The Kraken King, Part 1

by Meljean Brook

  She tamped down her nervousness and forced herself to focus. “Does anyone else use this lift?”

  “No.”

  “Is there stair access?”

  “Yes.”

  She would ask the staff members if they’d seen anyone use the stairs. Mina suspected that the dead man hadn’t fallen from the roof, however, but from something higher. To her relief, the lift rattled to a stop a moment later. Even before Trahaearn opened the grating, she could see that the roof had been designed with defense in mind. Cannons and rail guns lined the balustrade like a ship’s hull. The great lawns provided no cover for anyone attempting to cross the park. Past the fence lay the docks and the warehouses, the buildings crowding the riverside, and beyond them, the lanterns of the ships and barges on the Thames. With no traffic and no nearby residences, the night was quiet. Shockingly so. She almost said as much, until she glanced at the Iron Duke and found him watching her.

  Unsettled by that penetrating gaze, she looked up. Airships weren’t permitted to fl y over the city unless they’d been granted special permission. Cloud cover and haze could conceal one, however. As long as the crew didn’t fi re its engines, an airship could sail silently over London without drawing notice. She turned to the duke. “Were you outside when the incident took place?”

  “No. I was at dinner.”

  If he’d been interrupted, a peek into the dining rooms would confirm that. “Do you recall any unusual noises while you were dining? An engine, perhaps?”

  “No.”

  “And after the body was discovered?”

  She saw the speculation in his gaze before he said, “No.”

  “Have you received any threats?” That question would be of the utmost importance to Superintendent Hale, and everyone else Mina answered to. The Iron Duke must be kept safe.

  “Yes.” A brief smile accompanied his answer.

  Of course he had. “Threats from anyone who would dare act on them?”

  “No.”

  And if someone had, Mina suspected that she’d never have been called. A law unto himself, he’d have concealed the evidence. Indeed, she was surprised he hadn’t hidden this—or handled it on his own. Which begged the question, “Why did you contact police headquarters?”

  When he didn’t answer, she realized, “You didn’t. Who did?”

  His gaze sharpened, as if she’d surprised him in return. Still, he offered her nothing else. Protecting his people? She could not decide.

  “Tell me, sir—how long has Mr. St. John been a member of your staff?”

  This time, he said, “Three days.”

  So the new steward hadn’t known better, and contacted the police rather than letting Trahaearn deal with the corpse in his own way. “And if I have questions to ask of him in three more days’ time, will I find him still in your employ?”

  “That depends, inspector. If you discover that he knew the man under the sheet, then you will not find him.”

  Had he just promised to kill St. John if the steward was connected to the dead man? Anger began a slow burn in her chest.

  “And if he doesn’t know him?”

  “Then St. John will be here.”

  But less eager to talk to her, Mina suspected. So it would have to be now. “I’ve finished here. If you’ll arrange for my use of a room, I would like to speak with your staff.”

  His gaze ran over her before he nodded. She preceded him into that tiny lift again—though it would not have seemed so small and crowded if the Iron Duke had not taken up so much room. With so little space between them, she was aware of his every breath and movement, the faint scent of smoke and cedar that clung to his overcoat. Pressing back against the side of the cage, she focused at a point beyond his shoulder and ignored the uneasiness gnawing at her nerves. Trahaearn pushed the lever forward, and the lift began a smooth, slow descent. “So he was thrown from an airship.”

  “That conclusion is premature. We’ve seen no concrete evidence of an airship, only the suggestion of one.”

  He frowned. “His bones are shattered, yet you must see an airship to know what happened to him?”

  “I must see evidence of an airship,” Mina repeated, controlling her irritation. “Most likely, the body will give that evidence to me. But it requires further examination before I will say definitively that he was thrown from an airship, because I have seen other bodies similarly damaged by pulverizing hammers. And if I draw conclusions too hastily, I risk overlooking information that points to his murderer—or making assumptions that will lead to the wrong man. I will accept neither of those outcomes.”

  His gaze searched her features. Finally, he gave a short nod—as if she needed his permission to proceed. He certainly had a high opinion of himself. Unfortunately, everyone else in England shared that view. But aside from his arrogance, Mina could not pin him at all. Meeting his eyes, she said, “I was called away from a ball that was partly in your honor.”

  He smiled slightly. “Yes.”

  And that was all he had to say? It told her almost nothing.

  She tried again, this time hoping to get a rise from him. “Did you choose not to attend, Your Grace? Or perhaps you did not receive an invitation.”

  “I received several.” Humor had touched his eyes. And so he was amused rather than offended—but she could not determine if he laughed at the question or at her.

  The lift reached the main floor, stopping with a clang and a jolt. The duke looked down at her for another moment before sliding open the gate. She swept past him into the parlor, thinking aloud. “You are well-loved in this town, yet a corpse falls on your steps.” She turned to face him. “Perhaps it is not a threat, but someone trying to get your attention.”

  “They should have chosen another method.”

  Not even amusement now—just detachment again. Mina frowned at him. “Do you care that a man is dead, sir? Beyond the possible threat to you, or the insult, or whatever motive his murderer had—do you care that a man is dead?”

  He met her gaze squarely. “I don’t know him from a Castilian trapping for furs through American forests or a Hindustani enslaved by the Horde in India. Do you weep over the fate of every man you don’t know?” She wasn’t weeping over this one, but she did feel the injustice of it. “I don’t know his name, but he isn’t a stranger to me now, some hypothetical individual who lives across the globe. Nor is he to you—and odds are, he is here because of some connection to you.”

  His eyes narrowed, and although humor glinted within them again, it was a cold and dangerous light. Mina suppressed the urge to step back and draw her weapon. “Then find out who he is and why he’s on my doorstep . . . and I will make whoever did it sorry they caught my attention.”

  She had no doubt he would. And although Mina had every intention of solving both the mystery of the man’s identity and his death, now she had even more reason not to fail. She didn’t want to be the one who attracted the Iron Duke’s notice.

  Meljean Brook lives near Portland, OR with her family.