Aether Rising

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Cobb Townhouse, 12 March 1871

Louisa walked into the townhouse with her mind half on what she would say to Cobb and the other half on the ghost of her mother.

Louisa had thought Maureen had died of one of the many illnesses that occasionally visited the city and didn’t leave without taking a good portion of the populace with it. In Louisa’s mother’s case, it had been typhoid. Or so she’d thought. Not that Louisa had any expertise on ghosts and why they happened, but she’d thought they formed after violent deaths, often self-inflicted. She would have to ask someone. Perhaps Patrick. Irish people knew more about the mystical side of things than Americans, didn’t they?

The thought made her smile, and she dispelled the coldness that came to her fingers and toes with the memory of the ghost by remembering her most recent kiss. Less shocking than the previous one, therefore more appropriate to imagine.

Not that her mother had approved. It seemed that even after death, Maureen Cobb had high marital ambitions for her daughter. Not that marrying up worked out well for her.

Something about the townhouse’s energy told Louisa Parnaby Cobb was home, and she breathed into the feel of the gathering storm. Would he be angry at her for disappearing? Or relieved to see her? Formerly she would have guessed the latter, but after recent events… She decided to face the ogre and ascended the stairs to the second floor and his office.

This time when Louisa entered Cobb’s office, she waited and peeked through the crack in the door to see if she could gauge his mood. He sat at the desk, writing furiously, but he looked up, and she knocked.

“Oh, thank god!” He stood and held out his hands. “I was afraid I was going to get a ransom note for you at any time.”

Louisa stopped just short of the desk. She crossed her arms to contain her anger, but the words slipped out. “You were more concerned about your money than my welfare?”

He gestured for her to sit and did so himself. “No, of course I was worried for you. It wasn’t considerate of you to disappear like that.”

“I had no choice. I couldn’t see with all the smoke, not to mention breathe.”

“Where did you go, then? I had the men look for you, but you had vanished.”

She decided not to mention Artemus and to give Cobb a partial-truth. “I was swept into the crowd and finally extracted myself and hid in a shop until the chaos was over. Then I caught a cab home.”

“Is that all?”

“I might have made a stop.”

He held up a folded piece of paper note. “One of the men who works in the old tannery building said he saw you and another man go in, and then a few minutes later, out. The man matched the description of the one who accompanied you home from the train station yesterday. So I’ll ask you again, and I want the truth, Louisa. Where did you go?”

Louisa kept her hands folded in front of her so she wouldn’t squish the butterfly of nervousness in her abdomen. Her grandmother had said to pursue her destiny, or something like that, so she decided to fling off fear. “I went to see Patrick O’Connell.”

There went the eyebrows, swooping to meet over his nose. “With whom? And how did you get past the guard?”

With her admission, Louisa’s heart had joined in the annoying fluttering, located in her throat now, and she tried to quash it with a swallow. This was familiar territory, and she wouldn’t give more information than needed. “I have no doubt you’ve circulated his description among your contacts and will find out soon enough. But,” she couldn’t resist adding, “my friend is terribly clever.” Was he her friend? She still didn’t know, but the term worked for now.

“If he’s a more suitable match for you than an Irish tinkerer of no fortune whatsoever, he can be a dunce for all I care.” A muscle in his cheek jumped, showing he considered it, but then he dismissed the idea with a shake. “But I doubt he is in any way suitable. He looks like an academic, and while they have stable income, and I would like to take advantage of whatever inventions he may have used to circumvent my guard, I have higher ambition for you. You are showing remarkably poor taste these days.”

Louisa lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “I am merely trying different things, as young ladies do.” She wanted to say that O’Connell meant nothing to her, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Cobb wrote something on a card, which he folded, put in an envelope, and sealed as he spoke. “I understand you are to have tea with Claire McPhee this afternoon. Eliza Adams will be there, I’m sure, gloating over saving her own niece from making a disastrous match. I’m going to ask her to seek a husband for you while she looks for one for her niece. She knows the eligible bachelors of our circle better than I.”

Louisa doubted that. Cobb knew people like chess players knew the pieces on the board, and he maneuvered them like a master. Formerly she’d thought she meant something more to him, that he felt as a stepfather would to a beloved child, but the events of the past few days had demonstrated she had as much value to him as a lifeless piece of ivory, to be moved on his whim. She also knew Eliza Adams thrived on recognition through any means, positive or negative.

I hope Artemus was right, that there are machinations in place to help us all. The question is, do I agree with his version of “help”?

Cobb must have interpreted her silence as sulkiness. “Don’t pout, Louisa. I’m sure there are plenty of handsome gentlemen who would be happy to make you their wife, at least until they find they can’t lie to you. I’ll have Eliza give me a list, and I’ll narrow it down to three for you to choose from. In fact, perhaps I’ll invite them for a dance and supper on Saturday. No, let’s make it Friday—St. Patrick’s Day.” He smirked at his own joke. “The sooner the better. You can see how that Irish brute you’re so fascinated by fares in contrast.”

Louisa didn’t mention that she’d seen Patrick in polite company the first time they met, and he’d stood out because of his size and hair but otherwise had managed fine. Well, aside from kissing her, but she’d freely given it.

Cobb pulled a cord, and one of the maids appeared at the door. Louisa studied her. Either she was close enough in the hall to hear the bell, or she’d been eavesdropping. The girl looked at Louisa, wide-eyed, so Louisa suspected the latter.

“Give this to James and tell him I want it sent to Eliza Adams immediately.”

The maid took the envelope, bobbed a curtsey, and dashed out. When she turned, her eyebrows lifted for a moment, and Louisa followed the glance. She saw the automaton still stood in the corner, but it was slightly turned from the day before and sported a dent with scraped black paint.

“What are you going to do with that now that you’ve canned Farrell?” she asked.

Cobb smiled, but without pleasantness. “I have plans. Farrell has served his purpose. But you shouldn’t worry—you might find your future husband more malleable than you think he’ll be.” He chuckled as though he’d just made a joke, and the anxiety in Louisa’s stomach and chest coalesced into dread. Now she knew he was up to something. But what?

When Iris, Marie, and Crow arrived at the Museum of Ancient Art and Artifacts, the carriage brought them around the side of the building and into a back alley that concentrated the wind into an icy wall. They dashed into a door, which opened to reveal a workroom. Bernard Langlois, a compact whirlwind of a man with sandy brown hair and trimmed beard, suspenders, and gold wire-rimmed glasses, seemed to know who she was and greeted her enthusiastically. But he practically exploded with joy when Lieutenant Crow introduced Marie. She named her as Madame Bledsoe, but it didn’t fool him.

“Fantastique!” He clapped his hands. “Oh, to be in the presence of the greatest actress of our time. I can die a happy man now.”

Iris and Marie exchanged concerned looks. If he recognized Marie…

Langlois didn’t allow their hesitation to deter his delight. “I can see you are in disguise. But please tell me that your marriage will not stop you from pursuing your art. The rest of the world could not bear the deprivation.” He put one hand on his chest. “My own heart breaks at the thought.”

Marie c****d her head. “You are aware that once a woman is married, she is to act respectably.”

He vanquished respectability with a wave of his hand. “That is only for ordinary women. For someone like you or Madame Bailey here, your talent overrides such silly social rules.”

Well, at least he’s somewhat progressive. Iris touched him on the arm. “If you’ll forgive me, Monsieur Langlois, my time is limited, and I am eager to see what you have in your museum that may apply to my own work.”

The joy vanished from his face with the speed and light-dampening of a snuffed candle flame. “You have been excavating at Smithneus, yes?”

Iris nodded. She wished she could bring back his former warmth to replace the dread on his face.

“Come with me. I have some documents and artifacts from an earlier attempt.”

Now Iris’s heart leapt. When she’d first opened the temple site, she’d found signs that someone had been there before, but it was impossible to tell what had been taken. She only knew that there were pieces missing to her puzzle, and although she had enough for a general idea of the disturbing picture, she lacked important details.

“Shall we walk through the rest of the museum while they speak?” Crow asked Marie. It wasn’t a request as much as it was a command.

“Is that all right with you, Iris?”

Iris appreciated Marie’s caution, but she also sensed that Langlois wouldn’t reveal what he knew to someone outside the field. “Yes, quite. Check back in thirty minutes?”

Marie nodded and followed Crow and the guards out of the workroom.

“Do you mind if I remove my gloves?” Iris asked. “Your furnace is quite effective.”

“Not at all. Bien, it can be helpful to handle objects without interference.”

Iris slid a look at him as she removed her gloves. Did he know she could discover things about people from touching their objects? Or did he have a similar ability? As far as she knew, aside from Johann Bledsoe, who had the minor talent to be extra charming, and her own father, who had the same ability as she, such powers only belonged to women. She’d guessed, although she didn’t have proof, that they had developed to make up for the disadvantage females had in their modern society, sort of a natural selection.

“Well, shall we?” she asked. “I noticed some things had been taken and the site re-sealed. Do you know anything about that?”

He gestured for her to follow him into a side room. “When I came, many of the objects were already here and in a state of disarray. But there was one box that the workmen had not unpacked, and so it had its customs and provenance papers still with it. I recognized it came from the Ottoman Empire, but not like any of the shipments I had seen before. Then Lieutenant Crow came and told me she needed my help finding what it all meant but to wait to open it until she could find someone who had studied the mysteries of her beloved Pythagoras.”

“And you know what she is part of?”

His regretful sigh made her like him more. “I am aware that there are some organizations who take their good intentions to extremes. I can assure you, Madame, I am a mere academic and archaeologist. I do not hold with extreme views that could result in the deaths of many.”

Now they’d reached the door to the small room, and Iris stopped. Nothing visible stood in her way, but some force repelled her, and she found herself leaning on her toes so as not to topple backwards.

“What is it?” Langlois asked. “What do you feel?”

Iris reached out a hand, and her fingers only met air, but her arm felt as though it moved through thick mud. She had to step back when she recognized she couldn’t breathe, and spots appeared in her periphery. Langlois guided her to a chair, and the air thinned to normal. She’d only felt an object affect the space around it once, but it hadn’t emanated such a degree of resistance to discovery. In fact, the previous object had wanted to be found.

“What sort of sorcery is this?” Iris murmured after taking a couple of breaths as large as her corset would permit. She drew her brows together, fixing Langlois with a look she’d learned from Marie’s mother, an intimidating woman in spite of her size. “You’re not telling me everything. What do you feel when you’re near it?”

“Probably something similar, but not as strong. At the very least like I should stay away from it.” He looked at her with intensity she suspected he used on the objects in his study. “You are not surprised.”

“No, but I don’t know what it means.” For the first time, Iris wished she’d brought the codex, or copies of parts of it, from the Ottoman Empire with her. She’d left the papers with her contact at the museum, feeling that ancient objects should be treated as the national treasures they were and not plundered by foreign scholars. Plus, she’d been disgusted by the implications of parts of it. She still saw the bodies emerging from the flames that a vision had shown her, an attempt to burn the temple that housed it before the knowledge it contained could be perverted. Perhaps if she could see what whoever had packed the box intended, she could find the clue to unlocking the spell.

A movement of Langlois’s foot made Iris recognize he was trying to be patient with her, so she struggled to give him some sort of explanation.

“In the Archaic age, tyrants ruled as the hand of Persia in what’s now the Ottoman Empire, and they often made elaborate burial chambers for themselves and their families. I had a book that had come from there, from a temple burning during the revolt against the Persians. It looked like records from the temple granary, but it was actually a code for something. My husband, who is talented with science and mathematics, helped me decipher it, and a scholar there aided me in translating the words from an old Hittite language.”

“Fascinating. This sounds like a worthy story. Would you like some tea?”

Iris’s tongue moved across teeth parched by the struggle to regain her breath, so she said, “Yes, please.”

He pulled a rope, and a clerk appeared. Once he’d ordered the tea and a snack—it was lunchtime, after all—and the clerk had bowed out, he gestured for her to continue.

“The language gave the location of an old tyrant’s tomb near the temple of Apollo Smithneus. But it turned out not to be a tomb, but a secret chapel, somewhat like that under the Porta Maggiore, but much, much older.” She shivered at the thought of the power she’d felt once she’d opened the tomb and descended.

“Yes, I was aware of the Roman discovery.” Langlois spread out a cloth on the table Iris sat beside with efficient motions. “But I thought it was your father’s doing.”

He must eat many of his meals here. She didn’t blame him—she would, too, if given the opportunity to immerse herself in the past, although she preferred field work. Then his last comment registered.

“My father’s discovery? No, he died before my team and I found it.” Her team that was now torn apart and under threat. The thought of Patrick and Chadwick in trouble hurt almost as much as her grief over her father, who had been murdered to keep secrets like those she’d found protected.

“Ah, so you are the I. McTavish credited with the discovery? Bravo. But back to the tomb under the sands.”

“Right. It had been opened before, and objects taken from the entrance room, but there were no signs of intrusion farther in. I suspect that whoever went in had felt something like I did here.”

So what was the difference? Who was with me? Edward, Marie, Johann, Amelie Lafitte, and Salmah…

And Salmah did some sort of ritual for protection before we went in.

“And what did you find?”

Their tea and lunch arrived. Iris hoped Marie had found something to eat, although she could go longer without food than Iris. They joked that Iris was like a bird, small but needing to eat frequently to maintain her energy.

Iris stalled by pouring the tea and serving herself. The first bite of the sandwich calmed her growling stomach, and the tea soothed her dry mouth.

“Delicious, like from a hotel,” she said.

Langlois smiled without opening his mouth, swallowed, and said, “It’s from the Parisienne next door. In spite of the name, they cater mostly to English guests.”

“I can tell. Thank you.”

“Madame, I am sorry and don’t mean to rush you, but you did say you had limited time. Did you find anything that could possibly be helpful for us to open that box?”

“One of my colleagues, a native Ottoman, did some sort of ritual before we entered the tomb there.”

Instead of dismissing the ritual as superstitious, he asked, “Can you duplicate it?”

“I don’t know. It was in her native tongue, which I don’t speak, so I didn’t understand the words.”

He nodded. “I will do some research, then. Do you know what spiritual path she followed? Or was she a spiritual tinkerer like so many here?”

“I believe her path was more Greek than Arabic.”

“And what god was she particularly devoted to?”

Iris closed her eyes and tried to remember. “Hera, I believe. Salmah was always talking about visiting the temple at Samos before she married.”

Iris didn’t give the context of those conversations, how she’d suffered a miscarriage a month after she and Edward had married and how Salmah had helped her through it. She wondered if Salmah had made her pilgrimage and had offered something to intercede for Iris.

“There was also a large cult to Diana there. And of course the Mother of All, whom the Greeks adopted.” He slapped the table with one hand, and the other curled. “I had hoped you could help me today, but I understand you were here under duress, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“You were party to that? You do realize that two men’s lives are in danger.”

He placed his teacup on its saucer, and it rattled with the shaking of his hands. “No, I was not aware of such dire circumstances. Please forgive me, Madame.”

His reaction seemed genuine, so she smiled. “I believe you. If my schedule permits, I can come back tomorrow,” she said, then added, “I really do want to see what’s in your mysterious box. It could end up helping us in our larger quest.”

“Very well, then. I will see you tomorrow, and perhaps I will have Gil fetch some of the Parisienne’s shepherd’s pie for you.”

“Thank you.”

Female voices echoed down the hallway, and Iris stood. An irate Marie led Lieutenant Crow and her favorite guard, and Marie had the telegram clutched in her hands. Crow’s cheeks burned, and she held the arm of the guard, whose lips had disappeared into an angry line.

“She picks pockets.” Crow pointed at Marie. “I didn’t realize it until I reached into my trousers to check for the telegram.”

“What does it say?” Iris asked. Marie handed it to her. Iris scanned it and looked up. “Is that all?”

“’Fraid so.” Marie jerked her chin at Crow. “It was all a trick to get us here. I at least hope your time was worth it.”

A classically French sigh brought their attention to Langlois. “Non, I am afraid it was not. She cannot even get close to it. Although…” He frowned. “Mademoiselle, do you think an initiate of the Pythagorean mysteries could open the box?”

“Perhaps someone like that would know a ritual or two,” Iris mused. She tossed the telegram on the table, and the typed letters lay flat under the light: “No word yet. Will contact soon.”

“Is there a curse on it? And is it dangerous?” Marie grinned at Crow, who looked younger without her typical smug expression.

“You were supposed to get her to open it.” Crow glared at Langlois, who shrugged in a very French manner. Marie snorted.

“And I couldn’t. So now it’s your turn.” Iris put her hands on her hips. “Unless you’re willing to let an old protection spell get in the way.”