The rest of the evening proved far less interesting, if not as useful. Patricia and I found ourselves at the center of a short-lived burst of attention, with many of the onlookers having developed an unhealthy amount of interest in us as a result of my exploits. Fortunately, most of them appeared to be easily deterred from asking pointed questions about our backgrounds or our purpose on the station, and through a combination of my reluctance to speak passed off as German reticence, and Patricia’s persistent refusal to allow any female party-goers within reach of me, we managed to escape with our disguises unscathed.
All the same, the delays brought on by the many admirers and idle conversations meant that Devonshire had slipped away again unnoticed. By the time we returned to the ballroom, the dance was nearly over and the man had disappeared with all of his recognizable conspirators. When we asked Coronel Soares if she had seen Devonshire leave, she did not know who we were talking about, having apparently contented herself with watching the Emperor the entire night.
It was frustrating, especially since my own foolish pride was the cause of our setback, but I found it hard to feel sufficiently ashamed when I had the memory of Capitaine Chatelain’s red-stained face fresh in my mind. The French officer, to his credit, had freely offered his apologies for having disturbed me, and promised to never bring up the quarrel again. I did not know if I felt confident that the entire matter had been laid to rest, but at the very least, I felt enormously satisfied for having put the spirit of caution into the man. Some insults should never be offered, after all, and a man of military bearing should have been more discreet.
When I mentioned as much to Patricia, she snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner. “Discreet? You just fought a duel in midair and you’re asking other people to be more subtle?”
We were walking along the corridors on the way back to her quarters. It was expected that a man would escort his betrothed to her chambers before retreating to his own, after all. “It wasn’t precisely a duel, Ms. Bingham. After all, such things would have been discouraged here.”
“Which only means you would have fought one if you had the chance!” She glanced at me, as if anticipating a protest, but I could find none. Then she rolled her eyes again. “And here I thought you would be the level-headed one. What has gotten into you lately?”
I was about to reply to the question when Charlotte appeared at my elbow, her expression locked in German formality. She spoke in a suitably low voice, one which would be inaudible at any moderate distance. “Whatever it is, we might need to beat it out of you with a hammer. Even the servants were full of gossip about you two; some even suspect you are some sort of agent from Germany, and there are stories circulating about your supposed involvement in several scandals. Honestly, even Francis would be more careful.”
The rebuke stung, but I merely straightened my back. “I suspect that may have more to do with Devonshire’s influence than my regrettable contest with Chatelain.”
When she raised an eyebrow, I filled in the details for her. By the time I finished my explanation, she was scowling. “This will make things more difficult. The more attention you attract, the more difficult it will be to move freely on the ship. Even I might gather some notice now, as I am linked with you by association.”
A vague sense of unease settled in me. Undeniably, a large part of our security relied on our anonymity, but Charlotte was twice as vulnerable, given her lack of combat skills. I had promised Francis she would be safe; how had I agreed to compromise that promise by feuding with Chatelain?
Shaking off my discomfort, I attempted to reassure them both. “By tomorrow, the gentry will have found some other spectacle to entertain themselves, and I doubt that anyone else will be willing to challenge me, now that Chatelain has been silenced.” Both women somehow conveyed skepticism without saying a word, but I forged ahead regardless. “Besides, Devonshire’s little game has likely exposed at least one of his agents onboard.”
Charlotte’s expression remained unconvinced, but Patricia nodded in obvious understanding. “The mechanic. Whoever tampered with your machine had to have been used by Devonshire, and he could be part of the whole plan to disrupt the conference.”
“Exactly.” I smiled. “All we will need to do is discover which of the men working on the Pegasus was the one who sabotaged it. Once we figure that out—”
“It was the ratty looking one. With the curly mustache and big eyebrows.” I glanced at Patricia and stopped, surprised despite myself. She grinned at me. “While you were busy falling out of the sky, I was watching which of the footmen and servants looked nervous. One of them left the platform as soon as the smoke was obvious, while all the others were trying to get a better look. I recognized him from the group that had been getting your machine ready.”
When I continued to stare at her in astonishment, she nudged me with an elbow. “I’m a bounty hunter, remember? It pays to notice people’s faces, and to watch how people react. Otherwise, you end up face down in an alley before you know what’s happening.”
“Very well put, Patricia.” Charlotte coughed, and I caught myself. “Your pardon, Ms. Bingham. So now we know at least one of Devonshire’s pawns onboard the embassy. It can’t have been somebody he just met, either; it doesn’t seem likely that he would have been able to persuade the man to expose himself by sabotaging my Pegasus that quickly, otherwise.”
Charlotte nodded, and we continued down the corridor at a more sedate pace. “So, if he knew him before, that means he has a part in the plan. A mechanic can cause a lot of trouble, but what could he do to the Emperor or the Queen? It’s not as if they will be touring the gearworks or flying about on machines. His access would be fairly limited.”
“And even if they were, Devonshire would not have sacrificed that gambit just to lash out at me. My misadventure would have prevented his other plan from coming to fruition.” I bowed my head in thought for a moment. There had to be some connection, some mischief that even a simple mechanic could commit.
“Could he sabotage the airship? Bring it down somehow?” Patricia wisely kept her voice low now, considering the subject matter.
“No, not without hurting himself—or, more directly, Devonshire—in the process.” I snorted to myself. “As much as I dislike the man, his motivation is ambition, not fanaticism. It is unlikely that he would even be onboard if his goal was simply to destroy the embassy outright.”
We reached the door to Patricia’s quarters before finding any satisfying conclusion, however, and I reluctantly bid the farewell. I kissed the back of Patricia’s hand, as any suitor would be expected to do, and rose to find her cheeks once more reddened. “Thank you, Ms. Bingham, for a wonderful evening.”
“A very memorable time, indeed.” She curtseyed, somehow making the movement look sardonic, and then she smiled. “We’ll have to try that dance some other time.”
Before I could respond, she vanished inside, followed closely by Charlotte. The door closed, leaving me mystified in the corridor alone. There were some things, I supposed, that no man would ever have the opportunity to understand, and for me, Patricia Anderson was one of them.
I turned to go back to my own chambers and thought that I caught sight of someone ahead of me in the corridor. It was barely anything, just a sudden hint of motion, but given my previous problems, it was enough to put me on alert. Bracing myself for a conflict, I strode forward and looked around the corner, fists already clenched and ready.
There was no one there, but that was not the same as finding nothing. On the floor, there were scuff marks that looked as if they had been left by boots, and I smelled a hint of cigar ash in the air. Obviously, the stranger I had encountered outside my quarters had followed me here as well. For a moment, I worried about the fact that he now knew exactly where Patricia was staying. Under normal circumstances, I would not have been too terribly concerned, given her track record of survival and dangerous behavior.
All the same, without her guns and onboard an unfriendly vessel, I felt it would be prudent to take reasonable measures. I stepped away from the corner and wrote a hasty note on a scrap of paper that had been in my pocket. Explaining that it might be a good idea to move to a new set of chambers, and to meet me at a predetermined place the next morning, I slipped it under Patricia’s door before continuing on my way. Then I went on my way, secure in the knowledge that despite all our obstacles and opponents, things were finally beginning to turn our way. As long as we had enough time, there was nothing Devonshire could do to stop us.
It was early the next morning when the message arrived. The French courier appeared very curious to look around my chambers, but I did my best to only give him a brief look at my sparse furnishings. He handed over the sealed package and left, a plainly disappointed look on his face. I did not know if he was some agent of one of the other attendees, or merely an average gossip-monger, but I had no intention of giving him any more information than I had to.
Package in hand, I went back to the table set up near the room’s window. Needless to say, I hadn’t been expecting anything from anyone, and certainly nothing addressed to Baron Krongesetz. For half a heartbeat, I suspected some kind of mischief from either Devonshire or Francis, but when I examined the address on the outside, I quickly dismissed those theories. The handwriting did not match either of them; instead, I quickly recognized the same letters that had sketched out the details of my false identity and title.
I did not know why Aberforth would be contacting me, but I had a grim suspicion it was not to announce any sort of good news. When I undid the strings of the package, I detected sure signs that it had been opened and inspected. Perhaps Louis had grown curious about my mail, and had ordered it searched, or it had been intercepted momentarily by one of Devonshire’s cohort, but whatever they had been looking for, they clearly had not found it.
Inside the plain packaging was a simple assortment of items that could have been purchased in any general shop in London. Some of them were plain and simple, obviously just there to hide the other clues—unless, of course, plain sheets of paper and an ink bottle were meant to convey some sort of meaning. There were other items too, just as clearly meaningless; a toy soldier, a small picture book, and even a small collection of monocles.
One item, however, stood out. It was a card with a picture on its face, which showed a large warship coming into port. There was an inscription under it that declared, with obvious patriotic fervor, Victory arrives! On the back, the date of the next day had been scrawled.
It wasn’t the most subtle of clues, but it hopefully had been concealed enough within the rest of the mix. The message could only mean one thing, though I inwardly hoped I was wrong. I immediately set the items back in the parcel and went about preparing myself. This time I took Damocles with me; today, there might be fighting done, and I no longer had the time or luxury to be careful.
“You’re sure?” Charlotte’s voice carried the same sort of anxiety that mine had, and I nodded gravely.
“Unless I am misinterpreting the message entirely, Aberforth is telling us that Queen Victoria will be onboard the embassy by tomorrow.” I looked down at the card again, brow furrowed in consternation. “Devonshire will surely already know. He has to be ready to strike already, only waiting until both his targets are in reach. With both monarchs onboard the embassy, he won’t miss the opportunity.”
“Then whatever he has planned, it starts tomorrow.” Patricia nodded, her face just as serious. “So we’ll have to find that mechanic today, if we can.”
“We have to.” I lowered my voice slightly, aware of the passersby who were far too close for my comfort. “There is no room for failure now.”
I had chosen one of the smaller dining rooms for our current conference. It was a precaution that I now regretted; I had been suspicious that our unknown watcher might have followed me to Patricia’s rooms again if I tried to meet her there, and I had not wanted to reveal her new location. She had arrived with Charlotte in tow, quite safe enough, but it was still unfortunate that we did not have the opportunity to meet somewhere more private.
All the same, there was nothing to be done for it. I leaned forward and tapped the table with one finger. “We have less than twenty-four hours to cut Devonshire’s plot short. We have to think. Where could he use a mechanic to threaten both monarchs? He couldn’t hope to lure them into the air, as he did me.”
“After all, I expect your Queen to have a little more common sense.” Patricia’s easy grin calmed me slightly, though it was still irritating that her American upbringing appeared to lend far less urgency to our dire situation. “You’re right though. I still don’t see any way that a mechanic would be useful, except maybe to smuggle something onboard.”
Charlotte frowned. “How would they do that? The only way to arrive is to fly, or to take one of the gondolas from the Post. The guards check everything there.”
“True.” Patricia shrugged. “And if she was flying here, access to the gondolas probably wouldn’t help much. So much for that idea.”
An idea had started to take shape in my head. “A flying machine would be a much safer way to arrive, but it would also be far more obvious. The Royal Guard would never permit Her Majesty to take to the air without a suitable detachment of protectors. Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Pryor?”
Charlotte nodded slowly. “You’re right. Even the Royal Airship would have at least a British warship or two shadowing it. Especially near a French vessel, and with the Emperor onboard as well.”
“Such things would be rather noticeable. An airship is not invisible, and it would be easily spotted.” I sat back, picturing the scene. It would have to be a careful operation as well, to protect the Queen and yet not provoke the French. Regardless of the fact that they were above the Thames, the French would have every right to be feeling insecure with their head of state aboard and the guns of the British fleet so close. Then I shook my head. “I think it unlikely. There would be too much commotion, too much chance for misunderstanding. I do not believe that she will arrive by air.”
“So, she’ll come up via the Post.” Patricia shrugged. “A carriage would be much quieter, in the streets, and much easier to guard as well. All it would take was a detachment of the Guard to secure a few side streets and redirect traffic, and they could be as safe as houses.”
“That was how the Emperor arrived as well.” Charlotte nodded. “I see no reason why they would change the method for the Queen.”
The idea hovering at the back of my mind caught fire now, burning into my thoughts with terrible intensity. “And the mechanic would have access to the gondolas she would use, since they are common to everyone who arrives.”
Patricia’s eyes widened. “You’re not thinking he was a smuggler. You think he’ll sabotage the gondolas.”
I nodded, slowly piecing together the possibilities. “If he is an engineer in the Post, he could sabotage the cables or the gondola itself. Even worse, he could include some kind of device meant to destroy the vehicle outright. A single bomb in the right place…”
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“And he’ll have dethroned a Queen in a single day.” Charlotte sounded horrified, and I could hardly blame her. Then her gaze sharpened. “But what about the Emperor? He can’t guarantee that he would be on the same gondola as the Queen.”
“Perhaps not.” I considered it for a moment. What would happen if the Queen herself was killed while attempting to board the French embassy? Especially while the Emperor himself was aboard? The answer was appallingly clear. “He must intend to frame the attack as a French plot. Then he could storm the embassy with his conspirators, kill the Emperor, and be lauded as a national hero. It would cast him as a patriot and a just leader. It would be perfect for him.”
“That does sound like something he would do.” Patricia nodded. Then she smiled. “So, how can we ruin it for him?”
Charlotte blinked in surprise. “Why wouldn’t we just warn the French? Surely they have as little interest as we do in having that sort of accident.”
“We have no guarantee of that, Mrs. Pryor.” Personally, I believed the Emperor would rather not have the Queen die onboard; if he was against even having private duels occur, how much less would he entertain the assassination of a rival head of state? “All the same, even if they would not ignore the warning, it would still create a wealth of unnecessary complications for us. The first question would be how we knew about the plot; things would only get more dangerous for us from there.”
Patricia nodded, her eagerness subsiding. “All they’d really have to do is check our identities a bit more thoroughly, and then we’d be in more trouble than I care to think about.” She leaned back, folding her arms. “An anonymous hint, maybe?”
“A good thought, Patricia, but they might not lend the proper credence to that warning. We get no points for being right if they ignore us, and the Queen is killed, anyway.” I tapped my finger on the table again and thought for a moment longer. “There has to be another way. Some way we can frame the warning so that it is taken seriously.”
At this comment, Charlotte suddenly brightened. “We need a proper story, right? Something that will make the warning believable?” I nodded carefully; the animation in her expression was far removed from the way she normally approached things. It was worryingly familiar, given how many times I had seen her similarly enthusiastic about our acting lessons.
Despite my misgivings, she continued to talk in a low, controlled voice. “The French might be suspicious at a warning, but what if they were forced to look into the Pegasus crash? Suppose a stuffy German noble decided to make an incident out of things, so they had to let him speak to the maintenance crew and reprimand them?”
Surprised, I blinked. Then I smiled broadly. “An excellent idea, Mrs. Pryor. Thank you.” With considerable aplomb, I stood and held my hand out to Patricia, assuming my foreign accent with ease. “My dear, would you accompany me as I go to make trouble for some unsuspecting workmen?”
She took my hand without reservation. “Absolutely.”
Only half an hour later, we were in the engineering sections of the embassy. It had not been a complicated journey to reach that point. I had only needed to locate a minor staff functionary and fill his ears with complaints and allegations over the crash of the Pegasus. He’d lasted all of a minute under my reserved rebukes, and the only time he’d attempted to respond, Patricia had come in with a near hysterical accusation of attempted murder.
Recoiling, the man had crumbled quickly, and we were soon being led through a desperate tour of the gearworks of the ship to find the ‘person or people responsible for the shoddy workmanship that nearly killed my fiancée’ or some such. The excuse had all but guaranteed that the functionary had been as eager to find them as we were, if only to make sure he spent as little time with us as possible.
The gearworks of the embassy were fascinating, and if I had not been rather occupied with looking stern and insufferably angry, I would have liked to examine the inner workings of the airship at a much more leisurely rate. There were many scientists who claimed that the great airships of the modern age would have been possible with or without the Distillation, but few of them doubted that without that powerful crystal, they would never have reached the grandeur we now enjoyed. Without the Distillations ability to keep turbines turning and generators humming long after any normal fuel would have expired, half the French Air Navy would have come crashing to the ground long before.
Unlike many of the airships still in service, the Accorde Fragile seemed to need less mechanical help, as she would never need to move again. Yet, in some ways, I had underestimated the demands on an airship meant to stay in one location. Only now I realized that despite the constant shifts of weather and wind, the airship never moved from her place. Observing the spinning gyroscopes, reactionary fans and still more obscure machinery, I grew increasingly impressed with the technical skill involved.
Most unfortunately, I could let no sign of my feelings show when the functionary finally introduced us to the team of artisans responsible for some of the work. They were a harried-looking bunch, covered in grease and with a uniformly haggard expression brought only by a sleepless night. Their foreman heard my introduction with ill-concealed horror, and hurriedly bowed. “My apologies, Herr Baron. I am Olivie Garcon, the engineer in charge of the Pegasi.”
I could almost feel him bracing for the tongue-lashing he was almost certainly expecting. “I was impressed by your work, Monsieur Garcon.” He relaxed slightly, and I gave an inward shrug of resignation before continuing. “I was less happy when the machine failed. Are accidents of such nature common in your work?”
The man had been wilting in misplaced shame as I spoke, but then he stiffened with sudden indignation. He even jerked his head up to glare at me for a heartbeat, but then he dropped his eyes and spoke, as if in spite of a deep wound. “No, Herr Baron, they are not.”
When he did not continue, I looked past him at the workers he led. Aside from an understandable mixture of resentment and sullenness, I could see no outright hostility or furtive attempts to avoid my gaze. Perhaps the man who had tried to kill me was not there.
What was present, however, was the wreckage of the Pegasus itself. It had been smashed beyond recovery, to my inexperienced eyes, and from the way it had been opened up and strewn about the mechanics’ stations, the men had been working through the night on the beast. I let my expression soften slightly. “Might I ask, then, what happened?”
Despite his indignation, the question drew a snort from the engineer. “I’d be glad to know myself.” The functionary glared at him, conveying a rebuke for his insolence without saying a word, but Garcon merely grimaced at him in return. “From what we can tell, the internal gyroscope was weakened by something. When it snapped, the internal mechanisms of the machine began to fail immediately. There was no hope of remaining in the air for long, in that state.”
“Weakened?” Patricia’s voice was not as shrill as it had been while she harangued the functionary, but it still made Garcon wince. “How does something like that just weaken? Don’t you keep an eye out for that sort of thing?”
“We do, madam, we do.” The engineer bowed again, half-heartedly this time. “I have no explanation for it. Not only do we watch for any sign of weakness, we also check the machine each time it arrives to make sure that no sign of malfunction is present. If there are any doubts, we do not let the rider leave the platform.”
Patricia glared at the man, drawing herself up in a huff. “Well then, why didn’t you catch it this time? My fiancée could have been killed!”
The functionary hurriedly stepped in between Patricia and the engineer, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. “Perhaps what he is trying to say is that even the best engineers cannot anticipate every occurrence. They did their best, madam, please, accept their apology.”
She settled back on her heels. Clearly, she was genuinely frustrated by the man’s interference, but there was no trying to avoid his reasonable proposal. Finally, she crossed her arms with a huff. “Fine, then. Let’s hear it.”
A murmur of apology went up from the engineers, not all of it exceedingly sincere, but likely the best anyone could have hoped for. I nodded, as if satisfied and then turned back to Garcon. “I hope you will accept my apologies as well, then, Monsieur. I suppose even the best artisans in France occasionally miss something.”
His face darkened again, but then he sighed. “I still don’t know how we missed it, Herr Baron. From the looks of things, it almost looks like the mechanism was doused with some kind of acid just before your flight. Vinceno had to have seen something like that, though, when he inspected the undercarriage.”
“Ah.” The sound of an Italian name piqued my interest; after all, the mercenaries Devonshire had bought had come from that part of the Continent. “He had not mentioned anything, however?”
“No, Herr Baron.” Garcon’s face darkened again, this time in frustration. “In fact, he hasn’t said anything to anyone all day. He was due to report for the salvage team last night, but said he was too busy with the gondola maintenance to come, and begged off. I expect he is still down there, if you wish to speak with him.”
I exchanged a quick look with Patricia, who nodded. “I would indeed. Thank you, Monsieur Garcon. Please let me know if you discover anything else.” Then I turned to the functionary, who was already looked distressed. “If you would guide me to the gondola maintenance area, please?”
Another long walk later, we had arrived at the place where the gondolas were being maintained. The area here was far less fascinating, but far cleaner. Given that this was the entrance for the entire embassy, it made sense that the French would spare no effort in making sure it was clean and presentable, but it has been my experience that even the most shining of citadels has at least one greasy place where real work gets done.
The gondola maintenance area was one such place, located just above the stage where the gondolas rested once they arrived from the Post. Partially open to the air, the wind occasionally howled across the platform with shocking ferocity, and the temperature suffered dearly for it. Every worker I could see had taken the precaution of armoring themselves with a thick layer of oilskin leather, and with each gust of near-frozen air, I envied their decision. Each of them wore a thick set of goggles as well, though some were wearing some kind of mask that I supposed might help with the thin air.
Of course, the functionary was no more comfortable than we were, and he quickly led us to the office at the rear of the platform. His hands were shaking as he led the way through the doorway, and he seemed more than eager to close the portal and seal out the biting wind. Once we were safe from the ravaging cold, he quickly nodded to the foreman at the desk and rubbed his hands. A few short exchanges in French later, the foreman heaved a reluctant sigh and stood up from his desk. The wind howled once more as he opened the door and marched out into the work area, and then it cut off as the door slammed shut once more.
Hoping to avoid any uncomfortable small talk with the functionary, I turned to Patricia. Her cheeks were still red from the cold outside, but she seemed unaffected by either the chill or the nearness of the steep drop. “Are you alright, my dear?”
“Oh, I am quite all right, dear Baron.” She patted my hand with affectionate dismissal. “I’ve had worse out on the plains with my father. Don’t worry yourself over me.” Then she pointed at the office window. “Look, one of them is coming in!”
I turned to see one of the gondolas ascending from the Post far below. The cable that connected the Post to the embassy never shook, not even the slightest tremble. If I were uneducated in how the gondolas worked, I might have assumed that it was a solid rail of steel extending all the way to the ground. It was, yet again, an impressive accomplishment, one that spoke well of the workmen involved. To my knowledge, the system had not failed in three years of service.
Clearly, however, the man who the foreman brought back to the office did not have any pride in that achievement. He slouched in a sullen way, following his superior back through the door with the posture of a disobedient schoolchild. I thought he seemed slightly familiar, and Patricia’s suddenly tightening grip on my forearm suggested that my feeling was correct. She clearly believed that it was this man that had nearly sent me to an early grave, and she was rarely wrong about such things.
It was hard not to smile like a victorious predator the instant he entered the office, but I needn’t have bothered to conceal my feelings. The moment Mr. Vinceno saw my face, he went pale around his goggles. Before anyone could react, he shouted something in Italian and drew a pistol, obviously intending to finish his assigned task more directly.
Patricia shoved me to the side just as the man fired, and I felt the breeze of the bullet pass by my head. The force of her own push failed to carry her into the shot, fortunately, and it ricocheted about the cabin for a moment before burying itself in the arm of the foreman’s chair. The functionary dropped as if he had been struck, howling for help, and the foreman leapt to try to restrain the man. For his bravery, Vinceno’s second shot took him in the shoulder.
As the foreman staggered back, covering the bleeding wound with his own massive hand, I recovered enough of my senses to react. The pistol swung back toward me, but instead of retreating or dodging, I stepped forward in front of Patricia. My hand found the hilt of Damocles, and there was a roaring sound that briefly eclipsed the wind as I drew the blade in anger for the very first time.
Vinceno’s eyes were wide behind his goggles, and he backed up quickly. His third shot went wide as I charged him, Damocles raised over my shoulder like a reaper’s scythe. I heard the bullet singing off the metal behind me as I closed the distance, but the mercenary took one more step back, settled his aim, and fired one last time directly at my chest.
The sword in my hands seemed to move of its own accord, slashing down and across with more speed than I had ever dreamed of knowing. There was a sudden flash of sparks as the Distillation-forged blade cut the bullet from midair, and I shouted in victory as the fragments of the shot tumbled uselessly away. Vinceno began backing up again, but it was too late now. I crossed the last of the distance, and as his finger tightened on the trigger one last time, I cut the pistol from his hand with a single blow.
It exploded, sending white hot slivers of metal and fire in all directions, but I ignored them. Vinceno was still backpedaling, and now had been blinded by the flash of light. Before he could recover, I lashed out with the hilt of my sword, using it like a rough kind of brass knuckles. My guard met Vinceno’s face with all the force of a battering ram, and his goggles cracked in half as he tottered backwards and fell.
I could hear shouts from the other workmen, some of whom were approaching with tools raised. The shouting, shooting, and screaming had apparently attracted some attention, and whatever Vinceno’s reputation with his fellows, they clearly were not about to let some foreigner kill him without any form of help. Rather than backing up, however, I stepped forward again and booted Vinceno in the side, knocking him a bit further across the platform. The guards would be here soon, and I did not have much time.
He was still trying to scramble to his feet when my free hand closed on the lapel of his leather coat. I yanked him to his feet so roughly that he staggered again, apparently still rather senseless to where he was. There was little resistance as I marched him across the platform, unbothered by the shouting behind me. Before he realized it, I had brought him to the very edge of the platform. There, I glanced behind me to be sure of our moment of privacy, and then I leaned in close.
“Mr. Vinceno, I presume?”
The man blinked in surprise as my complete lack of German accent registered, and then he tried to free his coat from my grasp. I retaliated by swinging him partially out over the open air, suspended by my hold on his clothing. He shouted in alarm, and his attempt at freedom became a desperate grip on my arm, the only thing keeping him from falling into the Thames below.
“I said, Mr. Vinceno, I presume? Or is there someone else I should go talk to?” I gestured casually at the other workmen with my sword. The most belligerent members abruptly slowed, mysteriously unwilling to challenge a man with a bared blade when all they had was work tools. Reassured of my situation, I turned back to Vinceno. “I’m waiting.”
“Wh-what do you want?” The mercenary gasped, and I realized I had bloodied his mouth quite thoroughly. I failed to feel any regret at all about it, though.
“That’s twice you’ve tried to kill me, Mr. Vinceno, but I am ready and willing to forgive that fact.” He did not appear to believe my words, but that was irrelevant. I continued, letting my voice grow as hard as the steel I carried. “You weren’t just hired by Devonshire to kill me, were you? Where’s the bomb?”
His face, already pale from fright and the cold, took on the color of fresh parchment. He scrabbled at my hand again, as if trying to find a more secure purchase. “I don’t know wh-what you are talking about. What bomb?”
“The bomb, Mr. Vinceno. The one you are going to use to try and kill the Queen.” I let my grip loosen slightly, and he yelped as gravity swung him a bit further out into the open air. “It may not be a bomb, of course, but I don’t have the patience for games, Mr. Vinceno. Whatever sabotage you have planned, I want to know about it. Now.”
Despite his obvious fear, Vinceno’s face hardened. He was finding his nerves again; a good sign in an ally, but something far less reassuring in an assassin. “You won’t get anything from me, Krongesetz. Devonshire wants you dead, and you won’t be taking me with you.”
“It’s not me facing a rather sudden drop, Mr. Vinceno.” I loosened my grip still further, but this time, he merely clung to me without speaking. The man had obviously found something greater to fear than a lethal drop, and I could only imagine what threats Devonshire had made to intimidate the man. Perhaps he had family he was protecting.
Then I glanced back at Patricia, who had followed me out of the office. She was walking past the indecisive workmen, many of whom were now crowded around the foreman. Seeing their superior wounded had thrown even the most loyal to their comrade into confusion, and none of them were approaching me anymore.
All that mattered to me, though, was her. She was safe.
So I turned back to Vinceno, met his eyes, and smiled. “It doesn’t matter, Mr. Vinceno. You see, all we needed to know was where you were, and have an excuse to order a search of the gondolas. We’ll find the sabotage, and then you’ll have failed no matter your bravery.” His stubborn expression never wavered, and I shrugged. “So be it. You can take your chances with him—and you can tell him that the next time he comes for me, he had better not miss.”
He glared back at me, but I ignored him and looked past him for a moment. I judged the distance to be just about right and looked back at him for a moment. “Farewell, Mr. Vinceno.”
I freed my hand from his coat with a little shove, and the mercenary shouted in horror as he toppled back over the edge of the platform. He snatched at me one last time before he hurtled out of sight, and then he was gone.
There was a heavy clang only a heartbeat later. I waited patiently as the roof of the recently arrived gondola slowly rose into view. Vinceno was lying on his back on the gondola’s roof, breathing hard. His eyes were wide with panic and relief. When he met my gaze, I smiled, and then spoke up in my affected German accent. “Next time, Mr. Vinceno, you may fall much farther. Until then.”
I turned away and sheathed my sword just as the first embassy soldiers started to rush in. They stormed into the workshop shouting and gesturing with rifles, but I merely gave them an easy grin. Patricia was safe, I had uncovered a piece of Devonshire’s plan, and the day was still quite young.