Dawn's Early Light (37 page)

Eliza cleared her throat. Felicity, it appeared, still had a dreadful amount of work ahead of her in spycraft.

“Felicity,” Eliza said with a far too civil smile.

“Eliza,” Felicity returned with a similar smile.

“I would say it has been a pleasure—” Eliza began.

“—but we would both know that would be an utter lie,” Felicity completed.

“Take care.”

“Bon voyage.”

And both ladies giggled at one another in a fashion that made Wellington and Bill share a nervous glance.

Once Bill and Felicity left the room, Sound's veneer of cheeriness immediately fell away. His eyes now were icy. “I think we all know the waters ahead will be deep and dangerous. So far we do not know the monsters that lurk beneath us, only that they are there.”

Albert sat on the edge of the desk. “Something happened before the earthquake, something I am not sure OSM understands the significance of.” He glanced over his shoulder. “As Martha here can attest, I was visited not once, but twice, by a very beautiful Italian lady, who went to a great deal of trouble to question me on the secrets of the Ministry and the archives.”

Beautiful Italian woman?
Dear Lord, she was the agent the Maestro was referring to,
Wellington thought as he sat back down on a chair with a
thump
. Dimly he heard Eliza exclaim, “That tart Sophia del Morte!”

“She didn't find out much,” Albert assured them, “but I thought you should all know about it.”

“And considering Sussex recruiting former Agent Campbell, and knowing of Sussex's duality,” Sound said, each word dropping on the agents from a great height, “we must exercise caution at the Ministry, and elsewhere. What lies ahead with you, Bertie, will be between those present.”

Wellington looked up at his director. “Yes, sir. What else do you require of us?”

“Take an airship immediately from the Oakland aeroport,” was not the answer Wellington had been expecting.

“But what about using the æthergate?” Eliza asked in typical fashion, though the archivist understood her desire to get home quickly.

“Æthergate travel is not without its risk, and we need to keep up appearances, so having you all arrive home via standard travel channels would be best,” Sound replied. “I also want to keep the details of Bertie and Martha to as few people as possible. This is less about trust and more on the amount of risk I'm subjecting upon my allies, you understand, yes?” Eliza pinched her lips together and sank back into her chair. Doctor Sound folded his arms. “Besides, you would have to leave behind Agent Books' wonderful automobile.”

“We will leave immediately,” Wellington replied. “Shall we arrange to have our luggage sent there, sir?”

“Already taken care of,” Sound stated.

Wellington held out his hand to the prince. “It was an honour to meet you, Your Highness. I hope your exile will be a short one.”

Eliza barely had time to say her good-byes before Wellington hustled her out of the room, his mind racing almost as fast as his heart.

“What was that all about, Welly?” she asked once they were outside. The wind blew her dark red hair about her face, and he wanted to kiss her then and there so badly . . .

Instead, he took her hands into his. “Eliza, the Prince of Wales has been threatened by his mother, the man plotting against the Ministry is the same man running a conspiracy against the Empire, and the head of the Ministry has given us a standing order to trust no one. We need to catch the first airship home.” He was making wide strides down the street towards their car. “And during the flight, we should share thoughts on preparations.”

Eliza scooted in front of him, her patience waning. “Preparations for what exactly?”

“War.”

Her eyes grew wide, but she pressed her lips together in a hard line. “I imagine you're right, Wellington. Who knows exactly what we shall find when we return.”

Taking her hand in his, he squeezed it tightly, and together they walked off to begin the journey back home.

D
octor Basil Sound was siphoned quickly through the layers of security and in short order found himself standing outside the doors of the royal privy chamber. His eyes darted from corner to corner of the lavish receiving room as he paced, tapping the royal summons in his hand. It had been waiting for him when he returned from California via æthergate. He was unsure if this was simply serendipity or something far more sinister.

Finally, the footmen opened the doors, and he walked into the presence of Her Majesty the Queen of England for the second time in nearly as many weeks. He had gone for years without the chance to give his monarch counsel, so to have a second audience within a month was, quite simply, unprecedented.

The room was just as empty of people and just as full of shadows as the last time he'd been there. He could make out the Queen seated at the far end of the room, but the curtains were pulled, the lights dim, and the small shape veiled.

“Director,” she began, her voice steady and light, “I believe you have news for me from the Americas?”

“Your Majesty,” he said, clearing his throat before con- tinuing, “your son is safe.” Bertie was tucked away in distant Fiji, cold comfort in light of what he suspected his monarch of. “The stability of the Empire, however, is in peril.”

The Queen shifted slightly. “And what, pray tell, makes you think that?”

This was the difficult part. Considering her outburst and erratic behavior during their last visit, how much could he safely tell her? How would she react to knowing her Lord of the Privy Council was a madman?

“Intelligence,” he said. “Ministry intelligence that dark forces are bent on the fall of the Empire. We have a name—the Maestro. He is the spider at the centre of this dastardly web.”

“My, my, my,” the Queen murmured, rising to her feet. “So very dramatic and sinister—like something from a penny dreadful.”

She really didn't seem to be taking him seriously, and considering the history they shared, that was a most alarming thing. Sound tried desperately to make her understand. “We are still gathering information; but this Maestro, we know for certain, nearly destroyed San Francisco, where your son was attending that scientific conference.”

“Nearly destroyed?” Victoria clicked her tongue. “What a shame.”

Sound stood flabbergasted, unable for a moment to find the words. A chill swept through him as he thought,
What did she mean by that?

In the silence, Sound summoned up his courage, enough to power his legs as if he were one of the Phoenix Society's Mechamen. He dared to stride up to the Queen, almost to within touching distance of his old friend. It was a severe breach of protocol, but he had to try everything.

“There is more,” he said quietly. “This Maestro has abducted Thomas Edison. It is my fear that with their combined resources, the two could come up with something even more terrifying than the death ray unleashed on San Francisco.”

The Queen stood silently for a moment but then stepped away from the director, crossing over to a nearby window. Her gloved hand pulled aside the curtain just a fraction, allowing the dying rays of the sun to spill into the gloomy chamber ever so slightly. With her back still turned to Sound, she spoke in a contemplative fashion. “Ever since our first meeting, Director, you have entertained me with your tales of the
très fantastique
and supernatural. You amused and delighted me with the possibility of something greater than what my eyes could tell me.” Her head dropped slightly. “In the dark days after my beloved husband's death, it was much needed.”

She pulled the curtain a little wider and peered out into the sunset. “However, while we share a colourful history, and you have prospered under my support for the Ministry for many a year, you are not privy to everything that goes on in my Empire. While you have sought out these so-called dark forces that plot against me, I have aligned myself with others possessing a better understanding than you.”

Of all the things that had happened to him in his life, this was one of the cruellest blows. The agents of the Ministry would have been quite surprised to see him so visibly shaken.

“Victoria,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion, “please remember I have remained loyal to you above all others, and I have always taken the utmost care with your safety . . .”

“Indeed you have,” the Queen replied, ignoring his most improper use of her given name, “but that is the problem. You think of me and not the Empire. We are one and the same. Why, this very spring I shall be the longest-reigning monarch ever to sit on the throne, and next year will be my Diamond Jubilee. You claim that the Empire is in danger of toppling, as if it were a house of cards.”

She turned to face Sound, and the light coming in through the window filtered through her thick veil in bright golden motes. Her hands went to the lace, pulling it up and over her head. “I say the Empire has never been more stable.”

The director's words died in his throat. He'd seen Alexandrina Victoria crowned. Eighteen was young to sit upon the throne, but she had been dazzling with creamy pale skin, a sweet smile. He had never seen such a beautiful, charming girl, but he had come to accept that that girl was long lost, except in paintings.

Yet here was Victoria before him, in the flesh, her youth and vigour restored. It was like looking back in time. However, there was no mirth or joy in the Queen's smile now. Instead, it contained a challenge.

She tilted her head and looked up at him with lovely, gleaming eyes. “The Empire is destined for a long and fruitful life—as am I. I will lead it into another renaissance.”

Sound was chilled to the core. Knowing what he now knew, he would be grateful if he made it back to the office alive.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing low, swallowing his horror, “may you reign forever more.”

The smile she gave him was predatory. “Then you have our leave,” she said brightly, dismissing him.

He was overjoyed that he managed to take it without running.

Once outside Buckingham Palace, Doctor Sound climbed into the royal hansom and in his mind ran down a list of what he needed to enact straightaway. The Queen had brought him into an inner sanctum of sorts, revealing her terrible secret. The question now was, did this revelation indicate she trusted Sound, or was it meant to instill in him a false sense of security . . . ?

Sound jerked, looking around him. He was in a royal hansom, driven by the Queen's servant.

He rapped his knuckles on the roof of his compartment, but the carriage continued onwards. This time, he put all of his might into it, nearly cracking the rooftop hatch with his fist. The horses gave a whinny of protest as the reins went taut, and the cab lurched to a stop.

“Beg a pardon, sir,” the royal coachman called, “but I was asked to return you to Miggins Antiquities.”

“I am aware of that,” Doctor Sound replied, paying the driver a goodly sum, “and you may report when you last saw me I was of a fit mind and body. I simply decided to take a walk.”

“At this time of night, sir?”

“Indeed,” he said, tipping his hat to the driver before continuing his way down Buckingham Palace Road on foot.

Night had fallen on London, and there were only a few people out and about in the city. He tipped his hat low to avoid notice and walked as fast as he could without drawing attention, all the while running through the Phantom Protocol procedures, because there was no rescinding the order once given. Signals would be sent, commands issued, and agents would disappear.

It was as he neared the street corner that Sound noticed the horse slowly clopping along
behind
him. He took a moment to give his suit a once-over in a sweetshop window. The ghost of his portly frame inspecting his waistcoat flickered over the glass.

Sound's gaze shifted to another part of the faint reflection. He could see the shadow of a hansom cab drawing to a stop. Even with night closing in around the city as quickly as it was, he could make out the distinct colours of a royal servant's uniform.

Perhaps an indulgence was in order.

Sound straightened his bowler and entered the sweetshop, the bell overhead announcing his entrance to the three people bustling about within the shop.

“I'm sorry, sir,” began the gentleman behind the counter. It struck Doctor Sound that, for someone who specialized in sweets, the shopkeeper seemed rather skinny. “We are closing for the night.”

“As I would expect at this hour,” Sound returned as he approached the counter, his eyes surveying the stock.

“Sir,” the shopkeeper said, his tone hardening ever so slightly, “I beg that you kindly—”

“My good man, listen to me and listen very carefully as time is of the essence.” Sound spoke quickly, sliding two guineas towards him. “Firstly, I want you to smile brightly and nod. Pretend I am about to commission a rather large order for a celebration. Another two guineas if you make this look convincing.”

The shopkeeper paused for only a moment before his stern look dissipated, surrendering to the brightest of smiles. “Why, of course I can accommodate such an order. How can Percy's Sweetshop be of service?”

“Very good,” Doctor Sound said, sliding the promised coins over to him. “Now while we are talking, I would very much like you to draw the curtain of your storefront window and lock the door, if you would be so kind.”

“Yes, I believe we can whip together some Turkish delight. If you would like to sample what we have here,” he said, motioning to a corner of the candy shop. “Danielle, be a dear and draw the blinds, and as this gent is our final customer for the evening, lock the door.”

The youngest of the other two workers in the shop gave a quick curtsey before walking to the door. Once it was locked, she grabbed a long pole, caught the latch for each blind, and drew them slowly across the glass. Doctor Sound was holding a small chunk of Turkish delight as the final blind came down.

Sound did not change demeanour or tenor, even as he sampled the chewy treat. Ye gods, how he
hated
this stuff. Fighting back a grimace, he brushed his fingers clean as he asked, “You have a back entrance?”

“Yes, governor.”

“Five guineas for your discretion then?”

The shopkeeper's eyes went wide. “Right you are, sir.”

Sound followed the man through a small passage behind the counter. The hallway ended at a door that accessed an alleyway.

Coins rang lightly against one another in the shopkeeper's hand.

“I was never here,” Sound pressed as he slipped into the alleyway.

While he was a man of learned years and carried with him not only the weight of knowledge but a rather more literal weight from his indulgences, this did not mean that Doctor Sound couldn't run when the situation called for it. This was one of those times. It was hard to say how long Sound had before the driver returned and reported his escape to the Queen.

An empty hansom slowly clopped by him, but it had not gotten far before Sound caught up with it. The driver nearly leapt out of his perch when he felt him grab the cuff of his trousers. The director pulled out the card he always carried in his coat pocket—the one he had hoped never to use—and ordered the cab driver, “Take me to this address.” He gave the driver five pounds. This was turning into a most expensive night. “With haste.”

“Right you are, sir.”

“An extra crown,” Sound began as he climbed into the cab, “if you can get me there within the next ten minutes.”

There was a crack of a whip and Sound felt himself pushed back in his seat as they lurched forwards and gained a healthy amount of speed in a matter of moments. The man did not disappoint; Sound had hoped to arrive at the address within ten minutes. They came to a stop in front in just over five.

“Wait here,” Sound told the driver. “I shan't be long.”

“Very good, sir.”

He was at the door, reaching for the knocker, when he paused. He was about to neither tumble down the rabbit hole nor step through the looking glass; this was more akin to shattering a mirror with a Gatling gun.

With a clenching of his jaw, Sound gave the knocker several sharp raps.

When the maid opened the door, she gave a little scream. He ignored her reaction. “Is your master at home?”

“Yes, Doctor Sound, but you are not—” she began.

He waved his hand impatiently, pushing his way into the modest home. “I will be in the parlour. No need to see me there. I know the way.”

He heard several locks engage behind him as he removed his hat and hung it on a stand just to his right. Sound wrung his hands as his eyes flitted over to the various decanters on display. A scotch would soothe the nerves, that was certain, but considering his future activation of Phantom Protocol, he would need all his wits about him.