The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1)

by Anne Renwick

  “Hydrogen or aether?” she asked, this time aloud.

  Left unsheltered and unattended and frequently unused on rooftops, personal dirigibles often sustained damage from the elements. In short, they tended to leak. Aether was stable, but expensive. Hydrogen was abundant and cheap but extremely flammable.

  “Hydrogen,” Thornton answered. “This should be quite a show.”

  The fabric of the upper fin began to flutter. There was a muffled explosion, and yellow-red flames jumped into the air, spreading, eating away the fabric as black smoke poured into the sky. The exposed underlying girders, weakened by the intense heat, collapsed over the hull of the airship as the fire dropped to a low smolder.

  Amanda forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly, to slow the shaking that persisted in the face of a horrible demonstration of the dangers of in-air collision.

  Men carrying water buckets rushed forward, dousing the flames as a multitude of faces with accusing, narrowed eyes turned in their direction. Not an ideal first impression.

  “Amanda?”

  She turned, searched for the source of the voice. “Emily?”

  Men hissed in disapproval, moving quickly aside as an obviously pregnant woman pushed her way forward. Fog swirled around her skirt as its folds shifted; to be brushed by a woman’s skirts made one marhime, unclean.

  A dark-haired woman with a cerulean blue shawl draped about her shoulders stepped forward.

  “Emily!” Amanda cried. She rushed forward to clasp her sister’s hands and scanned her from head to toe. Her sister glowed‌—‌and was further along in her pregnancy than Amanda expected. Details that had clearly been kept from her. “You have no idea how badly I’ve missed you.”

  Emily squeezed Amanda’s hands. “I feel the same. Your latest letter‌—‌”

  A man emerged from the crowd, scolding Emily in Romani. Luca. Private concerns would have to wait.

  “Your sister?” Thornton stood behind her. She nodded.

  “Disaster always seems to follow you, Amanda,” Luca growled.

  “Not true. Disaster arrived before me.” Dispensing with formalities, she tipped her head at Thornton. “We’re here about the body.”

  There was a moment of startled silence.

  “Tova?” Luca asked.

  “If that is the name of the boy found in the ditch,” Thornton answered.

  “What might you and Lady Amanda have to do with Tova?” Suspicion laced Luca’s words.

  “This is about the clockwork spider, isn’t it?” Emily said, her face pale.

  From Amanda’s letter, Emily would know it had been stolen. What she didn’t know was its involvement in the gypsy murders.

  Luca’s face darkened. “Your work?” He glanced from Amanda to Emily. “You refer to the spider?”

  “Yes,” Amanda answered. “And Emily’s nerve potion.”

  “Why is your contraption being used on my people?” He glowered. “Don’t answer that. It’s because we are disposable.”

  “We’re here to try to stop this man, this eye doctor. Better to ask ‘who would do such a thing’ and ‘to what end?” Amanda suggested. Though annoyed at her brother-in-law’s hostility, it was understandable, given the chaos their arrival caused. “Which is exactly what we hope to discover, Luca. By viewing the body.”

  Emily laid a hand on Luca’s arm, her eyes large with worry and concern.

  “Follow me.” Luca turned and led them into the heart of the encampment.

  They trailed behind him across the damp ground, leaving Black to conclude his negotiations with the men whose property had been demolished in the flaming wreckage of the dirigible. Thornton was limping again, his cane forgotten in the crash. At the doorway of a makeshift tent, Luca exchanged a few tense words with an older man who glowered at the visitors. Finally, a terse nod granted them access.

  Tova lay stretched upon the ground, covered with an old, wool blanket.

  “Where was he found?” Thornton asked.

  “Beside a road. Any number of wagons traveling by could have dumped him there,” Luca answered.

  Thornton bent to lift the makeshift shroud. A single, unseeing eye stared back. Beside it was a socket filled with congealed blood.

  Emily moaned. Luca murmured in Romani, trying to pull her away, but she shrugged off his hand, shaking her head.

  Thornton pointed. “Look at his wrists, his ankles.” Red, raw marks encircled each.

  Tova had suffered greatly just prior to death.

  “There was only enough nerve agent in the abdominal vial for one procedure,” Amanda said. “And that was used on the last victim. The eye doctor must have attempted this procedure without any nerve agent.”

  Emily gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. With a slight mewling sound, she rushed from the tent.

  Thornton straightened and turned to Luca. “I need to take him back to the laboratory for a complete examination. There are tests‌—‌”

  “No. Do it here.”

  “Impossible.”

  Luca shrugged.

  Thornton swore. “It’s your people who are dying! I’m trying to stop this.”

  “It’s being handled.”

  “Hardly. How many bodies now? Six, now seven, have been brought to my attention. You need help.”

  Luca crossed his arms.

  “I will send the police,” Thornton threatened.

  “They will find nothing,” Luca fumed, his eyes narrowed, “but the wreckage of your dirigible.”

  “Gentlemen!” Amanda interrupted. “There must be some way to compromise. Luca, we need special tools, magnifying lenses. Intense, strong light. We need to determine what this eye doctor has done.”

  “Bring them here,” Luca said.

  “We can’t. Come with him,” she offered, pleaded. “Come with Tova. The examination will take…‌” She looked at Thornton. “Thirty minutes? An hour?” He nodded. “When we’re done, Tova comes home‌—‌immediately‌—‌for his funeral.

  “Is that a promise?” Luca directed his question at Thornton.

  “Only if you arrange immediate transportation.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Luca looked at Amanda. “Now would be a good time for a brief conversation with your sister.”

  She stepped from the tent, leaving the men to make their arrangements. Outside, Emily stood, her arms wrapped across her chest, her shoulders shaking, still overcome by the sight of Tova. Amanda put her arms around her sister, pulling her close, holding her until the shaking stopped. “Six months?” she guessed.

  Emily sniffled. “Yes.”

  Father must know about the baby, must have known months ago that Emily’s departure had been motivated by more than love alone. It would be the only reason he’d left Emily to Luca instead of dragging her home.

  Emily caught Amanda’s hand and pressed it to her rounded abdomen. There was a soft thump against her hand. “Can you feel him kicking? He’s strong.”

  “Or perhaps she’s strong.”

  “Or she,” Emily agreed, grinning.

  “Will you come home, for the birth?”

  Emily shook her head. “No. He’ll be born here, as is tradition.”

  Amanda drew breath, about to launch into a list of reasons why a physician should be allowed to attend.

  “Stop. Don’t waste your words. This is why I didn’t dare tell you.” A faint smile tugged at Emily’s lips and she began to walk, pulling her sister across the campsite, weaving between campfires, tents and vardos, the gypsy name for their caravan homes. “Mother would be horrified if I were to return now, with nothing but the story of my gypsy wedding. Society would view him‌—‌or her‌—‌as a bastard. Olivia’s wedding plans would go up in flames much like your dirigible.”

  Amanda made no comment. It was all‌—‌unfortunately‌—‌true.

  “Have Olivia and Carlton set a date?”

  Amanda snorted. “Hardly. It’s ever-shifting. They’re on the fifth version of a wedd
ing contract.”

  Emily laughed. “I never cared for Carlton. Such a pompous ass.”

  “Olivia quotes him endlessly.” She paused. “I’ll worry now. You’ll let me know how you’re doing? Will you allow me to attend the birth?”

  “You’d come here?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Amanda said.

  Emily considered the idea for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll have Luca send for you. Only you. Alone.”

  “Agreed.”

  They’d arrived at a smattering of vardos tucked among a few sparse trees, a good distance from the now smoldering dirigible. Emily stopped before a yellow vardo with a red door and green shutters. An inviting ladder curved gently down from the base of the door. Baskets and cages and pots and pans and all other manner of household implements were strapped, tied or hooked to its side. A short distance away burned a small campfire with two overturned buckets beside it to serve as seats.

  “Yours?” The caravan seemed familiar.

  Emily nodded. “Yes. And Nadya’s.”

  “How is it she’s still alive?” Amanda wondered aloud. The old woman had seemed a hundred years old when they were in short skirts and braids.

  “Shh!” Emily swatted, pressing a finger to her lips. “She is Luca’s great aunt. Have some respect. She’s taught me so much these past months, and I’ve still so much to learn.” Her visage sobered and her voice fell. “However, this is not a social call. It’s about the nerve agent. Given what’s happened, you need to know.”

  All the tension that had evaporated during their sisterly chat dropped once more onto her shoulders with a heavy thud. Amanda stared back into the fog, searching for a form that resembled Thornton.

  “Tell him later. She won’t speak if he’s here. You, she knows. Me, she trusts.”

  Amanda followed Emily up the steps. A single lantern illuminated the interior and she could see all the usual gypsy comforts. A small stove. A table affixed to the wall. Built-in benches covered in colorful patchwork pillows served as both storage and seating.

  On a bed built into the back wall of the caravan sat a tiny old woman wrapped in shawls. Fringed curtains concealed all but her face, a face so wrinkled and weathered that she resembled nothing so much as an apple left to sit in the sun untouched for a year. Or ten.

  Emily crouched beside her, scooping a small, withered hand into hers, whispering in Romani to the old woman.

  Tears escaped, running over sunken purple half-moons beneath her eyes and over her cheeks. She shook her head. Emily murmured more insistently. At last, the woman nodded and pulled her hand away, agreeing to whatever it was her sister requested.

  “Tova was her grandson and Luca’s cousin,” Emily said. “He was sent to deliver the nerve potion. And never came back.”

  “Excuse me?” Amanda’s eye grew large. “Are you telling me you gave nerve agent to the eye doctor yourself?”

  “We didn’t know,” Emily said, her voice defensive. “A letter came, offering a grand sum for a serum that would calm, but not numb a nerve. But it wasn’t the formula. The batch you had, I expected it to last longer.”

  They both had. There’d been no reason to think that her neurachnid would be tested so soon‌—‌and unexpectedly‌—‌on a human.

  Emily continued, “But the nerve potion you use requires the flower of a plant that’s not in bloom, not in October. Nadya and I, we’ve been trying to find a replacement for that sole ingredient, something available year round.”

  “In the event my spider suddenly began to work,” Amanda finished her sister’s thought. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because the nerve agent is my duty.” Emily’s part of the burden they’d both assumed after Ned’s accident. “When your note arrived, I knew you needed more.” She swallowed. “We brewed a new batch, one we thought likely to work.”

  A sick feeling settled into Amanda’s stomach. “And gave it to the eye doctor. How could you?” First the spider, now a potion. The murderer collected their secrets too fast.

  The old lady rocked and moaned.

  “We didn’t know!” Emily objected, but a tear ran down her cheek. “I sent a message with the potion, warning that it should be tested first, but…‌”

  Nadya pulled a shawl over her head and wept.

  But the eye doctor took it upon himself to test the formula upon the handiest subject‌—‌the delivery boy.

  “There’s more.” Emily’s voice was nearly a whisper. “There was a note pinned to Tova’s shirt demanding that we produce a working potion or…‌ there would be more needless suffering.” Tova’s body had been returned as a warning, detailing the pain the eye doctor was willing to inflict upon an innocent.

  “Send it where?”

  “He didn’t say. I assume instructions are to come.”

  A sudden chill ran through her. She gathered Thornton’s coat more tightly about her. “You’ll need to let me know, let Thornton know, when he contacts you again. Immediately.”

  Emily glanced away.

  “Don’t.” Amanda grabbed her sister’s arm. “Don’t try to manage this on your own, with only gypsies to apprehend the eye doctor. Working together, we all stand a better chance of ending this without more boys losing their lives.”

  Luca appeared in the doorway. “Lady Amanda, transportation has been arranged. Time to leave.” Emily murmured in Romani. Luca frowned. “Five minutes,” he said, stepping back outside the vardo.

  “Before I go, I need the formula,” Amanda said. “There are talented chemists at my school who might be able to help.”

  Emily nodded and turned, rummaging through a wooden box filled with scraps of paper. She held out a page. “I’ll write out what modifications we’ve tried and send a boy.”

  Amanda tucked it into her bodice. “You’re not safe here, Emily.” She glanced at Nadya. “Neither of you are.”

  Emily’s hands clutched her shawl about her chest. “Without us, the eye doctor cannot obtain more nerve agent. He’ll leave us be.”

  “For now. But for how long?”

  “If I flee, if I run and hide, more gypsies will suffer for certain.” Emily shook her head. “No. I’m staying here. I’ll work on the formula. Let me know what your chemists say.”

  There was no budging Emily once she’d made a decision. “Only if you agree to let me know when the eye doctor contacts you. The very minute he contacts you.”

  The old woman pulled away the shawl and spoke clearly despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. “The very minute. This man will pay for what he has done.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  THORNTON WAS AT his breaking point by the time they reached London’s streets. Gypsies and their aversion to steam power.

  He’d been on this mechanical beast for over two hours, and each step the clockwork horse took behind the heavy, old crank wagon coiled his impatience tighter. Two long hours in a hard leather saddle fitted to an iron horse with no saddle blanket to compensate for its unforgiving flesh, whose gait jerked and jarred his leg. Two long hours with Amanda sitting sidesaddle in front of him, her leg pressed against his knee, her arm and shoulder bumping against his chest every time the beast lurched right.

  And the horse lurched every sixteenth step, yanking on the reins he held.

  At first he’d thought the road back to London rutted and littered with oddly shaped stones. Then he’d noticed a pattern and begun counting. It was the horse, not the road. The dense fog had provided yet another problem. There was little to fix his eyes on and so they kept drifting back to the view in front of him.

  Her teal skirts were torn and sagging, her bustle bent into an odd shape. His coat, oversized on her frame, kept slipping from her shoulders and catching about her elbows.

  The twists and loops of her hair would have fallen long ago, but for the black ribbon that tangled about them, keeping her hair perched precariously off center above her right ear, presenting him with a tantalizing view of the bare nape of her neck. From that long,
elegant neck, it was but a short slide to the magnificence that was her bosom, still lashed in place by those black cords. With agony, he kept his gaze trained on the sway of a pearl earring that dangled from the gently curved shell of her ear.

  He closed his eyes, willing himself to think of her in anatomical terms. Her earlobe was but a pinna. Her neck merely the delineation of the sternomastoid muscle running from the base of the skull to the clavicle. The sternum and ribcage defined her upper thoracic cavity over which lay…‌ the most splendid breasts he’d ever seen.

  Thornton groaned.

  “Does your leg pain you?” she asked. “Pressure points only work a short while at first. I could‌—‌”

  “No.” He wrestled his manners into place. “Thank you. We’re almost there. I can manage until we reach the laboratory.” Where a dose of Somnic waited.

  He’d argued against sharing the clockwork horse with Amanda, claiming impropriety. Something for which his current companions cared little. Luca insisted upon traveling with the body, muttering about promises and honor and tradition. Black only laughed and shook his head before climbing onto the bench beside Luca.

  It boggled the mind how the man could be so cheerful when he was en route to inform Lord Avesbury of the demise of Lord Whitmore’s dirigible after promising the gypsies restitution that was nothing short of extortion.

  The horse lunged right, jarring Amanda against him once more. A special sort of hell this evening was. He’d lost control and kissed a student and this was his punishment, to be forced into close proximity and endless temptation.

  Now, in the small hours of the night, he was dragging her and a body and a gypsy‌—‌one who was effectively the duke’s son-in-law‌—‌to the morgue. With luck, they might finish their examination and send Luca on his way, only hours before he was due in the lecture hall to expound upon the chemistry of nerve impulses.

  Could the night possibly worsen? Amanda shifted in her sidesaddle and cleared her throat. Yes, it seemed it could. He could be expected to make conversation.