Table of Contents
{Chapter 1} THE OPAL'S CURSE
{Chapter 2} UNPLEASANT DUTIES
{Chapter 3} AN OLD FRIEND
{Chapter 4} NEW TROUBLE
{Chapter 5} CATCHING UP
{Chapter 6} AN IMPOSSIBLE CASE
{Chapter 7} DARK DEEDS
{Chapter 8} FLIGHT FROM LONDON
{Chapter 9} A RUDE AWAKENING
{Chapter 10} HOME AGAIN
{Chapter 11} AN UNEXPECTED DEPARTURE
{Chapter 12} TREADING AIR
{Chapter 13} SUSPICIONS
{Chapter 14} IN PURSUIT
{Chapter 15} HOME TRUTHS
{Chapter 16} PIGEON POST
{Chapter 17} CAGED
{Chapter 18} TERROR IN THE AIR
{Chapter 19} BANDIT COUNTRY
{Chapter 20} NEW FRIENDS
{Chapter 21} REAL MAGIC
{Chapter 22} TROUBLING NEWS
{Chapter 23} MORE QUESTIONS
{Chapter 24} SOUTHWARD
{Chapter 25} SWIFT PROGRESS
{Chapter 26} REGRETS
{Chapter 27} REPAIRS
{Chapter 28} THE HOMECOMING
{Chapter 29} TERROR IN THE FOREST
{Chapter 30} REUNION
{Chapter 31} A PLAN
{Chapter 32} INTO THE UNKNOWN
{Chapter 33} A FEARFUL DESTINATION
{Chapter 34} THE DEVIL'S LAIR
{Chapter 35} THE COMTESSE'S RETURN
{Chapter 36} IN AN IVORY TOWER
{Chapter 37} ESCAPE
{Chapter 38} FIRE AND BRIMSTONE
{Chapter 39} ONE LAST CHANCE
{Chapter 40} THADDEUS
{Chapter 41} AMÉLIE
{Chapter 42} A TERRIBLE REVELATION
{Chapter 43} DARKNESS
{Chapter 44} METAL MEN
{Chapter 45} A CHINK OF LIGHT
{Chapter 46} NEVER ENOUGH TIME
{Chapter 47} ACHILLES' HEEL
{Chapter 48} CONSUMED
{Chapter 49} OUT OF THE MOUNAIN
{Chapter 50} YANNICK'S REMORSE
{Chapter 51} FRIENDS IN NEED
{Chapter 52} A PAUSE FOR BREATH
{Chapter 53} AN IMPOSSIBLE PARTING
For my mum and dad, with love -
a ruby airship for your ruby wedding year.
{Chapter 1}
THE OPAL’S CURSE
It was late, or — depending on your point of view — perhaps very early. Outside the theater, the streets of Shoreditch were cast in deep shadow. Rémy slipped out of the Albert Saloon’s stage door and stopped for a moment, looking up. The moon was curved and yellow, like a hard heel of cheese discarded against the tablecloth of the London sky. From somewhere close by came a rattling clatter, followed by the unholy racket of two alley cats doing battle.
Rémy loved this time of night. She liked it in any town or village, but when she walked the streets of London after midnight it felt as if she were seeing a different world. It was a fairy-tale world: magical, but as cruel as it was enchanting. London by night was a reflection of itself. The people living in it were different, as dark as their surroundings. Rémy enjoyed the danger of walking among them, seen but untouched. She had been one of them, once; plotting dark deeds by the light of only a candle and the meager moon. But that had been before. Now, she was free, as long as she was careful . . . as long as certain parts of the law didn’t find her.
She set off for Limehouse Basin, still energized by her recent performance. Less than twenty minutes ago, Rémy had still been on the stage. It was Saturday: payday. The coins jangled in Rémy’s pocket as she pulled up the black hood of her heavy cloak against the early bite of frost. She was heading home, back to the Professor’s old workshop.
They’d been there three months now, she and J — after all, it seemed a pity to let the old place go to ruin when they were both homeless. Rémy had taken over the Professor’s private study as her bedroom, and J — on the rare occasion that the boy slept — had the use of a small anteroom off the main floor. So she hadn’t been alone since the circus had left London, even if a certain young policeman’s visits had become less frequent than she might have once hoped.
She quickened her step, replacing thoughts of Thaddeus Rec with thoughts of food and hoping that J had left her something on the stove. Ahead of her, a carriage rattled along the narrow road before turning a corner, disappearing through the tame halo of light thrown down by a gas lamp. In her head, Rémy tried to rehearse the new routine she’d been formulating for the past week or so. The problem with being a permanent fixture at a theater instead of in a touring circus was thinking up enough new tricks to keep the audiences coming back.
A piercing shriek shattered the gloom. There came another and then another. It wasn’t cats this time, it was something even more chilling. There were shouts, men’s voices overlaid by the whinnying of terrified horses and a series of sharp bangs that sounded like someone hammering against wood with fist or foot. Then more screams, echoing through the gaslight, shivering along the road toward her like ghosts.
Rémy ran to the corner of the street. The unlit road beyond was very dark, cast in such blackness that it was almost impossible to see what was happening. Quickly, Rémy reached into a pocket and pulled out the night glasses she’d borrowed from J, slipping them on. The world immediately took on a faint green tinge, but at least she was no longer blind. The carriage that had passed Rémy a few moments before stood in the middle of the road at a skewed angle. The petrified horses reared between the shafts, screaming as only a scared animal can. Rémy looked for the driver and spotted a figure lying slumped and still against the curb. Two men were hammering at the door of the carriage, their voices menacingly loud in the dark.
“Open up, lady!”
“No need to fear us, lovely — all we want are those sparklers.”
“Tha’s right. Hand ’em over, and you’ll be right as rain. Make it difficult, and we’ll . . .”
Rémy looked around, but the streets were deserted. More screams came from inside the carriage as the two ruffians began to rock it, tilting it on its thin wheels. The horses were going crazy, and Rémy couldn’t understand why they hadn’t bolted. Then she saw the scrawny boy standing bravely between them, holding on to their reigns as if his life depended on it, which it probably did. She strained to hear any other male voices, but there were none. The woman — and there was only one, she thought — must have been traveling alone. That was unusual, not to mention dangerous, especially at this time and in this part of the city.
Rémy bit her lip. How did she get herself into these things? She slipped off her cloak. Beneath it, she was dressed in her everyday clothes, which were not the sort the folk of London were used to seeing on a young woman. She wore a black corset with a loose black shirt underneath, open at the neck. Around her waist was a wide leather utility belt that had a place for everything from her lock-picks to her night glasses. Rémy’s slim, agile legs were clad in black breeches, tucked into tall, black leather boots. Her dark hair was still up from being on the wire, twisted into a coil and pinned neatly against the back of her head. Rémy also hadn’t removed her stage mask, the iridescent black bird that she had taken to painting over her eyes, nose, and lips to disguise her face. On the wire, it was spellbinding — on the dark streets of night-London, it was fearful.
She ran out of the shadows and into the street. Surprise was the best tactic — if she could take one of them out before the other realized what was happening, they’d be one-to-one before the fight even began. A few yards before she reached the melee, Rémy pirouetted, launching herself into the air in a quick spin and kicking out at the back of the first man’s right leg. He c
rumpled like a sack of potatoes as her toes connected, his knees hitting the slabs below so hard that he screeched in pain. Rémy was already deep into another turn, yanking herself around so fast that the street became a blur. This blow was aimed higher, and by the time her free foot landed back on solid ground, the man was out cold, sprawled headlong over the filth of the broken cobbles.
The second man realized what was happening just as his companion lost consciousness. He lunged at her. Rémy sprang sideways and then, in two nimble leaps, was on top of the carriage, eliciting another series of screams from the woman inside. The lumbering brute tried to reach her, but Rémy side-stepped and brought the heel of her boot down on his fat fingers. He yelled, jerking backward and almost stumbling over the inert figure of his colleague.
Rémy leaped again, head-height to the scoundrel as she sailed out of the dark, her knee cracking into his chin and then, once she’d landed, her third spin-and-kick leveled at his crotch. He folded in half like a cheap penknife, winded and cursing. She stood in front of him and lifted one foot to push against his shoulder. He slumped to the ground.
The horses bolted, let loose as the boy who’d been holding them scarpered. The animals lurched along the street, no longer in step with each other and completely without regard for the carriage harnessed behind them. The screams from the woman inside grew even more frantic as the two animals tried to escape. The carriage careened erratically down the road and away.
Rémy ran after it, splashing through the stinking, murky puddles to draw level with the foam-flecked gelding in the leftmost shaft. His neck was stretched; his head down and pushed forward, his ears back. She tried to grab at the reigns, but the horse, its eyes rolling in fear, jerked its head up and away from her hand. Rémy ran on, the muscles of her legs burning as they came to a corner. For one terrifying moment she thought the two horses were going to choose different directions, but then the second followed the first and crashed right, almost upturning the carriage as they slewed it against one of the ragged houses lining the street.
There was nothing for it. If she wanted to stop them, Rémy was going to have to take the driver’s place. She dropped back slightly and then leaped at the front of the carriage, her feet hitting the running board as she flung herself across the driver’s footrest. The screams from inside the carriage rose again like an orchestra reaching a crescendo, as Rémy scrambled up, first to her knees, then to her feet, grabbing the reigns.
Rémy stood on the driver’s seat of the carriage. Feeling it tilt and move beneath her, she kept her knees unlocked to help her balance. The horses strained against her as she pulled back on the reigns. Then they began to slow, responding first to the bit and then to the familiarity of having a driver. Eventually, they found pace with each other, and then, finally, with her.
Rémy brought them to a stop, pulling the carriage in against the curb and taking a breath.
“Hey there,” she called to the occupant of the carriage. “If you will tell me where to go, I will take you home. I can’t let go of the horses or they may bolt again.”
There was a moment’s silence. Rémy pushed her night glasses up into her hair and spoke to the trembling, exhausted horses in the way she’d learned from the horsemen of the circus — Breathe through your nose, Rémy, with horses you must always breathe through your nose — trying to keep them calm. Then there came the sound of wood rubbing against wood as the carriage’s window opened. Rémy twisted around to see an elegant woman peering up at her, her hair coiled elaborately atop her head.
“H-Hello?”
“Good evening, mademoiselle,” said Rémy. “Are you well?”
“Sh-shaken, but mostly unharmed — thanks to you. I owe you my life. Th-thank you.”
“You are welcome, mademoiselle —”
“I am Lady Sarah Valentine.”
“You are welcome, Lady Sarah,” Rémy adjusted. “I will take you home, if you will tell me your address?”
“Hanover Square, Miss — it is Miss, isn’t it? Who are you?”
Rémy smiled, suddenly remembering the greasepaint still covering her face. “Sit back and calm your nerves, my lady. I will have you home quick-smart.” She turned back to the horses and, a second later, heard the window grind shut again.
“Hey — you!” Rémy called as a shoeless little boy in tattered trousers slunk out of an alleyway beside them. “Want to earn your breakfast?”
He nodded eagerly and came closer. His expression changed as she came into better view — the black bird on her face cast a shadow of fear over him. Rémy dug a coin from her pocket and dropped it into his outstretched hand. “The driver of this carriage is injured. He’s lying against the curb in Worship Street. See that he’s taken care of. And see this?” She pointed to her face and the mask painted there. “Cheat me and this will come looking for you. D’accord?”
The boy nodded and then, in the space of a shattered second, was gone into the night.
The rest of the journey was uneventful as Rémy drove the carriage from the shadowy murk of the East End into the richer, though hardly cleaner, parts of London. As soon as she’d turned into Hanover Square, a group of men started toward the carriage. They’d obviously been waiting anxiously for the return of Lady Sarah.
“Who the devil are you?” asked one, as Rémy drew to a halt before the grand house.
“Lady Sarah met with some . . . misfortune on her journey this evening,” Rémy explained. “I was able to assist her.”
“Were you, by Jove,” said the man as a liveried footman darted past him to open the carriage door. “And what the blazes have you done with Evans, my driver?”
Lady Sarah appeared, helped down from the carriage by the servant, and for the first time Rémy saw her full finery. She wore a dress of sky blue, edged and embroidered in fine gold thread. At her throat was a sapphire of a matching hue, large enough to take Rémy’s breath away. It was Lady Sarah’s fingers, though, that truly made Rémy’s heart thump. Each was adorned with a ring bearing an enormous precious stone, and none spoke louder to the former jewel thief than the huge ruby on her index finger. She realized that Lady Sarah was looking at her intently as she spoke to the man, who appeared to be her husband.
“Charles, do show this young lady some manners. She single-handedly saw off a bunch of ruffians who accosted me and then tamed the horses before the carriage could fall to pieces. I owe her my life, or if not my life, then at the very least my jewels.”
Charles peered over her shoulder. “Where’s your feckless brother? Weren’t you under his protection?”
Lady Sarah glanced down at her hands. “He left me during the intermission. He’s probably at the gaming tables as we speak.”
Charles made a disgusted sound in his throat, and then glanced angrily up at Rémy. “Well, I am in your debt, whoever you are . . . if you were indeed Lady Sarah’s savior and not part of the plot.”
“Charles!”
Rémy jumped from the driver’s seat to the ground in one fluid movement to stand before them both.
“I am sorry, my dear,” began Lady Sarah, “for my husband’s rudeness. I know I am greatly indebted to you. How can I repay your efforts?”
Rémy shook her head. “I need nothing, Lady Sarah. I will leave you now. Good night.”
She began to walk away, but Lady Sarah stopped her with a hand on her arm. When Rémy turned back, she saw that the woman was pulling the ruby ring from her slender finger.
“Here,” said Lady Sarah, “please, take it. I saw how your gaze was drawn to it.”
Rémy stared at the glittering jewel in the palm of Lady Sarah’s hand. “No, my Lady, really —”
“Take it,” the woman ordered. “As you see, I have many jewels. And how many does one woman need? Besides, I heard you pay the boy to help poor Evans, and so you are out of pocket, too. Take it as a token of my thanks.”
; Rémy did as she was told. The ruby was warm, as if the jewel contained a miniature fire, burning safely in its belly. Lady Sarah smiled once more, and then turned to join her husband, sweeping up the steps of her fine home and into the comfort beyond.
* * *
By the time Rémy finally made it back to Limehouse Basin and the Professor’s workshop, it was so late that the sky over the river was beginning to take on the pink tinge of dawn. Weary and starving, she pushed open the door to find the cluttered space empty and still, save for the flickering of embers in the fireplace grate. Rémy sighed, trying not to feel the disappointment that weighed upon her heart. She had half-hoped that Thaddeus would be there, waiting for her to get home, as he used to in the weeks after she and J had first moved in. She wondered where he was and whether he was thinking of her at all.
{Chapter 2}
UNPLEASANT DUTIES
“You realize, of course,” said Lord Falconer from over the candelabra at the other end of the table, “that the situation in India is not merely one of economics, but of ideology, too.”
There was a general murmuring of assent. Or perhaps it was dissent — Thaddeus Rec couldn’t be sure. He stared down at the shallow dish of soup that had appeared before him. It was green and had the aroma of peas. The policeman — Detective Inspector now, no less — had been dreading the soup course ever since he had learned that he would have to attend this dinner. Soup generally ended up down his front instead of in his mouth. And this one was green, for goodness’ sake! Thaddeus blinked, imagining the horror of tipping food down his only good white shirt in front of the assorted gentry around Sir Henry Strong’s elegant dinner table. The thought made him feel faintly sick.
The conversation about the state of the Empire rumbled on around him. Thaddeus wondered again, for the millionth time, just how he had ended up in such eminent company. He’d be happier down by the docks, clearing out the opium dens of the city’s lost souls or chasing pickpockets through Whitechapel. But ever since the affair of the Shah of Persia’s diamond, Thaddeus had been no ordinary London policeman. He had been held up as a shining example of good policing by Queen Victoria herself, which is how the boy from the East End had ended up as the youngest detective inspector in her Majesty’s constabulary. At the time, Thaddeus hadn’t realized that his promotion would mean less actual police work and more fiddling about at evenings such as this. Apparently, though, it came with the territory.
The Ruby Airship Page 1