Francis was no longer grumbling as he set the device down beside the entrance to the tunnel; soot and embers clung to his unruly hair. It seemed by his expression that any wounds of bitterness over losing the sight of his fireplace had been entirely healed by the light exercise of his powers against Devonshire’s men. I wondered briefly if I would ever have the chance of convincing him to stay home again.
Benjamin, for his part, merely brushed dirt and grime from his coat sleeves and cocked his head to one side. “Hector, I heard some of them leaving by the window upstairs. They may have gone for other guards, or for the constables.” He nudged the blissful Francis beside him and grinned. “Besides, our dear friend left the top floor burning merrily. We would do well to speed our work.”
Despite the words, I forced another smile. “Let us hope the other guards went for the constables, then. We might be put to a few inconvenient questions, but at the very least we will be able to resolve this matter quite quickly—to both our satisfaction and theirs, I imagine.”
Some of my words must have drifted down to the criminals below, for all the mutters and complaints stilled. There was only the occasional shuffle in the dark, or a hacking cough due to the lingering traces of spice. Then Ms. Hermiter spoke, her voice far more respectful than it had been before. “Mr. Kingsley, there is no need to involve the constabulary. Both of us know how uncivilized they can be in these sorts of situations, and I doubt they would take a kind eye toward you.”
“They rarely do, Ms. Hermiter.” I motioned for Benjamin and Francis to move the device more squarely in position. Once it was in place, Benjamin began to tinker with some of the controls. He muttered to himself in Daniel’s voice; very likely he was repeating the instructions Daniel had given him regarding the operation of the sedative bomb. At times such as this one a mimic’s talents could be rather useful. I smiled as the device began to stir to life. “This time, however, I think they might take a kinder view of my meddling. After all, it is not every investigator who brings them an entire pack of thieves who had intended to break into a bank.”
My words had once again caused a silence below, and Hermiter spoke with an increase in both desperation and anger. Neither appeared to have much effect on my companions; they certainly had none on me. “Mr. Kingsley, there has to be some way to resolve this without any further unpleasant behavior! Surely you would show mercy to a lady in distress.”
The false, ingratiating tone put me on alert. She could not sincerely hope to flatter me away from my gains, particularly not after she had so harshly rejected my own pleas for a peaceful resolution between us when I was at her mercy. There had to be something else at play. I examined the floor around us, but the floorboards remained still; perhaps she planned to break out of her confinement in some other place? She continued to cajole me as Francis unwound the bomb’s tubing and placed the opening within the tunnel’s mouth, dangling the hose so that any sedative would quickly fill the tunnel below.
“Your dedication to your ideals has always impressed me, Mr. Kingsley. You have remained stalwart and incorruptible when so many in your line of work have not. And I include the constabulary in that assessment, Mr. Kingsley! Or do you imagine that my … connections … have not yet made their influence known in that fledgling attempt to bring order to the City? If you surrender us to them, we’ll be free in a week’s time, and you will have gained nothing.”
Her words brought the barest of pauses to our work. I gestured for Francis and Benjamin to continue, though inside I felt shaken. Surely the scandal of the plot would be too great for any miscreants within the constabulary to cover up? I shook my head. Even Devonshire’s reach could not extend that far; if I had to, I would not hesitate to employ my newfound connections with Inspector Aberforth to ensure that it was so. Besides, if an escape from the custody of the constable house was so simple, then why would Hermiter be so determined to avoid it?
As Benjamin made a final few adjustments, the device whirred to life with a clattering hum. The noise brought a brief, blissful relief to us as Ms. Hermiter cut off, likely attempting to determine the cause. Whatever conclusion the smuggler might have reached, it drove her to abandon her silver-tongued efforts and shout up at us in purest desperation. “Come now, Kingsley, be reasonable! There must be something—”
“No, Ms. Hermiter. There is not.” Tired of hearing her petulant cries, I turned to my companions and found that all was now ready. I nodded. “Benjamin, if you will, please turn on the device.”
Benjamin nodded and reached for the little lever that would begin the dispersal of the gas. I heard it hissing within the tubing already, and it lacked only that one trigger to release it upon Devonshire’s hapless thugs below. All would be ready for when the constable arrived, and Hermiter would provide all the knowledge I would need to bring Devonshire’s rise to an abrupt halt.
Just as Benjamin’s fingers touched the handle, the chained doors that led to the yard outside shook with the force of a terrible blast. The explosion nearly ripped the wooden barriers from their aged hinges, but the bar and chains held firm despite the attack. A smell of burnt wood and hot iron reached my nostrils, and I glanced in Francis’ direction. He remained at my side, and though sparks now danced about him, he shook his head. The message was clear; he had not caused the sound nor the fire. His eyes, wide with both fear and exhilaration, remained fixed upon the door.
A second blast shook the doors, and this time the burning smell grew stronger. I caught sight of smoke rising from the outside of the wood, and tongues of flame flashed through the narrow gaps to lick at the chains that held the door shut. To my astonishment, the metal flickered a hot, angry red before the flames retreated. Even an ifrit’s fire required some time to heat metal, at which point the poor Changling would have been at severe risk of self-immolation. What could possibly create such intense heat and still remain intact itself?
From the depths of the tunnel, a low laugh rose. A short burst of mutters accompanied it. The criminals did not sound worried, precisely—only anticipatory. When Hermiter spoke, the satisfaction practically dripped from each word. “Now, Kingsley, it is time to see who is trapped and who is not.”
A third and final blow landed upon the wood of the door, and at last it gave way. The blast tore the doors from their hinges and threw them down into the basement; they descended as the burning remains of some dying angel to crash into the shop’s floor. Bluish-green flame danced upon them, sending up a putrid smoke that wreathed the ceiling. I drew out my cane as well as my pistol and fell into a fighting stance while Benjamin and Francis took up a position on either side of me. Their presence did much to calm the worry pounding within my chest. Whatever emerged from that fire-wrought portal, we would face it together.
Only a single figure descended through the smoke and flames. It did not, as I had expected, leap down the steps and charge us right away, nor did it make some attempt at stealth. The figure simply walked down the steps with a casual gait, boots and cane making a distinct tap upon each surface they contacted. When he walked out of the smoke, my breath caught. Devonshire smiled. “Hector! I suspected I would find you here.”
Benjamin made a guttural sound, one that I half suspected he had stolen from an enraged canine. Francis merely smiled and took a step forward; I had to lay a cautious hand on his forearm to stop him and was nearly burned by a passing spark as a result. When I answered, I hoped that my voice would be steady. It would not help our situation to admit that the possibility that he would come personally had never occurred to me. “Lord Devonshire. I suppose the time is now past for you to pretend no knowledge of this crime? Will you also admit to the other crimes in which you have been involved?”
The man smiled, though it seemed more a mocking curl of the lips than anything that betrayed friendship. “Now, Hector, what sort of greeting is this? I came all this way simply to see you, and you do not even address me by my name?” He shook his head. “How undignified. Truthfully, I am rather disappointed. If you had seriously hoped to catch my attention, there would have been far better ways to do so than this catastrophe.”
I laid a hand on my pistol. There was an unconcerned tone to his words that I did not like, and his appearance here had clearly not been an accident. Perhaps Hermiter had known of it from the start and had only played on my suspicions to encourage me into the trap. Now I wished that Francis and Benjamin were anywhere but here. If the entire shop was a trap, only I deserved to be caught inside it.
All the same, Devonshire seemed to await an answer and so I gave it, letting my voice cool considerably. “I do not mean to simply catch your attention, Lord Devonshire. I mean to stop you. To bring your empire of crime to its knees. No one else will have to face you, and no one else will have to fear you. Not when I am done.”
Devonshire laughed. Not one ounce of true joy filtered out of that sound. “Oh, but Hector, you are done already though you obviously don’t know it yet.” He began to circle us, his cane marking out his casual stride with a rhythmic click. “When Samantha told me of your interference and your escape, I knew you would come back here, just as I knew she would not be up to the task of stopping you. She is quite useful in many ways, but every man—or woman, for that matter—has limits.” He gestured to the tunnel dismissively with one hand.
“They do indeed, Lord Devonshire. As do you.” I knew my words were a simple boast, and that besides the hope that he had come alone, I had little to back me. In truth I wondered if he needed any help in dealing with us. He had, after all, survived the fire in the Academy and had cowed Rook and his men with ease. It was very much possible that Devonshire could kill all of us without any inconvenience whatsoever. Not that I had any intention of showing concern for such a possibility.
Despite my bravado, he seemed to sense my thoughts, and his smile turned predatory. “That remains to be seen, Hector, and in any case I truly doubt that you have begun to appreciate me. All this time, I have not treated you in any way so poorly as you have treated me.” He spread his arms wide, as if to dare me to assault his honest breast. “I forgave you your failures at the Academy, and you suspected me of wrongdoing. I watched out for your interests since then, and you harassed my associates and hinder their work. I even take the time and trouble to come and stop you from committing a grievous error, and you do not even welcome me accordingly.”
He shook his head, as if dismayed. “It is shameful, really. That I, who have looked out for you in every time of need, would find such distrust and ingratitude waiting for me when I arrive is enough to shatter the faith of many an optimistic man. They would lose hope that any good might be yet found in this poor, fallen world.”
Devonshire paused, and that reptilian gaze returned to his expression as he examined me. “But perhaps I will give you another chance, Hector. And we will see what you choose.”
Then, without another word, he continued his measured circling of our small group. I grew conscious that the device was still very much ready to be deployed. If I could flip the switch, it might easily remove Hermiter and his lackeys from the coming struggle. The only problem would be that it would take too long to have any effect; Daniel had designed the sedative device to pump measured doses over the course of several hours. For the criminals to be incapacitated, we would have to contain them within the tunnel for some time, and using it too early would reveal the device’s purpose to Devonshire, who might contrive some way to destroy it. I had to distract him, and so I decided to play his game a little longer.
“You can keep your chance, Lord Devonshire.” My voice was a growl now, laying the tension in my heart bare. It had all come down to this moment, and I knew I could not flinch. “I have made my decision to oppose you. No bribe or blackmail will turn me from my course. Unless you have some paltry proof to show that I have been mistaken?”
“Mistaken? I suppose that will be clear momentarily, Hector.” He nodded to himself. “Your journey ends here, then. At the very least you can be sure that I will regret your unfortunate demise.”
Fear flowed through me. Anger accompanied it, bubbling within me at his false sympathy. “I am sure you may. You are, after all, such a good friend.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sarcastic words. “Surely, Hector, you cannot doubt that about me! This is, of course, a difficult decision—but good men must often sacrifice to obtain their desires.” Devonshire shrugged indifferently. “Of course, you already know that. After all, you are here rather than protecting your bounty hunter friend from those who will surely kill her—Mustang, wasn’t that her name?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Shock burst upon my mind, and this time it was I who stepped forward and Benjamin who laid a hand on my shoulder to keep me back. My hand gripped my cane so tightly that my fingers ached. “If you dare hurt her—”
Devonshire brought his hand up to silence me. “You do not understand, Hector. I have not threatened your dear Patricia in any way—yet.” He smiled. “The Dollmaker, however…I believe him more than capable of inflicting harm on her poor, defenseless person.”
The incandescent rage now retreated as confusion washed over me. “The Dollmaker? She was captured. What are you talking about?”
He laughed, throwing his head back. “The Dollmaker, captured? Not yet, Hector, not yet! A Mr. William Eaton was close to it, when the killer was in America, but since then…” Devonshire shook his head.
“Eaton?” My confusion deepened. Some conclusion was churning within the channels of my mind. “He never mentioned chasing the Dollmaker in America.”
Devonshire arched an eyebrow at me in amusement. “I imagine he wouldn’t! Mr. Eaton is dead. They had the funeral some months ago, I believe, in the American state of New York.” His expression became grim. “I understand why you did not attend, of course. It is quite some distance to travel for someone you were never acquainted with.” He continued, his voice melodious in the quiet of the jeweler’s basement. “I understand they found his body rather drained of blood. At a medical college, I believe.” He tapped a finger against his lips and tilted his head back. “I believe his trademark pistol vanished as well. Perhaps a trophy taken by the one who murdered him?”
There was no answer, for I could not yet speak. The man who called himself Eaton was an imposter—was the Dollmaker. The words felt too true for me to dispute. My every suspicion, my every hatred for the man who had come between Patricia and me now seemed justified, but could I trust it? If what he said now was the truth, Patricia was walking into a trap the likes of which even she could not escape. Yet if it wasn’t, I would abandon Devonshire to concoct his schemes without obstacle, and for no purpose than to suit my own jealousy. My mind clutched at that possibility, hoping. “A pretty story, Lord Devonshire, but I will not be distracted so easily. How would you have known the Dollmaker’s identity? Your lies will not help you here.”
“Lies, Hector?” For a moment, Devonshire looked as if I had hurt his pride. “What need have I for lies when the truth will do?” Then he laughed, and waved dismissively. “So be it. Your distrust is pointless, after all, for I do not intend for you to leave this place, and I certainly will not allow you to impair a potentially useful tool such as the Dollmaker.”
My blood ran cold. “You believe that monster would allow you to use him like a tool?”
He looked back, impassive, and shrugged. “Anything is possible, my dear friend. The Dollmaker has already served as a marvelous distraction for the constabulary, whether or not he was under my direct control. Besides, once he has slaked his thirst a little, perhaps he would be more amenable to an alliance.” Devonshire smiled, a leering, repulsive expression. “Let us hope that your precious Ms. Anderson leaves him satisfied, shall we?”
I did not recall bringing my pistol up, nor making the decision to fire. In a heartbeat, I took aim and fired once, twice, three times with Devonshire’s chest squarely in my sights. The man—if I could still in fairness call him such—staggered, and the gun clicked on an empty chamber. The sound did not stop me from pulling the trigger twice more as blind rage flooded my mind, and then Francis reached out and grabbed my shaking arm.
The touch brought me back from the depths of my anger. I looked at Francis and then turned away, all too conscious of the fact that I had just killed a man. The burden of that guilt was a heavy one, and would likely bring a tincture of shame and suspicion on any explanation I made of the situation to the constabulary, but I had been left no other option. Time was of the essence, and I was not about to let Devonshire stand in the way of Patricia’s rescue or to mock her danger.
Then a low chuckle told me that my guilt, while perhaps laudable, was entirely misplaced. Devonshire straightened, his arms spread wide. The smile on his face did not show any sign of a mortal wound, save for a small trace of discomfort. None of the holes my bullets had punched in his shirtfront were wet with blood, either. Beyond that small damage to his wardrobe, the nobleman seemed not to have been harmed in the slightest. “A fine effort, Hector, but ultimately futile. I might have expected better from you.”
Then Devonshire’s smile faded, his face suddenly serious. He twisted the head of his cane and drew out a thin, spear-pointed rapier. The sound of that blade being freed from the sheath seemed to scrape along my hearing, and I stood stunned at his lack of concern for the hurt he must have suffered. Devonshire raised his eyebrows at us. “Well? I don’t believe poor Patricia has much time remaining. Perhaps the Dollmaker has finished his meal already.”
Benjamin was the first to move. He had been standing the closest to the man, and he dashed forward with an unearthly scream on his lips and his club raised high. Francis howled and followed, his hands already glowing with sparks more brilliant than I had ever seen. The heat they projected must have been just as intense, for I could see the air distort around them. Devonshire watched them come, his expression amused, and then he moved just as Benjamin reached him.
My friend tried to bring his club smashing down on Devonshire’s head, but the crime lord dodged it easily. His blade licked out, viper quick, and stabbed Benjamin in the shoulder. Benjamin cried out, an animal sound of pain, before Devonshire clubbed him aside with the sheath of his cane-sword. He paused, the tip of his sword angled down at Benjamin’s stunned form, and met my eyes with a terrible smirk.
Then Francis hurled one handful of molten fire at the smiling man. It streaked across the room, shining and spitting as if an errant star had burst to life in our midst. Devonshire saw it coming and pivoted, taking the blast of flame on the sheath he still held. It shattered, exploding into a screen of fire and splinters that washed over Devonshire like water. Francis yelled in triumph, bringing his other handful of blazing sparks to bear with a single, deadly throw. Though the glare of those sparks hurt my eyes, I dared not turn away. Devonshire did not see them in time to dodge; his face lit by the sparks, I could see his eyes widen in surprise.
Then he inhaled. He breathed.
A jet of blue-black flame shot from Devonshire’s mouth. It struck the oncoming ball sparks and shattered it, sending a shower of flames in all directions. Fire fountained where each glowing light touched wood, while streamers of blue flame traced soot across the few boards unmarked by the growing swath of destruction. Some of them slashed across Francis’s legs, scorching and burning, and my friend went down among them with an anguished shout. Benjamin was nearly caught by them as well; he rolled frantically away, whimpering in pain as he clutched at his shoulder.
I saw the baleful, repitillian gaze return to Devonshire’s face. He gestured to where Francis writhed on the floor and shrugged.
“A shame, Hector. You see, an ifrit is a rather impressive sort of Changling. They are capable of amazing feats of destruction, but somehow the Distillation has left them shockingly vulnerable, even to their own powers over flame.” Devonshire snorted, softly. A bit of smoke and flame left his nostrils before curling toward the ceiling. “I’ve always considered that weakness a sign, you might say. A failing that has placed them on a lower order of sorts, at least compared to others of superior abilities.”
Anger swirled in my heart. It created an ebb and tide with the fear that now clutched at me. “I do not care what you are, Lord Devonshire. I will destroy you. I will find a way.”
He only offered me a patronizing smile. “I’m sure you will try, Hector. As your friend, I have absolute confidence in your determination, however sadly it has been misplaced.” Then he gave an inviting flourish with his blade. “Let’s begin, then.”
I charged, my newly repaired cane finding its way into my hand. He had to know of its abilities, yet he did not seem ready to dodge. If he had forgotten what I could do, even for a moment, I wanted to give him no chance to avoid it. When I felt I had gotten close enough, I jerked my cane into position and triggered the mechanism, hoping to catch him off guard.
Devonshire leaned to one side as the cane’s mechanism hurled the sheath forward. A flick of his sword deflected my attack, sending the sheath aside. Then he stepped forward and thrust his blade’s narrow point at my belly with a single deft motion. I was forced to dodge frantically to the side to avoid being skewered, and I batted at his sword with my own. He laughed and allowed me to knock the thin blade away, and then his free hand caught my wrist. I could not react before he shoved my sword forward, driving its tip directly into the floorboards.
He kicked the imprisoned blade, snapping the steel without effort, and then a backhand drove me aside. Off balance, I stumbled, and before I recovered, the shining point of his sword was a hairsbreadth from my throat.
I looked up and found him watching me with that same reptilian glare. Devonshire studied me for a long moment, his sword unwaveringly firm. Then he allowed one corner of his mouth to curl into a smile. “There now. Is it so hard to see who is the superior of our little friendship, Kingsley?” He stepped back, looking toward the tunnel. “Lady Hermiter, if you would join me for a moment?”
It was tempting to make my move then. I still had Patricia’s brass knuckles at my disposal, but I doubted they would make enough of a difference. All it would take was for Devonshire to execute one short stab and the fight would be finished. Despair welled up within me as I thought of Patricia, isolated and in danger, as I died or was kept imprisoned here, either way a mere annoyance to Lord Devonshire’s plans. Yet while I lived there was still hope, and so I remained still while Devonshire’s lackey answered his summons.
Ms. Hermiter pulled herself free of the hole, and her appearance showed much of her temperament. Her face could have taught a mountain about hardness, and her enraged glare told me all I needed to know about the enmity she would hold for me. As she dusted off her bright coat, she turned to Devonshire. “So, are you going to kill him, or shall I?”
The matter-of-fact tone promised little hope for me, but Devonshire only chuckled. “Lady Hermiter, why would you assume such lethal intent on my part? Believe me, had I need to kill this man, I would not have let him live this long.” He glanced at me and shrugged neglectfully, as a cat might have done when it has nearly finished playing with a mouse. “Something about him says he could yet be interesting, perhaps even useful. I believe we might even be able to—”
What schemes he might have advocated, I would never know. I had only the warning sound of a gun’s mechanisms working. Devonshire’s attention immediately focused on the source; Benjamin, lying a short distance away, had obtained the intact rifle left behind by the fallen sentries. For a moment, I thought my friend’s target was Devonshire or his minion, but Benjamin apparently had much more interesting ideas. The gun was trained unwaveringly on the tank of sedative, and I grasped for hope as his plan struck me.
Devonshire began to move to intercept him, but I cleared my throat. “I would not, Lord Devonshire.” He turned his attention back to me, his stare hard, and I motioned to the device lying vulnerable to Benjamin’s aim. “The mechanisms of that weapon are quite delicate and the gas is very flammable in concentrated form. I believe that a single shot might set off an explosion that none of us would survive.”
It was a particularly fragile lie, as such things go, but the only way for Devonshire to disprove it would be to dare us to detonate it. His eyes flicked from me to Benjamin, who grinned despite the wound in his shoulder. He spoke in my voice. “May I ask if the gas is flammable?” Then he switched to Daniel’s voice, and I saw Devonshire’s eyes go wide as he recognized the young inventor’s words. “Of course! And the gas is highly concentrated, under high pressure. Do not let anything happen to it, or it may very well explode, Kingsley.”
I outwardly maintained my composure, but inwardly I exulted in my friend’s ability to gather words and phrases to use in his deceptions. There was no hint on Benjamin’s face that he had warped those words for his own purposes, and I had no intention of allowing his talents to go to waste. Before Devonshire could respond, I spoke up again. “As you can see, we now remain at an impasse.” With deliberate lack of caution, I stepped back and away from his sword point. “I imagine you want to live to spend your ill-gotten gains, and though we do not wish your success in those efforts, I would rather see your downfall without sacrificing my life.”
“How practical of you, Hector.” Devonshire’s tone was dry, and he did not move to place the sword at my throat again. He glanced back at Ms. Hermiter, who was standing frozen beside the tank. She now stared at it as if it were a terrible, deadly bomb, and I noted that even her hardened demeanor was not resistant to such threats. Lord Devonshire continued when he looked back at me. “And how may I be certain that you will not detonate it as soon as you are clear?”
I smiled slightly, considering the words. It might have very well been an opportunity to compel him to abandon his entire operation, denying him the chance to reach Barings’ vaults. Yet the apparent belief in Ms. Hermiter’s expression was not reflected in Devonshire’s cold eyes; he was not convinced of the bluff, and if I pushed him, he might decide to risk the blast to stop us. My courage and daring urged me to take the chance; my caution and forethought rebuked me for even pondering it.
The image, rising unbidden in my mind, of Patricia lying limp and lifeless proved the deciding factor. I shook my head and took a step toward the cellar door, backing away from Devonshire. “You will have my word, Lord Devonshire. We can…resolve…our dispute another time.”
He held my stare a moment longer, and I could nearly feel his own desire to call my bluff and risk continuing his assault regardless. Then he, too, seemed to step back from that abyss. Devonshire saluted with his sword and smiled. “So be it. A truce, then, and an understanding. Between friends.”
I tried to ignore the sarcasm in those words, and placed myself between Devonshire and my friends. Others might have chosen a different path, but I, with all my weaknesses and failings, could not do anything else, no matter the price.
As Benjamin started lugging Francis up the stairs, I continued to watch Devonshire. Despite his apparent interest in ending the struggle without a fight, I had no confidence in his false altruism. Devonshire made no move to impede our flight; he merely watched us with hooded eyes. When I was certain that Benjamin and Francis had left without interference, I backed toward the stairs as well. I felt the urge to respond to that basilisk stare, to throw some useless bit of defiance in his teeth. The same had been done when I had held the inescapable advantage against numberless other foes, and I had always felt contempt for their lack of grace in defeat.
Now, however, I understood their bitter hatred, for it was my own. In the end, to my shame, I indulged it. “This is not the end, Devonshire. It isn’t over.”
He smiled. “Of course, Hector. You still are of some use to me, even if you have not recognized my friendship for what it is. I would not discard so useful a tool, not before I had been sure that no opportunities remained.” Devonshire gestured dismissively. “Until then, Hector Kingsley. Good hunting.”
Then I fled, beaten and scorned, into the mists. I heard him laugh behind me and forced myself to ignore it. There was other business to attend to.