Saving the Scientist

by Riley Cole

  “No,” she murmured back.

  So he’d have to use something else to create the explosion. Edison glared at Grenville’s goons, as if preparing to rush them. In reality, he had no such plans. His real interest was the table behind the two men on his left.

  Beakers and boxes of white powder and metallic dust stood at the ready.

  Thank God Grenville had strong lanterns. Edison had no trouble making out the labels on the different supplies. Eyebrow raised, he sent Ada a sideways glance, hoping she understood his unasked question. Her nod was infinitesimal.

  That was it then.

  Grenville would jigger a flammable device from the products on the table. He’d set the place on fire, then gas them with the cyanide. Still, he’d need to have a way for he and his men to escape.

  A touchy plan that would hinge on perfect timing.

  Edison took a long, slow breath and prepared to scramble Grenville’s breakfast.

  But Ada beat him to it.

  “Damnation!” She stamped her feet and wriggled about, scratching frantically at her legs and hips, as if plagued by lice.

  The guards laughed.

  Grenville laughed, enjoying the show. “It’s only what you deserve, you whore. But chats won’t be bothering you much longer. I’ve got something that’ll help with that.” The man was still chuckling as he pushed between the two guards and headed for the table.

  “Not chloroform,” she whispered as she jigged about. “Prussic acid. He’ll have to mix it carefully.”

  Edison clamped down on the appreciative smile that threatened to turn up his lips. God, she was brave. Brave and smart and plucky as an entire regiment.

  “That’s our opening,” he whispered as he pretended to help her shake out her skirts.

  Without warning, Ada slapped him. Hard. “Keep your hands off me!” She shoved him away, pushing him a few steps closer to Grenville.

  Edison rubbed his cheek, careful to keep his hand over the grin he couldn’t stop. “Fine by me.” He sneered at her. “You’re nothing but trouble.” He raked her with a disgusted look. “Nothing worth dying over.”

  “Well you’re a lying pig.” Ada warmed to her role. “You with all your fancy dance hall girls.” She flounced over toward the third guard. “You can go straight to hell.”

  “You’ll be joining me.” Edison sidled closer to Grenville.

  Despite his confidence, his stomach fluttered. They were approaching the danger point when anything could—and would—happen.

  He needed to get between the gunmen, close enough that one leap would land him close enough to Grenville for the knife to be of use.

  “Only because of your damned incompetence,” Ada said.

  He snorted. “Not so brilliant yourself, now are you?”

  “Smarter than you.”

  Edison spread his hands wide in a gesture of disbelief. “Listen to her. Bloody bluestocking bitch. Thinks she can order men about.” He eyed the guards, as if looking for some male solidarity.

  Their relaxed poses, the way they cradled their guns—not expecting trouble, but not willing to let down their guards—told him he wouldn’t get any sympathy.

  “Grenville,” he called out. “I’ve got nothing to do with her damned device. Let me go and I’ll make sure you get the real battery. Did you know? She’s got the best one hidden.”

  Grenville paused.

  Heart pounding now, Edison waited. Would it be this simple?

  With a great wheeze, Grenville turned to face him.

  The laughter glowing in his small eyes made Edison’s stomach drop. “The model you’ve got stashed in your offices?” He shook his head at Edison’s weak attempt at bribery. “I’ve already duplicated it.” He sent Ada a nasty grin. “Your work will live on. Not that anyone will know it.”

  “You bloated pig.” Fists clenched, Ada launched herself at her old friend.

  Edison caught her around the waist, stilling her before the guards could do it for him. She stayed in character admirably, shoving him away with a disgusted gasp.

  So it was to be the hard way.

  Edison fingered the knife stashed in his shirt sleeve.

  Fine.

  * * *

  Ada froze, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

  Edison was going to attack. She sensed the tensing of his body, tasted the dangerous bite in the air.

  Separated by mere feet, he and Stanton glared at each other—a stallion facing down an aging bear—as if they were preparing for battle.

  The tension between them grew like an electrical charge.

  An icy feeling came over her.

  She hoped Edison wouldn’t have to kill him.

  Oh, Stanton deserved it.

  He deserved whatever hideous form of judgment was coming his way. But Ada didn’t want to witness it.

  And she didn’t want Edison to carry the burden.

  The nasty rags hanging from Edison’s broad shoulders added a special touch of menace to the glare he gave Stanton. The torn shirt and billowing pants made his underlying physique seem all the stronger. More desperate. More commanding.

  She wanted to help, wanted to add a distraction, be an impediment, or bash one of the guards over the head.

  What would Meena do? Or Briar?

  Attack, of course. Meena would mutter a pithy remark and skewer the closest guard with a spare hat pin. Briar would use her hands. And those deadly feet.

  She, though, had none of their skills.

  Ada eyed the three hulking guards as they gave the standoff their full attention. She was more like one of Caldwell Nance’s heroines, smart enough in her way, but utterly unprepared for the evil situation she found herself in.

  Exactly. Ada blinked. What would a Caldwell Nance heroine do?

  She’d do something dramatic. Something foolhardy. Something the hero would chastise her for once all was well with the world.

  Fingers spread like claws, she launched herself at Edison. “Pig!”

  His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise. He’d been expecting her to attack Stanton. They all had, from the looks of things.

  Men. Such limited creatures.

  Even as her fingers tangled in Edison’s stained shirtfront, the two men flanking him closed in, pulling her off.

  Edison staggered backwards, managing to get a few steps closer to Stanton in the process. He swiped at his filthy shirt as if trying to rub off her touch.

  “I’m more man than you deserve,” he said, adding a theatrical sneer.

  She stuck her hands on her hips. “So you think.” She gave his crotch a withering look. “If that’s all you can be proud of…”

  The guard at her side snickered.

  Edison folded his arms over his chest, as if content to stand about hurling insults while Stanton set up to murder them. “Suited you well enough at the time.”

  Ada laughed harshly. “So you’d like to believe.”

  Edison grinned. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

  No, he wouldn’t have done. Ada swallowed. Damn the man. Even facing down mortal danger, that smile had the power to set her alight.

  She stuck close to the man guarding her. There might be an opportunity. For what, she had no idea.

  Behind Edison, Stanton poured tartaric acid into a beaker containing cyanide of potassium. Now all he needed was water to initiate the chemical reaction that would create the deadly blue liquid. Once he added water, the resulting gas would become airborne.

  They’d have just seconds to escape.

  But it was a delicate process. In addition to creating a deadly poison, water made the mixture highly flammable.

  She dove back into her role. “At least I’m not stupid.”

  Edison growled. “Stupid enough to let me in your drawers,” he said as he rubbed his stomach, undoubtedly fingering the knife.

  Ada snorted. “Only because you—"

  “Shut up!” Stanton backed away from the table and threw up
his hands. He glared at the guards. “If they don’t shut their traps, make them. I can’t think.”

  Eyes hard, all three of the guards closed in.

  “What’re you looking at?” Ada glared at the thug closest to her, drawing a stunned gaze. She willed Edison to seize the opportunity.

  “Get down,” he warned Ada, and shoved both guards aside with all the strength he could muster.

  Ada dove to the floor and rolled away from her guard, smashing straight into the makeshift stove.

  Empty cans tumbled down in a cloud of dry chemical dust. Candle stubs and empty battery casings rolled across the smooth floor, scattering like a handful of marbles. Her elbow landed in on a soft blob that smelled suspiciously of bacon.

  “Shoot him.” Grenville screamed like an angry child. “Shoot him.”

  Edison hooked an arm around Stanton’s neck, the paring knife in his other hand. The intent look on his face made her shiver.

  “Shoo—“ Grenville’s order faded into a gurgle as Edison squeezed his thick neck in the crook of his arm. He swung the man around, keeping his thick form between himself and the armed men now pointing revolvers at him.

  “Back away,” he ordered. He held the tip of the knife to Stanton’s throat, just above his starched collar.

  The man charged with guarding Ada hauled her roughly to her feet. Pain stabbed her in the temple as he pressed the barrel of his gun to her head.

  At least she had one of them occupied.

  She kept her gaze on Edison and tried not to think about the hard steel pressed to her temple.

  Edison caught her look. She smiled at him, willing him to concentrate on whatever plan his wild mind had concocted. She wanted his mind clear, free from worry about her.

  He had two other twitchy guards to consider.

  Stanton gurgled as Edison jerked hard on his neck. “Let’s make sure you don’t have any more surprises.” He pocketed the knife and used his free hand to rifle through Stanton’s evening coat, checking pockets, and even his trousers.

  Stanton wriggled against him, clearly enraged by the indignity, but Edison seemed not to notice.

  Once he’d completed his search, one more hard jerk on Stanton’s neck and he stilled, his body limp.

  Edison dropped him to the floor as if he were a sack of garbage and quickly grabbed two beakers of white powder.

  He held the beakers out for Ada to see. “Was it the acid and the potassium that explode?”

  At his feet, Stanton roused, thrashing about like a carp tossed up on a riverbank.

  The beakers held to his chest, Edison shuffled out of reach of the man’s flailing arms. “Stay back, unless you want another taste of my blade,” he warned.

  “It is.” Ada responded, careful not to nod. “Pour those together and you’ll blow the whole place apart.”

  “Bleeding hell!” The guard furthest away stared at them as if they were all batty. He spat next to Stanton’s shoulder. “This ain’t worth twice what you paid.” He ran off, his lantern swinging wildly as he ran.

  “He’s right.” Edison stared at the man holding Ada. “Not worth dying over, old chap.”

  The man tightened his grip on Ada’s arm, making her gasp. “You won’t do it. He won’t do it,” he added to the remaining guard.

  “Why wouldn’t I? We’re as good as dead anyway. This way’ll be quick.” He gave Ada a questioning look. “It will be quick, won’t it?”

  “Quicker that what he had planned.” She jerked her head toward Stanton.

  “See?” Edison moved the beakers closer together, as if getting ready to pour one into the other.

  “Don’t.” The other touch raised his revolver. “I’ll blow ‘em straight outta your hands.”

  Edison shook his head as if deeply disappointed. “Bad idea.”

  “Don’t shoot!” Enormous gut hindering his mobility, Stanton struggled to sit up. His collar had come undone on one side, jutting out from his thick jowls at a ridiculous angle. “Stupid fool. They make poison gas. We’re too close.”

  The guard holding Ada snorted in disgust. “You’re too close, old man.” He shoved Ada hard in the back, sending her stumbling forward.

  “We can find another gig that ain’t so dangerous,” he said to his friend and ran off. Footsteps echoed through the cavernous building as he disappeared between the great machines.

  The last of the guards looked between Stanton and the containers in Edison’s hands. “Bleeding toffs. Fight your own battles.” He tore off after the others.

  Ada stared down at her old friend. The man she’d thought of as a friend. Her stomach roiled.

  With his precious cravat rumpled beyond repair, and the over-long hanks of white hair no longer combed across his bald pate, he looked more like a nasty red-faced toad than the kindly gentleman she’d always imagined.

  How had she failed to notice the cruel set to his mouth? Or the selfish quirk to his small lips?

  Much as she knew about chemicals and their combinations, she clearly hadn’t the least idea how to read people.

  Chapter 28

  The guards had run off with their lanterns.

  Now they had just the one. The circle of light shrank until it barely illuminated Stanton’s slumped form. Shadowed now, Edison waited just out of reach.

  Ada stepped back, out of the light, where Stanton’s gaze couldn’t reach. The darkness was comforting, like an old blanket thrown over her shoulders.

  He was mad. Madder than a hatter. But some of his barbs held the sting of truth. They’d hurt later, when she worked them over in her mind.

  Edison raised the glass jars, catching Stanton’s attention. “How are we to go about this, Grenville?”

  “Go to hell.” Stanton’s wheezing curse had little force behind it.

  It was obvious the man was done in. If the gray tone beneath the florid cheeks didn’t signal it, the way he sat upon the floor—like a puddle of angry pudding too wrung out to stand—sealed it.

  Stanton wasn’t going anywhere but the gaol.

  With a careful hand, Edison set the containers down on the table behind him, and sent her a quick look. “He’s too fat to drag.”

  Ada studied her former friend. Frustration, rage, and the beginnings of fear were etched in the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. She waited for the pain of his betrayal to hit, expecting it to bite into her heart any moment.

  But it didn’t come.

  He’d ordered her death, been willing to kill her himself, if need be.

  She couldn’t feel anything. Not anger. Not loathing. Certainly not empathy of any sort.

  She suspected it would come in time. A week on—perhaps a month—she’d awake in the middle of the night knowing the pain of true betrayal.

  For now, she was blessedly numb.

  “The hand carts.” She pointed at the dark center of the factory. “They’re all over. I’ll find one.”

  “We’ve only the one lantern.” Edison frowned down at the table of supplies.

  “I'll use the candles.” Ada bent to retrieve a handful of stubs.

  “We’ve got plenty of matches, thanks to Grenville here.” Edison grinned down at his prisoner. He handed Ada the full box of matches. “We’ll wait here. Grenville can enjoy his last few moments of freedom.”

  Ada selected the largest stub and stuffed the others in the ripped pockets of her dirty apron.

  The weak flame sent a watery yellow light out across the cement floor. Ada walked up one edge of the aisle, as close to the machinery as she could get, raising the flame high to throw the light as far into the corners and crevasses as she could, looking for the familiar royal blue of the company’s well-worn hand carts.

  Small scurrying sounds echoed off the walls as she raised the light. Ada shuddered. The place must be alive with rodents at night.

  She was almost to the front wall of the factory, where the great main doors swung out into the more fashionable office areas when she heard it.

  Footstep
s.

  Slow and quiet and exquisitely cautious, but they were footsteps.

  Ada shivered. Had the guards returned? Perhaps he had more lackeys?

  Whoever they were, it sounded like they were just on the other side of the doors. She blew out the candle and backed into a space between two machines that pressed lids onto cans. As she moved, her hand brushed over a tabletop. Her fingers hit containers, heavy with one of Stanton’s chemical concoctions.

  Careful to move quietly, she felt around until she located the wire handle and wrapped her fingers around it. She lifted the can an inch, testing the weight.

  It wasn’t lead, but it would do. If she aimed at head height, she might get lucky and smash the bastard in the nose.

  If she could hear him coming.

  She tried to slow her breathing, to take silent, measured breaths, as she imagined Meena or Briar would do, preparing herself to strike.

  Muffled coughs filtered up from the far end of the factory, then the murmur of a deep voice. Edison.

  She tried to ignore the interruption, tried to keep her focus on the darkness, the silence, at her own end of the building.

  The quiet was so thick, the brush of the rubber door sweep across the concrete seemed as loud as a gunshot.

  It certainly made her heart pound as if she’d heard one.

  Ada raised the pail to shoulder height. She bit her lip and prepared to swing the can. One shot. One shot was all she’d get.

  A wedge of light spilled out into the factory floor as the door opened. She strained to hear anything above the pounding of her heart.

  With a whispered oath, she heaved the can in the direction of the doorway. A dull thud followed by the ring of metal as the top rolled away told her she’d hit something.

  Acrid white dust bloomed in the air, spreading out into the darkness.

  Ada clasped her hands together to stop their trembling, and waited.

  * * *

  “Damnation.” The oath was followed by a series of long, wracking coughs.

  The soft oath stuck a chord.

  She knew that voice.

  Ada wrinkled her nose, thinking. “Mr. Crane?” she whispered.