“I could’ve been working alongside my mentor on Tower Bridge,” Simon said. “Instead I chose to pursue my own
“You doubt the merit of a public transportation system high above the congested streets of London?”
“No.” Simon’s monorail system inspired by the Book of Mods would have eased ground traffic and air pollution caused by the rising population and number of steam-belching and petrol-guzzling automocoaches. It would have provided an affordable mass transit alternative to London’s underground rail service.
“I regret that I boasted prematurely about my project. Had I not bragged, Papa would not have invested the family fortune.” Sickened, Simon dragged his hands though his longish hair. “Bloody hell, Jules. What was the old fool thinking?”
“That he believed in you.”
“When the project failed, I Teletyped Papa immediately. Railed against the injustice of political corruption. Wallowed in self-pity. What was I thinking?”
“That he would damn the eyes of the narrow-minded and manipulative Old Worlders. That he’d side with you. Ease your misery.” Jules looked away. “He excelled at that. Building us up. Making us believe we were capable of whatever our hearts and minds desired.”
For a moment, Simon set aside his own heavy remorse and focused on his brother, who had always been darker in coloring and nature than the more fair and frivolous Simon. Though presently residing in London, where he worked as an author of science fiction novels, Jules Darcy was retired military, a decorated war hero. Details revolving around the skirmish that had mangled his legs and left him with a permanent limp were classified. The period of rehabilitation had been extensive and also shrouded in secrecy. Even Simon was clueless as to those peculiar days of Jules’s mysterious life. Although he was often privy to his brother’s moods and inclinations, he’d never been able to read Jules’s mind regarding the covert nature of his service to the Crown.
“Coffee’s bitter,” Jules said, setting aside his cup and reaching for the sugar bowl.
Everything had tasted bitter to Simon for days, but he knew what his brother meant. “Eliza made the coffee. Be warned—she cooked as well.”
Frowning, Jules glanced toward the sideboard and the steaming porcelain tureens. Though an excellent housekeeper, Eliza was famously ill equipped in the kitchen. “What happened to Concetta?”
The skilled though crotchety cook had been in their mother’s employ for months. “Mother dismissed her this morning. Said we could no longer afford her services.”
“Did she not offer the woman a month’s notice?”
“She did. Along with excellent references. But Concetta’s prideful. She ranted in her native tongue, and though I’m not fluent in Italian, I understood the intention. She’s leaving today.”
“Damnation,” Jules said.
In this instance, Simon knew the man’s thoughts. Things were indeed dire if Anne Darcy, a conservative woman obsessed with old ways and upholding appearances, had resorted to dismissing servants. Another kick to Simon’s smarting conscience.
Just then Eliza’s husband, Harry, appeared with two folded newspapers in hand. “As requested,” he said, handing the
If anyone knew about the poor quality of his wife’s cooking, it was Harry.
Simon quirked a smile he didn’t feel. “We’ll be fine, Harry.” The man nodded and left, and Simon looked to his brother. “We’ll have to sample something, you know. Otherwise we’ll hurt Eliza’s feelings.”
“I know.” Distracted, Jules seemed absorbed by the front page of the
Simon immediately turned to the headlines of the
January 10, 1887
ROYAL REJUVENATION—A GLOBAL RACE FOR FAME AND FORTUNE
In celebration of Queen Victoria’s upcoming Golden Jubilee, an anonymous benefactor has pledged to award a colossal monetary prize to the first man or woman who discovers and donates a lost or legendary technological invention of historical significance to Her Majesty’s British Science Museum in honor of her beloved Prince Albert. An additional ?500,000 will be awarded for the rarest and most spectacular of all submissions. Address all inquiries to P. B. Waddington of the Jubilee Science Committee.
Simon absorbed the significance, the possibilities. “Blimey.”
“I assume you’re reading what I’m reading,” Jules said. “News like this must have hit the front page of every newspaper in the British Empire.”
“And beyond.” Simon fixated on the headline, specifically the words FAME AND FORTUNE. He wanted both. For his family. For himself.
“Pardon the interruption, sirs.” Contrite, Harry had reappeared with three small envelopes. “It would seem sorrow regarding the loss of Lord Ashford has muddled my mind. These were in my pocket. I picked them up at the post whilst in the village this morning.” He handed an envelope to each of the brothers, then placed the third near their sister’s place setting. “This one is for Miss Amelia,” he said. “That is, if she joins you this morning.”
Since their father’s death, Amelia had been grieving in private.
“We’ll see that she gets it,” Jules said. “Thank you, Harry.”
The man left and Simon struggled not to think of their young sister locked away in her bedroom—mourning, worrying. Yes, she was a grown woman, twenty years of age, but she’d led a sheltered life, and though obstinate as hell, Amelia was tenderhearted. At least half of Simon’s worries would end if she’d relent and marry a good and financially stable man. Alas, Amelia’s fiery independence was both a blessing and a curse. Frustrated, Simon focused back on what appeared to be an invitation. “No return address.”
He withdrew the missive in tandem with Jules and read aloud. “Given your family’s reputation as innovators, adventurers, and visionaries—”
“—you have been specifically targeted and are hereby enthusiastically invited to participate in a global race for fame and fortune,” Jules finished.
“Royal rejuvenation.”
“Colossal monetary prize.”
“Legendary technological invention,” they said together.
“Is your missive signed?” Simon asked.
“No. Yours?”
“No.” He glanced from the mysterious note to the
“Yet again it’s assumed that because Papa knew the Time Voyager, he must have had knowledge regarding Briscoe’s time machine.”
“Also natural to assume Papa would have passed along that information to us,” Simon said. “Which he did not.”
“No, he did not. If he had any.”
“Unless . . .” Simon looked to the envelope next to Amelia’s empty plate.
“If Papa had pertinent information regarding Briscoe’s time machine, he would not have burdened Little Bit with such knowledge,” Jules said. “Too dangerous.”
Indeed. No invention was more historically
Intending to inspire peace and to circumvent future atrocities and global destruction, those dimension- hoppers, also known as the Peace Rebels, preached cautionary tales throughout the world, most notably in America and Europe. Unfortunately, a few were corrupted and soon leaked advanced knowledge that led to the
