Light Fantastique

by Cecilia Dominic

  They worked methodically to find areas that needed buffering. When the vibration in the walls ceased, they had to as well.

  “How far did we get?” Edward asked. There seemed to be miles and miles of tubing. Some of it had been replaced with rubber, but not nearly enough.

  “About a fifth of the way, I estimate.” O’Connell’s jaw cracked with a large yawn.

  “What have you been doing?” Edward asked. “At night, I mean.”

  O’Connell gave him a measuring look. “I’m doing my part to supplement our income so Madame doesn’t have to cover all our expenses while we get this set up. Don’t worry about the tubing, I’ve got some coming.”

  Edward almost asked, “But how?” Some of O’Connell’s absences clicked into place. “You’re helping the privateers, the ones with the airships.”

  O’Connell grinned. “A brawny lad like me can always get work unloading, especially since I know how to work quickly, and making emergency repairs.”

  “So that’s why you’re always so tired.” Edward paused. “And how you’re getting first crack at the beer and liquor. That’s brilliant.” He didn’t drink alcohol, well, not much, but he appreciated the benefits for those who did, as long as they didn’t go overboard. And with supplies running low, every sip was appreciated.

  “We do what we need to survive.” This time O’Connell caught Edward’s eye and held his gaze. “Even if sometimes we go farther than we mean to.”

  Edward looked down at the eyepiece he turned over in his hands, and his stomach made turns that echoed the motion of the instrument. “I don’t want to talk about what happened in Rome.”

  “You need to talk to Chadwick about it. You need to know what your brain is trying to do to deal with it. Besides throwing you off.”

  The eyepiece dropped from Edward’s trembling fingers, and he caught it with his shoe to keep the lenses from shattering. It rolled into a corner, and O’Connell picked it up before Edward could reach for it. Edward knelt on the floor, his skin tingling with the memory of the aether burns, which had somehow been healed in that moment through Iris’s intervention. He’d never believed in any deities, but he knew they exacted a price. Perhaps he was paying his.

  “Is it my brain or Fate trying to punish me for what I caused to happen, what I did to another man?”

  “At least you didn’t call him innocent. You saw the bruises on Iris’s arm—he wasn’t going to be gentle with her.”

  O’Connell helped Edward to stand.

  “Haven’t you done anything you regret, that you’ll regret forever?” Edward asked.

  “Aye. But you can’t dwell on it. We do what we need to do and then move on. Iris loves you. Focus on her.” Patrick gestured to the console and the tubing. “And what you’re doing for the theatre.”

  Edward nodded, but doubt still sat like a heavy fog in his middle. It seemed that everyone was doing something useful but him, even if he was trying to help with the theatre’s lighting.

  No, he was selfishly experimenting while the others contributed to lessening the burden on Madame St. Jean, who had taken them all in.

  He knew his true self now, that he was a ruthless charlatan undeserving of love. When he had converted the theatre system and had taken the next step toward converting aether to energy, he would do them all a favor and step off the stage.

  Permanently.

  * * * * *

  Johann approached Davidson and the Cinsault butler. When the man saw Johann, he tried to run, but Davidson thought quickly and tripped him.

  “I won’t say anything, I won’t,” he mumbled and looked around him as though there were spy devices on the ground. Davidson reached down to haul him to his feet, but he shuddered and lay still, his mouth foaming.

  “Merde,” Davidson said and rolled the man over. “He must have had a poison capsule in his mouth.”

  Part of the butler’s wrist showed between his sleeve and glove, and the inspector frowned. He knelt and separated the two items of clothing, revealing a tattoo of a square inside a circle.

  “The sign of the neo-Pythagoreans,” Johann said. “There was one on the office window too, and a threat toward Madame Cinsault.”

  “What did Madame say to you? Did she give you anything?”

  Before Johann could answer, a steamcart driven by a gendarme rolled up, and two more got out from inside.

  “You’re needed at the station, Inspector,” the tallest one said. “Do we need to arrest this man?” He looked Johann up and down like he was a suspicious person.

  And perhaps I am, considering I stand here with a dead man at my feet.

  “No, but your timing is fortuitous. You’re needed here. This poor gentleman should be taken to the morgue, and I have to talk to the maestro. I will take him back to the Théâtre Bohème and then return to headquarters.”

  The gendarme tipped his hat, and Davidson and Johann climbed into his carriage.

  “What did the butler say to you?” Johann asked. “I’m guessing he wasn’t asking for the time.”

  “No, he was telling me to watch out for you because you had stolen something from Madame Cinsault.” Davidson held out a hand.

  Johann handed over the letters. “Here. If they’re going to get people killed, I don’t want to have anything to do with them.”

  Davidson took them and flipped through, looking at the return addresses. With each one that passed, his left eyebrow crawled higher on his forehead. “I know these names, all prominent merchants.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time rich men have gotten entangled in a cult.”

  “And it appears Cinsault was the ringleader. I will need to study these more carefully, and I’ll let you know if I need anything further from you.”

  So you use me and then you cut me out? I don’t think so.

  “Now wait a minute. That’s not why I agreed to cooperate with you.” Johann reached to snatch the letters back, but Davidson moved too quickly, and all Johann could grab was one. He put it in his overcoat pocket.

  “Return that immediately. You agreed to cooperate with me for protection from the Clockwork Guild.”

  “And for information to protect my friends. Give me the rest of the letters.”

  “Now Maestro Bledsoe, be reasonable. This is a police investigation. You need to cooperate with it even if we do find your friends are involved somehow.”

  “Only if you promise not to do anything to Lucille St. Jean or her daughter, regardless of what you find.”

  Now both Davidson’s eyebrows made a run for his hairline. “If they are in any way culpable for the crimes around the theatre, I cannot promise their immunity.”

  “My friends are not involved. I promise you that. In fact, they’re in danger. You probably have a report somewhere showing the theatre was vandalized.”

  “I’ve heard no such thing. Your Madame St. Jean involves us as little as possible. She must have friends in high places for the Théâtre Bohème to not be used as a hospital as the others are.”

  “Regardless, you keep me apprised of the investigation, and I’ll give you the letter.”

  “What if that is the one with the clue that will solve the case?”

  Johann crossed his arms. “You’ll have to look at the others first.”

  “Fine.” Davidson sat back with a huff. “You’re incorrigible. If there’s another murder because of your antics and the delay they’re causing, I will prosecute you as well as the one who wields the knife.”

  “Go ahead.” The carriage slowed. “Oh, and if the Clockwork Guild has anything to do with this, I count on you letting me know.”

  “I will return later for the letter, and I will have a warrant for its seizure.”

  The carriage stopped in front of the theatre, and Johann climbed out. He’d barely set foot on the ground when the door slammed behi
nd him, and the carriage huffed away. Johann patted his pocket.

  “Now let’s see what you’re going to tell us before the good inspector returns for you.”

  A motion in the sky made him look up, and he saw an airship floating high above the city.

  What in the…? I thought those were only flying at night.

  He walked into the townhouse and straight into Marie. He held her to keep her from falling and felt a jolt to his core.

  Marie ran through the kitchen and into the front hall, where she smacked into something that was both hard and soft. Hands on her waist steadied her.

  “Easy now.”

  Damn. It was Maestro Bledsoe. She stepped back, but he didn’t release her.

  Relief at seeing him safe collided with the memory that she was still angry with him and made the questions spill out of her. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? Did you see the airship? What does it mean?”

  She took a breath to ask him something else, and he effectively shut her up by drawing her in and fastening his mouth on hers. She closed her eyes and melted into his embrace. His tongue met hers, and her anxieties ran out of her, leaving her clinging to him for support. He broke the kiss first but didn’t let her go.

  “Now, one at a time. Yes, I saw the airship. I don’t know what it means, but I have on good authority the French are pushing the Prussians back, and we should be prepared for anything in case they rally. Perhaps it was doing reconnaissance?”

  Marie half-heard what he said and half-processed the kiss. Her mind flipped through the roles she could/should be playing at the moment, but panic over seeing the airship and knowing what was happening overwhelmed her. Yes, she wanted the siege to end, but after having seen what was in the church…

  “Hey,” Johann said and tilted her chin up so her gaze met his. “What’s wrong?”

  “The church next door, it’s full of—”

  “Guns and gunpowder. Yes, I know. So do the people in the neighborhood. That’s why it’s being guarded.”

  “One careless mistake and the theatre and we could be destroyed.”

  He gave her a searching look. “I’ve been around Edward enough to know when someone’s using anxiety over one thing to cover up another. What are you really afraid of, Marie?”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she stepped completely away from him. “How dare you? I’ve already told you. Do you think I’m lying?”

  “No, I think you’re afraid to admit something.”

  “And why should I trust you?” She drew her cloak around her to make up for the warmth lost when she moved away from him. Part of her wanted to confide in him—artist to artist, of course—but the ghost’s admonishments and Frederic’s warnings played in her head.

  It’s too big a risk.

  “I’ve learned from my mistakes,” he said, his expression serious. “Please believe me when I tell you that I’m trying to help you because I…” He trailed off, his gaze focused behind her.

  Marie turned to see her mother standing on the landing.

  “Madame,” he said.

  Lucille inclined her head. “Please excuse us, Monsieur. I need to talk to my daughter.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Louvre, 4 December 1870

  Iris snatched her hand back from the manuscript, and her mind tripped over possible explanations for what she was doing. Monsieur Firmin’s expression had never held warmth, but now he studied her with feral curiosity like she was an exotic object worthy of study.

  “How long have you been there?” she asked and recognized how guilty the question made her sound.

  “Long enough. I’ve only seen one other person approach objects like you do. I watched you yesterday with the potsherds. You have talent and a good understanding of how to categorize them. You approached the examination and sorting with excellent logic, but you were particularly fascinating when you got stuck.”

  Iris clasped her hands in front of her and willed her expression to stay neutral. “I didn’t see you watching me, Monsieur.” She kept her gaze on him but attended to the path to the door in her peripheral vision.

  “There is a storeroom on the second floor with a window that opens on to the gallery you were in. I would be a poor professor if I did not keep an eye on my students, wouldn’t I?”

  He moved to block the door, and she knew she couldn’t get out from behind the desk and make it to the door before he did.

  “Tell me what the manuscript told you, Mademoiselle.”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  Firmin held his hands in front of him, palms up. “I am unarmed, as you can see. I only require your assistance with some objects that have been giving me particular trouble.”

  There was something in his demeanor she didn’t trust, and she recalled their previous conversation about female archaeologists. Now his words took on a different meaning—had the desire to get away from Firmin driven the women into the arms of other men?

  “You will merely be ensuring you obtain your degree. Credit will go to the school, as it should.”

  “You mean it will go to you.”

  “You are a student still, Mademoiselle. There will be time for you to get credit for your discoveries later, provided you can demonstrate you made them.” His smile held a sordid glee.

  “And how would I do that?” Iris saw her future spooling out. She knew he would come up with some way to keep her under his influence so he could continue to use her unique talent for his own benefit.

  “Well, you do need access to sites and materials. I have a wide network of colleagues who could help you.”

  “Or hinder me.”

  He shrugged and gestured to the manuscript. “The choice is yours, starting with now. What did the manuscript tell you? I have been poring over the numbers, and they simply do not make sense for what it supposedly is.”

  “It was stolen from a burning temple. I didn’t get much further other than to see how it was lost.”

  “But what do the numbers mean?” He leaned over the desk and towered over her.

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Iris pressed her lips together.

  “If you do not cooperate, Mademoiselle, I cannot guarantee your being able to continue the program.”

  Whereas Iris was sure he exaggerated his influence previously, now she knew he made a real threat. Plus she needed access to it to get the information to Edward.

  “I will tell you if you will translate it for me,” she said.

  “Very well.”

  “It’s apparently some sort of esoteric formula for a fire that will not burn out.”

  “Apollo’s flame,” he said. “Supposedly derived from a certain mythical element the Pythagoreans believed in. The manuscript was discovered in Alexandria, but we suspect it originated in the temple of Apollo Smintheus.”

  Iris saw herself and Firmin engaged in an interesting dance and reminded herself that he didn’t know they’d found the Eros Element or were experimenting with it.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Or them.”

  Now he snapped into lecture mode. “The Eros Element is a mythical power source, and Apollo’s Flame is its expression. These numbers might hide the notations a scientist of old made when doing his or her experiments. They would have been illegal in that region at that time. But I cannot translate them for you, Mademoiselle, for I lack the key to whatever the code is.”

  “Oh.” Iris couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “I’m going to do something I rarely do. Since we are in a siege situation and the museum may be looted in spite of my best efforts, I am going to allow you to take the manuscript with you so you can practice the translation. Perhaps your young mind can decipher what mine is missing.”

  “Oh!”

 
He stood behind the desk, gently picked up one end of the scroll, rolled it up and placed it in a leather satchel, which he handed to her along with a book he plucked from the shelf. She slung the strap over one shoulder and clutched the book to her chest.

  “I don’t have to tell you to be extremely careful with this.”

  “I will,” she said, hardly daring to breathe as though any unnecessary motion would cause the manuscript to crumble.

  “Now go and find somewhere safe. I will stay here at the museum and do my best to guard its treasures.”

  A chill crawled along Iris’s spine. “Is the fighting that bad, then?”

  “Not yet, but the situation is volatile in the city. I’ll send you home in the museum’s carriage.”

  “Thank you.” Iris moved toward the door.

  “Oh, and Mademoiselle?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you’re right about what the manuscript contains, it could be a great boon for science and for France, perhaps even lead to a weapon that will end this siege. Remember this is where you had the opportunity to hone your archaeological skills, not England.”

  Iris nodded and forced her lips to lift in what she hoped was a convincing smile. She felt like a favored pet, not a respected scientist, and she knew whatever she discovered would help make Firmin’s career, not hers. Still, she would play along to help Edward with his quest. He didn’t have any such demand for divided loyalty.

  No, sadly science is his first love, above Mother England or me. I will not be jealous of it. But what will this mean for England? I don’t trust that the French government, whether it’s the emperor or someone else, won’t turn this against my own country and people.

  She exited the museum with a heavy heart because she knew she’d never be able to return.

  * * * * *

  Marie followed Lucille to her office in the townhouse, which had once been the main housekeeper’s before Lucille had decided all she needed was a maid and cook, and she could just as easily keep an eye on two people herself. Lucille sat behind the large desk and motioned for Marie to sit in one of the chairs in front of it. She looked around. As per usual, everything was in meticulous order.