by Candace Camp
The thought amused him, and his mind cleared a little. Last night hadn’t really been a fight. Desmond recalled waking up with a start to see a large dark form looming over his bed. He’d jumped up, but a fist was already connecting with his jaw. He’d fallen, and his head had come up against the wall. That explained the ache on the back of his skull, as well.
Next, there was something being poured into his mouth, making him choke and cough. A man hovered over him, tilting a bottle into his mouth. Desmond recognized that face. It was Wallace’s “punisher,” as the boy had called him: Grieves. He’d squirmed, trying to escape, closing his throat in resistance, but the man had pinned him down with his knee and leaned heavily on him.
“Drink, you whoreson, drink,” Grieves had growled, and pinched Desmond’s nostrils together, forcing him to swallow.
What happened after that? The memories rolled slowly on. More darkness, then a vague stumbling consciousness when someone hauled him out of the carriage and ordered him to relieve himself by the side of the road. And hadn’t that been humiliating? Hands tied, watched by strangers as he clumsily unbuttoned his trousers. But he’d had to, hadn’t he, or would have had to face an even more humiliating result?
Then he made a groggy attempt to escape, jerking his arm from Grieves’s hold and trying to run. It had resulted in nothing but staggering a few feet and a tumble to the ground, much to Grieves’s amusement. Two men had hauled him up, one on each side, and had thrown him back in the carriage. But there had been a third man, hadn’t there? Standing back in the darkness, out of the light of the carriage lamps.
Another abortive attempt to refuse the liquid in the bottle, followed by unconsciousness. And now this slow ascent into awareness. He wondered vaguely how much damage blows and large doses of laudanum would do to one’s head.
The muscles of his legs were cramping, for the space between the carriage seats was far too small for his long frame. As if that weren’t enough, there was another person in the carriage with him, his feet taking up some of the space.
Desmond kept his eyes closed and tried to ignore the pain in his legs. He needed to regain more control of his brain and body before he let them know he was awake. He wouldn’t have much time to act before they dosed him again. But in the end, as the pain turned to numbness, Desmond had to move. If his legs became utterly numb, they’d be of no use to him, anyway. He shifted—not an easy thing to do in these tight quarters—and gradually twisted around to face the man sitting behind him. Desmond expected to find Grieves there, waiting with a fist or a bottle to render him unconscious again. But it was, in fact, worse.
“Professor Gordon!” Desmond felt sick at his stomach. His mentor had been the third man in the shadows, watching Desmond’s abduction, the manhandling and drugging of him, and done nothing to help him. No, more than that—he must have been the one to engineer the kidnapping. Grieves wouldn’t have acted on his own.
“Yes.” The older man let out a gusty sigh. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I worried that he had given you too much. Here, let me help you.”
Gordon grasped Desmond’s arm and helped pull him up onto the other seat. Desmond would have preferred to refuse his assistance, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure he could do it by himself. His legs and feet felt like blocks of wood.
Desmond scrunched into the corner, stretching out his legs as far as he could, and regarded his former teacher balefully. “How could you do this?”
“Dear boy, I’m so sorry. I hated to resort to such extremes, but I knew you wouldn’t agree. You disapprove of our taking back the Eye, and—”
“Taking it back? You mean stealing it.”
Gordon sighed. “I feared you would see it that way.”
“What other way is there?”
“Advancing science. Removing an obstruction so we can expand our knowledge of the universe. This is far more important than the possession of property. I do hope you’ll realize that. The Eye belongs with us.”
“This is a pointless argument,” Desmond said in disgust. “Why is it necessary to kidnap me? You already have the Eye.”
“Yes. But, dear boy, we must have you to use it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
THISBE’S FIRST HEARTBREAKING thought was that everything these past few days had been a sham. It had a brutally practical logic to it: Desmond wanted the Eye and used her to help him find it after Gordon stole it. Once he’d achieved his goal, he had cast her aside. He never loved her. That magical night in his room meant nothing to him.
But...no. She didn’t believe any of that. Whatever sense it made, she knew in her heart that it wasn’t true. That night with him had been magical. Desmond was as dazzled, as awed, as she. What she saw in his eyes, felt in his touch, tasted in his kiss, was real. She trusted Desmond. She knew Desmond. He was a good, honest man, a loyal man. He wouldn’t have run away.
If Desmond had gone to find Gordon without her, he had a good reason. He believed he was shielding her from harm. Or, if Thisbe’s visions of Anne Ballew were true, the Eye was working on him—stealing his will and mind, as Anne put it, and making him act in a way he wouldn’t normally.
There was another possibility, which was the one that worried her: Gordon and Wallace had taken Desmond against his will. Perhaps they knew that Desmond was Anne Ballew’s descendant. If they’d tracked down the Eye to her grandmother’s possession, what was to say they hadn’t traced Anne Ballew’s heirs to the present, as well? Now that they’d learned that only the alchemist’s relatives could use the Eye, they wanted Desmond to operate the instrument for them.
Maybe Gordon hadn’t taken off for Wallace’s home as soon as he returned to London, but instead had stayed to kidnap Desmond. He wouldn’t be able to do that himself, but he could have used that thug Grieves again.
They wouldn’t harm him. Surely they wouldn’t harm him if they needed him to use the Eye. Thisbe tried to hold on to the idea, but she was too realistic not to realize that if Desmond would not help them, they would coerce him. She didn’t like to think of what awful thing that might involve.
And if he gave in to their coercion, it could be even more disastrous for him. Anne Ballew had warned it would destroy her “child.” Perhaps the reason there had been no sign that Desmond was affected by the Eye was because he hadn’t actually touched it. If he held it, if he looked through it, it might overcome him and leave him an empty shell. Or turn him into a horrid person. Or subject him to hatred and death, as it had done to Anne herself. Everything Thisbe could think of was equally catastrophic.
This was the reason Anne had invaded Thisbe’s dreams. Perhaps Thisbe’s visions were nonsense, but Thisbe understood now how Desmond felt about her grandmother’s prediction—any chance, no matter how small, that Desmond would be destroyed by the Eye was too much to risk.
She had to save Desmond. She had to keep him from using the Eye.
The problem was doing it. The train didn’t depart for several hours. She was tempted to take the carriage to Preston, but the truth was that in the end the train would be faster. But she must do something in the meantime; she could not bear to sit about and wait.
She decided to take another tour of Desmond’s haunts. It was, after all, possible that she had missed him. Worse, he and Gordon could be somewhere in the city instead of Wallace’s. If she rushed off to the north of England, she could be doing exactly the wrong thing. She needed to look for any clue that might tell her where they were before she committed herself to action.
Thisbe went again to Desmond’s flat. This time she walked through the small room, looking into each drawer and cabinet. A fabric traveling bag stood in one corner, and she found some of his clothes in it. He’d clearly started packing for their departure, but hadn’t taken it when he left. There were no trousers or shirt folded neatly on the chair by his bed, as there had been the other night, and no suit jacket hung on the back.
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br /> His coat hung from the hook by the door, his hat beside it. Desmond was prone to mislaying his hat or gloves, but he was less likely to leave behind a coat. He had, of course, done so that day she met him, but he’d been very pressed for time then. What would have made him run out so hastily this morning? His only appointment was with her. Everything pointed toward the probability that he had not left voluntarily. Unfortunately, nothing hinted at where he’d gone.
Thisbe sat down on the side of his bed. She felt better there, almost as if Desmond were with her. She picked up his pillow and held it close. It smelled like him, which comforted her even as it made her heart ache.
This was getting her nowhere. She must move on. Thisbe set down the pillow and stood up. It was then that she saw the small dark spot on the wall. She leaned closer. It was the color of dried blood. Her heart began to pound.
Thisbe fought for calm. She must keep her head or she would be of no use at all. The spot was little, and it was the only one. Thisbe examined all around the bed and could see no other sign of blood. That spot could have been there for a long time, for all she knew. The other night when she was here, it had been dark, and she didn’t spend her time studying the wall.
There was no reason to panic. She must move on in a logical manner. There was no need to try again at the optical shop. If Desmond had gone there, the owner would have told him she had come by looking for him. The laboratory seemed the most likely place for Gordon to take Desmond to test the Eye. Its locked state this morning now seemed suspicious.
She found the place still locked and dark. Thisbe wished she could see inside, but the only window was too grimy to see anything through it. She wished she knew how to pick a lock. Perhaps there was some way she could break it. Her mind went to Reed’s protégé. Tom Quick could get the door open in a trice.
“Thisbe.”
Thisbe whipped around at the sound of her name. “Carson.”
“May I be of any assistance?” Carson trotted down the stairs.
“I was looking for Desmond.”
“Mislaid him, eh?” He smiled in his unflappable way. “Looks like no one’s here. But we can see.” He pulled a key from his pocket and bent to open the door.
The room was indeed empty, as well as cold. Thisbe’s hopes wilted. It was clear Desmond wasn’t here.
“What about the other room?” Thisbe pointed to the door on the opposite wall.
“The supply room? I doubt he would be in there.” Carson opened the door, revealing the same stacks of supplies and equipment that she’d seen when she and Desmond searched it a few days ago.
“Thank you. I’ll let you get to work.” She turned away. Where else could she go? Her choices were growing more limited by the moment.
“Wait.” Carson followed Thisbe to the door. “Is something amiss? You seem a bit distraught.”
Thisbe forced a smile. “No, everything is—I mean—It’s just...”
He frowned. “Now I’m certain something’s wrong. Is it Desmond? Has something happened to him?”
“I don’t know.” Though Thisbe’s voice was low, her words were almost a cry. “We were going to—He was supposed to come to my house this morning, and he didn’t arrive. I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Is this to do with the Eye? Professor Gordon?”
“Yes. Probably. Perhaps. I’m sorry. I must go.”
“Let me help you. We’ll look together.” He trailed after her to the outside stairs. “If I know Desmond, he’s probably reading at the library and doesn’t realize the time. We should visit the reading room at the British Museum. Or the university. Have you tried to his shop?”
“He’s not there. And I can’t imagine that he went to the library today.”
“Is he still trying to find the professor? Could he have gone after him?”
“Yes, perhaps.”
“I’ll close the laboratory and come with you.”
Thisbe was tempted to tell Carson the whole story. He seemed sincerely concerned, and it wouldn’t be amiss to have another pair of hands if she found Desmond in trouble—especially if those hands could make better fists than her own.
But she remembered Desmond’s doubts about Carson, his reluctance to let the other man accompany them on their search. In all likelihood, Desmond’s concerns were foolish and sprang from jealousy. Still...he knew Carson better than she did; indeed, she scarcely knew the man at all. Like the rest of them, Carson was eager to see the Eye. Desmond had said he was the first to suggest stealing it. What if Carson was in league with his professor? He could be the man Gordon had rushed off to talk to the other day.
“No, there’s no need for you to do that,” she told him. “You have work to do.”
“I don’t mind setting it aside.”
She shook her head with finality. “Honestly, I can’t think of anywhere else to look. I’ll just return to the house and wait for him. No doubt he got distracted, as you said, and he will soon rush in, full of apologies.” She smiled, doing her best to infuse her words with light amusement, and started up the stairs without waiting for a response.
“Promise you will come for me if Desmond doesn’t appear,” Carson called, coming up a few steps.
“Yes, of course. Thank you. Goodbye.” She turned to her carriage, where Thompkins stood waiting. She murmured the address of Professor Gordon’s flat to her driver as he gave her a hand up into the carriage. She took care not to glance back at Carson. If he was watching her, she didn’t want to do anything that appeared furtive.
Gordon’s landlord, remembering the coins she had given him the other day, let her into the professor’s flat without protest. She found nothing, which she had expected; a room with neighbors all around seemed an unlikely place to hold anyone prisoner. But the trip was not entirely a waste, for the landlord was happy to inform her that Gordon had returned to his flat.
“Not long after you left the other day, it were. I would have let you know, miss, but I didn’t know how.”
“Has he been here ever since?”
“He nipped in and out a few times, stayed the night and yesterday he left. Carrying a bag.” He paused to emphasize the significance of his words. “I watched, you know, just in case you might come back. Got in a carriage, and that was the last I’ve seen of him.”
“What time of day was that?”
“Not sure. It was dark, right enough. I couldn’t see the coach too well.”
“Was anyone with him?”
“Not in his flat, no. There was a chap driving the carriage, but all I could see was his back. ’Nother fellow beside him on the driver’s seat.”
“Was one of them a large man?”
The landlord registered surprise. “Oh, aye, he was a big one, sure enough. Not the driver, but the other one.”
So Gordon had left in a carriage with two men, one of them most likely Grieves. Thisbe wished now that her grandmother had brought charges against the man. Gordon wasn’t taking a hack to Paddington; hansoms had only a single driver. The professor was making a journey by coach—understandable if one was planning to kidnap a person. And why else would he have Grieves with him but to overcome Desmond, something the middle-aged scientist could not do alone?
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Thisbe handed him a larger coin than before. “If he comes back, send word to me at Broughton House. Anyone there will do.”
Thisbe returned to her carriage. As she climbed in, the back of her neck prickled. She glanced behind her. Unsurprisingly, the landlord was standing at his window, watching her. That was good; a nosy man was exactly whom she needed at Gordon’s home.
She returned to the house, certain now that Gordon had forced Desmond to go with him. She was equally sure that the likeliest destination for the carriage was Wallace’s estate in the north. She took some comfort in the fact that she would make better
time by train than they would in the carriage. It would help to make up a little for the long head start they had on her.
She wished Theo had stayed at home; she would feel confident facing down the three men if she had her twin by her side. She would have enlisted Reed, but he was back in Oxford since Hilary term had begun; she couldn’t waste the time to fetch him. Again she thought of Carson and again discarded the idea.
It was up to her.
At home, Thisbe took Olivia aside and explained exactly what had happened. If the landlord did try to send her a message, there must be someone in the house who knew where Thisbe was and what she was doing. Also, though she didn’t want to dwell on the thought, there was always the possibility that everything would go awry and she, too, would need rescuing.
It would probably be safe to tell Kyria as well, but Olivia was the least likely to try to dissuade Thisbe. For all her bookish shyness, Olivia possessed the heart of an adventurer. Thisbe could not tell the rest of the family. Even her permissive parents would balk at her setting off on her own to rescue Desmond from kidnappers. Better to let them think that Desmond was accompanying her on a journey to retrieve the Eye.
Next, Thisbe went upstairs to find a weapon. Hopefully there would be no need for it, but she believed in being prepared for all eventualities. Theo had a revolver, but he would have taken that with him, and in any case, it was too large and noticeable to carry about. Nor did she know how to use it. But he also had several knives.
He had taken his best one with him on his journey, and, of course, the scimitar he had purchased in the Levant last year was out of the question, as was the claymore. Nor did she feel entirely comfortable with a large camping knife. Fortunately, there were also a number of penknives in his desk drawer, and Thisbe settled on one with a sharp blade that folded up to be easily concealed in her pocket. Lastly, she went to the billiards room and picked up couple of the small hard balls to put in her reticule. Thus armed, she set out.