Of Silk and Steam
Page 58

Instantly her attention turned to the new object of her fascination. Leo excused himself and eased the door shut on the room.
One glimpse out the window at the end of the hallway showed the bustle of women in the courtyard below. There was, however, no sign of a certain devious duchess.
His heart skipped a beat. The yard was a sort of organized chaos. The perfect opportunity to escape, if one had a mind to. He jerked open the door to her room and found only a weighted silence. For a second, he gave in to the fierce urge inside him, tossing the bedding aside and raking it over. She’d taken nothing from here. Devil take her. The thought didn’t still the fierce anger pumping hard through the veins in his temples. Where the hell was she? Leo took a shuddering breath to cool his temper.
In the distance, the sharp crack of rifle fire kept Blade and the rest of his men pinned down at the wall. If she were out in that, she’d be a fool.
The duchess was no fool. He closed the last door quietly, thinking hard. He could search the Warren from top to bottom, but it was pointless. He knew, in the cold burning pit in his chest, that she was gone. Knew too that she was far too rational to try and escape via Morioch. They’d never been allies. No, she’d go elsewhere. Find a quiet, out-of-the-way place to slip back into the safety of the city.
And for a moment he thought about letting her go. This irrational fascination of his was beginning to be noticed, if Honoria’s words were any measure. He should let Mina go and deal with his own problems, his own family. What might have become a cat-and-mouse game between them over the years was no longer a game he could play. Not with the rookery under siege and his family under threat. He had other concerns…
No. The world instantly turned to shadows as the hunger within him surged to the fore with brutal force. Leo swallowed hard, grinding his teeth until color flooded back into the world. Stop telling yourself lies…
There was no way he could let her go.
Eighteen
Bells tolled in the distance, ringing out the midnight peal. As if on cue, a sudden belching cough of flame roared in the distance, followed by screams and brutish yelling.
Morioch was making a full-scale attack on the wall.
Just in time to divert attention away from the interior of the Warren. Mina crouched low in an alley. The farther one went from the heart of the rookeries, the dirtier and more cramped and crowded the streets grew. Fish bones littered the dirt underfoot, along with a healthy stew of scent, ripe and unidentifiable.
“Time to move,” someone whispered in the stillness of the night.
“Meet you in the middle,” another man agreed and laughed.
Mina looked directly across the street at the grimy window there, catching a hint of reflection. Two men, dressed in dark clothes. One of them peeled away, and as he went, a pair of tinny steps echoed him. Two clockwork soldiers then.
Tracing the first man’s steps in the window, she waited, her heart hammering through her veins. This sort of work was unknown to her. For years she’d flitted across rooftops and into the depths of the enclaves and Undertown, forming her alliances, pushing the humanist movement into action, and meeting with the men and women who ran her and the queen’s secret business empire. Danger wasn’t unexpected but not like this…stalking a man with lethal intent. If a blue blood could sweat, she had a feeling her palms would be wet around the hilt of the knife by now.
It was the perfect time to make her escape, but leaving wasn’t an option. She hadn’t brought that baby into the world only to see its life threatened now, and there were helpless women and children everywhere.
Besides, if Morioch crushed Whitechapel, the prince consort would be one step closer to winning the war.
She hadn’t thought about it in terms like that before. What if she was making a mistake in running back to the queen? Here were allies, strong allies, if she could find a way to control them and harness them to the queen’s cause.
No time to think of that now. Later. She was very good at compartmentalizing her problems, and right now, the bomber who’d stepped in front of her was the more immediate concern.
Wielding one of the radio-control frequency boxes, he stuck to the shadows as much as he could. Mina slipped along behind him.
Somewhere near the wall a screaming whistle sounded and an explosion lit the night. One of Blade’s modified cannons, no doubt. A perfect time to make her move, while the bomber was distracted.
Grabbing him from behind, she jerked her knee into the back of his and brought the knife to his throat. “Don’t move.”
The man stiffened. He was her height, but leaner and smelling faintly of chemicals. Leather padding filled out his jerkin, along with what felt like metal inserts.
“Aiming for the Warren, are we?”
“Bugger you.”
Not the confirmation she’d hoped for, but where else would they be attacking? “How big a blast radius are the clockworks designed to achieve?” she demanded, pressing the knife hard against his skin to make her point.
“Want to find out?” he snapped, holding up the control box.
“Last year, when the humanists set off a bomb in the Ivory Tower, the damage was approximately forty feet wide, and that clockwork bomb was ten times the size of yours. Right now, we’re standing far enough away that even if you do detonate it, the impact might knock us off our feet but we’re not in immediate danger.” And she’d heal, not that he needed to know that. “Besides, the detonation would alert men. How long do you think it would take for them to realize you and your friend are here?” A nasty little smile. “So go ahead. Detonate it.”
“I don’t think ’e needs to,” someone said from behind. The sound of a trigger being thumbed back echoed loudly in the night. “Don’t move, princess. I’ve got a bead right between your shoulder blades.”
Mina froze. She hadn’t heard a sound. The breeze cut around her body, bringing with it the scent of leather, herring pie, and explosives.
She tilted her head to the side, catching sight of the man standing several feet behind her. His voice sounded somewhat familiar. Mina’s mind raced.
“You’re one of Blade’s men,” she said, recognizing him from when Blade had dragged her down off the Trojan horse. He’d been at Blade’s side. She rarely forgot faces.
“Damn it, Henley,” the man in her arms gurgled. “Kill her.”
All along there had been a spy in the rookery. One of Balfour’s Falcons, she had to presume, which meant he was far more dangerous than he seemed.