Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  Lord Hardwicke cleared his throat, an embarrassed sound that served better than his raised voice might have to refocus their attention. “Yes, well,” he said. “Now that the family drama is out of the way, perhaps you’d like to bring me up to speed on your activities, Miss Riley. All of them.”

  “Of course, my lord. It all started with your Mirabilia carriage, actually.” With short sentences, Briar filled the earl in on what had transpired over the past weeks. She’d purposely kept him in the dark, not wanting to concern him when her own worries had been so formless. Explaining herself now and in front of others was the price she had to pay for her omission. She glossed over her recruitment of Isabella, though it had been impossible to exclude her from the narrative altogether. Instead, she concentrated on what they’d found, both the presence of so many imps and the contents of the grimoire.

  “I wish you still had that,” Hardwicke said.

  “As do I. However, from what you’ve reported, I believe our intervention has put some larger plan into motion.”

  “It certainly seems likely.” The earl drummed his fingers on the table. “Why did you not report any of this to me?”

  “At first I had little to go on. I certainly didn’t wish to burden you with my imaginings. By the time I was certain there was some malevolence at play, we were being set upon by still more imps in the Sherards’ home. I judged it more important to leave town before we were injured. I was going to let you know when we returned to London. I’m afraid I have misjudged the time frame under which the inventor is operating.”

  “I think you may be forgiven for that, though I wonder if your mysterious inventor is indeed the one who has his hands on the reins.”

  “There is some evidence that he has help, based on the notations in the grimoire. I thought perhaps a demon familiar or the like. But I’ve seen no evidence that he is being controlled. What about you, Isabella? You saw his offices.”

  “It’s hard to say, Miss Riley.” Briar wondered if Isabella’s uncharacteristic refuge in formality was to avoid dropping into the familiarity of her real name. “I saw someone who runs an organization and who also draws up his own plans. He certainly had people who reported to him, based upon his papers. There were a lot of imps, and other demons too, in his engine-works.”

  “I find it difficult to believe that any magician, no matter how skilled could successfully control all those demons by himself,” Hardwicke said.

  “Perhaps he can’t, and that’s why you’re seeing reports of imps and their mischief,” Briar said. There was so much about the situation that didn’t make sense. “It may be that this is the inventor’s botched attempt at becoming a rich man. We’ve seen such attempts go awry in the past, though rarely on this scale.”

  The earl nodded thoughtfully. “That may be, and if it is, we shall be about putting an end to it quickly. We would be remiss not to consider the other possibility, especially in light of the fact that the imps aren’t up to mere mischief. There have been deaths associated with their appearances.”

  “Deaths?” Briar’s stomach roiled in rebellion against the idea. She didn’t want to be responsible for anybody’s demise, especially not through such a grievous miscalculation. Violence at that level put a different lens on the subject. “Then this is a coup.”

  “I believe so or at the very least we must take that into consideration. A large incursion of demons into our world generally means someone is trying to unseat the Duke in our area.”

  “The duke?” Joseph asked. “Which duke would that be?”

  “The strongest demon in a geographic region in the mortal realm is called a Duke,” Briar said. “It is a title that allows her or him to rule the multiple factions of demons who exist in this plane.”

  “How many would that be?”

  “More than you’d think and enough to require someone at the helm.”

  “Who knows about this?” Althea asked. “Surely the government won’t allow that many demons to set up shop in our city.”

  “You may be certain the government takes a serious interest in such things, madam,” Hardwicke said. “The Committee on Demoniac Interference is tasked with keeping an eye on the magicians in all of England. Knowledge of demonic activity necessarily goes hand-in-hand with our activities.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a committee,” Althea said.

  “I should be quite surprised if you had. While the use of demoniac magic—or infernal magic as Miss Riley prefers the term—is necessary for the running of the Empire, the masses’ knowledge that demons are real would come as quite a shock. It is in all our interests to keep it that way. In that light, it is doubly important that the issue with the imps be resolved as soon as possible. Whoever is behind this doesn’t seem to understand the value of secrecy. Not to mention, the current Duke is amenable to working with us. There is no guarantee his successor might feel the same way.”

  “Then what do you want from us?” Isabella asked. “Surely all this exposition is leading up to a request.”

  Briar nodded approvingly. She could trust Isabella to see to the heart of the matter of what needed to be done. Briar’s inclination was to find out as much as she could about the situation, but this was not one that could be solved through study.

  “The Committee continues to monitor the situation,” Hardwicke said. “We need to fill in the Duke, but even with what you’ve told me, our information will be less than helpful. I need you to see what remains to discover. I shall have someone investigate the Mirabilia factory. I suspect the inventor has moved along since you located him. If that’s the case, you should see if you can discern anything further about his plans. If he’s been rash enough to stay, our people will take care of him.”

  Isabella moved as if to object, likely about the idea of the inventor being “taken care” of by the earl’s mysterious people. For the other part, the plan was sound. She and Isabella were certainly the best equipped to survey the area and decipher the intentions behind the activity of the imps. She hoped it was simply the matter of a plan for riches being upset, but she had no illusions that her hopes were likely in vain.

  “I won’t permit my daughter to undertake something so dangerous,” Althea said.

  “I’m doing it, Mother. Unless you tie me up and lock me in a closet, you can’t stop me.”

  “Don’t think I won’t, if that’s what it will take to keep you safe.” Althea shook her head. “Don’t you see, Isabella? This isn’t our fight. There are others out there who will take care of this.”

  “Maybe so. But I couldn’t live with myself if it turned out there was something I could do but didn’t. Besides, they’ve talked about two possible reasons for what’s going on, but no one has mentioned the most worrisome implication.”

  “What are you thinking?” Briar asked.

  “Maybe this isn’t a coup of the demon world or an accident. Maybe someone is trying to establish their own rule in England, and they’re using demons as their foot troops. Or maybe they just want to wipe us out. I assume there are enough demons to do that?”

  “More than enough.” The possibility was remote, as far as Briar could calculate the odds. But then, she’d also thought they had more time before things started to develop. Who was she to discount Isabella’s fears?

  “Then we need to do this and soon.”

  “It’s decided then,” the earl said. “We shall return to London tonight.”

  Chapter Thirty

  They did return to London that night, though not without further protest from Isabella’s mother. Isabella had balked, unsuccessfully, at being forced into the clothing befitting a lady of her station. Briar could sympathize, even though she had no desire to wear what Isabella found comfortable. It was terrible to be forced to portray someone you weren’t, but Althea hadn’t been willing to overlook such niceties this time. The earl wouldn’t have minded, even if he’d noticed. He had other things on his mind now.

  “Make certain no harm comes to her,�
�� Althea had said to the earl as their few belongings were being loaded into the belly of the earl’s zeppelin.

  “Of course, Lady Sherard,” had been Hardwicke’s response.

  “And you.” Althea had rounded on Briar. “If one hair upon her head is out of place, I shall take it out of your hide.” When Isabella’s mother spoke, her accent flattened, betraying her American roots. This woman was nothing short of formidable, and Briar didn’t doubt she would make good on her threat.

  “Isabella is quite capable,” Briar had said. “As capable if not more so than the rest of us, I’m sure. She is more than able to take care of herself. A trait which I have no doubt comes directly from you, my lady. Isabella is a credit to you, both in her breeding and her training.”

  Althea had stared at her, undoubtedly trying to decide if the last statement had been a compliment or a very pretty insult. Briar had simply smiled back blandly and allowed her to make of it what she would.

  Now that they were in the dirigible, Briar looked forward to studying her notes. Surely something they’d been through could shed some light on their next steps. It wasn’t as easy to read as she thought it would be. The problem wasn’t the dirigible; in the passenger compartment, it was quite comfortable. The seats were exceedingly soft, allowing her to sink into the cushions as she liked when reading. Nor was it so loud in there. The engines were far enough away in the aft end of the ship that here they were little more than a humming noise that could be easily tuned out. No, the problem was Isabella. She seemed incapable of sitting still. If she wasn’t sneaking looks over at her, she was leaning forward trying to see out the windows. That was a wasted effort, of course. It was as dark as her mother’s soul out there. What little light there was came from the dirigible itself and that functioned to highlight wisps of mist, at the most.

  The way back was long, though not as long as it would have been by carriage. The earl had made the trip in his personal dirigible. With the gravity of the situation in London, he’d had little other recourse. For the trip back, they were on their own in the small compartment, while he was elsewhere on the dirigible.

  It seemed Isabella had recovered from her lack of energy. It was quicker than Briar would have believed, but a good thing given what they were heading into. She watched as Isabella stretched out her legs until they almost reached the far seat and flexed the muscles along the tops of her thighs. She then twisted her trunk. Briar couldn’t help but cringe at the popping of her spine, but she clearly still felt the need to move about.

  When she got up to examine the joins around the window, Briar had had enough. “What has you so twitchy?”

  “I’ve been sitting too long,” Isabella said, a sharp edge of complaint touching her voice. “I feel like a steam engine under too much pressure. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me release some of that?” She looked over, her eyebrows raised in hopeful invitation.

  The suggestion startled a deep laugh from Briar. “I’m sorry, darling. This isn’t the best place for it.”

  “Isn’t the place for it? This is the perfect place!”

  “We shall have quite the spot of trouble explaining our behavior should someone come in and find us…occupied.”

  “You think…” Isabella bit down on her lower lip. “I was thinking of taking a tour of the zeppelin.” The grin she’d been trying to hide peeked through.

  “Oh. Of course.” Two spots of color bloomed high on Briar’s cheeks. She’d been certain Isabella had been making a much more lascivious request. If she was going to be honest with herself, as she must, she had to admit she was disappointed. “I have made prior acquaintance with the captain. Shall I request a tour?”

  “That would be lovely.” Isabella settled in more closely to Briar, snugging her arm around Briar’s corseted ribcage and pulling her firmly against her. “The trip is likely to be long. I’m certain we can find other ways to distract ourselves once the tour is over.”

  Briar’s cheeks fairly blazed at the brazenness of her words, but she said nothing to dissuade her lover.

  “Then it’s decided,” Isabella said, patting Briar on the cheek. “Tour first, other pursuits afterward.” She hopped up and extended a hand to Briar, who took it without hesitation. The door from the passenger compartment to the hallway running through the center of the gondola was quite narrow, as was the hallway itself. Briar twitched her skirts through to keep them from getting hung up on anything, and Isabella followed her lead. She hiked them further than necessary, and Briar caught a glimpse of a shapely stocking-clad ankle. Her gaze lingered until Isabella dropped the hem. When she looked up, Isabella was watching her, one eyebrow cocked and an inviting look in her eyes.

  The throbbing of the airship’s engines echoed down the hall. Isabella’s head turned this way and that to follow the conduits and hoses that ran from one end to the other. The harsh electric lights here were quite bright, reflecting off metallic surfaces of brass and steel.

  Briar grasped the six-spoked wheel at the end of the hall and turned it. The compartment beyond was small. Equipment of every possible size and description was crammed into every spare inch of space. Four men were bent over the various collections of levers and screws. A fifth stood at the very front of the ship. From the peaked cap on his head, this was the captain. He held a spyglass to one eye and peered through the glass windows lining the front of the bridge.

  “Can I help ye, m’ladies?” One of the men looked up from his post at their entrance. He didn’t get up, nor did he doff his soft cap as he ought to have. Before Briar could say anything, he jotted down a notation in a log book next to his device.

  “Yes,” Briar said. She waited patiently until he was finished with his notes and looked back up at them. “My friend would like a tour of the zeppelin.”

  Captain Giasson gave no indication that he knew they were there. The intense man put all his focus into running his ship, an attitude of which Briar quite approved. His tan skin and hooked nose leant him an air of hawkish ferocity. Two of the other men shared his general look, though neither seemed as severe. He closed the spyglass with a snap and bent over to have a quiet word with the man nearest to him. His aide nodded, then got up and made his way over to them. There was a narrow aisle between the machinery and diagnostic equipment.

  “Captain Giasson has authorized me to give you a quick tour,” the man said, his voice pitched to carry to their ears and no further. He didn’t quite come to attention, but there was much about his bearing that said he was a military man or had been at one time. He did doff his cap, exposing a mass of light brown curls threatening to escape layers of shiny pomade. “I’m Lieutenant Hale. If you’ll follow me.”

  The emphasis the lieutenant had put on “quick” should have been disappointing to Isabella, but she wasn’t letting it get to her. Instead, to Briar’s amusement, she bounced on her toes and settled down before anyone else could notice her unladylike anticipation.

  Hale preceded them through the vault-like door and closed it behind him after they passed through. “That was the bridge.”

  When he prepared to move on without any further elaboration, Isabella raised her hand. Hale sighed and nodded to her.

  “How thick are the windows at the front of the zeppelin, and how are they manufactured so free of imperfections?”

  Hale opened his mouth to answer, but Isabella kept going.

  “I noted at least two different anemometers and a barometer. What’s the purpose of having two? And what purpose does the barometer serve?”

  “The anemometers measure wind speed both fore and aft. The barometer—”

  “Of course.” Isabella nodded vigorously. “You’d need to adjust for that to keep the airship from yawing.”

  “That’s exactly so.” His face had warmed somewhat, so Isabella continued with her questioning. Before long, they chatted like school chums while Briar followed along bemusedly in their wake. She stopped at the door to the passenger compartment. Isabella looked back, both eyebr
ows raised in question.

  “You go ahead,” Briar said. “I’ve had the tour already. I’ll look over my notes while you’re gone.” That way, when Isabella came back, they could engage in other activities. Discreetly, though. That would be the difficult part.

  Isabella nodded and trotted up abreast of Lieutenant Hale. Briar could hear her peppering him with more questions as she let herself back into the passenger area.

  They were gone for much longer than Briar had expected. Unless she missed her guess, it was longer than the lieutenant had anticipated when he’d mentioned a quick tour. Isabella had likely kept him talking as she tried to winkle out every bit of information on the vessel that she could. Briar was going back through her notes a second time when she heard the door open behind her.

  “Was the tour enjoyable?” Briar asked, looking up.

  “Of course it was!” Isabella replied. She bounced across the room and took a seat on a settee that afforded her a view from a large porthole. “This airship is fantastic! Do you think the earl will let me take a real look around, one day?”

  “I would be surprised if he didn’t insist on taking you on his own tour.” Briar put down her notebook, then settled herself next to Isabella. She watched with interest as Isabella’s interest changed from the mechanical to matters of a more physical nature.

  “I believe I’d promised some alternative activities for the rest of our trip.” Isabella waggled her eyebrows in a clear invitation.

  “I think not. Too much opportunity for interruption. We’ve already discussed this.”

  “Why not?” Isabella voice was eminently reasonable, and Briar felt her reserve start to melt. “There is no one about. The door can be barricaded. No one will ever know.”

  “Oh, Isabella.” Briar shook her head. “I am so very fond of you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. To cover her slip, she patted the seat next to her.

  Isabella scooted closer to her friend. Her face lit up at Briar’s declaration of affection, and the last of her restraint crumbled. She placed her lips against Isabella’s ear, knowing full well what it would do to her. “The problem is not what someone might see,” she said, “but rather what they shall hear. I’m afraid I’m completely incapable of discretion when you touch me in certain ways. We do not need someone breaking down the door and checking on us because they think something is amiss.”