The silent resentment I felt toward Mr. Eaton had grown exponentially by the time we reached the nearest constable house. It swelled with every snide complaint about my lack of courage; it surged as he made patronizing remarks to Patricia as she staggered along beside us. Yet it did not crest completely until we had finally reached the door of Inspector Aberforth’s domain.
Until that moment, we had been rather focused on continuing forward. Patricia’s state worried me, as I had never before seen her so dazed, and I was more than willing to set aside Eaton’s outrageous manners for the sake of completing our journey. Crimson had disappeared before we reached the outside and had not been seen since. It was likely best that she remained elsewhere, perhaps dealing with the aftermath of her lapse in control—or indulging in it at the expense of some unfortunate soul. Whatever her activities, she could wait for another time. Patricia was my greatest concern now.
We reached the constable house and were welcomed with some alarm; the sight of the wounds that we had taken would have inspired urgent attention in most people, but in these constables their reactions bordered on the frantic. They immediately brought us inside while they called for the services of a local doctor to see to our hurts while they provided us with some necessary bandages and such as a stopgap for the bleeding. I did not require more attention than a layman could provide, but out of concern for Patricia, I stayed until a doctor had come to tend to her hurts.
Mr. Aberforth was present as well, and he managed to draw out an explanation from us with a few coldly delivered questions. While he accepted our news—both of the bomb which had injured us, and the deaths of von Messner and his men—with admirable calm, the other constables were considerably less composed. I had no doubt that the news would be spread across Whitechapel before nightfall, and that other hunters for the Dollmaker would be suitably discouraged. Many of the more crude mobs roaming the streets would likely hide themselves away rather than track a killer willing and able to fight back. If it had been his intent to discourage his foes, that much of the Dollmaker’s purpose had very likely been achieved.
It was as the attention finally died down that Mr. Eaton turned to me, his face hard and unfeeling in the light of the afternoon sun. His lips curled in a cruel smile. “Well, I guess you’ve done your bit now, Kingsley. Why don’t you scurry off to a hole somewhere while the rest of us get back to business?”
I turned on him, a biting retort already prepared, when Patricia spoke. “I’m not going to be doing much of anything tonight, Billie. We’ll all just have to start again tomorrow.”
Surprised, I was temporarily robbed of the power of expression. The possibility that Patricia would be the one to suggest a pause now, when the target was so infuriatingly out of reach, was incomprehensible. It surely would have baffled anyone who knew her well. Mr. Eaton experienced no such delay and spoke out at once. “Have you gone out of your head? We could catch this one while he thinks he’s thrown us off his track! Don’t let this soft fool keep you from the prize.”
My temper stirred. “It was your rush to fall into his trap that has thrown us from his trail, you idiot. If you had the sense to listen to me in the first place, then this debacle would never have happened.”
“Enough. Both of you.” Patricia’s quiet words drew our attention to her again, and she sighed. “Look, we’ve lost the trail by now, and any clues he left us will have gone cold by morning. We can pick up tomorrow and hopefully catch a trace of him somewhere. Maybe we’ll get to them before the next victim is dead. For now, let’s just get some rest.”
Mr. Eaton rocked back on his heels, and I felt a brief surge of victory course through my veins. Before the American could recover his wits, I nodded in agreement. “A wise decision, Ms. Anderson. May I escort you home?”
Eaton’s expression darkened as quickly as the thunderclouds that had cloaked the morning sky. Yet Patricia shook her head and leaned heavily on her carbine. “I don’t think so, Hector. Too much of a chance that the Dollmaker would follow me home. Better to spend the night here in the constable house than to risk running into him right now.”
Off balance and horrified at the thought of Patricia being forced to endure a night in the company of such ruffians as one could only find in law enforcement, I opened my mouth to protest. She forestalled me with a serious look and a raised eyebrow. “You aren’t going to tell me I can’t watch after myself in a constable house, are you, Hector? Tired as I am, I might have to take that out of your hide later.”
I closed my mouth. Mr. Eaton burst into a fit of laughter; my discomfort must have been obvious. When he recovered from his unseemly mirth, he gave Patricia a deep bow with a mockingly elaborate flourish. “Well, Trish, I guess I’ll have to take my leave. You watch out for yourself tonight. There’s no telling what can happen with a bunch of peelies around.” He looked at me with an expression only narrowly shy of a sneer. “Goodnight, Kingsley. Sleep tight.”
With those words and no more, Mr. Eaton turned and departed. His boots thumped along the cobblestones and left us with an uneasy silence. When I turned back to Patricia, I found her seemingly unsettled. Caution lamed my words, but I convinced them to march with an effort. “Ms. Anderson, I must tell you that there has to be a better way to resolve the situation. There are other places to stay from which we can begin again tomorrow. There is no need to stay in such accommodations for the night.”
“I know, Hector. I just don’t want a fist fight between the two of you on top of everything else.” The wry smile lasted for only a moment before it faded. Her expression grew guarded. “You head home, Hector. Get some sleep.”
The uncharacteristic resignation in her voice prevented further argument, and I only managed the most meager of farewells before we parted. A doctor had arrived, and she climbed the steps to the second floor of the constable house to allow him to examine her. It pained me to see Patricia haggard and limping, especially considering the usual strength of her native stride. I waited a few moments more, unsure whether I should depart or if I should pursue the discussion further when the doctor was done.
Then, deciding that a rest might indeed be beneficial to everyone involved, I turned on my heel and strode through the door. The aches and pains of our misadventures thus far began to burn and spark as I walked across the neglected cobblestones. Our only clue, the half-destroyed cylinder from the explosion, bounced against my hip, eliciting its own spears of pain as I walked. Hopefully it would lead to some avenue of investigation whereby the Dollmaker might be discovered, for the entire campaign—especially those portions I was forced to endure alongside Eaton—had grown quite old now.
The rain had lessened to a near sprinkle, and the mists were already rising pleasantly around me. Had they been a sign of spectacular success, I would have been heartened to see them. As it was, they were merely a misplaced herald, a false trumpet of glory. All the same, though I was already nearly soaked through to the bone, the absence of a continuing downpour was welcome.
I had traveled only a very short distance from the constable house when I made the discovery that I was being followed.
There is an inborn sense of such a thing, as I may have mentioned previously. This time, however, it was not some crude pair of thugs trailing behind me. I caught barely a hint of their presence at first; a flicker of movement here, a rustle of fabric there. At first I tried to persuade myself that it was merely a coincidence, that I could not have attracted the attention of more fools willing to accost me for some promised reward.
It was a hope destined to be cast aside by reality. I had only just reached the neighborhood of the tube station when someone slid in beside me in the street, dressed in an all-too-familiar swirl of dark skirts. When I jumped in surprise, Ms. Crimson simply raised an eyebrow at me, as if curious that I was not expecting her.
Inwardly railing against my bad fortune, I inclined my head to her. “Ms. Crimson.” I hesitated. “Might I ask how you are feeling this fine evening?”
She offered only a slight curtsy, and accompanied the motion with a thin smile. “I am quite well recovered, Mr. Kingsley. You are too kind.” As she straightened, her eyes met mine. They remained cool and distant, though a thread of doubt whispered its way across her composed features. “And your injuries? I trust your wounds have been seen to already.”
The implicit question over the state of my injuries—or more accurately, if blood still seeped from them—was likely academic. No scent of blood could have escaped her senses at this distance, but if she could continue to act so courteously, so could I. “I have been well cared for, Ms. Crimson. Thank you.”
Crimson tilted her head and continued to examine me expectantly. Some primordial survival instinct warned me of what she desired, and immediately advised strongly against it. From the enlightened heights of civilization and culture came the urge to accept. In the end, it was a victory for courtesy and society—which, as seemed to be typical, was a somewhat unsettling loss for me. I gestured for her to walk at my side. “Ms. Crimson, if you would join me as I walk, I would be honored.”
The vampire smiled. It was impossible not to notice how incredibly white her teeth were, nor how little good humor factored in her expression. “I would be delighted, Mr. Kingsley. Thank you.”
For a few long moments we merely walked along in an uncomfortable quiet, the patter of a few solitary raindrops the only disturbance of our peace. The residents of Whitechapel skulked in their own way apart from us, and those who came close enough to recognize Crimson for what she was quickly made a wide berth around us as we traveled. I struggled for a moment against a basic need to give her a similarly large personal space and tried to come up with some topic of conversation. My patience would not long bear another repetition of our previous silent walk through the borough, and with a measure of relief I hit upon a possibility. “Ms. Crimson, please excuse my lack of manners. May I ask if your own injuries were treated?”
My words brought no real expression to her face. “Very few would attempt to treat a vampire’s wounds, Mr. Kingsley, but I was able to…convince…someone to examine me.”
I did not allow myself to be discouraged by her bitter tone. “I am glad, then, that you were well cared for.” Then I paused, remembering her dispassionate motion as she ripped the splinter free. “Though I suppose you did not suffer much discomfort, now that I recall.”
Crimson made a dismissive gesture. “A mere aspect of my Change, Mr. Kingsley.” When she saw my lack of comprehension, she continued in a tone like lead. “If our hunger is not…sated…in a timely manner, one of my persuasion too often finds that the world becomes distant. Our senses are deadened, particularly those of touch, sight, and pain. Our senses of smell and balance become heightened to compensate, though at times that seems more frustrating than the alternative.”
The information was new to me, though it was not surprising. Details of such Changlings were plagued by rumor, and I had never had the opportunity to converse with one on less than hostile circumstances. “Such advantages must come in handy in some circumstances, however.”
“Not nearly often enough, Mr. Kingsley.” Crimson’s voice had become rough. When she glanced at me, her expression remained blank but her eyes seemed to be haunted. “The hunger is torture enough, but the withdrawal…it is like being buried alive. The color leeches out of the world. I…” She looked away and seemed to compose herself with effort. “It remains unpleasant, Mr. Kingsley, regardless of any supposed advantages.”
“I see.” I remained quiet for some time, pondering the new details which had filled in a clearer picture of the woman. All I had known before was her detached and violent behavior; I was now compelled to wonder just how much of it was her own nature, and how much was that of the Change. A strange sort of pity swirled through me. “Surely there must be some compromise—”
“Do not, Kingsley.” Her voice was harsh, and when she turned back to me her eyes were wells of anger, dark and deep. “Do not dare. Whatever the hunger and the withdrawal might do, they are nothing, nothing, compared to what the frenzy of the feast can bring. There is no compromise. There is only control.”
Then she turned away again, and silence fell over us as a shroud as we walked. Just as I began to wonder what other topic I might be able to broach in such a situation, she spoke. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. For very good reason, I resisted the urge to crane my neck to listen. “Nevertheless, I must thank you for your intercession earlier. I do not know what might have happened had you not taken such decisive action, but I do know that I would have regretted the consequences. For that, Mr. Kingsley, you have my enduring gratitude.”
The gracious remark caught me off guard, but I recovered without missing a step. “You’re very welcome, Ms. Crimson, but I must say that my contribution was rather small. It was the least that I could do in order to prevent an obvious catastrophe.” I smiled to myself, thinking of Mr. Eaton’s resentful look. “Furthermore, I would be remiss if I did not admit that I profited by the effort in any case.”
“You do yourself too little credit, Mr. Kingsley. The best heroes have always found some personal reward awaiting them once their adventures were done.” Her subtle accent gave the words an insinuating flavor that I found mildly disconcerting, but she continued in a more serious tone. “I regret the need to press you for favors after you have already done so much, but I’m afraid that I have no other recourse. I do hope that you will not mind if I ask you frankly.”
The potential disaster my more primitive instincts had feared now seemed to loom stark before me. Yet again the ingrained teachings of tact and gentlemanly behavior compelled me to stagger headlong into the trap. “Ms. Crimson, you may consider me at your disposal in whatever way I may properly assist you.”
I waited in dread as she hesitated. The issue was obviously one that she was unhappy to bring forward, given the way she bit her lip. Then, in a low voice, the vampire spoke. “Is there any chance that I might prevail upon you to provide me with more of those devices? The one that you used in the coaching inn?”
Her request so surprised me that I nearly stumbled on a broken cobblestone. When I recovered, I stared rather rudely at her for a heartbeat or two before I recovered my sense of propriety—along with a justifiable feeling of mingled relief and embarrassment. “Of course, Ms. Crimson. I would be happy to give you the device, as well as the name of the artisan who created it.”
“An artisan?” Crimson frowned slightly. “I was under the impression that you had developed the device yourself. Artisans have not always fashioned the most…charitable of machinery for a person of my particular situation.” She turned doubtful eyes to me. “And yet such a device… would you say the man is trustworthy, Mr. Kingsley?”
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“Absolutely and without question, Ms. Crimson.” I endeavored to fill my voice with as much certainty and strength as I could muster. “I would place my life in his hands without any hesitation, and have done so repeatedly these past few months. He is a rather new figure in the local industry, but he has a talent that none would regret trusting.” Her face remained anxious, and I lowered my voice. “Mr. Summervale also has a sister of a rather interesting disposition, Ms. Crimson. When you meet her, you will understand. You may trust him as much as you would anyone else.”
“Or more so, one might hope.” She fell silent for the space of a few heartbeats, and then her iron discipline returned. “Now, with that business attended to, I may indulge my curiosity still further. Where are you headed this fine evening, Mr. Kingsley?”
Such a direct question did not surprise me overmuch; but for the sibilant accent and the lack of strident tone, it might as well have come from Patricia’s mouth. Still, it was with some reluctance that I replied. “I am returning home. Our efforts to stop the Dollmaker may have been stymied, but there is always some amount of work to be done on other cases.”
“How determined, Mr. Kingsley!” Crimson tilted her head slightly, studying me as if she were a bird. “Might I ask who your enemy is, to have inspired you to such efforts?”
I coughed lightly into my fist, attempting to buy time to consider my response. Revealing that Lord Devonshire, or even that Ms. Hermiter, was one target of my efforts would likely bring nothing but trouble. As my experience with Dirty Tim had proved, explaining my intentions to anyone I did not trust implicitly would only endanger my plans—to say nothing of my well-being. While I was increasingly sure that I could count on Crimson’s aid to find and bring to heel the Dollmaker, the same could not be said of my activities involving Devonshire and his lot.
Yet before I could think of a suitable deception to employ—perhaps something to do with the trade contract I had still not recovered on behalf of the Pevensleys, or an action paid for by another employer—I heard the distinct hiss of air that leaves an armed Smurthwaite Chambered Automatic Long Pistol. It came, most unfortunately, from directly behind me. A quick glance to the side told me that Crimson had apparently detected the sound as well; though her gaze remained entirely on me, her hand was already sliding toward her knife.
The noise inspired only the barest of hesitations in me. After all, the surest way for our pursuer to see that we were aware of his trap was to simply come to a halt at the first tell-tale sign. If we continued forward as if we had not a care in the world, it would allow our adversaries to persuade themselves that we remained blissfully unprepared for what was to come and might lend us an advantage. Now I only lacked an adequate maneuver with which to win our freedom.
My first step would be to inform Crimson of the situation—and restrain her apparent instinct to attack—without similarly alarming our opponents. Careful to keep my voice even and unaffected by the roiling anxieties within me, I spoke. “I am pursuing a very dangerous group of men, Ms. Crimson. A direct approach would be foolish.” I could half hear a couple of murmurs and chuckles behind us, and repressed the urge to shake my head in professional disappointment. If I was to be assaulted again today, I at the least would have wished my attackers to be a better class of criminal. “I must stress to you again that surprise will be our best advantage. You must be ready.”
She nodded, a slender eyebrow arching over her left eye. I could not tell if my directions alarmed her at all, but I could risk no more blatant language lest our enemies realize their presence had been found out. Whether she was now ready or otherwise, I needed to move to the second phase of my attempt to extricate ourselves. With a nonchalant air, I slipped a hand into the folds of my coat. I quickly found the device I needed and slipped it into the palm of my hand.
Our pursuers would have found it unremarkable had they seen it. In shape it was indistinguishable from a normal pocket watch, though by its size they might have assumed it to be a clumsy antique. Of course, Daniel’s skill had left it anything but outdated, and his intention had been to buy time by way of distraction rather than simply keeping track of seconds slipping idly by. My finger found the trigger to activate it easily, but I did not yet press it.
For another few steps I cradled it there, carefully concealed from the thugs behind us. The final step—that of locating an acceptable route of escape—only required that I wait for a handful of heartbeats. When we drew even with an alley to our right, one that was cluttered with refuse and clearly too tight for any kind of ambush to be waiting for us inside its shadowed corridors, I judged the time to be perfect. I smashed the button on the device flat, and then dropped it to the cobblestones. A quick kick allowed me to send it backwards into the ranks of men behind us, and then I shoved Crimson toward the alleyway. “Ms. Crimson, the alley!”
Without comment, the Changling responded by sprinting toward the narrow gap. The men behind us growled curses and lifted their weapons—a desperate glance told me there were at least ten of them—but before they could open fire, the device at their feet came to life. By pure chance, the trigger had ended facing the ground beneath. Flame shot from the small circular object, popping it up as if it were a child’s firework until it was nearly head height above the cobblestones. The edges of the device began to glow, and I looked away in a futile attempt to protect my eyes.
A second later, the device exploded in a fierce, violent eruption of light and sound. The men who had stalked us now cried out and stumbled away; some of the foolish thugs actually fired their weapons blindly in our direction as we ran. Bullets chipped fragments of brick from the alley’s mouth, but none managed to find a mark before we gained the shelter of that narrow gap.
As we ran I heard a snarl from Crimson, one that more easily would have fitted a wolf or a mastiff than a young woman. She did keep running, though I heard her knife slide free of its sheath. No thugs stepped around the corners of the alley ahead, and so we were free of the confined space and in the next street before any of the men behind us had recovered enough to give chase. I heard their coarse shouts and crude epithets echo after us, but I did not pause to face them.
Crimson, on the other hand, fell back, her knife glinting in the evening light. The reddening sun painted its edge as if the blade were already stained by blood. Her voice was cold and promised no mercy for the men behind. “Mr. Kingsley, I believe that if we face them in the alley, we would be able to kill enough of them to convince them to flee.”
I shook my head and kept running. There was another alley to the right that would lead us to another thoroughfare; it would be a simple matter to lose the pursuit in the crowd there. “Ms. Crimson, if I had intended to engage them tonight, I would have done so as soon as the flare went off. Our objectives are better served without a plethora of corpses—and the questions from the constabulary that would accompany them.”
Begrudgingly, she continued to follow me. We entered the second alley before the first of our pursuers had cleared the alley behind us, likely multiplying their difficulties in tracking our escape. She did not, however, sheath her dagger again, not until the shouts of the men faded into the background. By then we had passed through another three streets and several more alleys, at times doubling back further up the street to confuse our adversaries. There was no chance for them to find us anytime soon.
As I leaned against a wall, panting for breath, Crimson folded her arms and stared at me. The expression on her face was not kind, and it was easy to note that she wasn’t nearly as inconvenienced by her run as I had been by mine. When I had recovered somewhat, she tilted her head to the side and smiled. The sight of her sharp teeth drove a sudden chill through my heart. “Now, Mr. Kingsley, I feel that it would be a good idea to inform me of exactly what nonsense you have mixed me up in. It is not every day that a gang of thugs tries to attack someone in the street, and I find myself pondering what manner of enemy you have made for me.”
I pondered over the answer for a moment. Though the thugs could have belonged to any number of enemies, I was entirely sure they were in the employ of Lord Devonshire. The gangs of criminals whose sanctuaries Patricia had violated would not strike until after the furor over the Dollmaker had died down, while any amateur bunch of bounty hunters would not have accosted a man in the company of one as formidable as a vampire. Still, regardless of her apparent reasonableness thus far, I still remained wary of informing her of the entirety of my involvement with Devonshire and his schemes.
Therefore I settled on the most expedient response. “I am afraid it is a rather private issue, Ms. Crimson, and one that demands a level of delicacy unusual even in my profession. I would be remiss to discuss it with anyone not in the employ of my clients; I hope that you would understand the need for confidentiality in such situations.”
The vampire nodded seriously. “Of course, Mr. Kingsley. Nevertheless, I find myself fascinated with your current work.” She tapped a slender finger against her lips, as if in deep thought. “I would have expected an outside matter to take you far outside these boroughs, especially if your client is respected enough to place such constraints on your activities. In fact, I have a suspicion that you are, in fact, still pursuing some clue related to the Dollmaker on your own. Might I need to explain how unfortunate that kind of decision would be?”
A dangerous glint had appeared in her eyes, and I shook my head. “No, Ms. Crimson. You may rest assured that I have resolved not to pursue that particular quarry until Ms. Anderson and the others are ready to do so. My present tasks have nothing to do with the hunt for the Dollmaker.”
Her expression became sly and my heart sickened within me. “And would Mustang think so highly of you for entertaining other tasks in Whitechapel, Mr. Kingsley? Frankly, I am quite astonished that you would attempt a secret sort of business whilst the rest of us are devoting our entire effort to the capture of the criminal. Perhaps I should make sure she is aware of this double life. After all, we women are known to stick together when deception is afoot.”
I remained silent. Ms. Crimson smiled, her false uncertainty falling away as if it had been a snake’s skin. “Of course, if I remained along—the better to study your techniques, of course—I might consider this task a sort of partnership. A partnership that I would not feel so constrained to reveal to our considerably violent colleague from America.” She tilted her head to the side. “Do you have any suggestions as to which option I might choose, Mr. Kingsley?”
So it was that as I neared the western edge of Whitechapel, I was still accompanied by Ms. Crimson, who trailed rather obligingly in my wake. She did not seem to wish to pry as we drew near my goal, a fact that I drew on for relief. Perhaps her own skills as a bounty hunter warned her that now was not the best of times for discussions or explanations. After all, at any moment I expected some band of thugs to materialize and accost us, and she could surely sense my unease as the destination drew closer.
At the very least I had a destination to approach. Daniel’s newest brainchild had performed perfectly; the Delphic Compass was guiding me unerringly toward Ms. Hermiter’s position, and it most certainly did not lead us back to her warehouse. Instead, we traveled nearly to the last portions of the borough, where I found Ms. Hermiter’s carriage drawn up outside a jewler’s shop.
The evening light, filtered through the brooding storm clouds, was nearly gone. The illumination provided by a nearby streetlight was still more than sufficient to reveal another crowd of thugs, though more subtly armed than those that had nearly captured us. They stood, lounged, or crouched in the street in front of a little storefront which bore the superficial signs of being closed for the evening. It stood barely two stories high, and I was reasonably sure that the upper floor must have contained the living space for the merchants who owned it. If one did not look too closely, it might have appeared to be otherwise a normal shop.
A closer examination revealed more oddities than the thugs guarding its entrance. Light peeked out from the shutters on the upper level, and figures moved in the darkness that shrouded the lower levels. Faint noises echoed out to my ears, though they were too muffled to reveal their nature yet. It was clear that whatever Hermiter had planned for this shop, she was preparing it for the role tonight. The men she had inside would be ready to handle any interference as well.
Hermiter had obviously impressed the importance of their endeavors on her men. They were all very much alert, and their watchful eyes would surely have noticed any attempt I made to enter the little shop by conventional means. It was an effective organization, a mark of the professionalism Ms. Hermiter obviously brought to every task, even those which most people would have considered criminal in the extreme.
Unfortunately, she had forgotten about one important fact. Her carriage, in comparison to the shop, was very nearly unattended. While the carriage is seen by most as a simple means of conveying oneself from place to place, a wise proprietor knows that they afford all manner of opportunity to those willing to take advantage of them. I smiled and turned to the vampire at my side. “Ms. Crimson, might I ask a favor of you? I need to take care of something tonight, and your indispensable help would make that possible.”
Ten minutes later, I had managed to work my way around the shop, where I could observe the guards at the rear entrance. It was a simple cellar door, but Ms. Hermiter had still stationed half a dozen guards there. She was obviously taking no chances.
Yet neither was I. I listened for the signal I had asked Crimson to provide, and smiled as shouts of alarm rang from the front of the building. A short while later, I saw Ms. Hermiter’s finely appointed carriage careening out of control down the road, its interior engulfed in flames. The guards at the front entrance were streaming after it in a futile chase, and those who had been assigned to the cellar door rushed to join them or to take their places.
The opening to enter the jewelry shop was clear. I descended from the roof and fit Patricia’s brass knuckles to my hand. Victory sang in my soul as I stove in the lock and chain meant to secure the entrance. My blow made a short, sharp clang as the chains slid free, but I hoped that with the distraction at the front, no wayward guard would notice it. At the least, none came to investigate it, and I opened the door and stole inside as the shouting in the street built to a crescendo.
I soon found myself in the cramped basement of the jewelry store. It had obviously been neglected by its previous owners. Ancient bookshelves and racks had been piled in one corner, none of which showed any signs of regular use or any containers which might have been filled with merchandise. The floor was plain and unswept; years of dust and cobwebs layered over each corner and cranny.
Just as clearly, the new occupants of the little jewelry store had focused their efforts on this little space. Tools, maps, and tables were scattered across most of the room where the criminals had abandoned them. The drilling machine sat crouched near the stairs, with the remnants of its crate scattered around it. Obviously the criminals had just finished unloading the machine for whatever nefarious purpose Devonshire had planned.
Fortunately, some of the results of that plan were clear. In the center of the floor, the boards had been pulled up and set to one side. Beneath those boards lay a large gaping hole, a wound in the earth that stretched down several yards. I stepped over to examine it and found that after some depth it turned sharply to the side and out of sight. Steps and handholds had been cut into the earth at convenient intervals, and all showed signs of use.
Unfortunately, my discoveries provided me with few answers. There was a small barrel of gunpowder near the drill, but it seemed out of place; any explosion to clear the debris in the tunnel would only easily give away their game. I saw litters of some kind piled against the opposite wall, but no clue as to their purpose. Weapons I understood, but there was also a lever of some kind, and more delicate tools that reminded me of a mechanical winch. Hermiter’s men had even set up a small model of a miniature room with several small figures inside and a neat hole in its floor. Was it a demonstration, or some sort of prediction about their plans?
It was a mystery I dearly wished to solve, and soon. My frantic search throughout the small room revealed no directions I could decipher. Perhaps the instructions had been hidden, even in such secure conditions, or had only been entrusted vocally to messengers and lieutenants. Neither option favored my efforts, and spoke to a new level of paranoia surrounding the project that I would need to overcome.
For a moment I was tempted to descend into the tunnel and find out what direction it led and how complete it was. Clearly Devonshire had planned to infiltrate some facility from below—a fitting method for such an underhanded snake—but what he could possibly hope to gain from such a venture eluded me. What possible prize would he gain from entering any building in Whitechapel by tunnel?
The mystery did not prevent me from noticing that the shouting had died down outside. I could hear Ms. Hermiter once again asserting control, her voice ringing out in the night air. My distraction had obviously been spent, which meant that the temporary reprieve I had won by my ruse was done as well. Given the trouble I had already caused the criminals, I decided it would be best that I not be found leaning over their covert enterprise. Reluctantly, I started to retreat back the way I had come.
It was only a short journey back up the stairs. I pushed open the wooden door and had pulled myself out of the opening when a blow landed squarely in my midsection, knocking the wind from me. Staggered by the unexpected attack, I was defenseless when a second blow caught me across the chin and spun me to the ground. I fell backwards, my eyesight still clouded by pain. Before I could recover from the unexpected attacks, a third blow caught me on the side of the leg, and I toppled onto my back.
My vision cleared just enough for me to see a figure towering over me, the indistinct form of a pistol in its hands. I had barely enough time to wonder what had happened to Ms. Crimson before the figure swung its weapon around to fire, and then I descended into an unpleasant, sudden darkness.