A thousand different things might have happened as we returned through the corridors of the airship to our newly assigned quarters, but I would never remember any of them. My mind was far too fixated on the way Patricia moved, on the way her hair fell, on the way she breathed. It was incredibly distracting.
Fortunately, Patricia led the way and her hunter’s reflexes seemed unaffected by the events of the night. Her ability to set such things aside was admirable, if curiously irritating. All the same, she managed to save us from stumbling into the arms of some French functionary or soldier. Occasionally, she would pause, and I would have to fight the urge to either catch her up in my arms again, or whisper some demand at an explanation. Both would have to wait for another time, though I desperately hoped it would not be long.
When we finally reached the section of the ship that contained our quarters, we paused for a moment outside the corridor. Patricia craned her neck to take a quick look and then ducked back. She muttered something sour underneath her breath. “Their door is still open, but I don’t hear anything. Do you think they noticed we were gone?”
“I’d say it was a definite possibility.”
Moses’ words, coming as they did from behind, had both of us nearly jump out of our skin. I turned to find him leaning idly up against a corridor wall, an unlit cigar in his teeth. He regarded us with some amusement, and then grinned openly when Patricia took a few steps toward him.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve pulling that. If I had my gun—”
“If we both had our guns, I’m sure that would have been dangerous, but at the moment, I’d say I’m safe.” He nodded absently and used the cigar to gesture at something behind us again. “You two, on the other hand, might need to answer a few questions.”
I turned and found Capitaine Chatelain, who had obviously snuck out of the room and advanced behind us. Now surrounded, I began to feel a creeping bit of unease, and attempted to sound reasonable. “Now gentlemen, I assure you there is an explanation for this situation.”
“I, for one, would love to hear it then!” Chatelain folded his arms across his chest and looked us over. “When we discovered you had both vanished from your rooms, we suspected some mischief. I would ask why you both were gone, but it is clear you had some undignified rendezvous planned. I would not have expected you to be so indiscreet.”
“Now, now, Chatelain, I’m sure that they had better things to do than to sneak off for a kiss and a cuddle.” Moses’ voice was casual, but something must have shown on my face, because he suddenly froze. He looked from me, and then to Patricia, whose face was rather unfortunately red. He slowly lowered one hand to where his pistol would have been. “Patricia…”
Chatelain frowned, but I barely gave him a glance. “Who is Patricia?”
“Not now, Chatelain.” I turned back to Moses. “I would ask you to not pry too far into your sister’s affairs, Mr. Anderson.”
“His sister?” Chatelain’s confusion nearly matched his exasperation, but it didn’t appear to leave much of an effect on the rest of us. Moses took a step forward, his face becoming locked in a storm-hardened scowl.
“She’s having an affair now, you say?” He glanced at Patricia, who was scowling right back at him. “Seems there’s a lot you two still haven’t told me. Might be about time I sat you both down and found it out.”
“I’d like to see you try, Moses Anderson.” Patricia took a step forward. Her face was still afire with embarrassment, but she seemed completely unintimidated by her brother’s temper. “I could lick you when we were young, and I can sure keep doing it now. Take one more step, and I’ll put you on the floor.”
There was a flicker of uncertainty on Moses’ face, but he yanked out the cigar and tossed it aside. Then he raised his fists. “Well now, I might have learned a trick or two, Patricia.”
“All right, let’s finish this then.” Patricia strode forward, faster than I had expected, as if she was completely ready for the fight. She paused and tossed the bag to me, before turning around and burying her fist in Moses’ face. It was a sucker punch, and in severely poor sport, but it was rather effective at knocking the man back on his heels. She’d even opened a small cut over his eye, which immediately started to bleed profusely. Despite it, he backed up only a step and jabbed at her, forcing her to jerk backwards in order to avoid the hit.
Unfortunately, the move also carried her straight into me, knocking me off balance. The impact barely rocked me back on my feet, and I had been so absorbed in the fight that I completely failed to care for the bag. It slipped entirely out of my hands, plummeting to the floor as every possible catastrophe flashed through my mind. My initial try to recover it only caught the shoulder strap, and as a result, the entire canvas bag tipped onto the floor with a crash of metal. The noise brought both siblings to a halt, and we all turned to look at it.
Several pieces of Patricia’s rifle, a pistol or two, and even what could only have been a kind of grenade spilled out across the corridor. Said grenade rolled quietly to a stop in front of Capitaine Chatelain, who regarded it with a curious mixture of horror, triumph, and complete bafflement. He looked at it for a moment more, and then back up at us, meeting each of our eyes in turn.
When his eyes met mine, he nodded to himself and straightened up with a sigh. “Very well then. If any of you would like to spend the night outside of a cell, I suggest we gather all of this up and take it back to my room. You may then explain this whole situation to me, while Ms. Bingham—if that is her name—tends to the Marshall’s cut. Am I understood?”
Both Patricia and Moses made as if to protest, but I cut them off with a glare. I turned back to Chatelain and bowed formally. “Yes, of course. If you will lead the way, sir?”
Chatelain snorted and then turned. He marched into the corridor, and I felt a rather strong temptation to strike him on the back of the head and explain things to Louis later. Then I decided it would be better to make friends now, rather than enemies. So after spending a few moments more in the corridor, dividing my attention between gathering up the equipment and glaring at the Anderson siblings still whispering and growling at each other, I followed him. It was destined to be quite a long night, after all.
“So there’s the whole of it, Capitaine Chatelain.” I leaned back in my chair and rubbed at both eyes with my hands. “As you can see, we had very little opportunity to trust in others up until now. Our circumstances demanded both secrecy and deception, if we were to have any chance at all.”
Chatelain nodded slowly. He sat across from me at the narrow card table, where the game he and Moses had been playing still lay discarded. “A very interesting tale indeed, Herr Baron—or should I call you Mr. Kingsley?”
I sighed. The loss of my supposed title was not likely to help the situation, but I could hardly continue to claim it while still explaining Patricia’s identity and relationship to Moses. “Mr. Kingsley will do, thank you.”
“Actually, the title is real, so you’d still be Baron Kingsley. Wouldn’t you?” Patricia was still tending to Moses, who had continued to complain about her lack of fairness during their aborted bout. The cut above his eye had not been too serious, but Patricia had not exactly been delicate about cleaning and binding it. They’d had quite a whispered conversation while I’d spoken with the Capitaine. “The name might stick too, since some people get called new names all the time when they get a title.”
I frowned at her, wondering what this idle speculation had been provoked by. “I am not entirely sure, Patricia, but I can only imagine that the true Barons would object to my usurping their position.”
She shrugged and applied another swipe of the cloth to Moses’ forehead. “Let ‘em complain first. Until then, you’re still a nobleman, fancy clothes and all.”
As I opened my mouth to object, Chatelain waved his hand in the air. “Whether or not she is right, it doesn’t actually matter. You’ve been welcomed as a guest to our embassy and have done us quite a faithful service. That is nobility enough for me, and for France.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Though I suppose that would explain your lack of skill at the Pegasus. I still am not sure how you beat me without falling into the river.”
I ignored the jape and shrugged. “I am surprised that you believe us so willingly, Capitaine. We have been lying to you already, after all.”
“To be honest, lies are a common thing when one must use diplomacy.” He had a rather disgusted expression as he shook his head. “My mentor has often lectured me on its use, but I find it an uncomfortable fit. Give me the honesty of battle and open contest any day.”
Then he looked back at me and raised an eyebrow. “I would, of course, be more skeptical had the Lieutenant not taken me aside to tell me about what he found. A part of why we doubted the identity of the soldiers you ambushed was due to something they carried.” He stood up and began to ruffle through his belongings, which he had stowed away in a large bag under the bed.
Patricia snorted, and Moses groaned as she started in again with the needle. “It wasn’t an ambush. They knew I was there.”
“Maybe they didn’t expect a sucker punch, you sneaky little—”
“Hush, Moses, or I might slip again.”
I was about to contribute my own thoughts when the Capitaine drew out two weapons from the bag, both of which shone in the lamplight. They were not sturdy things—indeed, their slim blades almost seemed too thin to turn aside anything heavier than a breath of air. Despite this, the daggers radiated menace, as if they had been constructed from shards of Death itself. It almost hurt to look at them for long, as if my eyes were offended by their very existence. “What are they?”
“Stilettos, but forged using the Distillation.” Chatelain carefully rewrapped the bundle, as if he was handling a kind of strange snake. “Very lethal, even if they aren’t the most effective in combat. One of the men you captured was…scratched by one during his interrogation. He died only moments later, in agony.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
My blood ran cold at the thought. If Devonshire and his compatriots were similarly armed, their potential threat had greatly increased. I exchanged a serious look with Patricia, who evidently had come to the same conclusions.
Moses, on the other hand, apparently had not. “Still no match for a real weapon, like a gun. You’d think they would want a little more firepower than that.”
“Remember that they want their business finished quickly and quietly, Marshall. A gunshot will draw attention where a simple blade will not.” I glanced at Chatelain. “Of course, in those circumstances, a normal knife would normally do just fine. An assassin would only risk handling such lethal equipment if their target was normally unassailable.”
“Such as a dragon.” Chatelain’s voice grew heavy with the implications, and he nodded slowly. “That was the Lieutenant’s belief as well. They were clearly meant for an attempt on His Majesty.”
“Not just her, I am afraid. I have no doubt that the conspirators mean to strike at the Queen and her family as well.” I paused for a moment. “May I make the assumption you will help us stop this threat?”
“You may.” Chatelain nodded again, and his face was serious. “You are indeed a man of honor, Sir Kingsley. It would be my pleasure to help you end this menace.”
Another obstacle removed, which brought me another wave of relief. “Good.” I took out the bundle of paper that Daniel had given me, quickly spreading out the images of the conspirators on the table. “These are our opponents. Have any of you seen them before?”
“Those two look like the ones I hit.” Patricia motioned to two of the slips, then grinned. “Though I guess Daniel didn’t know to put the bruises in.”
Moses spoke up next. “I think that these three were part of the Prince’s royal guard, weren’t they? I remember them from the hallway.”
After examining them, I nodded slowly. “You are right. That makes at least three close enough to the Queen and her husband to strike.” I looked at Patricia, troubled. How would we be able to convince the royal household to trust us if we were forced to attack their own guards?
“These four and those two there. They are members of the garrison.” Chatelain gathered those six over to his side of the table, glaring down at them intently. “I have seen them, even spoken with them. Snakes! Saboteurs!”
“Assassins.” I nodded slowly. “That leaves only four more. They may be among the guards that we just haven’t seen yet, or they may have other parts in the plot. We must be on the lookout for them as we move.”
Moses straightened up on the bed, Patricia’s attempts to bandage him now moderately successful. “So, what are we waiting for? If we know where they are, we might as well make an end of things.”
“It’s not quite that simple, Mr. Anderson.” I shook my head. “If we start a fight with the royal bodyguards, we may end up giving Devonshire exactly what he wants. Remember, his men are already in place; they only need enough of a commotion to cover their actions, and then they can strike with impunity.”
“Besides, if we hit some of them, the rest might scatter and hide, which will leave them a threat for later.” Patricia grimaced. “We’ve already had enough of that. We need to get them all at once, when they aren’t ready for us, and aren’t expecting trouble.”
“Even confronting Devonshire now won’t necessarily stop his plans. No, we need to catch him right in the act.” I paused, thinking over the situation. “He has to know that the French are alerted to his plot now, even if they don’t know the details. Concealing his men in their ranks might buy him some time, but if he delays too long, he will lose his chance.”
Chatelain nodded. “The Lieutenant has already been discussing a change in the garrison. He thought it would remove any more imposters from our ranks, but he knew he couldn’t make such transfers immediately. It would take at least a day or two.”
It was a wise move, though likely not quick enough to stop the approaching disaster. “So Devonshire only has a small window in which to act. We need to know what he’ll do.”
“He’ll move during the banquet. The one tomorrow.” We all looked at Patricia and she shrugged. “Boris was a chef of some kind, right? If Devonshire wanted to use him as a scapegoat, that means he will want to move at a time when a chef could do the most damage. Both the Emperor and the Queen will be there, so that’s when he could get both of them at once.”
I ran through the possible scenarios in my head, quickly settling on one in particular. “It must be another explosive, one that he could tie back to Boris once everything had calmed down.”
Yet Chatelain was already shaking his head. “The ballroom will be checked thoroughly, and not just by the bodyguards. They wouldn’t be able to rely on the imposters to cover it up either; the Lieutenant already has everyone’s work being double-checked.”
“So they’ll bring it in then.” Moses moved forward to tap the remaining four pictures. “What do you want to bet that at least a couple of these guys are stewards or chefs of some kind? They’ll probably wheel the thing in under a dish or something. Then they could say it was a special dish prepared by Mr. Boris the Russian and leave before they blow up half the room.”
It fit well enough, though some part of it still left me feeling unsettled, as if I had forgotten a detail that hung right at the edge of my memory. “Once it goes off, his conspirators could finish the job with their knives, and then they could leave the Russians with the blame. A rather tidy plan.”
Patricia nodded, her face unusually serious. “Yeah, but it’ll give us a perfect time to strike. We can wait for their guys in the kitchen, and once we grab them, we can disarm the explosive and use it as evidence. Devonshire’s guys won’t stay loyal when they see the whole plan coming apart; at least one of them will turn on him, and then the garrison can do the rest for us.”
I nodded. “It is settled then. We will ambush the men with the bomb when they attempt to enter the ballroom. That way, we won’t have to engage the imposters directly, and Devonshire will be forced out into the open. Are we agreed?”
Each of them nodded, and I felt another bit of relief. I had been half afraid that Patricia would demand that we go in with guns blazing, despite the chaos that would cause, but she seemed more than willing to use a more subtle approach this time. Of course, perhaps she expected Devonshire to do something desperate once his plans unraveled, but we would face that possibility together when the time came.
As Patricia and Moses began to assemble and squabble over the various guns and weapons Daniel had given us, I sat back and tried to picture the look on Devonshire’s face when I presented both monarchs with the evidence of his treasonous intentions. It was the sort of imagination that warmed me despite the threat of danger, and it was very nearly the last thought I had before I drifted off to sleep.
We began our preparations early the next morning, with all of us full of sleep and ready for the coming conflict. The weather of the day was far less cheerful, with London’s typical drab clouds blowing in over the preceding night. A light rain had started to fall, reaching us even on the embassy itself. Pattering raindrops struck at the windows and rattled against the airship’s envelope, but I ignored it easily enough as we made ready.
Chatelain had resisted any offers of extra armament, preferring his own sword and pistol to anything the Americans could present to him. In the end, however, he did decide to take charge of the two grenades Daniel had given us, though I suspected that his decision was more from a desire to prevent Patricia or Moses from hurling them at the first opportunity. Dressed in his finest military uniform, he looked equally ready to fight or to parade, and I could almost see him swell with pride as he checked his weapons over carefully. After a near-lifetime of peace, he would finally have his first taste of real combat; I only prayed that he would survive the experience.
Moses appeared to be far less entranced by appearances. He still wore his overcoat and hat, but he had taken three of the pistols from the bag Daniel had carried. They weren’t his preferred armament, from the way he muttered over them, but they seemed to satisfy him well enough. Two of them were quickly settled on holsters at his hip, while the third went into his right boot. He’d spent half the morning on practice draws until he could pull both guns and have them pointed on target in the space of a short breath. It made me rather happy that I had not decided to rush at him that day in my apartment; things would likely have turned out just as grim as I had feared.
Patricia, on the other hand, had spent much of the time reassembling her precious rifle. She cared for the thing like a mother for a child, petting it occasionally as she worked as if to reassure it. By the end, the entire lethal machine had been rebuilt, and although she was unhappy at her inability to test fire it, Patricia appeared more than happy to rely on it for her defense. She also had somehow persuaded Daniel to bring her own hat and clothing, which meant for the first time onboard the embassy, she would walk the corridors as the infamous Mustang rather than a simple heiress. The change cheered her up dramatically.
For my part, I remained in the attire of Baron Krongesetz, supposing that it would be the last time I would have need of the disguise. Damocles I buckled to my hip, and I concealed Icarus beneath my right sleeve. The last of the pistols went to a holster at my side, and the brass knuckles Patricia had given me so long ago I concealed in my left pocket. I would only need to use them if my wonderful sword somehow failed, though I considered that possibility to be unlikely. Still, to be prepared was often better than to be found wanting—and in this case, I wanted every advantage possible when Devonshire was brought to heel.
As we gathered in the corridor, I noticed that Patricia and Moses were engaged in a furious, whispered conversation, one that Moses did not appear to enjoy in the least. I considered the consequences of getting entangled in a dispute between the Anderson siblings, and decided that discretion, as always, was the better part of valor. Instead, I nodded solemnly to Chatelain, who was watching the two with some measure of amusement. “Capitaine. I am happy to have you with us.”
He gave me a crooked grin. “The pleasure will be all mine, Herr Kingsley.” He blended my false title with my true name rather seamlessly, with the kind of polite charm that surprised me coming from him. “You may rely on me to smooth over any…difficulties with the Emperor and the Lieutenant afterward. Ms. Anderson has already seen to everything.”
“She has?” I glanced back at Patricia, who had apparently gotten the upper hand in the argument at last; her brother was now only listening to her with folded arms and a resigned expression. Occasionally, he gave a reluctant nod. I felt a surge of sympathy for the man and sighed.
Chatelain chuckled to himself. “She has quite the effect on people, your fiancée.”
“My partner. The engagement was only part of the disguise.” I felt somewhat unhappy at clarifying the fact, but there was no good in allowing the Frenchman to continue under false pretenses.
“Oh, I supposed you might think so. You never know, however; perhaps it will turn out as real as your title.” He chuckled to himself again, though I felt a burst of irritation at his good humor. It was hardly the sort of dignified situation that justified such a response. The Capitaine appeared to notice my less-than-pleased expression, and he waved a hand as if dispelling his words. “My apologies, Herr Kingsley. I trust it will all work out for you in the end.”
Slightly mollified by his contrition, I gave him another dignified nod and turned back to find Moses striding towards me. He looked as if he had been forced to swallow an entire bottle of liver oil, but from the way Patricia was watching him, he had little choice but to listen to his sister. “Kingsley.”
“Mr. Anderson.” I nodded to him in return, and to my surprise, he held something out to me. “What is this?”
“Hector Kingsley, I hereby deputize you into service with the United States Marshalls.”
I blinked in surprise and recognized the object in his hand at last. It was a crudely shaped imitation of Moses’ own badge of office, complete with my own name carved into the front.
Chatelain spoke up next. “Am I not to be deputized, Marshall?”
Moses’ mustache twitched as he grimaced. “No. I figured you’d be fine as an officer in your own embassy, but others—” He glanced back at Patricia. “Felt that Kingsley here could use some extra protection, at least from a legal perspective.”
Then he looked back at me, still holding out the badge. “So, are you up for this, Kingsley?”
I reached out, as if in a dream, and took it. “I sure am, partner.”
Moses paused. Then his expression darkened. “This is something serious, Kingsley. I’m not joking here.”
“I don’t expect you are.” The words felt strange in my mouth, as if they’d been stretched and distorted. My mother would have been horrified to hear such a drawl issuing from my mouth. I felt very much out of sorts, and my heart was pounding in my ears. “I’ll do my best.”
“You better.” Giving me another surly look, he stepped past me before I could answer. I turned back to look at the badge in my hand for a moment more, and then slipped it into my pocket, alongside the brass knuckles.
“Ready Hector?” Patricia seemed to have popped up beside me in a heartbeat, almost as if from nowhere. “We’ll only get one shot at this.”
“Then we had best make it count.” My voice came out normally, to my sudden relief. I could not afford to have anything wrong with me, not now that so much was at stake. We started off down the corridor after the others, on our way to our appointment with Destiny.