My course took me to the East End, though not to the dreaded area of Whitechapel. While Benjamin might have provided a considerable amount of intelligence on any one part of Devonshire’s organization, thus far I had avoided associating him directly with my efforts. Poor Ben had suffered quite enough from my previous opponents, and given his vulnerability, it was far too risky for me to take advantage of his skills. Besides, I already owed the man ten hours of thesaurus readings in back payments; that was more than enough time for any person to read anything, let alone the lists of words Benjamin desired to add to his repertoire.
Instead, my contact was to be of a somewhat less trustworthy and less emotionally attached quality. A grubby little man named Timothy Walthers had been an informant in the East End for as long as I had been an investigator; indeed, it had been by observing the man’s dealings that Benjamin had begun to learn the trade of information brokering. Of course, Ben’s native talents were restrained by morality, decency, and the desire to avoid criminal activity. “Dirty Tim,” as most people knew him, was not constrained by such arbitrary limits.
Fortunately, while Dirty Tim’s vices were many and rather varied, he tended to be a dependable source of information and a reliable broker. He rarely missed a meeting—when he did, it was either due to an unfortunate misunderstanding with the local constabulary, or to provide his erstwhile customer with a warning that their consultation had been compromised. Thus, it was a relief to find that Dirty Tim was waiting for me exactly where we had arranged to meet, beneath the Victory Bridge in Queensdale.
The eaves of the bridge were supported by statues worked in the shape of soldiers, grim and marked by war. They were supposedly men who had died during the vicious assaults at the beginning of the New War, a terrible conflict that had ravaged London and most of Europe as well. The battles had brought the true horrors of war to life through the powers of the Distillation, and it had been considered a victory simply for the Empire to survive. I quietly hoped that my own venture would reach a slightly loftier goal.
Crouched in the shadows there, Dirty Tim watched me approach. Two bodyguards, both ogres, remained slouched against the nearest statue, their muscled forms blending in to the bulk of the stone soldier they leaned against. I gave them a casual nod, careful not to provide them with any sort of challenge as I drew close to the broker.
“Hector Kingsley, Hector Kingsley. Pleasure to see you again, good sir. A pleasure as always.” Dirty Tim dry-washed his filthy hands as he spoke and smiled with teeth that truly needed cleaning as well. “How may I help you this fine day?”
“I need information, Mr. Walthers, and I believe you are the best opportunity I have to acquire it.” At my words, the broker tilted his head, and his smile went a bit crooked.
“Ah, but it must be dangerous to get. Otherwise, you would have run off to that echo friend of yours over in Whitechapel.” He tilted his head in the other direction. “Or maybe you’re worried about the Dollmaker snatching you off the streets?”
One of the ogres chuckled, a brutish sound. I ignored the Changling and kept my eyes on Dirty Tim. “The information isn’t any more dangerous than other things I’ve asked of you, Mr. Walthers, and I am willing to pay well enough without your attempts to gouge me. The question is whether or not you can get what I need.”
The grin fell away from Dirty Tim’s face. “Of course I can get it, Kingsley. You know I can.”
I gave him an abrupt nod. “We will see.” From my coat pocket, I drew out a note. Dirty Tim snatched it from my outstretched hand and read the words I had written. His reaction was overblown, loud, and completely expected.
“Phaw! Kingsley, you’ve done it now, you have.” Dirty Tim pressed his nose close to the scrap of paper, as if he were rereading it to make sure of its contents. “This lady would be none too happy if she found out that the likes of me was sniffing around her business.”
“Then I would suggest that you don’t give her the chance to find out, Mr. Walthers.” I let my voice grow professional and cold. “Are you capable of digging up information regarding this woman, or do I need to take my business elsewhere?”
Dirty Tim snorted and tucked the paper away. “Don’t be offensive, Kingsley. I have plenty of information on this one already, and it’ll be simple to find more. I just want you to understand that it won’t come cheap. No, sir, not with the risk involved.”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at his wheedling tone. Outwardly I merely raised an eyebrow. “I find myself doubtful, Mr. Walthers. As of yet I have not heard much concerning this person, and you have some hidden treasure trove? How do I know you will not merely make off with my payment and give me nothing but idle rumors?”
The broker bristled a little. “I asked you not to insult me, Kingsley. I’d appreciate a bit of courtesy for a fellow businessman if we are going to continue working together. Otherwise I’d ask you to take your questions—and your risks—elsewhere. You understand, sir?”
I paused, and then nodded respectfully. “I apologize, Mr. Walthers. My search thus far has not been the most rewarding one, and I find myself jaded. After my previous attempts, I would hope that you understand my wariness regarding anything that seems overly fortuitous at this point.”
Dirty Tim sucked on his bottom lip for a moment. “I hear you, Kingsley. You can never be too careful these days, and I appreciate your honesty about it. Tell you what—to lay your mind at ease, I can give you a few things up front. For a fee, mind, but that’s quality information you can count on right away instead of in a few days. You interested?”
In truth, it was almost more than I could have hoped for, but I kept my expression resigned. “That is very kind of you, sir. I suppose it will have to do for now.”
He waved away my gratitude with one grubby hand. “Sure, sure. Just you keep in mind that this small advance is far from the only thing I could get for you, Kingsley. The sky’s the limit when you come to Dirty Tim.” The broker studied the paper again. “Come this way, Kingsley. Better to discuss business in someplace more private, wouldn’t you agree?”
With a wary glance at his burly associates, I nodded my agreement. Dirty Tim led the way back beneath the shadows of the bridge. His filthy, tattered coattails flapped with each gust of cold autumn wind, and it took considerable effort to avoid being spattered by the flakes and clods that fell away from them. When we had reached a more secluded spot, he turned toward me.
“Before I give you the information, I have to ask. Why are you so interested in this Lady Hermiter?”
The question gave me pause. It was somewhat unlike Dirty Tim to ask reasons from his solicitors, and there was something about the interested gleam in his deep-sunken eyes that I distrusted. Nevertheless, an answer was required, even if I settled on one that was less than true. “Ms. Hermiter has been linked to a number of cases in which I have an interest. I believe that she was involved in several smuggling operations, as well as a counterfeiting scheme I ran across some weeks ago. Given her criminal tendencies, I decided it would be in my favor to learn more about her.”
Dirty Tim’s eyes remained locked on my face, and he nodded slowly. “I had heard about the counterfeiting, though I’m not so sure about the smuggling. Wouldn’t be surprised, though. Our friend Hermiter is quite well connected along the piers.” He turned his attention to his nails, curling his fingers to examine the unhygienic stubs. “In fact, she seems to be well connected enough that even the constabulary won’t touch her. Half the force in Whitechapel takes money from her in one form or another, which means she’s pulling some serious cash through those operations you’ve stumbled across.”
“Whitechapel?” I diligently noted the fact, though I had hoped to avoid such a dangerous area until the Dollmaker no longer infested it. “What else do you have, Mr. Walthers?”
“It’s a funny thing, Kingsley.” I became suddenly aware of heavy footsteps behind me, and realized to my chagrin that Dirty Tim’s bodyguards had stolen up without my notice. Mentally chiding myself, I watched as the information broker continued to pick at some indistinct bit of grime amidst all the rest of the muck. “That much money tends to spread around, and protection from the peelies isn’t the only thing it can buy. Money like that can buy off witnesses, put judges’ consciences to rest, and even make certain pieces of information disappear. It’s a kind of insurance policy, if you will. A guarantee that if a particular businessman, like myself, gets approached by a nosy gentleman asking the wrong sorts of questions, that businessman will do his best to dissuade further inquiry.”
Dirty Tim looked up and met my eyes. “Now Kingsley, you’ve always been a determined man, and I respect the tenacity you’ve shown in your efforts. Unfortunately, that kind of drive ain’t going to let things lie just because I asked you to. That means I have to let Jim and Smitty here discuss the matter with you a bit more thoroughly, so as to make the lesson perfectly clear.” He shrugged, his expression not betraying anything that resembled regret. “It’s not the sort of deal I would have preferred, but so goes the world. You understand, of course. Boys, get to work, but make it clean. We have an appointment down by the docks in an hour.”
I heard those footsteps grow closer, and my fingers tightened around the grip of my cane. Surreptitiously, I gave the top of the cane a twist—Daniel had warned me that the device he had built into the head now required a more lengthy amount of time to gather a charge. “Mr. Walthers, is there no way that I might persuade you to change your mind? Whatever price Herimter has paid, I could match it.” Dirty Tim simply turned his attention back to his nails, and I sighed. “Very well, then. I suppose not.”
A heavy step scraped the cobblestones just behind me, and I decided that a small education was in order for Dirty Tim’s associates. With a flick of the wrist, I activated the mechanism within my newly crafted cane, freeing the device inside it to do its work. The thing whined as I pointed it at the informant, the miniscule gearworks spinning madly inside the haft. Dirty Tim cried out in alarm and covered his face with his hands, for like any good information broker, he had heard reports of the tricks which my former cane had been capable of performing. His bodyguards crouched, alerted by both the high-pitched noise and their employer’s distress that I now suddenly posed a threat. I smiled as the sound built to a fevered pitch, and then stopped.
Then, to my dismay, nothing happened.
Dirty Tim slowly lowered his hands, peeking out from between grubby fingers. His bodyguards likewise began to shift, their movements betraying their positions to my peripheral vision. A certain sense of worry began to worm its way through my mind as the cane remained inert. That trickle of doubt grew to a flood of misgivings as Dirty Tim smiled and waved his guards forward. “That’s a right shame, Kingsley. Too bad you can’t get things as nice as the original anymore, huh? Well then, let’s be about it.”
On the edge of panic, I struck at the side of the cane. Nothing changed, though one of the guards laughed at my predicament. Frustrated, and near cursing Daniel’s name, I raised the cane up and slammed the end down into the cobblestones at my feet, hoping to restart the device or dislodge whatever mire had managed to jam its gears.
My efforts were quite a bit more successful than I had hoped. There was a metallic ting that reverberated from the innards of the cane, and then a sudden roar. I was flung upwards, clinging to the separated, top part of my cane as the bodyguards and their employer shrunk beneath me. The astonished expressions on their faces might have been more amusing had I not been so utterly terrified at my own impromptu flight. Momentum continued to carry me until I was nearly level with the eyes of the stone statue behind me, and then gravity began to assert its inevitable dominance over my fate.
Fortunately for my legs and all the other parts of my anatomy that the fall surely would have adversely affected, I had the presence of mind to draw out my climbing tool. With a desperation rarely matched by men who faced danger with two feet firmly on the ground, I hurtled the grapnel toward the brow of the statue, hoping it would catch among the blocky carvings there. To my eternal gratitude, I succeeded, and my descent came to a halt with a jerk.
As I hung there, Dirty Tim seemed to shake himself free from his shock. He walked over to the sheath I had left behind and kicked it. That portion of my cane remained upright, wedged firmly in the crack between two cobblestones where the apparent force of Daniel’s mechanism had driven it. Dirty Tim spat, and then pointed up at me with a sneer. “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of this yet, Kingsley. You can’t hang there forever, no matter your tricks, and I’m more than willing to wait here until you fall. I’m sure Lady Hermiter would make it worth my while.”
He was right, of course; already the strain of holding on to the climbing tool was beginning to tell in my right arm. I was not about to concede the argument, however. “Are you sure that her side is the one you want to ally yourself with, Mr. Walthers? I am still willing to recompense you for your efforts on my behalf. I suggest you accept. We cannot yet be sure what forces Ms. Hermiter will be willing to put at your disposal, but rest assured, they will not be enough if I remain your enemy.”
“Hang till you rot, Kingsley!”
There seemed to be little purpose in continuing the exchange. I considered my options as I examined the situation. The street remained empty, as not many people used the Queensdale Road this late in the afternoon. In any case, those who might have happened by would surely avoid any confrontation with Dirty Tim and his bodyguards, especially if they looked ready to do murder. A call for help was a similarly forlorn possibility, as anyone within earshot could also have heard the threats leveled against me and decided that they wanted no part in the matter.
A glance up revealed a possible escape. My grapnel had lodged firmly enough in the statue that I could allow the climbing tool to pull me to the top. From there I might have a hope of finding a way to the bridge above, where I could most likely escape along the Gearward Road. Dirty Tim and his associates I could leave to deal with another day, perhaps when the odds were not so unfavorably stacked against me.
Yet as I looked down again, I found several reasons to eschew the easier course this time. The jeers and grins of the ogre bodyguards were a minor irritant, and the possibility that they would tell tales of having run me off stirred no small resentment in me. Dirty Tim’s contemptuous snarl was another good sign that the fight might be made more effectively today. After all, the broker had allies both high and low. Unless I settled things here and now, he would not hold back in his attempts to teach me a lesson I was reluctant to learn.
Most convincing of all, however, was the sheath I had left behind. Daniel had taken care to craft that device for me, and in that I saw a danger. The sheath would be a sign that signaled directly to his involvement with me, an arrangement I had taken care to conceal. To reveal that information to Dirty Tim would mean that Daniel would be exposed, just as Benjamin had been, to every crook and malefactor who carried a grudge against me and could pay the broker’s price. Further, it would not only be Daniel at risk. His younger sister would also face the danger with him.
It was a possibility I could not allow. Fortunately, Daniel himself had provided me with a sufficiently effective solution in the form of the small cylinder concealed within the folds of my coat. I glanced at my free hand, still wrapped around the hilt of my sword. The blade once concealed within the cane had shattered with the force of the mechanism which had hurled me to my vantage point. With a shrug, I let the remnants drop toward the ground. Dirty Tim, directly below me, jumped away and cursed as I twisted to fumble for the cylinder. The need for haste was ever more quickly becoming apparent—my arm was threatening to give way under the strain, but my fingers closed around the little device at last.
I fought the urge to smile as I drew out Daniel’s mixture. Ignoring the jeers of the criminals below me, as well as the muttered profanity that spilled from Dirty Tim’s mottled lips, I pretended to speak into the device as if it were some sort of recorder or communication tool. The deception brought more taunts from below. I thumbed the climbing tool’s controls with my other hand, allowing myself to drop slightly as the cord spooled out. My decent ended with a jerk that seemed to tear the cylinder from my hands. With a shocked cry I grabbed at it, as if I wanted to recover it before it was too late.
In all humility, it was an artful deception. Perhaps even I, with my skeptical eye, might have thought the ruse was nothing but a simple mistake. The guards, with their simple-mindedness, did not discern my true intent at all. They saw only a valuable device dropping toward them, one obviously beloved by its owner and perhaps worth a pretty penny to the right person. Both ogres rushed beneath me with arms outstretched, hoping to catch it.
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It must have been a great disappointment when the device exploded and sprayed chemicals all over them.
For a few moments, the guards were reduced to a stunned quiet, their catcalls startled to silence. Then they cursed and blasphemed, one reaching for a firearm they had so far refrained from using likely out of fear of reprisal or murder charges. I had no doubt the ogre fully intended to use the weapon, but Daniel’s little device never gave them the chance.
Fumes quickly rose from the drenched guards, something Daniel had contrived based on the chemicals from the Immobilizer that we had obtained from Rook and his thugs. That device had used a sedative mixture, and had been key to Rook’s plans to capture me. Daniel had felt quite a bit of pleasure in engineering his own sedative based on that design for use against Devonshire’s thugs.
The ogres blinked and staggered as the effects of the chemicals made themselves felt, wavering as if they were drunk. One man fell roughly to his knees and then pitched forward face-first onto the cobblestones. His companion joined him a moment later, and both lay in a crumpled pile below me. Pleased with the results of my tactic, I began my descent, this time at a more sustainable pace. If Dirty Tim had proven treacherous and unreliable with his bodyguards, surely without them he would manage to give me the information I desired.
Dirty Tim’s evasive jump had placed him some distance from his thugs, and thus he had not received the sedatives full effect. He staggered, shaken by the fumes rising from his bodyguards, but he was not so hindered that he did not recognize his danger. The informant began to lurch down the road, moving in a stumbling run at a rate that promised he would escape me if I lowered myself at a safe rate. Besides, the scent of the fumes was now beginning to reach me as well, and I realized with some chagrin that my own tactic would prevent me from catching the broker even if he had been incapacitated. If I drew too close, the fumes could overcome me as well and send me to join the murmuring bunch below—likely with a considerably rougher landing.
I watched in some frustration as Dirty Tim scurried away from his erstwhile allies. It was entirely within the realm of his character to ignore the chance the poor fools were dead and simply focus on his own welfare. It was time that concern worked to my advantage. With some reluctance, I reached up and began to activate another of Daniel’s more recent—and hopefully more reliable—innovations.
The first and greatest success Daniel had enjoyed had been the Daedalus, a flying wing that had carried me as I tried to put a halt to the destruction of the Academy. Unfortunately, his prototype had suffered during my less-than-graceful landing, and Daniel had barely been able to salvage the pieces from the crash.
Nevertheless, he had been sufficiently encouraged to continue his work. His first new design now encircled my left forearm, in the shape of an armband with winged attachments. He’d called it Icarus, which had not won him any favors with me, but I supposed an invention needed a name and his choice fit, after a fashion. The armband wasn’t meant to provide the same amount of lift as Daedalus had, and not for as long.
It could, however, allow me to catch one treacherous, cowardly informant.
I swung myself back and forth, building momentum. Then, with a fervent hope that I was not condemning myself to a broken, shattered body, I let go of the climbing tool and activated the Icarus, just as Daniel had instructed. For a moment as I plunged toward the ground, I desperately reconsidered how much faith I had in Daniel’s artisanship, and how it would quickly relate to my well-being.
Then the armband’s mechanisms activated, the miniature wings spreading gently to each side. They were not as long as the Daedalus’ broad wingspan had been, but it was reassuring to see them functioning. My fall turned from a plummeting drop to a graceful dive. As the cobblestones blurred by beneath me, I let myself begin to breathe easily once more as Icarus carried me into a rapid swoop upon Dirty Tim. I closed with him, grinning in anticipation as I watched his staggering form.
The mechanisms within the armband lasted only long enough for me to nearly catch up to the informant. Daniel had warned me that the delicate thing would fail if placed under too much strain, and his words had not been overly cautious. As the lift provided by the device faded, I braced myself for the impact. My feet hit the cobblestones with a jolt, and I was forced into an awkward, hopping run to keep from falling headlong. Dirty Tim jumped in surprised at the sounds of my awkward landing, and I did not allow him time to recover his composure. With pistol in hand, I straightened and called out to him. “Mr. Walthers!”
He must have heard me, but did not stop. With a somewhat unsteady hand, I directed my first shot into the cobblestones near his feet. Dirty Tim spun in surprise as the bullet struck, a sudden burst of fear plain on his ugly, filthy features. I fought the urge to smile and shouted a second time. “Mr. Walthers, I believe our discussion was not yet finished.”
The information broker cringed, and then stopped backing away. I brought my gun in line with him, striving to steady my aim. Dirty Tim watched me, clearly thinking his situation over. Unfortunately, his fear and uncertainty did not last long; I grimaced in dismay as he smiled. “You’re a lot of things, Kingsley, but you ain’t a good shot, and you certainly ain’t a killer. You just haven’t got it in you. That first shot was lucky is all, wasn’t it?”
I pondered firing again if only to convince the man of my determination, but the murder of a man, even one so selfish as this one, would carry a high price. At the same time, I needed the information, and I did not intend to let him sense my lack of homicidal intent. My finger tightened on the trigger, and I did not divert my aim. “You underestimate my resolve, Mr. Walthers.”
Dirty Tim paled, though it was difficult to see beneath his layers of filth. After a moment, he shook his head. “You won’t get anything, Kingsley, if you shoot me. It’s a standoff.”
Glad to have convinced him, I nodded. “Fine, then. You won’t need to tell me much. Leave me the address of Ms. Hermiter’s warehouse, and then you can go.”
“Is that all, Kingsley?” A half-hearted smirk wormed its way over the informant’s face. He drew out the note I had given him and quickly scrawled on it with the nub of a pencil. I watched him carefully, ready for any sudden attempts to escape, but he merely finished his notes and crumpled the paper up into a ball, which he tossed toward me.
When I collected the scrap, it had the information I had requested. I could not restrain a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Walthers.”
“Don’t thank me, Mr. Kingsley.” Dirty Tim offered a brief, mocking bow. “And don’t think that I’ve forgotten how much trouble you’ll be. Lady Hermiter may not be pleased that I’ve given her game away there, but I believe she will be a bit more lenient when I describe how formidable you proved. I will be sure to let her know that you will come calling soon. I anticipate that she will be more than grateful to me for the warning. Until next we meet, Kingsley.”
With a gruesome sneer, the informant broker turned and strode away into the shadows of an alley. The bullies behind me continued to twitch and moan; it was obvious that the sedative would keep them quiet for a while longer. I needed to collect what remained of my equipment on the cobblestones and the bridge. Once that task was completed, my most fervent wish would have been to follow the slim lead Dirty Tim had given me and track down Ms. Hermiter. After all, the more time I gave the information broker to warn Devonshire’s lackey, the greater my danger would be.
There was another task that needed to be done first, however. Regardless of how many or few preparations the enemy had made for my arrival, it would likely be more than I could handle on my own. That meant I needed allies, and Patricia would not be likely to assist me now. All of which meant I had one person I could count on, despite my efforts to think of an alternative.
It was time to visit Daniel again.
The residence where my innovative young acquaintance lived lay within the growing borough of Corbugsville. Many artisans had taken up shop there, encouraged by the enthusiasm of the monarchy in their craft. While the Queen had not expressed any unusual enthusiasm for their efforts—a fact which was only fitting, considering her elevated position—the Prince Consort had always been heavily invested in the development of Distillation-powered inventions, almost to the level of unseemly behavior on the part of a member of royalty.
Daniel had been quick to make a name for himself within that blossoming community, something which I had almost taken for granted. While London had always nurtured a healthy community of scientists and inventors, the young professor had displayed an uncanny level of skill in artisanship, and I often suspected he could revolutionize the study of the Distillation throughout the Empire. The Daedalus had certainly changed what I had once believed possible, and I was sure many more accomplishments were surely waiting in Daniel’s future.
Yet as I approached his humble storefront, I felt a quiet level of reluctance. His location here was not thanks to his own initiative, nor due to some patron who had contributed to his establishment on Conners Street. Had my failings not led to the destruction of the Everston Academy, both he and his younger sister would have still been ensconced within the confines of that institution, safe from both the rigors of commerce and the prejudice of those whose dislike of the Change carried them beyond the bounds of normal dignity. It was that guilt which had primarily discouraged more frequent visits to the store, but now I had little choice if I was to receive the help I would need.
The memories of that failure flooded my mind as I advanced up the stairway that led to his door. Daniel’s shop was located on the second floor, allowing him to conduct his experiments at some distance from the distractions and bustle of the street below. His stairway was entirely unsuited to the task he had entrusted to it. Each step caused the metal frame to rattle and creak as if the entire thing was prepared to give way at any moment, and a comparison between that shoddy exterior and the facilities which had once been available to Daniel and his sister was inescapable. Guilt filled me, and I utterly failed to shake its troubling grip before I reached the doorway.
I hesitated on that doorstep, uncertain as to how I should proceed, when the decision was taken from me. My notice of that fact was a delighted squeal, followed quickly by a flood of sparks that swirled through the front door. They coalesced into a small girl in mid-leap, and I only just managed to brace myself for the impact to keep the both of us on the stairs. Audrey Summervale wrapped her arms around my legs and squeezed, her words flying from her mouth in an excited chatter I struggled to understand.
“Mr. Hector! It’s been forever since you visited. What’ve you been doing, Mr. Hector? Daniel said you were busy, but I said we should just go over and visit anyway because we’re friends, and friends don’t ever tell friends to wait on the porch.” A shadow of a frown flickered across her animated features as she looked up at me. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Mr. Hector? You’d want us to visit?”
Helpless before the kind of inquiry that a hardened veteran could not withstand, I smiled and nodded. I rested an affectionate hand upon her well-worn hat and crouched to meet her eyes. “Of course, Ms. Summervale. I would be delighted to have your company whenever you happen to be free. May I ask if your brother is in?”
Nearly coming apart with excitement—an unfortunate, literal term concerning the young Changling—she nodded. “He sure is, Mr. Hector. I’ll go get him. Just wait right here!” She turned and sprinted straight into the door, her frame blurring into a flurry of sparks just before she struck the wooden frame. I waited for her return, listening in half worry as a growing series of bangs and thuds echoed out from the interior of Daniel’s workshop. The sounds grew to a crescendo and I heard Daniel’s exasperated calls for his sister to stop. Then there was a sudden sharp pop, loud enough to convince me to duck, followed by a somewhat foreboding silence.
There were no further sounds from the interior of the workshop, and as the silence stretched, I began to wonder if I should investigate, if only to assure myself that both Summervales remained hearty and hale. Just as I had taken a step toward the door, however, the portal opened and I found myself looking at Daniel.
The past few weeks had done both ill and good to my friend. His countenance had taken on a far more rugged appearance than his formerly studious nature had shown. He wore a set of heavy machinist goggles that had been altered to endure the brilliance and dangers of his work. They were perched haphazardly atop his head as if he had just come from his latest project. Instead of the fine clothing he had once worn as a professor, he now wore a thick pair of gloves to shield his hands and an equally thick cloak of brass and leather to ward off the many ills of his profession. Oil and grease now marked his clothes and skin, and both seemed rather more worn than they had at the Academy.
At the same time, those marks were marks of industry and labor, and his eyes were lit by the independent spirit of an inventor who was beholden to none but those patrons who liked his work. There was little trace of the nervousness which had been his habit; indeed, his character had already been through the worst he could have born, and tempered by the fires of the forge at Everston, Daniel had been born anew. He had hesitated not one moment after the disaster at his former place of employ and had secured the financial backing needed to build a home for himself and his sister with astonishing rapidity. Daniel Summervale had then proven himself time and again to the rest of the artisan community, and his designs were already beginning to be spoken of in the best regarded of circles.
For all that progress, however, he was no longer safe. The Everston Academy had been a shelter, both for his burgeoning talent and his Changling sister. Already I had heard of other artisans endeavoring to steal or sabotage his work. Similarly, Audrey’s usually cheerful nature occasionally let slip some clue that other children had set themselves to mock her at play or in school, and that some of the other denizens of the borough had received her brother in a less-than-favorable fashion. All of that had come upon them as a consequence of my lack of diligence and my desertion of duty, and while Audrey had clearly forgotten it in her desire to befriend me, I could not persuade myself that Daniel had done so.
He regarded me frankly, his dark eyes sharp and calculating, and for a moment I wondered if he had realized at last the true misfortune I had cast him into by ruining their only safe haven. Then a smile spread across his features and he stripped one long-fingered hand of his work gloves. This hand he held out to shake mine, and his expression grew animated. “Kingsley! How good to see you, sir, how truly good to see you. Come in, come in! I don’t mean to keep you standing on my doorstep, not when the sky looks ready to drop a flood upon us.”
I glanced upward and found his assessment of the weather correct; the clouds were indeed thick and deep, glowering at the city from above with a threatening air that promised a downpour. “Thank you, Mr. Summervale, I do appreciate your hospitality. Especially given the unannounced nature of my visit today.”
“Nonsense, Kingsley, utter nonsense. I have already made it clear that you are welcome at my door at any time, day or night. Now come in.” The request was made with a particular kind of firmness that I could hardly ignore without risking further offense against him. I therefore stepped through the doorway, and having passed the threshold, found myself immersed in a world of the Distillation.
Gone was the cluttered workplace of Daniel’s previous life. The shambled ruins of a hundred projects might have lain idly and harmlessly in the workshop of a professor, but the appearance of disorder in the shop of a professional artisan would have alarmed his customers. Instead there were on display the chief examples of Daniel’s art to the present day.
Upon one wall hung the repaired remnants of the Daedalus, its once-fine wings still covered with metal feathers that were bent and warped. Though the device had been a near-complete ruin by the end of my efforts at Everston, the mere fact that it had succeeded in conveying me past the walls of the school had caught the imagination of many within the world of London artisanry. For that reason Daniel kept it, though it was far beyond his abilities to salvage as a symbol of his own successes. In a similar fashion, his mark had become a pair of wings, very much like that venerable machine, and the many other examples of his work bore that mark proudly.
“So, Kingsley. I assume you have come for some equipment? Patricia has already been by, and she assured me that you would need anything I could give you for your work in Whitechapel.”
I winced, and most unfortunately Daniel noticed the movement. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Kingsley? Is something the matter?”
“No, nothing of the sort, Mr. Summervale.” I paused. “I had rather hoped for some equipment to aid me in the prosecution of the case against Lord Devonshire, and I am sure that whatever you have prepared will be more than adequate.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then Daniel coughed into his hand. “Am I to understand, Kingsley, that you do not intend to assist Patricia with her hunt for the Dollmaker?”
The question had such incredulous shock in its tone that the words bit deep into my conscience. I felt my cheeks heat from an acute rush of shame, and my strident reply was reduced to a mere muttering excuse. “The conditions are unique in this case, Mr. Summervale. There are other demands upon my time and attention, and to lay those things aside for the pursuit of a prey as dangerous as the Dollmaker would be irresponsible.”
Daniel folded his arms across his chest. “Really, Kingsley, I can fully understand your dedication to the case surrounding the incidents at Everston. No one knows more than I how much we lost there, and how much worse it could have been. But I cannot stand by and allow you to degenerate into an obsession that may deprive you of the very tools you might need to continue your search!” He shook his head, and a few strands of his black hair drifted across his face. “To say nothing of the danger which Patricia may find herself in if you do not accompany her. That alone would encourage any gentleman to rush to her aid.”
A slight eddy of resentment swirled within my heart. “Ms. Anderson is rather capable of defending herself, Mr. Summervale. I have full confidence in her abilities both as a bounty hunter and as a friend. Despite the dangers inherent in her search, I harbor no doubts as to the final outcome. She will be safe enough alone.”
“For all her talents, Patricia is not possessed of a true sense of caution. She has a tendency to rush from step to step in a way that may leave her exposed.” Daniel turned slightly away. “Besides, a bounty hunter she might be, Kingsley, but she remains a dear friend. You talents would greatly complement hers, as they have so readily in the past, and would make certain what you now only assume. She goes against the Dollmaker, Kingsley. The fiend has already murdered at least a dozen women, if not more. No matter how skilled she might be, you have to feel the danger lurking for her in Whitechapel.”
I sighed heavily and looked down. “I had hoped that by withholding my support, I could discourage her from risking her safety.” The words sounded weak, even to my own ears. In them I began to recognize that an error had been made—an altogether-too-familiar feeling—though still I struggled in vain against that tide of understanding.
Daniel’s snort revealed a rather ungentlemanly side of the young inventor. “Then you must have expected a different woman to visit you, Kingsley. Patricia has her prey; nothing short of doomsday itself will turn her aside.” He leaned back against a nearby machine, one whose purpose I could hardly begin to guess. “Will your investigations not even carry you close to Whitechapel, then? At the very least you might be nearby if she requires help.”
An idea dawned. “Yes, actually. In fact, there is an installation very near to Whitechapel that I will need to spend considerable time investigating. And if Ms. Anderson would need my help, I would be close enough to assist her.”
A broad smile now filled Daniel’s face. “Perfect! Then I shall be more than happy to aid you, Kingsley.” He approached and threw an oil-stained arm around me. I strove to ignore how likely it was that my coat now would carry those same stains. “Let me show you what wonders my forge has to offer you, and then we shall see how we can plot for you to help our dear bounty hunter in her quest.”
As he led me further into the workshop, gesturing at this piece of equipment and that, my mind began to churn with the possibilities. Perhaps, this time at least, I might be able to satisfy both my concerns in one fell swoop. It would be difficult, of course, but surely it would not be hard to find one deranged man in Whitechapel. Compared to the task of outwitting Lord Devonshire and his minions, it would not be difficult at all.