Turning, the three intruders saw a squat sergeant standing in the doorway. Middle-aged, he had a rough complexion and hard eyes staring from a florid face filled with a black mustache. His left arm ended in a wooden hand beautifully finished in copper and brass. The same decoration covered a wooden left foot that stood in stark contrast to the highly-polished boot beside it.
Having spoken, the sergeant’s mouth now hung open as if waiting for another thought, and he made no move to attack.
Parnell and Ferdinando were seemingly paralyzed, but the count was unfazed, stepping boldly forward to the new arrival. “So sorry, old man,” he said, his voice that of one friend to another, rather than a humble private to a sergeant. “Life took an interesting turn and here we are.”
“You will get a flogging for this.” The new arrival’s voice was steady and emotionless, the words sounding as if he was relaying an order from afar. “Where is your salute?”
The count was only a step away from him. “Why, here, of course.” He feigned the start of the gesture but then, with one swift move, snatched his dagger from inside his jacket and pressed it against the sergeant’s chest. “Not a word from you or you’ll never bark another order, my fat puppy.”
Balthazar could see the man’s mouth slowly forming new words, and pushed the blade further into his skin. A single spot of blood was enough to silence any cry for help, and the sergeant stood still as Parnell closed the office door. Ferdinando removed the bayonet hanging from the soldier’s belt and took it for himself.
Keeping his blade close, Balthazar said, “Now, our one-handed friend. You are outmatched by better men, if I may be so bold. We have need of your company while we wander round your humble abode, and we had best be on our way as your bellowing was surely heard across the river.”
He pushed the sergeant towards the door, flanked by Ferdinando and Parnell. Standing close behind, he said into the soldier’s ear, “Let us understand each other. You will take us to Colonel Wolf’s quarters at the double. Any sudden moves, any tipping the wink to anyone unlucky enough to get in our way, and I will ram this knife through the back of your head so hard that the blade will be the last thing your eyes see before they fall to the floor like broken eggs. My friends will then kill everybody else before us.”
The soldier did not want to move, so the count leaned to the side of the man’s face, breathing in the combination of cheap hair oil and unwashed and sweaty flesh.
When he spoke again, it was with a whisper laced with menace. “Do not doubt me for an instant, my friend. I may have the manner of a dandy, and the vocabulary of an Oxford don, but when pressed I have a killer’s heart.
“This is not my first time in such a predicament, and I am still alive. All those who tried to stop me or trick me or raise the alarm are dead.”
The sergeant stared at him, which Balthazar took as a sign of surrender. He gestured to his friends. “On our way, I think. Our companion here will lead us to Wolf, I will follow, and you will be the obedient troops under orders to stop for nothing. Can’t keep the colonel waiting, can we?”
With their prisoner before them, it was easy to make rapid progress. The sergeant marched steadily on, never hurrying or straying from the center of each empty corridor. The only extraneous sound was his breathing, interrupted by the occasional metallic clang from somewhere deep below ground.
Once they were on their way, striding rapidly through increasingly smart hallways and rooms, Balthazar fired a flurry of questions at his prisoner: is Wolf present? What manner of vessel is Neptune’s Foe? What purpose do the masks and tanks marked Oxygen serve? What is the mission for Her Majesty?
However, the sergeant said not a word, merely continuing to lead the way. He showed no outward sign of resistance, or even of concern, but simply remained silent, watching his captors with dull eyes. There was no way of pressing him to answer unless they moved into a room and stayed out of sight, and Balthazar judged that the better plan would be to find the colonel instead. However, he was determined to achieve some sort of reply, and was considering another question when the sergeant stopped before a wide anteroom, at the end of which were two enormous doors.
“Colonel’s quarters,” he said simply, the first words he had spoken since his capture.
The count and his friends gave the area a brief survey—the anteroom was simple and plain, with only an empty desk, presumably for some absent retainer, beside a single chair for anybody seeking a meeting with the commander. Decoration was minimal, the walls bare in order to focus the eye on a single portrait of Wolf in vivid oils. The picture showed him astride a horse as black as pitch, cantering ahead of a line of troops.
Every face bore an expression of serious intent, the colonel’s the most intense of all.
Balthazar pushed the reluctant sergeant towards the doors. “Be so good as to knock, there’s a good man,” whispered the count. “Hate to intrude, but needs must, you know.”
There was no reaction to the hard, fast tap, and as Parnell kept a lookout the others entered the colonel’s quarters.
Balthazar was a well-travelled man who considered himself something of an aesthete, but he felt inadequate as soon as his eyes fell on the contents of the crowded room. The colonel, it was clear, was a collector of the highest order. Statues of the finest Chinese jade flanked Persian carpets of inestimable value. Golden urns were dotted around each wall, many of them atop dressers of the richest mahogany. Weapons were everywhere: medieval pikes stood to attention in one corner, longswords were arrayed in a circle on a wall otherwise filled with pistols, muskets, and daggers of every stripe. There was even, Balthazar saw with surprise, a longbow and quiver of arrows darkened with age. Every item was arranged with precision, many placed in such a way to pull the viewer’s gaze towards the room’s center.
That was dominated by a desk larger than any Balthazar had seen. Paperwork littered the top, along with two pistols and a dagger with a hilt of silver and gold. Light to the touch when he picked it up, it was carefully balanced and the count judged it an excellent throwing knife for a skilled fighter.
“No colonel,” said Ferdinando, pushing the sergeant into the empty chair behind the desk. “Where is he?”
Faced with the mute prisoner’s continued blank look, Ferdinando turned to the count. “Odd fellow, ain’ ’e? Don’ try to escape, or call out, or nothin’.” He turned to the sergeant. “Don’ wanna get going, chief, eh? Join yer mates?” Sitting on the edge of the desk as his friends rummaged around the room, Ferdinando added, “Queer ’ow nobody else tried t’stop us, too. I ’ate to admit it, but we don’ look much like soldiers, an’ ’ere we are, in the guvnor’s rooms without a by-yer-leave, an’ nobody said boo.
“Feels wrong, I reckon.”
Balthazar paused, laying the Oxygen apparatus on the desk as he weighed his friend’s opinion. He had preferred to believe that their ramshackle disguise had actually worked. Instead, he realized, Ferdinando was correct. Surely one officer should have questioned them? His sense of direction told him they were now deep within the barracks, perhaps at the heart of the east wing, and still there was no alarm. Only this mute prisoner who had led them all this way like an obedient dog. Victims of the Subjugation Assembly that he had encountered obeyed orders easily but they still spoke, still thought.
He pushed the chair, which swiveled until his prisoner was facing him. “Now, now,” the count said. “You were quick enough to enter Captain Matthews’ office without an invitation, so you knew he wasn’t there and perhaps you came to collect something for him. The mask, maybe? Has he forgotten it and sent you to fetch it?”
Ferdinando took the throwing dagger, and balanced the blade on a fingertip. “Nice pig-sticker, ain’ it?” he said to the sergeant. “Hate t’ruin it by gettin’ yer blood an’ guts over it.”
Balthazar said, “No need for that, my friend.”
He gave the soldier a hearty slap on the shoulder, and sat on the edge of the table as if he had not a care in the world. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, aware of the man’s dull eyes fixed on the dagger that danced and span to the dexterous movements of Ferdinando’s hand. When the count spoke again, it was with the commanding voice of a superior. “Speak, sergeant. Tell us all.”
“I must return to the docks,” the soldier said. The words came slowly as he seemed to think of each one in turn before his tongue formed the necessary shape. “I must rejoin my men. We must begin a special mission for the Queen. We must set sail and prepare for action.”
Having recited this litany of orders, he stopped and slumped in his seat. His eyes regained their empty appearance in an instant, as if a lever had been turned.
Ferdinando was shocked by the suddenness of the transformation. “Bad business, if you ask me.”
“I prefer to view it as the very b-best b-business, yes?” said a man behind him.
Balthazar and Ferdinando span to see Colonel Wolf and a captain standing in one corner of the room, pistols in hand as a thin section of the wall slid close behind them without a sound. Once shut, the secret entrance to the room was invisible.
Ferdinando made for the throwing knife, but the colonel gestured, the barrel of his heavy pistol a gaping black mouth. “Reckon you’re quicker than a b-bullet, my f-friend? Let us s-see, s-shall we?”
Ferdinando stilled. Balthazar remained close to the sergeant, who moved to stand to attention. His gestures were slow and far removed from the rapid obedience Balthazar would have normally expected.
Wolf stopped him. “At ease, s-sergeant. You probably need a rest after so much c-conversation, yes? C-can’t have you too t-tired, can we?” His eyes turned to Balthazar. “No doubt you will be the m-man I have heard so much about. A very p-persistent fly in our ointment, yes?”
“I try,” said the count languidly.
“Not for m-much longer. I take it you have come here in some f-futile attempt to uncover my s-secrets, yes?”
“If you’d be so kind. We have discovered your orders for Captain Matthews. Might that keen young fellow there be him?
“From all the noise we hear, we know you are busy with some petty scheme. Am I correct?”
Wolf ignored him, and turned to the captain. “Collect what we need, and then call the g-guards.”
“No need, Colonel, I brought them myself.” All turned to see Parnell standing in the doorway, flanked by four rifle-toting soldiers with the same dull look on their faces as the hapless sergeant. Parnell was quite relaxed, a hard smile on his face and his pistol in his hand. Balthazar and Ferdinando knew it contained some of the unusual bullets Solomon had seen at the warehouse; they were explosives, and very powerful.
Parnell added, “Thought you might need a hand keeping these two fools from spoiling more of our plans, sir.”
Balthazar and Ferdinando stood in shocked silence, but Colonel Wolf said, “Our p-plans?”
Parnell strode into the room as if he was its rightful owner. The soldiers spread into a watchful line as he wandered around, running his free hand over some of the array of curiosities the colonel had gathered during years spent finding the right kind of men and women to serve the Arcanum. “Yes, sir, I’m proud to say I’m one of you. Lady Elizabeta convinced me that your cause was the right one. Not that I needed much convincing, mind.”
“Oh? Do t-tell.” Amused, Wolf took a seat. The captain busied himself collecting sheaves of papers which he rolled into a tube-like case of the kind used by dispatch riders. Then he moved to a spot where he could shoot Balthazar or Ferdinando without a chance of error.
Parnell waved his pistol at Balthazar. “It doesn’t take a genius to realize that this fool is only going to lead the Workshop of Light, or whatever’s left of us, all to hell. Lord Stone, on the other hand, he’s a man of vision.”
“If only we had followed your advice from the start,” the count replied. “Now we would be, oh, I don’t know, just like the sergeant and these poor lads. If we were lucky.”
The soldiers did not react, but Wolf was happy to contribute. “Ah, yes, you have n-noticed. The work of D-Doctor F-Flair. The S-Subjugation Assembly was not quite s-strong enough, you see. T-too much f-free will. So he c-changed it. Now they d-do exactly w-what we want, w-when we want.”
“But I see there’s an unfortunate side effect,” said Balthazar. “They are slower than an opium fiend.”
“Y-yes. It is a p-problem. But soon it won’t m-matter. We—” He stopped short, as if realizing he had said too much.
Balthazar was about to trick him and push him for more, but Parnell stepped before the colonel and pulled an item from his pocket. The watchful Captain Matthews’ gun followed him. Opening his hand, Parnell revealed a medallion, beautifully crafted to show Lord Stone’s crest in silver amid a golden border. He was careful not to touch the crest; he had noticed the way even seeing the allerion awed those under the Assembly. “This is all very well, but I do not care what has happened to these uniformed cretins. Milord gave me this medal as proof I am on your side, and I want my reward. I told Elizabeta’s people what we were doing, and I want me and my wife to be taken somewhere civilized.”
Wolf spared him an inquisitive glance before returning to Balthazar. “It appears your p-powers of p-persuasion are waning, my friend. Very well, our new ally may join us. We will be t-taking your two former c-comrades on a short journey. Follow my m-men, and you may p-prove your loyalty.”
At his nod, the soldiers surrounded Balthazar and Ferdinando. In the sudden press, Balthazar had time to snatch something from the colonel’s desk, and as he was pushed towards the secret door his adventurer’s hands hid the item inside his stolen uniform. It was uncomfortable and bulky, but he trusted to luck and the mass of men around him to keep it from view. Wolf and the captain led the way, chatting amiably in low tones. The colonel thumbed a hidden switch, and stepped into a narrow corridor lit by a string of gas lamps.
As the troupe of guards and prisoners followed the commander’s rapid footsteps, Balthazar felt the floor slope steadily downwards and he smelt the increasingly strong and unmistakable tang of the Thames in all its filth- and sewage-ridden majesty. Parnell followed close behind, an air of excited expectation around him and a malicious smile on his face.
Surrounded by guards and his aide Matthews, and with his prisoners tense and silent, Wolf became increasingly relaxed, playing the role of a genial host. As the group passed a thin passageway off the main tunnel, he paused his descent to gesture down the corridor towards a door barely visible in the darkness. “One of our l-laboratories, you know. Amazing science. Simply amazing. S-Stone gives me a f-free hand, and I put my men to w-work.”
Balthazar could not hide his curiosity, speaking out as Wolf led the party on once more, the echoes of their booted footsteps becoming lost amid an increasing metallic din from further down beneath the ground. “Your poor lads do what, exactly? Hammering and banging like a horde of devils in a tin mine, if my ears are any judge.”
“Oh, s-so much m-more than that.” Wolf turned to him, immense pride written across his face. “The S-Subjugation Assembly was just the b-beginning. Once p-people are used to f-following orders, they only need a little extra push to do w-whatever we w-want. W-whatever. Some of our experiments have been... unsuccessful, let us s-say. But still they line up in that room and elsewhere, doing their b-bit for Queen and c-country. Or so they think.”
Arrogance surrounded the colonel like a sickness, and if circumstances were different Balthazar would have happily wiped the oily grin from his features. Instead, the count masked his feelings with the blank smile of a supplicant, and said: “Very clever. Very clever indeed. Experiments in what? You have a most unusual base here, Colonel. So much space underground for who-knows-what.”
There was lamplight ahead at the end of the tunnel, and the tramp of their massed footsteps was rebounding against a set of black doors, wide enough for a carriage to pass through. From behind the entranceway could be heard the intermittent bang-bang-bang of metal hammering on metal.
Wolf replied, “It’s j-just how I like it. S-subjugated s-soldiers do not n-notice that they have not been p-paid, so I helped myself to their wages. Why live in s-squalor when you can indulge yourself and your friends? It seems only f-fair, given how m-much I am doing for this c-country.”
“Oh? How? By reducing a regiment of brave men into automatons?”
“No, by—”
The colonel was interrupted by Parnell, who pushed forward from the rear of the party to grab Wolf’s arm. “Enough of this, sir,” he spat. “We’ve walked a mile or two, and I’ve still heard nothing about any reward for me and my wife. When do I get what I was promised?”
Wolf stared at the dirty hand on his sleeve with such fury that Parnell, despite his own impatience, withdrew it.
“In good time, my treacherous f-friend,” said the colonel, standing before the closed doors. The river’s stink was stronger still, and one of the guards could not help but give a thick, phlegm-filled cough. “Just because you c-carry Lord Stone’s t-token, do not p-presume you can order me about. You will accompany your f-former c-comrades for a little w-while longer, then you will be rewarded.”
Wolf rapped once, twice, on one of the doors and it opened with a creak, revealing a guard who stood to attention before allowing the group past.
They had arrived at a vast open room that soared at least two stories high. The brick walls and ceiling shone in the light of a hundred lamps, but they were marred by thick streaks of soot which had evidently poured from the numerous forges and smelting works that lined the right-hand wall. Directly before Wolf and his captives lay stacks of iron girders, copper and tin sheets longer and taller than a man, and countless cogs, gears, and wheels. Dozens of soldiers, all stripped to the waist and soaked with sweat, worked three massive furnaces, passing molten metal through the flames and pouring it into blackened moulds. Presses and other machines created more smoke, which was funneled towards huge vents in the ceiling.
Here and there, other men hammered at strips of metal or bent them into assorted shapes before passing them to colleagues who labored to push barrows of iron somewhere into the rest of the room, which was shielded by clouds of steam.
They had to be in the grip of the Assembly, thought Balthazar. No normal man, no matter how cowed or obedient, could stand more than a few minutes of the reeking water, the boiling, choking smoke, and the roar of so much burning metalwork.
The din of fire, hammers, and men accounted for the noises he and his friends had heard, and the number of men at work explained why so few soldiers were on duty above ground. Amid the racket Wolf’s arrival appeared to go unnoticed. Only the guard at the door showed any sign of awareness, watching as the colonel signaled his troops to follow him into the tumult.
Balthazar possessed no interest in engineering or science, and could not begin to guess what the soldiers might be working on. But Ferdinando, edging close to one of the piles of finished metal for a brief inspection, said, “It’s for a ship, I reckon. Or an engine.”
Pushed on by the guards, the count had no time to offer an opinion before they were all swallowed by the smoke. Fires could be seen on either side through the grey clouds, and he pondered the chance of causing some sort of destruction that might allow him and Ferdinando to escape. Parnell had clearly chosen his side, damn him, and would have to take his chances with his new allies.
Striding on, a soldier occasionally prodding a rifle butt in his back, Balthazar felt a bold plan falling into place. However, before he could signal his friend, the smoke suddenly cleared and he narrowly avoided walking into Colonel Wolf, who had stopped short.
Before him, the ground ended sharply in a dockside. The Thames had been allowed to flow into this underground factory thanks to a tunnel far to the right, and Wolf’s men had built a lagoon large enough for a ship of the line. Balthazar could not imagine the labor that must have gone into such an endeavor.
But it was no ship that lay moored beneath the city streets. Instead there was a curious contraption, a seagoing craft of pitch black iron. Long and thin, it was constructed of layers of metal riveted together, rising from the river with sharp edges and jagged seams. Its bow began with a vicious point extending like a spear, then broadened into a body wide enough to contain several men sitting abreast. The dark water hid much of the hull, but the count supposed a man, even a very tall one, might be able to stand upright inside. Small windows ran in a line along the topside, but this was no pleasure craft. It had a military bearing and gave off an air of menace.
Wolf waved his arms expansively as his guards forced the prisoners to the water’s edge. “N-Neptune’s Foe,” he said over the noise of the forges behind them. “F-first of her line. An underwater engine of war.”
“Impressive,” admitted the count, running a hand carefully over an iron panel. He saw traces of a curious compound that sealed it to the one beneath, preventing any air from entering or escaping. He had heard rumors during his travels of such machines, but never imagined they might actually exist.
As he watched, Captain Matthews barked an order, and a ramp was laid from the shore to the top of the craft. Seconds later, a hatch opened amidships, and a sailor clambered out, saluting as soon as he saw the officers. He wore black oilskins, and hanging from his neck was another example of the mask Balthazar had found in Matthews’ office.
There was movement among the guards, and the count felt the air thickening with tension. He edged closer to Ferdinando, who was trying, and failing, to fix a calm expression on his round face.
Wolf stood on the ramp, which put him slightly higher than the rest of the party. Inside the vessel could be heard the movement typical of a ship making ready. From somewhere deep into the tunnel to the right, Balthazar heard the rolling moan of a foghorn on the Thames, a reminder that life outside continued apace.
The colonel surveyed the engine with the eye of a proud owner, then said to his prisoners, “Elizabeta w-would undoubtedly p-prefer that I put a b-bullet in your heads. Thoroughly well d-deserved, I’m s-sure. But I do not m-march to the b-beat of her d-drum. She is quite m-mad, you know—”
“—And you are not?” said Balthazar archly.
The colonel paused to give him an amused stare. “I have a d-different plan for you b-both. Something far more s-satisfying for me, if not for you.”
There was movement behind them, and all turned to see a line of dirt-streaked men, laden with wooden crates, heading for the ramp. Wolf made way as they strode carefully on board and descended into a hatch atop the craft. Not a word was spoken, and there was no sign of acknowledgment or recognition from master or servant.
When the final worker had disappeared into the odd vessel, Wolf explained: “My new c-crew. All ready for a v-voyage b-beneath the waves. Silent. Unseen. D-deadly.”
“Where might this poor band be headed, then?” ventured Balthazar, edging closer to the water as if hoping for a more thorough look. He tried to catch Ferdinando’s eye, but the other man seemed to be taking a keen interest in their guards, each of whom was watching their colonel avidly. Parnell loitered in the background, pacing impatiently.
“Oh, out and about,” said Wolf, a growing pride and passion in his voice as he started pacing like a teacher before a pair of unwilling pupils. “Once the Subjugation Assembly and its successors spread, there may be some g-governments who do not f-follow our way of thinking. If they try to s-stop us, our underwater engines will s-send their f-fleets to the b-bottom of the s-sea.”
“Sir.” Captain Matthews sounded a note of caution. Wolf raised an eyebrow, but his subordinate pressed on. “Perhaps this is a conversation best avoided, sir. Our work must remain a—”
“—Secret? I am t-tired of S-Stone and his damned s-secrecy.” Wolf’s tone became more strident as he strode alongside his beloved new craft, forcing the guards to back away in order to make room. “We are men of w-war. War, d-damn his eyes!
“We have spent long enough in the shadows. Soon we will have a f-force of undersea ships like the w-world has n-never known. Then we will make Europe shake, by God!”
Anger or madness was overcoming him, Balthazar saw. The count carefully raised a hand as if to brush his wayward hair, and ensured that his fingers were angled just right. Firelight from the nearest furnace shone across his bright gold ring—a costly piece he had picked up thanks to a rigged game of coins in a Viennese seminary—and the sudden sparkle caught Ferdinando’s eye. Ensuring he kept his friend’s attention, Balthazar quickly glanced down to the slim space between Neptune’s Foe and the dockside, and rolled his shoulders forward. It was subtle, but it was enough. Ferdinando blinked slowly, once, twice, and turned back to watch Wolf, who was working himself into a frenzy.
“The Assembly is just the b-beginning!” the colonel roared at his closest audience, three of the guards, whose faces remained blank despite his spittle flicking across them. Only Captain Matthews showed any reaction, his mouth sliding into a harsh smile as he nodded in support. “We will b-bring the Continent to ruins! Ruins! Those who do not f-follow us will be crushed beneath us!”
Balthazar tensed, taking one final small step to the water’s edge.
“Let Stone have his B-Black P-Pages.” Wolf sneered the words. “What do we need with m-mindless slaves when b-battle is nigh? Courage is all that m-matters! Courage and—”
There was a sudden agonized cry from the foundry area, which was illuminated by a brief burst of flame soaring towards the ceiling.
“Oh, what now?” said Wolf, exasperated. Phlegm dripped from the corner of his mouth, and sweat was soiling his collar. Striding from the dockside, he said to nobody in particular, “They are obedient, but so s-slow. So c-clumsy. But soon... Soon.” He cast an eye at Matthews. “I will deal with this latest accident. I will not have any delays. You, watch them. If one tries to escape, k-kill them b-both.”
The captain issued a flurry of orders to his men, who spread into a protective line, keeping Balthazar and Ferdinando close to the water. The maneuver exposed Parnell, and the count called to him, “Why, my friend?”
The acrobat pushed his way forward while the captain ignored him, instead watching Wolf talking to a group of soldiers beside the closest furnace. One of their fellows lay writhing on the floor, a vicious burn across his face and shoulders, but none of them appeared agitated or particularly concerned. Such was the power of the Assembly, something he found disconcerting despite close experience with it. A trace of the sickening smell of roasted flesh was in the air and the captain recoiled.
“‘Why?’” said Parnell. He paused, as if preparing to give a speech that was long due. “Because I have seen the way you look at my wife. Because I know you want her. Because I know you think only of yourself. Because I want to live a long and happy life. With you I get what? Torture? Probably. Death? Definitely. With Stone and his people, I get power, position, respect. I should have killed you long ago just for staring at Penelope like you do. But you have saved my life, and hers, more than once, so in my stupid, principled way I could not pull the trigger myself—”
“—Very decent of you, must say—”
“—But giving you to them, and getting something out of it for her and me into the bargain? That is perfect. I’m just sorry for you, Ferdinando. You have been dragged in the wake of this cheat, this womanizer.”
“Now hold fast,” said Balthazar, who saw Wolf striding back to them. The dead worker was being carried out of sight by his comrades, while a replacement took over his position at the furnace. Clearly nothing would stop the production of more of these underwater ships. “I may be no stranger to a lady’s bedroom, true, and I will not profess to being the most honest of fellows, but I would never step off with a friend’s beloved.
“Dearest Penelope is damnably attractive, bless her heart, so I might have given her the glad eye—can’t help meself, I’m afraid—but pulling a friend’s inamorata away from the marriage bed? Not guilty.”
Wolf paused to murmur fresh orders to Matthews, who handed his commander the case of papers and hurried off towards the foundry, where work had resumed with a fury as if the fatal fire had never occurred.
Parnell was about to respond but Balthazar continued, “Now you have betrayed us and damned yourself as a traitor, and for what? My glance at a beautiful woman who hasn’t an unfaithful bone in her body. Is she part of this? Does she know you for a turncoat?”
“She does what I say, if she knows what’s good for her.”
Wolf returned to the circle but said nothing, only watching in amusement as he let the argument play out.
Parnell turned to him and said, “I will give you all of them: Mother Cog, the professor, that whore Lily, even the bookseller. I will give you everything you need to destroy them. But I will have your word that you will keep Penelope safe.”
“Oh, of course,” began the colonel amiably, but Balthazar interrupted, “You fool, Parnell. As soon as they have finished with us, you will be the next to die. Why would Lord Stone want someone as treacherous as you?” A sudden idea came to his quickening, mischievous mind. Here we go. Ah, well. “Although you might be able to buy your life. If you give him Penelope to warm his bed... Like she did mine.”
With a cry of rage, Parnell raised his pistol. Instead, Balthazar beat him to it, knocking away his former friend’s arm with one hand and snatching the gun with the other. Pressing it hard into Parnell’s stomach, Balthazar squeezed the trigger.
The bullet ripped through his opponent, piercing muscle, before bursting from Parnell’s back and plunging into one of the soldiers with explosive force. The round tore flesh and bone apart, killing its victim instantly and sending shrapnel and body parts into two more men who fell in agony. As Parnell collapsed, Balthazar kicked him into more of the soldiers, sending two stumbling and forcing another to drop his rifle.
Ferdinando was far from idle, punching the closest distracted guard before head-butting another and leaping over the prostrate form of Parnell, which now lay silent and still.
Wolf was shocked at the explosion but still barked rapid orders. Matthews and reinforcements were running to the dockside commotion as Balthazar slipped between the flailing arms of two of his captors, and led Ferdinando into a rapid dive into the water. Only narrowly avoiding the side of Neptune’s Foe, they slipped through the gap as the remaining guards hurriedly readied their weapons.
“No!” screamed Wolf, waving a hand at the rising rifle barrels. “You’ll d-damage her!” His training told him the craft could survive far more than a volley of rifle fire at point-blank range, but he could take no chances, not at this late stage. He knew that the superiors he had decried so loudly would have little compunction about treating him severely for the slightest failure. He had heard enough about Doctor Flair’s investigations to know that any punishment would be long and unbearably painful before ending in a darkness that he would by that time be only too glad to embrace.
Wolf directed the remaining troops further along the dockside. “They must c-come up for air,” he said, watching the murky surface avidly. “When they do, w-wound them.” Pulling his own pistol, he added, “Any man who k-kills one of them will f-follow them into Hell.”
Seconds passed, and still there was no sign of the two fleeing prisoners. Matthews joined Wolf by the water’s edge, and the colonel commanded, “Close the g-gates, damn you! Seal them in!”
The captain and a handful of men hurried towards the far wall and the huge portcullis hanging over the tunnel that led to the Thames.
Wolf returned to the water, just in time to see two heads break the surface, a rifle shot away. “There!” he cried. “Fire! Wound them!”
A volley ripped the air, breaking even the din of the foundry and drawing the attention of his silent workers. Spouts of water jumped around the swimmers’ heads, and Wolf saw Ferdinando suddenly drop. Balthazar, on the other hand, turned back and calmly gave a friendly wave of farewell as his former captors hurriedly reloaded.
To the right came the sound of gears turning as Matthews and his detachment yanked at the levers that lowered the portcullis. It began to descend, slowly.
“Come on!” screamed Wolf. “Drop it, n-now!”
There was a flicker at the corner of his eye, and he snapped his head back to see Balthazar pulling the oxygen mask—purloined from Wolf’s desk and hidden inside his uniform—onto his face. Even though the leather and metalwork obscured almost all of the count’s face, Wolf knew, just knew, that the swine would be grinning as he slipped beneath the surface and followed his friend further beyond range and out of sight on the other side of the Thames gate.
Swallowing his anger and already planning the best way of laying the blame on hapless Captain Matthews, he turned to his remaining soldiers and pointed to Parnell. “See if he is s-still alive. If he is, he will soon wish he was n-not.”
Next time (instalments are added every Wednesday and Saturday): a visit to a mental hospital puts Solomon and his friends in fresh danger. To find out more, follow me and The Policeman of Secrets.
If you cannot wait, it is available now as an e-book from all major stockists and as a paperback from Amazon in the US, UK, and Europe. For more details of this and the rest of my writing, visit http://www.andrewmelvin.com, and follow me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/AMelvin_Author