It wasn’t a comforting memory to have. “Were any of those women truly witches?”
“Some. Most were simply women caught up in the tide of fear. Fear of the unknown is a deadly thing.”
The dark, burled wood of the door highlighted the clean lines of her pale profile and the red flame of her hair. His voice was jagged as he spoke. “This is what you truly do, isn’t it? Keep things like this from happening again?”
“It is what we try to do.”
“Where is everyone?”
Her long finger punched in another code. “Around. Most regulators are out in the field, and this sector is fairly high level.” Beyond the door, a series of rooms opened up. Unlike the sterile feel of the halls, this new place had a domestic look about it. Each room led into the other. One was rather formal, the other looked more like a gentleman’s retreat, and another a small library. Here and there, men and women sat in chairs, reading, smoking, or paired off in small groups for conversation. None of them looked up as Win and Poppy passed, and he rather thought that it was an unwritten rule in regards to privacy. But they were all aware of Win’s presence. Never before had he felt more of an interloper. While not outright watched, Winston felt their surreptitious looks with every step he took.
This was Poppy’s world.
Poppy read his expression well. Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Here, I am known as the director of this sector. Seven sectors, seven directors, Mother and Father overseeing all.”
“And who is this Father?”
“Augustus.” Lamplight flashed in her eyes as they walked along. “The man who saved you.”
“The… er… man with wings?” He refused to say angel, but he had his suspicions.
The corners of her mouth curled. “He is a demon. A special sort. I would introduce you but he went away on personal business.” A faint frown marred her brow but she let it go and ascended a long spiral staircase with steady proficiency. “There are certain activities for which we require above-ground rooms. We’ve taken over a few warehouses as cover.”
Poppy led him into a large, light-filled room, walled on one side with a grid of floor-to-ceiling windows. An ebony lake of marble spread out before them, and her reflection rippled along its surface as she strode forward between one of the rows of black-topped worktables that held various mechanical devices in stages of completion. Young men and women stood before many of them. The workers gave them an idle glance as they passed but it was clear Poppy was a regular visitor. Above their heads, the ceiling soared twenty feet up and crested in the center with opaque glass window panels. Poppy’s red hair shone like a beacon among the drab color and the pale-faced workers.
When she reached the center of the room, she turned and headed toward one of the two massive fireplaces at the side of the room. Neither was lit at the moment, for it was summer. A tall, shining steel worktable had been placed a few feet in front of the fireplace on the left. There a woman stood, her head bent as she fiddled with some apparatus too small for Win to discern its function.
“Miss Evernight.” Poppy’s crisp voice caught the lady’s attention, and she set down her tools.
A small jolt hit Win. She was young. Very. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She still had a touch of childhood roundness in her cheeks, but her dark eyes snapped with quick intelligence.
“Mrs. Amon.” She gave a small curtsey. “If you’ve come about the gun, I am to commence testing this afternoon.”
Hamon, Amon, Belenus, Lane, Poppy, Mother… The woman had more names than the Queen. Win could only guess at what insane name she’d call him now.
Win stepped closer, and Poppy acknowledged him. “This is Mr. Amon.”
He tried not to let his surprise show. Miss Evernight was less successful. Her eyes widened, and her winged brows disappeared beneath the shining black fringe that she wore.
“Mr. Amon.” She made an awkward attempt to extend her hand, but noticing that her fingertips were covered with oil, lowered it and nodded instead. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
It was clear that she hadn’t expected Poppy to actually possess a husband. Perhaps they all had aliases.
“Mr. Amon,” Poppy said, “may I present Miss Holly Evernight, our chief firearms master.”
Miss Evernight flushed with pleasure, but she did not try to downplay her title. Instead she stood tall and at the ready as if to answer any question he might have.
“Miss.” He turned his gaze to the table beside her and was finally able to see what she worked on. “Is that what I think it is?”
With a delicate touch, Miss Evernight handed the ring to him. “A pistol ring, sir.”
The thing was exquisite. About an inch wide, the steel ring held on its top a tiny, six-chamber wheel.
Miss Evernight took the ring from him and slipped it on. It hung loosely on her slim finger. She turned it so that the chamber fell toward her palm. Intricate scrollwork adorned the sides, aiding in concealing the true purpose of the ring. “It relies on the element of surprise.”
“I should say so.” Win smiled as she handed it back to him and urged him to try. The fit was snug on his finger.
“Fires a 5-millimeter shot. Close range for true efficiency. A flip of the wrist to aim it…” She pointed to the ornately carved metal panel resting at the side of the firing chamber. “Push the panel to shoot.”
Poppy took the ring next and held it up to study it. “Marvelous, Evernight.” She peered into the empty chambers. “A 5-millimeter shot does not pack much of a punch. I assume you have taken that into account.”
Miss Evernight’s cheeks dimpled, and she appeared a schoolgirl. “Each silver bullet contains a small dose of oil of vitriol.”
“Which will do quite a bit of damage to many a beast’s insides,” Win said with admiration.
Poppy’s severe brow quirked, and he repressed the urge to tweak her ear. “I am not entirely ignorant, you know,” he said instead.
“I would never presume to call you ignorant, Mr. Amon.” Lips pursed, she handed the gun back to Miss Evernight. “Excellent work. When will it be ready for the field?”
“If testing goes well, next week.”
Poppy dug into the parcel bag she had slung over her shoulder and pulled out Colonel Alden’s artificial arm.
The reaction in Miss Evernight was immediate and stunning. The young woman held her hand out for it with a look of near reverence. “I remember this.” Her fingers skimmed over the steel hand before pausing on the tiny star mark.
“The Evernight mark, yes?” Poppy said.
Miss Evernight’s dark eyes lifted. “My grandfather’s.”
“Mr. Eamon Evernight,” Poppy said. “He passed away two summers ago.”
“Yes.” Miss Evernight’s slim fingers did not stop their exploration of the piece, even as she gave her attention to them. “I was a girl at the time, but I remember him working on it. He was quite proud of this hand.”
“Do you know anything more about it?” Win asked.
“It was a special commission. It had made his name within the SOS.”
Win exchanged a glance with Poppy.
“Do you know who placed the order?” Poppy asked.
Miss Evernight finally took her hand from the steel limb. “They were Regulators. A man and a woman.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The pin upon the woman’s cloak.” A small grimace twisted her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to watch.”
“But children will be children,” Win said, drawing her in. “Did you see their faces?”
“The man I saw. He was about your height, Mr. Amon. Dark hair, strangely pale eyes.”
“And the woman?” he prompted.
“Never got a good look at her, I’m afraid. She wore a hooded cloak that covered her hair. However, I remember thinking that they were more than simply partners, for the man called her ‘darling’.”
Poppy’s mouth thinned. “Moira Darling?”
Miss Evernight’s dark eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s it.”
They had moved to go when Mary Chase burst into the room. Her footsteps were oddly soundless as she hurried past the workbenches to get to them. “I’ve found Mr. Talent,” she said without preamble. “I’ll need your help.”
Chapter Thirty
Deep in the bowels of the ship, Mary Chase searched. Sound echoed here; the Thames slapped against the outside of the iron hull and made the air a damp blanket. The stench of rot and dank water grew stronger. A sick fug that clogged her nostrils.
The inspector and Mrs. Lane had fanned off in other directions, each of them taking a section of the ship. Now she was alone, and she did not like it. So many places she’d been, so many things she’d seen, and still her heart whirred and clicked with quick fear. She yearned to break free of her heavier body and drift away. But an iron door loomed before her, calling her forth. Whatever lay behind it was wrong. So wrong. She felt it to her very core.
Even so, she kept going, her feet nothing more than a whisper over the floor. The lock proved intricate and advanced, but she’d dealt with worse. She crouched before it, her knees aching. The puff of her breath obscured her view, and she willed herself calm, willed her numb fingers to work.
The tiny snick of the lock turning sent her whirring heart into high speed. Slowly she rose and lifted the hatch lever. Damp, hot air escaped the door in an audible gasp, and the fetid scent of iron, blood, and human waste assaulted her. Opening all of her senses, she slid the spiked baton out of its hiding place within her sleeve and grasped the handle tight. And then she crept into the dark maw of the room.
Steam curled her hair and filled her lungs. All was quiet. She eased into the room, keeping her back to the wall, and glanced about as her blood pounded in her ears. It was dark, but that was all right; she could see well enough. A table, iron and crusted over with dried blood, sat dead center. Blood coated the floor, creating sticky pools that pulled at her boots and released them with a sick, squelching sound as she moved on. Despite the unbearable heat of the room, her hands turned to ice. An orange glow came from the far corner, the source of the heat. The small furnace burned at full power, hissing and cackling as it ate up its fuel. Her mouth went dry. Another step and she was almost next to the furnace, and the whole of her left side burned, her skin going tight and too hot. Her body shook as she scanned the rest of the room and stopped. A scream surged up her throat and came out in a helpless gasp.