Machinist had powered up the automaton left behind in Covent Garden. It was moving.
Elation rushed over him. It didn’t matter that he was in the dreaded lift still below ground, but climbing. He stopped counting bricks and shouted with glee, “Got you! Garibaldi, you bounder, I’ve got you!”
He pulled his pocket telegraph from his coat and sent a message to Emily to come to the surface as soon as possible and to bring her equipment. Then he sent a message to Sam. One more went to Jasper, whom he directed to fetch Finley. He really should have Emily make one of these gadgets for Finley, as well, blast it. The last message was to Cordelia, who was at Buckingham Palace, scanning the minds of staff and guests to make certain Garibaldi didn’t have an accomplice on the inside. The tunnel beneath the palace had been sealed, so there would be no one using it to sneak in or out.
When he finally exited the lift, Sam was there, eyes wide. “Is it him?” he asked, with bloodthirsty exuberance.
Griffin nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “I believe so, my friend. Help Emily bring up the equipment. Jas and Finley should be here directly.”
His large friend saluted him. “Give me a couple of minutes’ head start then send the lift down after me.”
Griffin’s stomach turned. He hated when his friend did what he was about to do, but in the interest of time, he decided not to argue. He watched, slightly nauseated as Sam maneuvered his considerable bulk around the side of the lift. Then, using the caging as a handhold, he eased himself down into the shaft. A few seconds later, there was a zipping sound, that quickly faded into nothingness as Sam slid down the cables to the laboratory far below.
Griffin sent up a silent prayer that his friend wouldn’t fall, or that if he did, he healed quickly, and then closed the gate and sent the lift downward so they could load it with what they needed.
He stopped by his study, where he poured a glass of water from the crystal pitcher on the sideboard and took a small cobalt bottle from the locked drawer in his desk. It was a new version of his Aether potion—one that wouldn’t tire him. He removed the top and poured a small amount into the water. He stared at it for a moment before lifting it into his mouth and downing it all in one swift, bitter swallow. No turning back now.
A photograph of him with his mother and father, taken when he was thirteen, lay on the bottom of the drawer. Griffin picked it up and studied the smiling faces of the adults standing behind him, their hands on each of his shoulders. His mother was so pretty and young. His father so tall and noble-looking. He knew he resembled his father in many ways, but he fancied he had his mother’s smile.
“Soon,” he said to their likeness. “Leonardo Garibaldi will answer for what he did to you.” Then he dropped the photograph back into the drawer, which he shut and locked, slipping the key into his waistcoat pocket.
Straightening his cuffs, he left the study to run upstairs so he could change clothes. Anticipation sang in his veins.
Soon, he would have justice.
They assembled in the foyer within twenty minutes of Griffin’s summons. Finley wore her usual uniform of short-knickers, stockings and boots. But this time she wore a long black coat over her corset. Snug, with a mandarin collar and long sleeves, it would keep her warm, but the dearth of buttons below the waist gave her freedom of movement. The fellows wore their usual clothing paired with heavy, thick-soled boots. The only deviance from this was Griffin, who joined them dressed entirely in black and without his usual cravat. He looked vaguely like a pirate, Finley thought, enjoying the sight of him.
But Emily was the biggest surprise. She wore her usual short trousers and corset-vest over a short-sleeved top. Her jacket was a military style—a mossy green color that complemented her pale skin. It wasn’t her clothing, however, that caught Finley’s attention—it was the great cat sitting at her feet. Finley had never seen it operational before this, and it hadn’t looked like this even then. Easily three feet tall, its head was the size of a human’s and its paws sported razor-sharp claws. Its engraved coat was the flat gray of gunmetal, and all-too-real-looking feline eyes stared from inside iron sockets. It was beautiful and scary at the same time. Finley didn’t know if she should pet it or stay as far away from it as possible.
“You finally finished it,” Griffin commented, stroking a hand over the cat’s smooth head. “She’s beautiful, Em.”
Emily beamed under the praise. “I know. I made a few changes in her design to aid in our adventure.”
“Equipment’s loaded,” Sam informed Griffin. “We’re all set.”
Griffin looked around them, meeting each and every one of their gazes. “I don’t have to tell you how much danger we’re putting ourselves in. Garibaldi will undoubtedly have more than one automaton sentinel at his workshop. Stay focused, stay sharp and, for God’s sake, stay
They all nodded. Finley’s heart was like a thundering train in her chest. She opened and clenched her fists, experimenting with the feel of the brass knuckles Emily had made for her. They anchored with a bracelet around each wrist and a ring around each finger. Thin but strong chains crisscrossed over the back of her hands and fingers, attached to curved metal shields over each of her knuckles. She’d be able to hit that much harder now.
They filed out into the night. It was dry and cool, not the faintest hint of rain in the air. In the stables, they each climbed onto their velocycles.
Emily’s cycle was different from the others. It had two back wheels instead of one. Spaced about three feet apart, they gave more stability to her vehicle, which was needed because she had a small storage area built into the back of the cycle to store weapons and equipment. Her cat sat atop this bin. Powerful magnets insured that the cat wouldn’t fall off during travel.
It was at that moment, that even though she’d thought it before, Finley realized that Emily was a bloody genius.
Griffin started up his cycle and the others followed suit. Within moments they were speeding through Mayfair, toward their as yet unknown destination. Griffin had the tracking device, so they followed his lead, occasionally slowing or stopping so that he could get a better fix on the direction.
Eventually they arrived on the docks east of Victoria Embankment. It was darker here, the buildings throwing shadows where there wasn’t much light to be found. Here the smells of the Thames were strong and unpleasant, rife with the salty scent of fish and the much more pungent odors of human waste. Finley’s keen sense of smell rebelled and she shuddered at the overpowering smells. It was awful.
“Here.” It was Emily. She smeared a tiny bit of some kind of waxy ointment underneath Finley’s nose. Suddenly, all she could smell was lavender—not a scent she liked normally, but it was better than the rot of the harbor.
“We’ll go the rest of the way on foot,” Griffin explained as they gathered in one of the many darkened sections. The shadows hid their velocycles from view should anyone pass by the area. “Gather your gear and let’s go.”
Emily’s cat stood by her side as she opened the compartment on her cycle. “There are chest guards in here for everyone. Jasper, I have ammunition and the mechanical disruptor pistol. There’s a setting for engines and one for moving parts. I think you’ll find it works better than the old one. I want everyone to take one of these little gizmos, as well.” She held up a tiny bell-shaped metal doodad and slipped it into her right ear. “They amplify speech, so we’ll be able to hear one another regardless of pitch or situation.”
Finley stared at her. “You really are brilliant.”
Emily grinned at her. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Then softly, just for Finley’s ears, “Though I’d gladly give up just a little of my intelligence to fight like you.”
A slow smile curved Finley’s lips. “I’ll teach you if you teach me.” It was more than an offer between friends—it was a promise to make it out of this confrontation alive.
“Agreed.” Emily took the earpiece from her and slipped it into Finley’s right ear. “How’s that?” she whispered.
Finley’s eyes widened. It sounded as though Emily had spoken at her normal volume. “Perfect.”
“Good. Do you need a chest guard or are you wearing the corset I made you?”
“Corset,” Finley replied, feeling more than a little smart herself for having thought of it.
“Excellent.” Then Emily walked away to check on one of the other fellows.
