Obsidian Eyes

by A. W. Exley

  “How is your work going?” Jared asked. “Have you found anything?”

  “No.” Zeb scratched his head before lifting the goggles off his face to scratch the bridge of his nose, leaving a dark sooty smudge. “All of my father’s latest notes seem to be here, as is the rocket we were working on.”

  Zeb waved a hand at a steel table containing an oblong contraption, roughly six feet long and two feet in diameter. It had no skin, only a rough skeletal structure, revealing the inner mechanism. Overall, the device resembled a scaled down airship skeleton.

  “We know he was taken because of it,” Jared said, eyeing up the innocuous piece of equipment that had the ability to devastate hundreds or even thousands of lives. “How long would it take to replicate?”

  “It took us a year to get to that stage,” Zeb said. He lifted his magnifying goggles off to replace with his wire-rimmed glasses. “And it’s still not complete.”

  Jared breathed a sigh of relief. “So he won’t have built another one then.”

  Zeb shook his head. “Not on that scale, no.”

  “Uh-oh.” Even Duncan saw the red flag.

  “So he could have built a smaller one in the last two weeks?” Jared couldn’t believe his ears.

  Zeb pursed his lips. “It would have to be considerably smaller of course. Tiny, in fact.” He held his hands several inches apart to demonstrate. “And that’s assuming he had access to the right componentry and tools.”

  “The Whisperers want this.” Jared ran his gaze over the contraption. “Who knows what they have access to, or if the guilds are working together.” He walked closer to the rocket. His eyes tried to follow copper wires, gears and wheels, trying to see what they linked to, and where they led.

  “That is the problem,” a voice boomed from the shadows and then an older man, in full dress uniform, stepped into the weak light.

  The youths recognised him. Jared and Duncan stood straighter, spines stiffened.

  “General Galloway,” Jared said, inclining his head.

  “Fortuitous finding you two here. I saw the swath you cut through Roydon’s latest recruits.”

  Duncan sniggered, and earned an elbow in the gut from Jared.

  “The problem, General?” Jared prompted.

  The general looked thoughtful, before continuing. “Military intelligence has sources all over the world, at all levels. Except for the guilds. We have never successfully penetrated their networks. We need to find Lord Lithgow before he can replicate the rocket. I’m sure you appreciate we’re running out of time.”

  “Shame you don’t have any guild contacts.” Jared wondered why they didn’t use Lieutenant Harris, and then wondered if the general knew his history as a Runner.

  The general swung his attention to Jared, a twitch of his moustache indicated a smile hid underneath. “Yes. What we need is someone we could utilise in that direction. Like your friend who has been training with Marshall.”

  Jared tried to weigh up how much Marshall had passed to the general about Allie’s background. They themselves knew scant little beyond that her father was guild aligned. “Allie is following up a guild lead in London. She is hopeful it will shed some light on the situation.”

  “Hmmm.” The general digested the new information. “When does she report back?”

  “She’ll be coming to Edinburgh in a few days.” He was loath to put a timeframe on her arrival in Edinburgh. Though he hoped she would hightail it to them after her meeting on Sunday. He wanted to keep a spare day or two up his sleeve; no point in giving the general everything up front for nothing in return.

  The general rubbed his hand over his chin in a contemplative manner. “Marshall speaks highly of you boys, as does my sergeant.” An uneasy silence fell while the general hummed in thought before making his decision. “I want you to report in once your friend arrives in Edinburgh.”

  “We can handle ourselves.” Jared bristled at the thought of having to ask permission before deciding on a course of action, even though the military training screamed at him to follow the chain of command.

  General Galloway gave the youth a stern look. “This mission is being run by Lieutenant Harris, you will follow his lead.”

  Jared took a deep breath, but he knew better than to argue with a superior officer. “Very well, sir.”

  Satisfied, the general turned on his heel.

  “What do we do now?” Duncan asked, once they were alone again.

  “We wait for Allie,” he replied. “And hope she learns more than we have.”

  And I hope she gets through her meeting safely. He didn’t want to contemplate not seeing her face again.

  Sunday, 25th September.

  llie rose early and padded across the wooden floor. Weasel accompanied each step. She pulled back the heavy taupe drapes and the mechanical creature jumped onto the windowsill. His eyes shone a dull red as he scanned the early morning traffic below.

  She returned to bed, lay on the cotton sheets and watched the first rays of dawn spread red and gold shards across the sky. She stretched out, enjoying the peace and quiet before the brood awoke and demanded attention.

  Eloise slipped from bed to rummage in the large chest standing at the end of their bed. She gave a small sound of triumph and stood up clutching a large brown paper-wrapped package. She climbed back onto the mattress and tucked her feet underneath. She undid the string and then pulled back the wrapping.

  With growing curiosity Allie sat up, stuffing the pillow behind her at the same time, so she could watch. Even Weasel turned his gaze from the street below, to events unfolding on the bed.

  Eloise peeled back the last of the paper and revealed a dark green gown. The silk was a muted tone and Allie thought not at all like Eloise’s usual choice of pastels.

  As Eloise picked the dress up, it draped over her arm in sensuous folds, which she laid out on the end of the bed.

  “A present from me.” She looked at Allie and held up her hand to stifle the protest already on her lips. “I bought it over Christmas on impulse, it’s a new style that came out and I simply had to have it. Regardless of the fact the colour doesn’t suit me and the silk is far too sinuous even with layers of petticoats. But it will be perfect for you and I think you will appreciate the movement of the silk, it’s not at all restrictive like a taffeta.”

  Allie swallowed the words of protest and stretched out a hand to stroke the silken folds. “Thank you, I’ve never owned anything so beautiful.”

  “Come on then.” Eloise waved her hands. “Let’s get you dressed since today you are off to do something reckless by visiting the den of inequity.”

  Allie laughed. “I’m going to Berkley Square, a far more civilised address than our shopping trip yesterday.”

  The morning passed in a blur of games with the children, loud enough to distract Allie’s thoughts. All too soon it was time for Eloise to help her into the lush walking dress.

  She spun to admire the effect. The narrow skirt clung to her legs as she moved, before flowing out to a small train behind. The skirt paired with a tight green jacket in the same silk, cut short at her narrow waist with a large belt connecting it to the skirt. The jacket had a high mandarin collar at the neck, with black military frogging closures up the front, echoed on the large folded cuffs of the sleeves.

  With a borrowed reticule to occupy her hands and a quick hug from her friend, she descended the steps alone, to head to her meeting. Outside, Allie hailed a steam cab to take her part of the way. She sat on the bouncing seat until pent-up energy and anxiety struggled to overtake her. She signalled the driver to stop so she could alight and walk the remainder of the journey.

  Smoke from steam engines rose into the air, filtering the sunlight and coating the surrounding buildings in a thin layer of grime. Allie mused how much cleaner Cairo was, compared to London. Cairo had limited access to coal, so much of their technology hinged on clockwork, making the machines in the city run quieter. Instead, the noise came from the
press of people. London with its cheap coal saw an explosion of steam driven devices, from large carriages down to steam-propelled food vendor carts.

  With the ingrained habits of a lifetime, Allie surveyed the people on the streets, her eyes picking out the men and women marked as street enforcers for the Runners. In the last four years, faces had changed and she saw no one she recognised, or no one who would recognise her. She passed one Skin Dancer. The man’s cold gaze slid over Allie as he followed his target and disappeared in the crowd.

  Her body ran on autopilot and steered her out of the way of oncoming foot traffic and vehicles alike, as her mind raced ahead. The respectable middle class homes slowly turned to grandiose Mayfair mansions. She paused on the street, the central large square occupied with spreading old trees, ornate bench seats and marble busts, all surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The houses turned their backs on the lesser neighbours, as they stood shoulder to shoulder and looked out on to the expansive green space.

  She moved through the park, heading to the other side. Her destination looked impressive and affluent, just like the others in the row. Allie wondered if the residents on the exclusive street knew they lived next to the overlord of the Whisperers. Or perhaps his proximity afforded the neighbourhood a level of security they unconsciously enjoyed.

  Stonework of the palest yellow made a stark contrast to the black paintwork on the familiar door. It gleamed in the sunlight; not a fingerprint or mark blemished the highly polished surface. The door reminded Allie of her dagger blade. Taking one last deep breath, she stepped out of the covering trees and crossed the road.

  Before she could lift a hand toward the door, the wood swung inward, to reveal an immaculately turned out butler.

  He gave her a brief bow. “You are expected, Miss Donovan.” He gestured for her to enter.

  Five years, the thought ran through her mind as she crossed over the threshold. She expected something dramatic to happen, like the clanging of a bell, but heard only the click of the latch closing behind her. The entranceway was laid in cool black marble with silk clad walls in a delicate off-white water pattern. Classical busts resided in niches around the walls on either side of the impressive staircase. The overlord lived in understated chic. Why live in the slums of the Rookeries, when your wealth equalled that of the noblest lords?

  “The master is awaiting you in the study.”

  The butler indicated the ornate double doors to the left of the entranceway. A formidable-looking man leaned against the study doorframe. His bulk and marred face, at odds with the expensive suit wrapped around his muscles, marked him as some heavyweight boxer. He was the only visible sign that this was no ordinary high-class residence, and his eyes followed Allie as she walked past him.

  A cursory glance told her other similarly built men stood on the landing upstairs and down the hall. Fabric bulged over hidden weapons; fingers grazed more obvious blades and guns.

  The butler strode over and opened both doors in a grand gesture. “Miss Donovan has arrived, sir,” he announced before ushering her into the darkened study.

  Lush oriental rugs of deep greens and blood reds carpeted the study floor. The walls were a perfect reflection of the shades in the carpets, the colour broken only by the cream ceilings and skirting. The dominant feature was the enormous walnut desk in front of the only window. The occupant of the desk had his back to the light, casting him in his own shadow. He looked up from the scattered paperwork as Allie entered the room.

  “Ah, at last, do have a seat.” He waved an arm at the red and cream striped settee nestled in front of the unlit fire.

  Allie’s pulse raced, unsure what to expect from the forthcoming interview. She approached the offered sofa and brushed her silk skirts to one side. She sat, while slowing her breathing, least her anxiety become obvious.

  The man rose and moved around the desk, and halted opposite her. Tall, lean, and in his forties, he was aging exceptionally well. He was elegantly attired in the latest fashion, with a cravat of cream silk tied with military precision. His greying hair was close-cropped with sharp narrow sideburns extending down his cheekbones in a rakish manner.

  “I trust everything is well with your grandfather, Alessandra?” he enquired, his face a cool mask revealing nothing.

  Allie smiled. “Yes, thank you, Father.”

  ut please don’t call me that,” she continued. “It makes me sound like an Italian opera singer. I prefer Allie.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Your mother was very fond of that name. Plus I see you adopted your grandfather’s surname.”

  “The name didn’t suit a street runner.” Allie shuddered to remember the long months she existed on the streets. She stole to survive, fought for scraps with the other brats, but the nights haunted her most. She slept with an old blade clutched to her breast, in case cruel hands grabbed her during the darkness.

  And her father never looked for her.

  Never came for her.

  Not until moments before her death.

  “In Egypt you lived in a palace.” His low tone cut through the old memories.

  Her mind fled the cold and dark of Newgate prison to caress the light and warmth of Egypt. “I roamed the streets of Cairo barefoot and grubby.”

  “To be scrubbed anew each evening in vanilla-scented water, before sleeping on silken sheets.” His gaze scanned her face.

  She drew a sharp breath. “I’m surprised Jadda hasn’t found and cut off your ears within the harem.”

  He laughed at some long remembered joke. “How is your grandmother?”

  Allie thought of the diminutive person with the formidable personality. “She runs the harem like a military drill sergeant. But if you don’t mind, I need a drink before we start the touching reunion.”

  Her heart pounded against her chest. The fact he knew the small details of her life in Egypt stole her breath. She knew the Whisperers had ears everywhere, but she never expected him to listen to what those ears overheard.

  Not the man who forgot he had a daughter.

  “Certainly.” He crossed the room to where a brandy decanter rested on a dark oak sideboard. He poured a generous two fingers of liquor into a cut crystal glass and took it to Allie.

  “It’s been over five years since you ran away.” He handed the drink to her.

  Taking the glass from his hand, she tipped her head back and then downed the contents in one swallow. She gasped as the fire seared its way to her stomach and liquid heat radiated outward to her limbs, soothing her anxiety as it spread. Raising her eyes, she met his steady gaze. “I didn’t run. I walked out the door and you never noticed.”

  “I am overlord. Did you think for a single moment that I didn’t know my daughter’s whereabouts?” He returned to the sideboard and tipped brandy into another tumbler. The light glinted off the large diamond on his pinkie finger as he drank.

  “So you just didn’t care, then?” The alcohol gave her courage to voice some of the words held inside for years. You left me in the cold for so long, she wanted to cry.

  For a split second his eyes widened and then the iron mask dropped back over his features. “Our lives are not that simple. You were safer on the streets than you were here.”

  “Safe?” She spat the word out.

  “Yes. I am no banker or lawyer; our politics are lethal. At the time you left, there were others seeking to tear me down. They would have used you as leverage, if they thought for an instant that I cared.”

  Her heart ached, moisture formed in her eyes and she dropped her gaze to bat the tears away. “So were you too distracted by business to notice I was in Newgate prison? I was minutes from being hanged, when you decided to appear.”

  “I knew. I came when I could wait no longer.”

  She let out a snort of air. “And I learned my lesson; that you did not care, my life expendable or not at your whim.”

  “Is that what you thought?” He dropped the tumbler to the polished wood with a dull thump. “I mean
t to teach you I always watched over you and would always be there when you needed me most.”

  No, no, no. The idea contradicted the image she built of her father over the last five years. Allie couldn’t sit still a moment longer. Secrets and betrayals crawled under her skin. The silk swirled around and through her legs as she paced, flowing and changing direction on each spin.

  “Your mother used to pace when she was anxious,” Le Foy observed as he watched Allie prowl back and forth, using her hand to manage the long silk skirts on each turn.

  The comment stopped her in her tracks and a small frown wrinkled her forehead. Her gaze drifted over him, to linger on the painting hanging on the wall by the door. It showed a young woman in a flowing cream dress with a high empire waistline. She had olive skin and waist length midnight hair tumbled down her back. The depicted woman smiled knowingly at the painter with rounded eyes so dark they appeared to be black.

  Le Foy’s voice washed over her. “I haven’t seen you since you were thirteen. You have grown into a beautiful young woman. There is so much of your mother in you, in both appearance and character.”

  “Seven years,” Allie whispered, her gaze fixed on the portrait as she curled her fingernails into the flesh of her palms, remembering the day the sun set on her family.

  “Yes. And not a day goes by that I do not think of her.”

  His words and tone made her turn. For a moment his voice held a chord of pain where she expected detachment. He leaned on the sideboard, arms crossed over his chest, but his gaze never left her face.

  Silence. Both lost in their memories.

  Allie drew a ragged breath and pushed the snippets of information he set free to one side to examine another day. She changed topic, giving her an opportunity to think.

  “You tried to kidnap my friend. This isn’t a social visit for either of us.”

  “No.” A single chilling word. The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You know what we want.”

  Like a fly who blundered into the spider’s web, silken threads tightened around her; she could struggle, but there was no escape. “The last words I heard you say to Poppa were to bring me back when I was of use to you. So the time has come, I am a tool for you to wield.” She met his gaze. “You had St. Matthews admit me so I could deliver Zebidiah Lithgow.”