The process of recovering one’s consciousness when one has lost it is a delicate, lengthy art. Experts often proscribe various methods of attending to that essential technique. Their advice can range from the simple homespun cure for a drunken binge to the more serious mental exercises that would allow one to wake slowly, undetected by the captors which originally created the unfortunate situation. No matter the precise nature of the recommendation, it is regularly given in the most serious of fashions, as if the advisor is certain that one’s particular profession is sure to lead one into this sort of trouble.
Given that a sensible person tends to avoid those situations where he would be compelled to pass out or rendered incapacitated by his opponents, I have always striven to apply methods of prevention instead of adopting such techniques for my own. Thus it was that as I awoke from my stunned state, I applied none of that wise advice. Instead I opened my eyes, groaned at the pain echoing through my tender skull, and sat up.
“Ah, the esteemed Mr. Kingsley. I would have thought you’d be uglier.” The voice was all-too-familiar to me, and the rather satisfied air in the words caused me no joy. I struggled to force my blurred vision to focus, and though the room still swam around me, I managed to locate the face of the woman who addressed me.
Ms. Samantha Hermiter stood only a short distance away, wearing the military-fashioned coat which I had found in her office along with a shirt and set of trousers that would have made any pirate proud. She was taller than I had imagined, and her bright blue eyes sparkled down at me from a height accentuated by her knee-length boots. Rich blond hair cascaded down her back, left loose and unbound. A confident smirk marked her lips and she approached me, a riding crop in her hand which she twitched to emphasize her words.
“I’m afraid you’ve been making a pest of yourself, Mr. Kingsley. A pity. We could have used talent like yours.”
My tongue felt impossibly thick, and my words were slurred as I responded. “I am most sorry to have inconvenienced you, Ms. Hermiter. Perhaps I should be going then.”
I looked around to collect my bearings and found myself surrounded by crates and bodyguards. Clearly I had been taken back to the warehouse to be properly interrogated, a fact that did not improve my opportunities for escape. The jeweler’s shop might have been easier to leave—as if the ring of thugs would have given me a chance to do so in any case. Their faces were twisted in an ugly enjoyment of my predicament as Ms. Hermiter closed in.
“No, my dear boy, I’m afraid you must stay. After all, we have so much to talk about!” Hermiter began to stalk around me, the heels of her boots clicking sharply against the floor of the warehouse. “Not one day after a former associate warns me of your interest, I find that my privacy has been intruded on here. Then, shortly afterwards, someone dares to vandalize my carriage and break into a business I’ve decided to acquire!” She paused and turned toward me, her eyes studying me with some amusement. “Now what would you suggest I do with such a man?”
I tried to smile back. “I suppose a stern warning would be out of the question?”
A chuckle ran through the group, but Hermiter’s smile faded. In its place was a fierce, angry look that told me precisely how unwise my jest had been. Her eyes measured me for a moment, and she tapped the crop against her hand.
When Hermiter spoke, her voice was quite firm. “So you have some spirit after all. Good. You will need it.” She gestured to two of her thugs, who quickly stepped forward and grabbed me by the arms. They yanked me to my feet, eliciting a groan from me as the room spun, but the beating I had anticipated did not start. As my vision steadied again, I saw Ms. Hermiter motioning for another guard to bring a pile of items forward. “You see, we share a common acquaintance who is very interested in what you know and how you know it. I believe you are quite familiar with him.”
She glanced at me for confirmation. I saw little point in pretending ignorance; Devonshire had obviously seen fit to inform her about my efforts, in addition to whatever she had wrung from Dirty Tim. All the same, I decided that silence was the order of the day and declined to respond. Hermiter shrugged and motioned for the guard to dump the pile at her feet.
I grimaced as all the various devices and weapons I usually secreted on my person spilled across the floor. My pistol clattered to the ground, along with my climbing tool, Patricia’s brass knuckles, and grenades. Yet I could do nothing to reach them. All I had left to me was my coat and clothing; even my hat had apparently attracted enough notice to be added to the pile. Therefore I was compelled to wait as she crouched over my former possessions and began to rifle through them.
“Your pistol I am familiar with, as well as this curious little arm device. It would be interesting to see that in use.” She handled the Icarus with an interested expression, and set it aside. I silently heaped numerous curses and misfortunes on Dirty Tim’s head. Hermiter continued in a disinterested tone. “These cameras seem interesting, as do some of these bombs that you seem so fond of. Our men would have had you much sooner except for one of these, I believe. I may have to inquire as to their creator.”
It required an effort to remain calm at the thought of Daniel and his sister once again endangered by my foolishness. To my chagrin, my misfortune was far from over. “A compass of interesting design, but broken, I suppose. Perhaps something to look at later.” Hermiter turned the Delphic over in her hands, and then tossed it casually back onto the pile. Then she stalked over and began to turn out my pockets, conducting her search with a most undignified grin. “Let’s see, what else could we find? Oh! Here are a few notes about some of your cases…”
Hermiter trailed off as she read, and I felt a creeping sense of violation as her eyes moved across the pages. They were the notes I had taken from her office, along with a few particular observations I had made on the connections between Hermiter’s own enterprise and Lord Devonshire’s criminal empire. Her expression shifted, first to one of surprise. As she continued to read, switching from note to note, her features grew more thoughtful. I almost believed my efforts had impressed the crime lord, though Ms. Hermiter did not say anything to confirm it. When she came to the end of them, she looked over and smiled brightly. “A clever boy indeed, Mr. Kingsley. I am very glad we have finally made your acquaintance.”
With cool disdain, she drew out a small device, a small blocky object about the size of her hand that carried the figure of a dragon on top. A flick of a finger set its gears in motion, and flames shot out of the dragon’s mouth. Ms. Hermiter turned that fire on the pages she held, waiting until they were fully alight before allowing them to drop to the ground. They burned merrily, eventually becoming nothing more than a blackened stain upon the hardened floor of the warehouse.
When I turned back to Ms. Hermiter, I found her stalking closer, a predatory attitude to her gait. “You are even more interesting than I was told. I wonder what else you might have in these pockets.” She resumed her search and paused when her hands seized on something concealed in a pocket on the inside of my coat. When she drew it out, I identified it as the half-shattered canister from the Dollmaker’s ambush. That object, at the very least, should have held no interest for Devonshire’s lackey.
To my surprise she turned it over in her hands, examining it carefully. Then Hermiter turned to me, chuckling. “Another clue for our gentlemanly investigator’s personal life? Are we a resurrectionist as well as a thief catcher?” Hermiter tossed the fragment in the air, catching it with a sharp motion. “I might have expected to find a preservation canister on many people, Mr. Kingsley, but to have you carrying one around is a surprise. What made it explode, I wonder? Did the chemicals somehow catch fire?”
She tossed the canister onto the pile with the rest of my possessions and shook her head. “No matter. I will want to know all about it, of course. That and more.” Hermiter gestured to the men who held me. “Tershire, Miles, take Mr. Kingsley to my office. I believe that he and I—accompanied by both of you, of course; a lady must have her chaperones—will have a very interesting discussion there.”
A chuckle ran through the guards, and Ms. Hermiter addressed them in a loud, brash voice. “As for the rest of you fine gentlemen, I believe you have other things to attend to.” Then she held up her hand, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to her. “We might have gotten lucky this time, gentlemen, but allow me to make one thing clear. Our patron does not abide foolishness, and he will not look favorably on any of us if an incident like this one happens again. If I catch any of you lazing about on the job, or even overlooking something as simple as an open door, they will regret it for the rest of their short, painful lives. Am I clear?”
The guards nodded, some with only a solemn, silent gesture of acknowledgement, others with a shudder and a cringe. None seemed particularly inclined to protest, and as they disbursed, the two guards who held me took firmer hold of my arms. Their smiles were identical—crude, brutal, hungry. Knowing this moment to be my last chance, I spoke up. “Ms. Hermiter, there must be some arrangement that we can make. Surely two people of intellect, in similar lines of work, must be able to work something out.”
Hermiter looked at me curiously, reaching out one hand to lay it along my cheek. The bodyguards hesitated, uncertain if she wanted me to be punished for my insolence or merely dragged away despite my protests. She studied me for a moment, a long heartbeat during which a flicker of hope reigned. Then she shook her head, a bright smile lighting her features. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Kingsley. You have no time or opportunity left. I believe my patron told you that clearly.” Hermiter patted my cheek lightly and then looked at her guards. “Well? Off with him.”
I struggled against the iron grip of the guards, desperately fighting for a way out. They kept firm control of my arms, however, and one of them shook me slightly with a jerk. Despairing, I looked up toward the main entrance of the warehouse, hopeful for some sign of rescue or redemption.
Which is, of course, how I noticed the glow.
It began as something rather inconspicuous compared to the present danger. A mere yellow-orange haze flickering above the edges of the crates farthest toward the front did not seem to have much bearing on the threat posed by Mr. Tershire and Mr. Miles. Yet as they started to carry me away to my doom, the glow brightened and flared. A movement of air brought the scent of burned wood and scorched straw to my nostrils, and as the two bodyguards dragged me toward the office, I heard one of their fellows cry out in sudden alarm. “Fire!”
For an instant, we all simply stared in the direction of the glow as it grew more intense. Smoke began to billow, gathering in tendrils and clouds along the ceiling of the warehouse. Shouts of alarm now echoed through the building as more and more guards noticed the growing flames, and the terrible sound of fire reached my ears. As the alarm spread among Hermiter’s men, I remembered anew the conflagration that had consumed the Everston Academy of Ethereal Sciences. Unreasoning panic swelled within my breast, but I fought to control the urgent desire to run. Instead, I turned to Hermiter and addressed her in what I only hoped was a calm tone. “Ms. Hermiter, perhaps you might consider tending to the needs of your facility before we begin our discussion. You seem to have developed a small issue at the entrance.”
Hermiter turned sharply to respond and hesitated. Suspicion and hatred were stamped clearly on her features. She gave another glance toward the flame and muttered curses to herself. Then she glared at me. “If this turns out to be like my carriage, Mr. Kingsley…” I could not quite repress a smile at her implied threat, and she shook her head. “I will deal with you later, then.”
She gave a hard look to my captors. “Miles, Tershire, get him and his gear up to the office. Make sure he can’t leave—break his legs if you have to—and then come join us at the front. If the building does burn, I want him found in the ashes. You understand?”
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Tershire chuckled and nodded grandly. He stooped to gather the pile of my belongings together. Miles merely accepted the command, latching both meaty hands onto my right arm. They began to pull me along toward the rear of the building while Hermiter strode off among the few guards remaining in sight. “Don’t just stand there. Get that fire put out or the whole warehouse will burn! Now!”
The others vanished quickly out of sight as my captors dragged me through the maze of shipping crates. As they continued to chuckle, occasionally dropping some precious piece of equipment, I tried and failed to find some opening to escape. Even with the distraction of the fire and the clumsiness of the guards, both men were still more than strong enough to handle me in my weakened, unarmed state.
We had not gone far, however, when I heard Hermiter shout in a sharp clear command. “Tershire, come here! Leave his gear!” The two men came to an abrupt halt and exchanged a confused glance. I shared in their bewilderment; though Hermiter had clearly headed toward the front, she was now calling to us from somewhere closer to the rear. Had she somehow made her way back toward her office at the last moment? My worry-soaked mind had trouble reconciling the discrepancy, and I wondered if the two henchmen had somehow gotten turned around in the labyrinthine warehouse.
For his part, Tershire simply shrugged and dropped my equipment rather roughly on the ground. Muttering sourly to himself about a raise in pay, he stalked off into the crates. I was left alone with Mr. Miles to await his return. The muttering continued as Tershire made his way out of sight. It grew more distant as we waited, the air growing thick with the scent of smoke about us, and I resolved to make an attempt to free myself from the remaining henchman while I had the chance.
I began in a somewhat reasonable tone, considering the circumstances. “Mr. Miles, I imagine that you are not in the same class as the rest of Ms. Hermiter’s men. Might I ask how you came into her employ?”
My taciturn guard shook his head. “You may not. Stay silent until Tershire returns.” He turned his attention back to the crates ahead, as if he wanted nothing more of conversation until his companion reappeared. Disappointed, I sought some other way to persuade or at least distract my unpleasant chaperone long enough to reach a weapon, but to no avail.
His obvious desire to see Tershire return was disappointed a moment later when Hermiter’s voice again rang out, this time much closer by. “Miles, don’t just stand there! Lock him in the office and then get to the front! Now!”
Miles started forward and then hesitated. He looked again in the direction Tershire had disappeared. Hermiter’s voice came again, angrier this time. “He will join you there. You understand?”
Just after that statement, Tershire’s muttering resumed, this time apparently retracing his steps toward us. My heart sank at the noise, for I knew that my slender chance for escape had now passed. As Miles again dragged me toward the rear of the building, I listened to the steps of the other henchman, his half-audible mutters just loud enough to tease my hearing. Miles seemed to be listening to Tershire’s approach as well, and he had opened his mouth to greet the man as we turned one last corner.
Instead of a greeting, however, he just stared at the unconscious form of his companion, who had been leaned without ceremony or care against a crate. Miles had only a moment to gape before someone struck him about the side of his head with a heavy wrench. The blow made a muffled thunk. He staggered and fell, his grip loosening on my sleeve as he tumbled to the floor. I stared at his limp form in astonishment, and then turned to address my rescuer.
As my eyes fell on his familiar face, I broke into a broad smile and embraced him roughly. When I remembered my manners, I stepped back and spoke. “Hello, Benjamin. Hello, Hector.”
Benjamin’s face was wreathed in a smile of his own. He bowed low, the wrench still in his left hand.
“Hello, Hector.” His response, delivered in my voice, told me precisely how the deception had been carried out. Obviously the mimic had not lost his touch at impersonation, nor had his ability to catch and capture crucial words from a person’s conversation diminished. My smile grew as he gestured for me to recover my equipment and to follow him to another of the exits. Curiosity still flowed strong within me, and I asked a question of my friend even as I rushed to collect my belongings. “Benjamin, how have you managed to reach me? It could not have been simple for you to sneak past the guards here.”
He smiled. “It could have been simple for me.” A dry chuckle told me the rebuke was meant in jest, and then his voice changed to another, still familiar tenor. It was Francis’ strident tones that addressed me now. “Benjamin, you sneak in the side door while I create a distraction up front. Hurry, before that fool gets himself killed this time. Go!”
I winced at the recitation; I gathered that Benjamin likely did not inject any of the anger or frustration into Francis’ words. My relationship with the man had once again deteriorated in the aftermath of my first confrontation with Devonshire. It had been due in no small part to my refusal to grant him a grand reenactment of the blaze that had consumed the school, combined with the anger of having “enjoyed” two separate fires without involving him directly. Association or no, he was still an ifrit, and that sort of neglect apparently counted as the worst of betrayals in his eyes.
Benjamin did not show any sign of similar resentment as he led me to the exit, however. He merely carried his usual grin, though his expression carried an extra allotment of amusement for some reason. Perhaps it was the fact that he had successfully infiltrated and made fools of Hermiter’s men, but I had a feeling that his merriment had more to do with my own predicament than his victory. Situation such as these typically only allowed him to vent his teasing words at a single burst rather than doling them out over a space of time.
Regardless of the jests and recriminations that awaited me, I felt my heart lighten. It had seemed for a moment that I would be abandoned and lost, and now my friends had come to my rescue. Fate, though long and bitterly opposed to me and my efforts, must have deigned to smile upon me once again. I could only hope her favors would last until the case against Devonshire—and the Dollmaker, both—was concluded.
“You should be grateful that I caught sight of them carrying you away from that jewelry shop. If I hadn’t, you might have been on your way to the bottom of the Thames by now.” Francis’ smug tone was in no way lessened by the fact that we had been constrained to nearly drag him from the warehouse. He had, of course, been the source of the fires that had threatened Hermiter’s stores, but ifrits are as easily ensnared by the flames as the moth—and just as simply destroyed by it.
“Did you happen to see anything more, Francis? Had they captured anyone else?” I was concerned, of course, for Ms. Crimson. Vampire or no, she remained unaccounted for, and might have been in considerable danger if Hermiter’s thugs had taken her unawares. Though I was unenthusiastic to encourage a friendship with a bloodthirsty Changling, her well-being was my responsibility when she was aiding my efforts, and I would not quite be able to forgive myself if she had been harmed because of me.
Francis, however, reassured my worries. “No, nobody but you, my friend.” His expression grew even more unbearably self-satisfied. “Just you—trussed and bound, carried over a thug’s shoulder like a slab of pork, ready for roasting…” The obvious pleasure in his voice rankled, as did Benjamin’s amused chuckle at my side.
A thought occurred to me, and I considered my friend with a jaded eye. “Might I ask why you were so conveniently placed to view my poor circumstances? Whitechapel is ordinarily outside your typical purview.”
His expression grew a bit evasive, as if he were trying to avoid a full explanation. “I was on my way to visit Benjamin and I saw the light from that burning carriage. I thought maybe…maybe I might be able to help. As an expert on the subject.”
“A connoisseur, if you please.” The tone of my words drew a glare from him. Even as anger shone in his crimson eyes, Benjamin coughed into his hand. When he spoke, his words came in a grand, deep-throated voice that would have befitted an announcer for the Queen herself.
“Gentlemen, might I direct your attention to the matter at hand.” He waggled my own pistol at me. “We have already endeavored to save a poor wretch from destruction, but only one of us truly knows the situation. I say, in sincerest exhortation, that he should explain it to those who remain in the dark.”
I held out a hand, and he surrendered the gun without complaint. With a sigh, I took up the burden of explanation as well. “I had been investigating the connection Ms. Hermiter—the owner of the fine establishment you have just lit ablaze—and Lord Devonshire.” I sensed both of my old friends go tense, and I shrugged uncomfortably. “I had managed to gain some small intelligence as to his plans when they stumbled upon me.”
“And now you’ve managed to plunge the both of us into the mess along with you.” Francis clenched his hands, and the sparks that heralded his more destructive tendencies whirled into existence. He seemed entirely unconscious of them as he continued. “I will not be held responsible if more chaos follows in your wake this time, Hector. The last time was bad enough already, given what happened to the Academy. I would have left you to your own devices had I known.”
Benjamin broke in at this juncture, which kept me from making an appropriate reply. He spoke in Francis’ voice, which must have been disconcerting for the ifrit. “If he is such a threat, how can you expect us to do nothing about it?” Francis’ eyes narrowed, and I recognized the question from a conversation that had occurred in the days shortly after the disaster at the Academy. Francis had been adamant that he should participate in my crusade against Lord Devonshire—though secretly I had wondered if his devotion to the cause had more to do with the frequent occurrence of fires in the man’s intrigues. His ardor had cooled considerably once I had made clear my intention to pursue the matter alone, as well as the fact that Devonshire would not hesitate to threaten our families. While I was confident that my mother and father remained well outside Devonshire’s influence, Francis’ wife and child remained in the city, and I would not be responsible for their danger.
Indeed, the threat to Roger and Charlotte must have made an indelible impression on the man, for his lips still tightened in stubborn denial. “The matter has little to do with our willingness to tackle the task, Benjamin. Kingsley himself emphasized that our loved ones would be placed in harm’s way should we involve ourselves, and I would call myself small indeed to expose my family to such a threat.”
“Our loved ones would be placed in harm’s way already. The matter has little to do with Kingsley.” Benjamin’s tone, though using Francis’ own words, was far calmer and determined. “We should involve ourselves this time.”
Francis had opened his mouth to argue the point when I cleared my throat. I spoke, striving to keep my voice calm. “I agree with you, Francis. I would not have asked you to risk your family if I could have avoided it. Unfortunately, Benjamin is correct. In rescuing me you have already set yourself in Devonshire’s sights, and if there remains the slightest clue that you were involved at the warehouse, he will decide to come after you.”
For a moment, Francis remained silent. The sparks whirling about his fists increased in energy and number as he clenched them tighter, and his crimson eyes glowed with frustration. “I will hold you responsible for anything that happens to them, Kingsley. You may count on that fact at the very least.”
I bowed my head for a moment. “I understand, Francis. As I said, it had not been my intention to involve you, and I am very sorry to have presented such a situation to you. It was foolish of me to have placed myself in such dire straits in the first place.” There was another pause, and I looked up to find that Francis’ frustration remained evident on his face. Then he yanked his eyes away and the sparks dancing about him lessened somewhat.
“You do have a point, Kinsgley. If they are going to come after us anyway, we might as well meet them head on. So, where shall we start? Should we go back to the warehouse?” The sudden desire to do so was plain in Francis’ voice; it must have been an iron will alone that kept him from rubbing his hands together in anticipation. My estimate of the damage caused by his impromptu blaze rose yet higher, and I had to admit that I smiled at the thought of Hermiter’s dismay.
Benjamin, however, did not share our glee. He waved his finger in the air in silent rebuke and spoke in my voice his first—and likely primary—objection. “One moment, you two. We are missing something critical in this venture. Where is Ms. Anderson? She would prove quite useful in this effort.”
He turned a rather expectant eye toward me, and I shrugged uncomfortably. “Ms. Anderson has other concerns at the present time, and I believe it unlikely that she would be able to join us. We must proceed with our plans without her.”
There seemed to be little discouragement on his gray features. “Are you sure, Kingsley? She could be quite helpful indeed. Should you not at least attempt to persuade her? After all, I am sure that she would find you rather…convincing. Or so I am told.” His smile gave little mystery as to his meaning, and I felt a swell of irritation rise within me. I shook my head roughly.
“No, Benjamin, in all seriousness, it is out of the question. I beg you to consider a different course of action.” My response, delivered in so strained a voice, must have surprised my friend. His eyebrows rose sharply, and he directed his gaze toward Francis, as if imploring for support.
To my relief, Francis did not lend him any of the encouragement he desired. “Benjamin, if he says it is impossible, I am inclined to believe him. Besides, we are formidable enough already.” He flicked a spark into the air as if to illustrate his point; the cobblestones glowed for a moment as it struck the street. “If we lack her particularly violent talents later, we can certainly call for her then. At the moment I would rather have Kingsley clear-headed and rational, rather than mooning after some mercenary.”
I could only manage an outraged grunt before Benjamin broke in. After a melodramatic sigh, he waved a hand in the air. His words again came in that theatrical tone, deep and portentous. “So be it. We will continue alone into the toils that await us, though we must feel the lack of Ms. Patricia in our efforts—some of us more than others.” His sly glance in my direction only further stirred my resentment, yet he lightened his teasing with a hearty laugh and threw an arm about my shoulders. Francis he reeled in with a like motion, and he gestured for us to continue down the street with both hands. “Onward, heroes, to victory!”