Mission: Nutcracker

Chapter 19

19

Terminus, 20 December 1871

Vinni lay on her stomach and watched the windows of the warehouse across the street through her binoculars. Fog, or perhaps mold, kept her from seeing inside. Her entire backside had started the day dry, but as the relentless mist fell, her split skirt and pantaloons had become sodden and heavy. And cold. She would be happy to return to the flat, as awkward as things were between her and Cat.

Cat had wandered the street below, first to confirm that her inner sense was correct and had pinpointed the location of the aether energy surge. Then she’d walked around the surrounding area to gauge the energy level of the warehouse. On a Wednesday, it should have been bustling, but the large doors off the alley stayed closed, and all was quiet. Vinni didn’t know what that meant, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to face down any angry gods or goddesses any time soon.

Now Cat lay a few feet away and looked through her own viewing device.

“See anything?” Vinni asked. Perversely she hoped the answer would be no because then it would mean she hadn’t missed anything.

“No. The windows are all dark. No light at all.”

“So perhaps no one’s there.”

“Or it’s aether shadow.” Cat rubbed her right thumb over the fingertips of the same hand. “It’s so strong over there that my fingers are tingling.”

Vinni nodded, wishing she could see or sense what Cat did. She hoped that so close to the aether her own senses would be working, but there was nothing.

“Uncle Dross never told me exactly why it was so important we come here and hunt for the source of the aether surge,” Vinni said, voicing the question that had been hiding beneath her disgust for the past few days. “Is he seeking an ally in another powerful priest or priestess?”

Cat shook her head. “More like looking to flush out a rival. Do you remember a priest named Bonclimat?”

“That was when we were in cadet school.” And her first taste of freedom from the neo-Pythagoreans. Even better—she’d found her home in the air and her mysterious sense that warned her of danger or told her to go ahead. Sometimes she had to ignore it to follow orders, but she typically regretted it when she did. Or found a better, more nuanced way to use her talent. She’d discovered that life was more than straight yeses and nos.

“Right, he was a young guy, a student at one of the nearby colleges. He came from down here.”

Vinni shrugged. She’d not met him, but she remembered Cat talking about him after a trip home. “So you think he’s behind this?”

“He had more talent at manipulating aether than Dross, and he was a tinkerer to boot. And Dross trusted him.”

“What did he find out?” Vinni found herself only half-watching the blank windows.

“More than Dross wanted him to know. But by the time Dross figured out what had happened, the boy had left.”

“Back to school?”

“Graduated and moved back South to run his family’s business.” Cat grunted. “No one thought much of it. Figured he’d go back to being a rich kid. Then this.” She waved toward the building across from them.

“So they think he’s decided to do something with the aether.”

“And throw it off balance.”

“So that’s the current theory, that there’s a finite amount of it, and isolating too much will leave less available elsewhere.” The last Vinni had heard, the amount of aether in the atmosphere was a matter of debate with some espousing the limited theory, and others advocating for a more infinite theory—that aether was like light, both emitting from the sun and not in threat of running out for millions of years. It reminded her of how little anyone truly knew of the substance.

Vinni had always thought the only matter not in danger of running out was scientific speculation, but she didn’t say so. She just did her job, flew her airships, and before now had been a good little neo-Pythagorean. If aether were in danger of running out, well, what was one more disappointment to add to her year? It almost paled in comparison to selfish gods and rapist leaders.

“And what theory did Bonclimat follow?”

“Neither. He thought it could be made.”

That was interesting. “Can’t you track him down and ask him what he’s up to?”

Cat grunted. “Tried. That wasn’t his real name. He used an alias.”

“Figures.” Light flashed in one of the windows so briefly Vinni wasn’t sure she’d seen it. “Did you catch that?”

“The light? Yes. We need to get in there.”

Vinni thought through the possibilities. “Let’s see what happens at night, then decide when is the best time.”

When Fiona descended the stairs, she found her mother wasn’t alone. Devon stood beside her along with two men. One was a very tall and broad man with red beard and hair. The shorter of the three, although still tall enough, had sandy hair, a narrow face that showed a few freckles, and light hazel eyes that seemed to take in, catalog, and file every detail he observed. Fiona thought she recognized a fellow scientist in the other one, the redheaded fellow, who grinned when he saw her. She smiled back. He held his flat hat in both hands, which were roughened but also possessed of slender fingers. Something told her she was about to make the acquaintance of another Irish tinkerer.

Devon Meriweather’s smile showed strain when she returned her gaze to his face, and her own dimmed slightly. What could she have done wrong?

“Miss Telfair, please allow me to present Inspector Henry Davidson and his associate Patrick O’Connell. Gentlemen, this is Fiona Telfair, the daughter of Bryan Telfair.”

At the sound of her father’s name, Fiona’s heart leaped, then plummeted as though it had jumped off a cliff and into the boiling acid of her stomach. “You have news of my father?” she asked, careful to focus on the man with the greatest weight of authority—Inspector Davidson.

Inspector Davidson nodded. “Perhaps it would be better if we were to have a seat?”

“Oh, assuredly,” Margie Telfair said and ushered them into the parlor. Fiona followed. She wanted to thank Devon for his generosity but also found herself relieved to not have to acknowledge the charity quite yet. What could they have to tell her about her father? She glanced at the portrait of her brother and hoped they weren’t about to hear of Bryan Telfair’s death.

Once they’d all been seated and Tessa sent to make tea, Devon looked at Fiona and said, “I’m afraid we don’t have good news.”

Fiona folded her hands in her lap. She still felt off after her strange nap and hoped they couldn’t tell—and that this was perhaps an extension of the dream. The tension in the air made her stomach knot even more than previously, and she regretted having eaten her fill at breakfast.

“Well, out with it,” Fiona’s mother said. “Waiting is sheer torture. Is he alive?”

“As far as we know, Madame,” Davidson told her. “But the problem is that we’ve had word that he may have been involved in the plot to kidnap his fellow tinkerers and burn Tinkerer Hall.”

“What?” Fiona laughed, the tension winding tighter around her stomach in the face of such an absurd accusation. “He couldn’t have been. He loved—loves—the Guild.”

“Are you aware of any arguments he may have had with other Guild members?” Davidson asked. “Any disagreements, longstanding or recent?”

Fiona shook her head. “None. Everyone loved him.” Then she recalled his final words to her. “He and Thaddeus Lillet were working together on something with Hollowell. How is he?” she asked Devon, ashamed to have forgotten her friend in her eagerness to hear news of her father.

“He’s well, but he’s the one who told us that your father and Lillet were in on the plot together.”

Fiona shook her head, anger flooding out the typical block she had when she tried to speak with him. “Impossible. They simply couldn’t have.”

“Do you mind if we look around, Lass?” The Irishman’s brogue, which would have normally soothed Fiona, grated on her nerves.

“Yes, I mind if you take a look around. My father would not like anyone snooping around in his laboratory.” Never mind that she’d been doing that the day before.

“Miss Telfair, please,” Devon said softly. “It would be helpful.”

“You may look around all you please,” Margie said. “Fiona, it will help to demonstrate your father is innocent.”

Fiona clenched her jaw. She couldn’t argue with her mother, but she wanted to protect her father…from what? If he had engineered the kidnapping, then they needed to know, even if it would throw the family into disgrace. If Fiona and Lucy and Posey were to go to North Georgia and find them, they needed to know who they were up against. If their fathers had masterminded it all, they could potentially try to talk some sense into them.

“Fine,” she said.

The Irishman reached into the satchel that had been slung over his shoulder and brought out a device. About the size of a brick, it looked like a wooden box with a miniature aether isolater behind a glass plate set into the top.

“What’s that?” Fiona asked.

“Told you she was curious,” Devon murmured. Fiona shot him a look that she hoped told him he had no right to say anything about her to anyone, especially not strangers who were accusing her father of colluding against his own guild.

“It’s an aetherometer. It indicates where there is a concentration of aether. Since your father was working in that area, I thought it might help.”

“How… How did you know that?”

O’Connell grinned. “He published some papers. Took Professor Bailey’s work and Doctor Radcliffe’s advances in using aether as a treatment for neurosis and put it together beautifully.”

Fiona blinked back tears. She hadn’t known her father had published. Had professional jealousy alienated him from the Guild? But that was still an assumption.

“Of course,” Fiona said. “My father is a brilliant man.” If not so great with money, she added in her mind. Part of her wished she’d worn one of her new dresses instead of Therese’s hand-me-down, but the other part of her still quivered with fury at the accusations. Oh, and Devon’s betrayal didn’t help. Didn’t he know he could trust her? Why hadn’t he asked her—warned her?—before bringing strangers into her home?

O’Connell turned a dial, and the aether in the small chamber glowed brighter. “Shall I show you?” he asked. “This beauty should be able to take me to your pa’s workshop.”

Fiona sighed. She knew she wouldn’t be getting out of this, so she agreed.

Davidson seemed to have gotten the short straw and waited in the parlor with Mrs. Telfair, who soon interrogated him about his marital history and prospects. Fiona could only shake her head. Ah, well, he deserved it.

She followed O’Connell to the kitchen, where he found the door to the workshop beyond without any trouble. The aether in the aetherometer glowed more and more brightly as they approached the small room, then tuned opalescent.

“That’s to indicate it’s been used for mechanical experiments,” he said. “The aether in the chamber is of a small enough amount that it will take on the frequency of the nearer larger source and show what the use is. Your father must have a concentrator around here somewhere.”

Fiona nodded. “He keeps it in the bread box.” She slid open the lid to reveal a copper globe connected to a glass one, which contained a writhing aether ouroborous. Fiona had to make an effort not to stare. The thing could fascinate her for hours. But then she noticed her fingertips itching as well as her nose, and she stepped back.

Surely her dreams of turning into a mouse were just that—dreams?

They closed the bread box, and O’Connell swept the bottom floor while Davidson, who had extracted himself from Fiona’s mother, searched the workroom methodically, careful to replace things as he found them. He glanced through Bryan Telfair’s papers, and Fiona watched his face for any sign that he’d found anything incriminating, but the Englishman’s expression remained impassive.

“What’s upstairs?” he finally asked.

“Just the bedrooms and a water closet,” Fiona told him. “Father was one of the first to have one installed.”

“We’ll need to check up there as well.” Davidson’s tone—all business—wouldn’t allow for argument from either Fiona or her mother, who almost vibrated with the potential scandalous nature of it all. Three strange men in their house was one thing. In their bedrooms? Fiona knew she wouldn’t hear the end of the complaints.

“Very well,” Mrs. Telfair finally said with a dramatic sigh followed by a sniff. She dabbed the end of her nose with a handkerchief. “But I’m sure you won’t find anything. My Bryan is innocent.”

“We’ll see,” Davidson said. His lips twitched—was he trying to hide a smile? Fiona couldn’t fault him—her mother could be overly dramatic. But what else could one expect from a former actress?

O’Connell didn’t find anything in Fiona’s parents’ chamber. Nor did Davidson on his quick search through drawers and armoire. Fiona found his method fascinating. First he would survey the furniture from the outside, then look at it from the inside. He’d hold his fingers at a certain width and compare different parts of the furnishings to it. He must have been checking for thicknesses that were unexplained and may indicate hidden compartments. Then he tapped different areas, presumably to do the same. Fiona took mental note—that skill could come in handy. Of course, if she found anything, she’d still have to figure out how to open it.

When they approached Fiona’s bedroom, the aetherometer took on a peach glow.

“Emotional aether,” O’Connell murmured.

“Please show some propriety and leave my daughter’s room be,” Margie, who had joined them, huffed. “She certainly has nothing to hide.”

“I’m afraid the aetherometer says otherwise,” Davidson told her. “The two of you please wait here.”

Once they’d gone in the bedroom, Margie whispered to Fiona, “What do you have in there? Have you been tinkering with your father’s things again?”

“No, just my clockworks.” Fiona hoped they wouldn’t have the same argument as previously.

A cry brought their attention back to the men.

“Under the bed,” O’Connell said. “Careful, whatever it is, it’s a strong concentration.”

Someone sneezed. Devon?

Margie shot Fiona an angry look, and Fiona shrugged, but swallowed against rising panic. Her dreams had been just that, right? Just dreams? She hadn’t really turned into a mouse, and there couldn’t really be a nutcracker doll with glowing eyes under her bed.

But apparently there had been. The three men emerged, and Davidson held the small nutcracker doll with his handkerchief. The object grinned like it thought the situation was the biggest lark, and Fiona wanted to snap its head off.

“Miss Telfair, would you like to explain what this is?” Davidson asked.

“It’s sophisticated aether work,” O’Connell explained to Margie, who had bristled when they’d come out of the room. “It’s on the level of Professor Bailey. If it’s hers, she’s a genius.”

“My daughter is no genius,” Margie said.

Fiona wondered when genius had become an insult, but she decided to go with a more logical argument. “Gentlemen, that doll does not belong to me. I don’t know how it got in my room. You’re welcome to take it.” She looked up at Devon, who didn’t look angry, merely puzzled. She pleaded with her gaze for him to defend her.

“Are you sure you’ve never seen it before?” Devon said.

“I’ve dreamed about stupid nutcracker dolls since the party,” she told Inspector Davidson. “And I thought I saw it when I arrived home after, but it disappeared. I fainted.” She crossed her arms. She hated to admit to feminine weakness like fainting, but it also seemed a good way to get the men to leave her alone. They tended to run at the sight of a woman crying or passing out. Would pretending to faint work now? She decided against it.

“What is its purpose?” Devon asked.

O’Connell took the doll from Davidson and turned it over. “Doesn’t seem to have one other than looking creepy. Miss Telfair, have you noticed anything unusual since it appeared?”

Fiona swallowed, the words choking her. She managed to gasp out, “Strange dreams.”

“Oh?” Davidson raised his eyebrows. “Of what kind?”

Now her face heated with a blush. “Of turning into a mouse.” It seemed indecent to say so with the three men standing there, and the fact her mother’s lips had disappeared into a thin line confirmed her need to be embarrassed.

“Right. Let’s bring it back and run some more tests on it,” Davidson said. “You said the other young women live nearby?”

“Lillet’s daughters? Yes, not too far away. Fiona, would you like to accompany us?” Devon smiled at her.

Fiona shook her head and crossed her arms. She suspected they wanted to use her to gain access to Lucy’s house, but she wouldn’t agree to it. Let them face down Lucy. And Mrs. Lillet.