The Eidolon

  This glass would not be limited to this application alone. Grillett would soon be putting it in steam carriages. Homes. The uses were endless. If Grillet’s factories had been busy before … the workload would surely double or triple.

  No one, after all, would want to be outdone.

  “Lands sake, my lady,” Matilda whispered to her. “They won’t be able to get enough of that glass. It’ll drive his orders through the roof, as it were. Those poor children!”

  Veronica nodded while raising her eyebrows in a way that silenced her companion. Matilda should know better not to make such comments in public, even as troubling as this situation was.

  Grillett motioned for silence once again. “Many of the war orphans in my factories have recently graduated from their studies, and have volunteered to stay on to work for me. As a result, our production capacity has doubled.

  “I’d like to urge each of you to continue England’s legacy of greatness, to continue to show the world who we are. We travel in only the safest, best-engineered dirigibles. We can and we must afford the best protection for our families and ourselves. Especially with creatures like the Eidolon on the loose.”

  Boos sounded through the room.

  “However! We neither cower nor covet, for we, England, are the most powerful nation on Earth!”

  Grillett raised both arms and the crowd reached a new level of noise, shaking the platforms and booths surrounding the dirigible. After several moments, he saluted the crowd, crisp and official, and left. As one, several hundred people surged forward toward the line of booths with the banners, “Saint George.”

  One group of ladies, however, remained behind. Oddly enough, they looked concern. Veronica drifted closer, forced by the throbbing in her veins, wondering if these women would hate her too.

  “More orphans, he says. I didn’t know we were losing so many men in the wars,” one woman said. She waved a peacock blue fan for emphasis.

  “You’ll not hear me complaining about Grillett’s cruisers. I enjoy them as much as the next person. But I don’t know. Should children be working so hard?” This was said by an older lady in hushed tones.

  Another woman carrying a reticule adorned with cogs and wheels replied, “It doesn’t seem right. I can’t imagine my Harry in a factory.” They began moving toward the crowd with seemingly reluctant steps.

  Veronica shuffled back to Matilda and Mr. Marcovic, her thoughts great bursts of energy inside her.

  Those women—women of the Ton no less—questioned Grillett? While the masses picketed outside, it appeared the Eidolon’s only supporters were here, among the nobility. If what she heard was real, if those women really believed those things, then Veronica was wrong. There were others among her set who suspected and could maybe even see what was happening clearly.

  She didn’t like to be wrong. Did she?

  If she were wrong, then there were others like her. Who might even help her fight Grillett.

  Lord Fancy-Pants. He had mentioned the Eidolon! But why? With the masses on his side, he must feel empowered, placed once again on that pedestal she could not shake him off of.

  The thought left her icy inside. She’d been wrong about Grillett, thinking he wouldn’t want anyone looking too closely at the Eidolon’s work.

  All that she’d built up would assuredly soon be gone, with so many allied against her.

  In spite of her own danger, she couldn’t help moving on to another thing Grillett said—production capacity doubled. There were, of course, no schools in the factory district. Grillett must’ve expanded his child-snatching territory into other war-stricken countries. The idea did seem possible, since he’d already bled England dry.

  Or perhaps …. perhaps he’d simply increased the children’s shifts. They worked twelve hours on, twelve off. He’d probably seen those twelve off as time wasted. Inefficient.

  She needed to find out. Thank goodness she had no further social engagements beyond this outing with Durad today. She’d consult her map, find the best place to observe, and leave an hour before shift change. Maybe not as the Eidolon. She might need a new disguise. She shivered.

  Mr. Marcovic cleared his throat. “Is your wrap not sufficient, my lady? Or is the excitement simply too much for someone of your delicate sensibilities?”

  “It’s all simply too thrilling. Is it time now to meet Durad?” She smiled nervously.

  He checked his timepiece, swept an arm out and bowed. “Your wish.”

  He led them past the teeming booths and into the southwest corner of the exhibition hall. They stepped into a lift that took them past several brightly lit, colorful platforms (goggles! quizzing glasses! watches!) to one dark and sparse. Mr. Marcovic alighted the lift and offered his hand to Veronica. When she took it, he clasped his fingers over hers. His grip was reassuring—strong and firm. She glanced up and made the mistake of meeting his black-as-stormy-midnight gaze. She tripped over her skirts as she stepped forward. Quicker than she could right herself, Mr. Marcovic swept her into his arms and stepped back from the platform.

  Veronica looked up. She was a breath away from his face. He barked out a laugh as his eyes softened around their hard edges. She didn’t move, fascinated by how the darkness lifted from the top half of his face. She smiled.

  Then he set her down abruptly, his hand remaining on her arm until she straightened up and put several steps in between them. When he turned to assist Matilda, she shook her head. Something about Mr. Marcovic made her not only incapable of stepping in and out of things but oddly mute and jittery when he got too close.

  Mr. Marcovic led them past a heavy curtain into a room with a single chair and a small table. Durad, standing to the side of the chair, rushed forward upon seeing them. He lifted her glove for a kiss. “My Veronica! How lovely you are today,” he said as he looked straight at her. His brown eyes lit the room and his smile was unfeigned.

  To her dismay, her cheeks warmed. “Good morning, Durad. How pleased I was by your invitation.”

  He squeezed her hand gently. “I’m so glad you could come. I enjoyed our time together at Almacks last night and had no thought today but to spend more of it with you. I had also hoped to meet this man, one of whom so many stories have been told.” He gestured toward the chair.

  Dr. Hoch, white hair limp amidst a complex set of goggles, raised sharp eyes to hers. In public, they were nothing more than mere acquaintances through her papá. He patted his leather vest, produced a set of spectacles and placed them on his nose.

  Durad nudged her forward several steps. “Have you met this remarkable person, Veronica?”

  She nodded and extended her hand to Dr. Hoch. “Do you remember me, doctor? We met once when you called upon my papá.”

  Dr. Hoch didn’t rise but shook her hand like an American, pumping it up and down. “You’d think I’d remember such a pretty face, but I’m sorry m’dear. Age and all that.”

  She inclined her head. “Of course. You must’ve had the chance to meet so many important people!”

  He laughed and then wheezed. “Some of them filled a little too much with their importance, but yes.”

  Durad picked up a small airship model, the only item on the table. Veronica recognized it as the first Dr. Hoch had designed. Boxy and cumbersome, it was a miracle it had flown.

  “Will you tell me about this, kind doctor? How did you come up with the idea?” Durad knelt by Dr. Hoch. With his eyes wide like a child, he looked truly fascinated and hopeful.

  But the doctor’s eyes glazed when he saw the ship. “I’m sorry, lad, I don’t remember.” He patted his vest again and then abruptly stood. “I wish her almighty majesty wouldn’t make me come to these things. What I’ve forgotten far outweighs what I know now. Useless I am.”

  While he stormed out through the back, Veronica noticed he’d left a slip of paper behind in the chair. She slipped it into her reticule before anyone could notice.

  Durad sighed and muttered something in Turkish. Mr. Marcovic nodd
ed. Then Durad turned toward Veronica, smiling once again. “Shall we enjoy the rest of the exhibition, my lady?”

  Veronica began to nod but the idea of staying and feigning excitement any longer made her sick. “How about an English ice instead, your highness?” She glanced around the dark room. “I feel in need of some revival.”

  He grinned. “An excellent idea. I haven’t had one since my graduation day at Cambridge.”

  “Your English is impeccable, Durad. Is that where you learned to speak it so well?”

  He nodded. “I do prefer my native language though. It inflames, like spices on your tongue. Sultanim.”

  She giggled, though it took quite a bit of effort to do so. Her persona settled stale and flat in her mind. She longed for fresh air and a moment alone. Since she could only have one of those, she shut away her heavy thoughts and tried to enjoy the sound of Durad’s crisp English, and the way he couldn’t stop looking into her eyes.

  But her gaze kept straying to her reticule. What message had Dr. Hoch left her that could not be delivered through his normal channels? She hoped something hadn’t happened, that her children were safe.

  When their party reached the bottom floor of the Crystal Palace once again, she excused herself to use the powder room while Matilda followed close behind.

  “Are you alright, my lady?” she asked, as soon as they reached a hallway that appeared vacant.

  Veronica sagged against the wall and immediately removed the note from her reticule. “Dr. Hoch left this behind.”

  “He did?”

  Veronica waved her companion into silence as she read:

  E. is no more. It is not safe. You must obey me in this.

  The last sentence was underlined three times. She passed it to Matilda without a word.

  Dr. Hoch had known she’d be here today. She never missed the Steam Expo. But this note—forbidding her to be the Eidolon any longer—was ludicrous. The entire idea had been his in the first place. In spite of his mad scientist act in front of Durad, Veronica knew Dr. Hoch to be mostly sound of mind. He’d been proud of what they accomplished together. He lived for it.

  “He’s right, my lady. It’s not safe. Not with that article in Lloyds and now his high and mightiness Grillett inflaming the crowds against you. Not to mention the protestors. We’ll find another way to help.”

  Veronica pressed her palm against her forehead and closed her eyes. She couldn’t give up the Eidolon. How could anyone ask her to? She was no longer certain who she was without that part of herself. Or perhaps it had taken over her completely, leaving the meek Lady Richmond far behind. She no longer thought of herself as the titled lady, she realized, but the masked fighter. There would be nothing left without the Eidolon, but a hollow, vacuous, horribly dressed and aging debutante. A person no one cared for, and little remembered.

  “I cannot give up, Matilda.”

  Her companion placed a hand on her arm. “I know, my lady. But there must be another way. You’ve got Blackthorne after you, now Grillett and the rest of the world. It’s time to switch tactics.”

  “What would you have me do? Picket outside the gates? Toss money through the bars? What can I do that would make a difference more than I am now?”

  “I’ve no idea. But you and Dr. Hoch are the smartest people I know. You will figure something out. Preferably something that won’t leave you with any more scars.” Matilda sniffed and Veronica was dismayed to notice actual tears on her companion’s face.

  Veronica handed a handkerchief to her friend and pulled her in for a hug. “No one has ever shown such faith in me. Thank you.”

  As Matilda continued to sniffle and occasionally sneeze into Veronica’s wrap, Veronica realized that whatever happened to her, she had one more person to keep safe. Matilda must not suffer for her lady’s choices.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The day after

  “Everyone is talking about how you’re such a hero, stealing Sombor from those nasty Ottomans. You simply must tell me how you did it.” Veronica was trying to be flighty. Ridiculous. Uninteresting. She was probably succeeding even more so than usual since she was so distracted. Veronica crushed her spoon into her dainty bowl, wishing it were Grillett’s meticulously groomed head. Curse him for the St. George. The bounty. The lies she would now have to tell Matilda. And Dr. Hoch.

  Durad gently took the bowl and spoon from her hands. “Am I correct in thinking you’re done with this?” He appeared to be fighting a smile.

  She sighed. “I have horrid table manners, Durad, my apologies.”

  He laughed. “I quite enjoy your manners. To answer your question—it’s a long story. You’re sure you want to hear it?

  She leaned forward, clasped her hands together in front of her, and said, “I would love to, if you don’t mind telling it. I’m sure you were so brave!” She fluttered her lashes.

  He laughed again, then sobered. He rubbed his chin with his hand. Crossed his legs and hunched forward, as if sharing a confidence. “My people, my soldiers, gave me the strength to do what needed to be done. Mr. Marcovic and I gathered them from the darkest, forgotten corners of Sombor—places hope had fled, where life was suspended in an unending reality of work, pain and misery. We stole these young people away, re-lit their fires and gave them a cause they embraced of their own accord.”

  Young people. Unending work. Dark, forgotten corners. Durad’s soldiers sounded like factory orphans. Surely it couldn’t be—another person caring enough to do the Eidolon’s work. In a small, conquered country no less.

  “Young ones? They were not trained soldiers then,” Veronica said. She creased her brows as if worried for Durad’s safety in this story.

  Durad glanced over at his bodyguard then back at her. “No, they were not. Mr. Marcovic and his men took care of preparing them. He made sure they could fight in a way that made sense for their size and strength. We didn’t allow anyone to enlist younger than the required age of your own military—fourteen years.

  “We kept them hidden at Mr. Marcovic’s family farm. In a small village razed by the Ottomans and left as embers to wither and eventually burn out. When the villagers—still alive through many, small wonders—saw what we were doing, I witnessed a miracle.” Durad reached out and placed his hand over hers. His touch matched his words—sincere. Heartfelt.

  “They gave what they had, which was so very little. They’d just enough food to keep from starving. Just enough shelter to keep safe from the cold and heat. Just enough clothing to remain protected. They risked it all to join us. Men—some with hair white as snow. Women, some so weary with work, they walked doubled over. Nearly grown children, malnourished but ready to save their families and their futures.”

  “Poor people?” Veronica widened her eyes as though astonished. Secretly, she loved that Durad allowed women and men of any station to join him. Durad clearly didn’t share the Duke’s opinion on the roles of women.

  He chuckled softly. “Yes, they were very poor. One, a girl not much younger than you, had a little babe of her own. She fought alongside us all, dressed like a man, never asking for a single thing. Strong, quick, lethal. One night, a terrible one during a winter, she lost her babe. Some passing Ottoman soldiers forced her and her family outside while they searched their home. Left her in the cold, trying to keep the babe warm.”

  Veronica dropped her persona for a moment. She couldn’t help herself. “What happened to her? To all of them? Did they survive?”

  He squeezed her hand and gave her a sad, half smile. “Some of them. We will always remember those we lost. And those we now protect. Every day. With every decision we make.”

  She couldn’t help also asking, “What of Kartal? Does he exist? Did he help you win the war?”

  Durad’s eyes flickered once again to his bodyguard and then back to her. “Unfortunately, dear lady, Kartal is nothing more than a story. One brilliant enough to terrify even the roughest of the Ottoman soldiers.”

  That was rather a
disappointment. She’d enjoyed those stories. Kartal and the blockade. Kartal and the three-armed soldier. Kartal and the ship that shot fire. She’d still tell them to her orphans—they loved how strong he was, how undefeatable in the face of any foe.

  She pulled her hands away from Durad and stood, ready to leave. Like the Eidolon, he’d done something no one else could. He’d risked much to save many. And he’d succeeded.

  Once again, she found herself asking if she might be wrong.

  This time, about men.

  * * *

  Veronica tossed her wrap on her bed and sneezed. Blast that old thing.

  Durad had been charming today, all white teeth and shiny, flashing brown eyes. His heart-twisting story made it ever harder to stop thinking about that note.

  She flopped onto her bed, fingers pressed to her temples.

  It is not safe.

  It was Dr. Hoch that birthed the Eidolon from the ashes of a society lady with too much time on her hands and too little freedom. He approached her. He somehow knew about her sympathies and that her papá didn’t approve of them. He knew she had significant resources available to her as Lady Richmond. He knew the same fire, albeit for a different cause, that burned within her papá inflamed her to make a difference.

  He’d given her something to live for after Alec left. He’d saved that flame inside her from being snuffed out, the one preserving that small bit that remained uniquely her.

  What changed Dr. Hoch’s mind? Was it the protestors? The article in Lloyds? Growing support for Grillett?

  Veronica removed the offending paper from her reticule and laid it flat on her desk. A review of its contents revealed exactly the same message as earlier.

  She held it above a candle until a corner lit, then tossed it into the glowing embers of her fireplace. No matter what Hoch’s orders, several facts remained that couldn’t be ignored.

  One, Grillett’s factories had doubled production capacity to accommodate new orders for the Saint George.

  Two, Grillett hadn’t hired any new workers—why would he, when he had so many orphans?—thus leaving the existing crews more shifts. Unless he’d found another source, another place that cared little enough for their young and helpless.