The Iron Wyrm Affair

Devon’s shade, when pressed, informed me that the conspiracy is very near fruition. It appears a single thing is lacking – a shipment of something from Prussia.”

“Prussian capacitors, most likely.” Clare nodded. “Especially if they intend to have a single mentath run the transmitting engine; each one will help with the subsidiary equations. I am not so sure what the nervous organs are for, but no doubt they have some function. The question of just which mentath they have to run the damn thing—”

“Is irrelevant at the moment. The Prussian things were delayed due to weather; they are to arrive in Dover tomorrow morning.” Miss Bannon was pale again. “You and your companions shall intercept this shipment and do whatever possible to delay and disrupt the part of the conspiracy that hinges on them.”

“And you will be occupied with?” Though he already knew, he found he wished to hear her say it. She was, he reflected, a most unusual woman, and it was rather nice to converse with someone who did not require intellectual coddling.

Someone who could think.

“It is high time Lord Grayson answered some questions.” Level and chill, her gaze focused on the graceful silver epergne. The table’s gryphon legs writhed, uneasily, but the snow-white tablecloth was flat and straight. The cadaverous Mr Finch, without asking, brought a decanter and a small glass to Miss Bannon’s place; without looking, she accepted the glass and tossed its contents far down her throat with only a small ladylike grimace afterward. “Thank you, Mr Finch. Excuse me, gentlemen, but I require some bolstering. This is an unpleasant business.”

“I agree.” Clare found himself reaching for his wine glass. I rather envy her the rum. But it would dull his faculties, even as it afforded him some relief. A fraction of coja might help, but he could not take that at table. Later, then. “There is something that troubles me, Miss Bannon.”

A slight lift of an eyebrow. “And what is that?”

“This is no ordinary conspiracy. What could these persons wish to accomplish with an army, even one so formidable as this? And where has the money to fund such a venture arrived from? This is most remarkable. I am very curious.”

The rum seemed to make no impression on her. “There are things it is best for you not to know, Mr Clare. I am sorry.”

“Ah. Well.” He sipped at his wine. “I work best when I am informed, Miss Bannon. It is very unlikely that whoever wishes to unseat Britannia’s current incarnation has merely one army or plan at their disposal. Even if that army is one sorcery will not touch.”

The table rattled slightly. Even Sigmund looked up, his chewing halted for a moment.

Miss Bannon’s childlike face turned even more set. Twin sparks of crimson flashed in her pupils for a few moments, then vanished. “We are not dealing with merely one conspiracy, Mr Clare. We are dealing with an unholy alliance of competing interests, none of whom are being exactly honest with each other. There is at least one party who wishes the destruction of Britannia Herself, one who possibly only wishes the damage of Her current incarnation to make said incarnation amenable to coercion, and a third who wishes to sow as much confusion and chaos as possible in order to impair the Empire in any way they may.” Her long jet earrings swung even though she was motionless, and the large black gem on a silver choker about her slim throat flashed with a single white-hot charter symbol for a moment. Her curls stirred, on a slow cool breeze that came from nowhere and ruffled along Clare’s own face. “I will allow none of this, and I will conclude this matter to my satisfaction and in the manner I deem best.”

The silence was immense. Every gaze in the room had fastened on her. Ludovico Valentinelli seemed thoughtful, his pocked face open and interested. The Bavarian was still unchewing, his eyes wide like a frightened child’s. The new Shield had turned cheesy-pale and laid his fork down. Mikal, on the other hand, simply watched her, and his expression was as unguarded as Clare had ever seen it.

I wonder if she knows what he feels. I wonder if he does.

Clare leaned back in his chair. He tented his fingers under his long sensitive nose and studied Miss Bannon’s immobility. Finally he had marshalled his thoughts sufficiently to speak. Be very careful here, Archie old man.

“Miss Bannon. According to what I have seen so far, the Queen trusts you implicitly. This trust is well placed. You are neither stupid nor irresponsible, and you are, I daresay, one of the finest of Britannia’s subjects. Despite the fact that you have suspected me and told me virtually nothing of the contours of this conspiracy, I find that I trust you implicitly as well. I am” – he untangled his fingers, lifted his wineglass – “your servant, madam. I shall do my very best to discharge the duty laid upon me, by God and Her Majesty. Now, do you view the situation as dire enough for us to pass over the sweets, or shall we partake, as this may be the last dinner some of us are fortunate enough to consume?”

Miss Bannon’s mouth compressed itself into a thin line, and for a moment he was certain he had said exactly the wrong thing. People were so bloody difficult, after all, and she was a woman – they were noted for irrationality, never mind that this sorceress was one of the least irrational creatures he had ever known the pleasure of meeting.

But her mouth relaxed, and a smile like sunrise played over her face. “I believe the situation is dire enough on my account but not so dire on yours, so you and your companions will have to do justice to the sweets for me. I wish to see Lord Grayson as close to Tideturn as possible. Thank you, gentlemen.”

She rose, still smiling, and the men leapt to their feet as one. She swept from the dining room, and the Shields hurried in her wake.

The Neapolitan breathed a curse. “Last time la strega look like that …” He lowered himself back into his chair as Mr Finch reappeared with two footmen bearing the sweets. The butler did not seem at all distressed or surprised to find his mistress had quit the table.

“What happened, the last time Miss Bannon looked like that?” Clare enquired.

Valentinelli allowed the scarred footman to clear his place. “Oh, nothing. Just Ludovico almost hanged, and il sorcieri laughing in the dark. La strega, the bitch, she save Ludo’s life.” A single shrug. “Some day I forgive her. But not today.”

“Ah.” Clare filed this away. Valentinelli’s drawer in his mental bureau was almost as interesting as Miss Bannon’s, by now.

But not quite. He could still feel her gloved fingers on his hand, trembling. And three separate interlocking interests making this conspiracy an even more troubling – and fascinating – puzzle.

Sig looked mournful. “We finish dinner, ja?”

“Indeed.” Clare sat, slowly, and Mr Finch poured the sherry. “We finish dinner, dear Sig.”

It might indeed be our last one, if what I suspect is true.

Interlude The Cliffs Will Be No Bar

The rain had stopped as Tideturn swirled through the streets; but with the coming of night the fog resurged. It boiled down to the surface of the streets, and as the brougham thundered along at a steady pace towards the station, its driver occasionally cracking the whip, Clare steepled his fingers again and did his best to tease out the implications bothering him so.

This was difficult for a number of reasons, one of which was Sigmund, who could not or would not cease muttering about his new-found admiration for Miss Bannon. Valentinelli occasionally snorted, but otherwise held his tongue. The carriage roared along, clockwork hooves and the jolting a severe distraction – especially since Clare had taken his fraction of coja before setting out. The resultant sharpening of his faculties and dulling of his limitations would have been wonderfully soothing had he been alone.

“Such grace!” Sig muttered. “Baerbarth will be hero, yes! And so will Clare. Good man, Clare.”

Dear God, we are possibly about to die, and he cannot stop himself. Leave it be, Clare.

Three players, then – or at least, three players that Miss Bannon was willing to admit to. A dragon, obviously.