Evelina finished the drink and set the gla.s.s aside. "I think not."