Quicksilver Soul

by Christine d'Abo

  She nodded and flipped her newsboy’s hat back onto her head. Whatever had passed between them flitted away as quickly as it had arrived. “Lead the way, Emmet. I’m hungry.”

  What he really wanted was to pull that blasted leather coat from her body and press her back to his bed. “Of course. Follow me.”

  * * *

  Keegan tipped the bag, now empty of sweets, into his mouth, hoping to catch a few more crumbs. He’d never had sweets like this, anything for that matter that tasted so good. Mr. Edison had been gone from the warehouse when he’d returned with his latest finds from the scrap yard, so Keegan simply set to work. He knew what needed to be done, even if his boss wasn’t here to tell him. If he did a good enough job, maybe he’d get another bag or an extra roll with his supper.

  His fingers were now black and his nails had chipped from the effort of polishing the metal. The muscles in the back of his neck and shoulders hurt from slumping forward over his tiny workbench. Even his mouth was sore from being dry. None of that mattered to him; only the condition of the metal and how much he wanted to impress Mr. Edison mattered.

  Everything would be fine then.

  Giving the casing one final wipe down, Keegan held it up to the light. The reflection bounced off and cast beautiful images across the filthy walls. It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

  “Well, well. I see someone has been busy.”

  Keegan looked up to see Mr. Edison standing in the doorway, two men he’d never seen before behind him. One looked as though he’d been through a fight. His nose was bloodied and twisted, clearly broken. The other man’s face was so pale he could have passed as a ghost. Their gazes darted from the floor to Mr. Edison and back again. Keegan dismissed them and turned his attention to his boss.

  “I found this for the casing. It needed some love.”

  Mr. Edison held out his hand, revealing bruised knuckles. “Let me see.”

  He shouldn’t be hesitant, but he couldn’t help but look at Mr. Edison’s hand.

  “They didn’t do what I told them to, so they paid the price.” He smiled down at Keegan. “You can appreciate that, can’t you?”

  Whatever it was they were building wouldn’t belong to him. Keegan was only the lackey, the mite that crawled through the muck and mud to find the bits and bobs that his boss needed. Still, he knew this casing was special just as sure as he knew the metal could be restored. It would be his way to leave a mark on the machine, to lock in his rhythm, which would pattern the melody. Keegan knew this as surely as he knew his own name.

  Mr. Edison said nothing else, but Keegan could tell by his frown that he needed to act now or he might be subject to a similar fate as the others. It hurt to stand up. His legs ached from lack of use and his lower back felt as though one of the older Underlings had kicked him hard. Still, he forced himself forward and gently placed the casing in his boss’s hand.

  “Yes, sir. It was all banged up and dirty. Most people would have ignored it. But I could feel the music in the metal. It still had a song it wanted to sing.”

  “Very impressive.” Mr. Edison turned the casing over and over, even pulled out an eye magnifier to inspect it up close. “You’ve worked wonders, lad.”

  “Thank ya, sir, Mr. Edison.”

  Handing the casing back to Keegan, the older man smiled down at him. “This makes me even more pleased to be presenting you with your first official pay.”

  The silver was cool as it was pressed into his palm. All he could do was stare at the coin in his hand. Keegan had never had so much coin in his entire life. Well, at least not this much that he didn’t need to hand over to Glyn. “Wow.”

  “I also procured you a jacket and a pair of trousers that should fit. I can’t have my employees freezing on the job.” Mr. Edison handed them over, and Keegan couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers over the fabric.

  The heavy wool was a luxury Keegan had never experienced before. More valuable than the silver, this was something that could save his life for years to come. Something the others would be jealous of if they ever knew. “Thank you.”

  “You might also want to check your pocket.” Mr. Edison smiled, though it didn’t quite make his eyes sparkle the way it did with some folk. It was strange how he’d never noticed that before.

  All of which Keegan quickly forgot as he wrapped his fingers around the now familiar paper bag of sweets. “Thank ya so much, Mr. Edison.” His mouth already watered with anticipation, the memory of the pleasant rush that rolled through him once the sugar melted into his stomach.

  “I think that’s enough for today. Why don’t you go back to your room? I’ve had the boys put a bed in there for you. There are blankets as well. No sense having you be uncomfortable, especially since you’ve been working so hard.”

  A bed, money, clothing, and sweets? Keegan might very well have died. This was better than any heaven he’d ever heard of. As long as he did what Mr. Edison wanted, everything would be wonderful. Without protest or escort, he made his way back to the place he’d once considered a cell. Had it only been a few days? Who cares. This is where I belong now.

  Keegan was so wrapped in happiness, he didn’t even mind when one of the men with Mr. Edison closed the door to his room and locked him in. He had no intention of leaving.

  Ever.

  Chapter Three

  Nicola was grateful when they arrived at the George Inn and she was able to make a mad dash to her rooms. While she’d done her best to downplay the state of her appearance, she normally made a point of dressing in a far less grubby manner when working, not to mention entertaining. If anything, Nicola was more particular about her appearance than many of the upper-class ladies she’d met over the years. While she never wore gowns or attended balls, she had her own sense of style. It wasn’t a matter of arrogance or status, but of necessity. Her mind was easily distracted if she felt there was something out of place. By dressing in neat, functional clothing, she could ensure her mind was where it should be, not bothered by how much flesh she’d exposed for her male colleagues to see.

  One look in her mirror and she wanted to scream. While there was no dirt on her face, her hair was tousled and now stuck out in a multitude of directions once she removed her cap. Emmet was currently sitting downstairs, projecting the perfect image of tonnish elegance, and she clearly looked the part of an insane clockwerker. He was unlike every other archivist she’d met, giving off more airs than the others. His attitude was different, more refined than the Masters she’d met, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was as much an outsider as she was.

  She touched the spot that Emmet had cleaned earlier, wondering if it were possible for him to have left a mark upon her skin. It certainly felt as though he’d branded her with that gentle caress. Foolishness. She’d never had any sort of interest in men before now, so it was madness to let her base attraction get the better of her now. Quickly removing her corset and shirt, she changed both into something far more suitable for their meal. A pale blue shirt and chocolate brown corset that bore the mark of the Company were perfectly offset by her doeskin breeches. She gave herself a quick once-over to right the remains of her appearance and made her way back to the dining room.

  The innkeeper had given Nicola a wide berth for the most part since her arrival. The man stared at her now as she descended the stairs and nodded to a table in the far corner of the room.

  “He’s in there.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a little bow and pretended to not see his sneer.

  Continuing to ignore the curious glances from the other patrons that she suspected had more to do with her uniform than anything else, she made her way to where Emmet sat.

  “Sorry for the delay.” Ignoring the waiter, she pulled her chair out and sat with a less than ladylike thud. “I can’t believe you wanted to be seen with me in public. I looked dreadful.”

  “Miss Tesla, I doubt anyone living or dead would lay that complaint at your feet.”
<
br />   “Damn.” She stared at him, growing annoyed at the faux-innocent look he could do with ease. “I hate when you do that.”

  “Do what?” He laid a napkin across his lap and focused his attention on righting it. “I don’t believe I’ve done anything impolite.”

  “Your use of compliments is rather distracting.” She narrowed her gaze when she saw his lips twitch into a small smirk. “Stop them.”

  “You don’t want me to pay you compliments? I have to say you’re the first woman I’ve ever met who is of that particular opinion.”

  Even Simon—her supervisor and sometime friend—and his incessant need to tease her didn’t lay it on quite so thick. “A genuine one is all well and good, but you’re trying to soften me up for some nefarious purpose. I won’t be won over quite so easily.”

  “I would never assume you would be, Miss Tesla.”

  The waiter hovered a few feet away from their table. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to be inconspicuous, or if he was terrified of approaching them. It had been fascinating to her to see the reactions of the regular New London residents to members of the various guilds. Emmet wore a pin, clearly visible on his coat, indicating he was an archivist. The waiter stared at it as he crept closer, then into Emmet’s eyes, before dropping his gaze. He cleared his throat in a slightly nervous manner. “May I get you something from the kitchen?”

  “Chicken pie and a pint.” She leaned in and met Emmet’s gaze. “How much do you know about the Company?”

  The waiter made a high-pitched noise. “Sir?”

  “The beef and a glass of your best Cabernet.” He waved the man away, and he scurried to the kitchen without another word. “No more than the rest of New London. I know that you’re more secretive than the Guild Masters and richer than the king.”

  “Yes, the owners do tend to have their fingers in more pies that should be allowed.” Simon wouldn’t want her discussing business with someone outside of their influence, but Nicola had always been curious about what others thought of them. “With the number of guilds here in New London, I’m surprised we have any reputation at all.”

  Emmet waited for the innkeeper to set down their drinks and leave before he answered. “You’re reputation is rather more potent than you realize.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but snapped it closed and chased the silence with a sip of his wine.

  The hanging implication got beneath her skin like a raid of ants upon a dollop of jam. He wasn’t speaking about the Company at all, but her directly. “Who is interested in my reputation?”

  “So how did a woman such as yourself find employment with the Hudson’s Bay Company?”

  “That’s diversion if I ever heard it.”

  He chuckled. “You have your secrets…”

  Nicola swallowed down a generous portion of her beer, relishing the warm liquid as it journeyed to her stomach. It was the only way to stop herself from laughing at his teasing tone. She was not going to succumb to his flirting, if that’s indeed what he was doing. Were archivists even allowed to flirt? “I was approached after I had a bit of a falling out with my last employer. Leaving the continent seemed prudent at the time, so I moved to Canada and have been there ever since.”

  Emmet ran his finger along the top of his wine glass, the smile falling from his lips. “Seems like a long way to run to get away from a bad relationship.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was get into her relationship with Thomas. While she didn’t know Emmet well, she couldn’t imagine he’d look too favorably upon her actions. “As I said, it was prudent.”

  He took another sip and leaned back in his chair. She wished he would meet her gaze again, rather than stare into his glass. He really did have lovely eyes. “You don’t seem to be the same as the other archivists. I sense you have a story of your own that you keep hidden.”

  “Touché.” He didn’t break eye contact with her the entire time, and the intensity in his gaze sent shivers through her body. “Let’s just say I didn’t run quite as far away as Canada to escape my demons.”

  “Employer?”

  “Father.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, the action causing his social mask to slip. She didn’t know about poor relations with one’s family, but she recognized the heartache he projected, even if it was for a moment.

  Here there be dragons.

  “Well, if you had to run anywhere, the Archives seem to be a rather interesting place to go.”

  Leaning back in his seat, Emmet flattened his hand on the table top. He had long fingers that would have been just as adept at holding a book as a gun. Nicola wasn’t certain why his hands were such a fascination for her, why she could imagine them reaching out to touch her arm, cup her face. She also knew that those were the same hands that would one day touch a dead body so he could extract its memories.

  Emmet chuckled and the dark shadow that crossed his face vanished. “Rather than dig into our respective pasts and go places that will cause us both discomfort, why don’t you tell me about some of the projects you work on in the freezing cold of Canada.”

  As quickly as her unwanted attraction to Emmet threatened to rear its head once more, it vanished. She didn’t need a man, need a relationship, romantic or otherwise, in her life to make her complete. The only thing she loved more than conducting her experiments was being given an opportunity to talk about them. “How much do you know about alternating current transmission systems?”

  For the next hour, in between rounds of food and alcohol, she went through her ideas on electricity, talked about how it would be possible to provide it to every home for free, and discussed how it would be possible to convert society from steam power to electrical.

  “Simon thinks I’m mad. He won’t even let me discuss the possibility of a limited experiment with one of our local towns with our bosses. Something about being terrified for my life.” She drained the rest of her draft and started looking for the waiter. “I think we scared the poor boy off.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  Emmet had spent most of their time listening to her rambling on. For a while she thought he was simply humoring her, but then he’d pipe in with a question about some tiny detail of what she’d been pontificating about, proving that not only was he was paying attention, but he actually understood what she was saying.

  “You could have stopped me at any time. As an engineer I do tend to ramble about my projects.”

  “If I hadn’t wanted to listen to you speak, I would have found a way to leave long before now. It was a skill I learned early on.”

  “Oh?” It was strange how quickly she’d started to recognize his tells. Emmet would flatten his hand on the table where there was a topic that he didn’t wish to discuss. He would cross his arms when he was trying to appear bored, but the quirk of his lips into a smirk gave his interest away. Currently, he was leaning both forearms on the table, giving the appearance of someone about to share a deep, dark secret with her. “And where would you learn such a thing?”

  “As the third son of the Duke of Bedford, my father wanted me to be able to extract myself from conversations that were beneath my station. He told me it was an important skill.” He flattened his hands once more and sat back in his chair. “It’s getting late. I think your innkeeper would like to shut the room down.”

  Nicola was shocked when she looked around and realized they were the only two still in the place. Even their nervous waiter was nowhere in sight. “That explains why my mug hasn’t been refilled.”

  “Let me see you to your rooms.” He stood, and she was startled at his height. How could she have forgotten how tall he was?

  “That’s not necessary.” She got to her feet as well, preferring to be on equal footing with him. He unnerved her in a way she didn’t think possible. “I’m sure you wish to return home.” He didn’t respond right away. “Emmet?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I shall fetch you tomorrow morning, then. Say eleven?”

  She
snorted. “I intend to arrive long before then. I’m afraid to say I don’t sleep much.”

  “Eight in the morning it is.” He slapped his thigh, looking anywhere but at her. “Bright and early.”

  Oh. He was making this far too easy. “I can let you sleep in. I would hate to be the reason for bags to appear under your eyes. Send the carriage for me and I’ll get there on my own.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Nicola waved him away and strode past the sneering innkeeper to the stairs. She’d gotten halfway up when Emmet’s long fingers caught her by the forearm. Looking down at where they were connected, she was surprised to see the riot of goosebumps rising across her skin.

  “Miss Tesla.” His voice was low, rough, and it penetrated her. Damn, her name shouldn’t sound that good. “I will fetch you in the morning.”

  There was a sense of urgency to his words. Yet another secret he held from her, or was this another matter altogether? Lifting her gaze to his, she ignored her foolish attraction to him and focused once more on what was important—her work. “I will be ready to leave by eight. If you are here, then you may accompany me to the Archives. If not, I shall see you in the central machine room.”

  He released his hold on her arm, allowing her to continue on her way. Nicola felt the weight of his stare long after she’d closed the door to her rooms.

  * * *

  “Please, Mr. Edison! I promise I won’t mess up again.”

  Keegan listened to the man sobbing in the other room as he continued to file down the gear that had been causing him problems. He hadn’t moved from the workbench his boss had set up for him all day. At first the muscles in his back screamed from staying in the same position for so long, but he soon got used to it.

  “You’re more useless than a piece of shit, Clayborn. You were to find one woman, that was all.”

  “She hasn’t been seen, sir. I checked with my contacts.”

  “I have no patience for excuses.”

  “No, sir. Please!” His voice was cut off, the muffled noises of a beating taking its place.