Brilliant Devices: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices) Read online

  He had stopped, so she stopped with him, his form a darker shadow in the shadow under which they stood.

  “Alice, would you object if I—”

  What was he trying to get out? Great snakes, if he wanted her to take some lovelorn message to Claire, she was going to give serious consideration to whacking him on the skull with the Remington.

  “Oh, dash it all, this is impossible!” he exclaimed.

  Then he seized her roughly by her upper arms, and before she could even take a breath, his mouth came down on hers in a bruising kiss.

  Chapter 11

  They were interrupted at breakfast by a messenger from the Landgrafin Margrethe, who was escorting a rather pale and silent Alice.

  “Alice, do sit down and join us,” urged the countess, while Tigg jumped up from his seat and pulled her over to the table.

  “I don’t want to be any trouble,” she mumbled. “This gentleman brought me over here all willy-nilly. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You are welcome at any time of the day or night,” Lord Dunsmuir told her. “Come and sit. Sir, you have a message from Count von Zeppelin?”

  The officer dragged his gaze away from Rosie the chicken, who was enjoying a biscuit and some berries on a saucer under the sideboard, and straightened as if the count himself had spoken. He clicked his heels together. “Der Landgraf has bidden me to convey to you his greetings. He inquires as to whether you are at home to visitors this morning, as he wishes to thank the young ladies and the gentleman in person for their care last evening.”

  “We are indeed at home. But the count cannot mean to come over here himself when he is injured. The young ladies and Mr. Malvern will wait upon him at his convenience.”

  But the man shook his head. “My lord is a man of action. If he were to put himself to bed every time he was a target, he would never get up. No, he will attend upon you here as soon as he may.”

  The earl clearly knew when to back down in the face of a stronger force. “If the count would like to join us for breakfast, we should be very glad to see him.”

  The officer bowed and vanished down the gangway.

  “I adore the informality of this country—this airfield.” Davina returned to the table after giving the steward rapid instructions. “A request that would have been shocking in London—for who receives anyone before three in the afternoon, never mind at breakfast?—is utterly normal here.”

  Claire sipped her tea and marveled at the strength of a man who could be shot in the evening and invite himself to breakfast the next morning. He was a man indeed whom any soldier would be glad to follow. “Society ladies would faint in ranks at the very thought,” she agreed.

  “I am afraid the count is more likely to faint—from loss of blood,” the earl said unhappily. “I do hope he has not been hasty in attempting a visit so soon after his injury.”

  “If he does faint, you will catch him, Papa,” Willie piped from his father’s lap, where they had both been engaged in dissecting several walnuts and an orange. “Will he wear his sword?”

  “This is not a formal occasion, my boy.” The earl opened his mouth so that Willie could feed him a walnut meat. “We shall hold out hope for pistols, however.”

  To Willie’s joy, the count was indeed armed when he arrived, though he divested himself of his twin Ruger pistols immediately upon coming into the countess’s presence, and handed guns and belt to one of his officers. When he bent over Davina’s hand, Claire saw that the bandage around his head had been replaced by a more discreet sticking plaster, partly covered by his flight cap.

  “I am delighted to see you on your feet, my lord.” Instead of offering him her hand, Claire astonished herself and the whole company by rising on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. “I feared for you, truly.”

  The count’s face reddened and Claire would have given anything to be able to drop through the floor and hide. What on earth had she been thinking?

  But then she saw that his heightened color was the result of emotion, not affront.

  “My officers have told me that you piloted the Daimler overland to bring me to safety, despite your own injury,” he said gruffly, blinking the moisture from his eyes. “Words express my gratitude poorly, I am afraid, but please allow me to thank you.”

  “I did nothing that any friend would not.” Her own face was flaming scarlet by now—probably blotching in a most unappealing way. “Andrew risked his life in an attempt to give chase and to assist your captains, God rest their brave souls. And Alice was the one to ascertain your injuries at first and suggest a course of action.”

  He pulled Alice and Andrew close and somehow managed to enfold all three of them in a hug that made up in feeling what it lacked in finesse. “I will never forget it.” He released them and cleared his throat, seating himself at last in the chair the earl held for him. “You have only to say a word and I will do anything in my power to repay my debt.”

  Alice shook her head. “There is no debt, sir. Seeing you on your feet is reward enough for me—for us, if I can make so bold as to speak for Claire and—and Mr. Malvern.”

  Claire could only nod in agreement, and wonder why she did not look at either of them. Both she and Andrew seemed unusually silent this morning. Had some other dreadful thing happened? But how could it? Perhaps there had been more in the note Alice had received last night than she had believed.

  They settled around the table. On either side of Claire, the Mopsies seemed torn between choosing a jam for their biscuits and staring at the count. They knew the entire tale, of course, but Claire wondered whether they knew exactly who their guest was. Or perhaps they did not need to know. Perhaps it was enough for them to count him as a friend, with no trappings of rank or strings attached.

  Davina passed a tray of eggs on toast to the count, and followed it with another loaded with sausages. “We have just been discussing our plans to lift today, Ferdinand. I must confess to a mother’s fears for her child’s safety. Balls and visiting and outings to the theatre are all very well, but when laid in the balance next to last night’s events, they come up very short indeed.”

  “You must not blame Edmonton for last night, my dear,” the count said, putting three fat sausages on his plate. “I have long since resigned myself to the fact that there are those who do not see progress and achievement in the same light as we.”

  “Perhaps not, but when they start shooting to prove their point, something must be done.”

  “Believe me, something will.” He glanced at Tigg, who was cutting a sausage for Willie. “But we will not speak of it in front of the children.”

  “Why not?” Lizzie asked, suddenly as prickly as a cactus at this affront to her capabilities. “The Lady ent afraid to start shooting, nor Alice—and me and Maggie, we’re not so shabby with the gaseous capsaicin, neither.”

  Count von Zeppelin choked on his sausage, and while the earl clapped him on the back, Claire tried heroically not to laugh.

  Lizzie seemed rather pleased to have caused such a sensation. Maggie elbowed her and spoke up. “Jake’s the Lady’s second cos Snouts ent ’ere, so ’e can fire the lightning rifle when ’e’s got it. Even our Willie’s done his duty as a scout when ’e’s ’ad to. None of us is little babies in prams.” She considered for a moment, then added, “Sir.”

  The count drained half his coffee and gave a mighty swallow. “I consider myself corrected, and look forward to discovering exactly what is this gaseous capsaicin, to say nothing of lightning rifles.”

  “Don’t forget the firelamps, Lizzie,” Willie said. “I like those the best.”

  Davina stared at him. “What on earth…?”

  “Getting back to our plans,” Claire interjected hastily, “I should be glad to go to the mine sooner rather than later. His lordship has been telling us of the great engines in use there to drill down to where the diamonds are embedded. I should like very much to see them.”

  “From what I hear, sooner is better than lat
er,” Alice said, and told them about the danger of the ice. “We’d have to lift and be out of here pretty soon, anyway,” she finished, “considering the snow will fly any day now.”

  “Then let me tell you what my men have discovered,” the count said with a long look at the Mopsies, who smiled sunny smiles and addressed themselves at last to the jam pots. “They returned to the scene at first light and were able to discover where the gunmen lay as they fired.”

  “Were there shell casings?” Alice asked.

  “Alas, no. These weapons do not seem to depend on powder or brass, but rather on air pressure. The grass was flattened in a fan shape for ten feet, and there were depressions in the soil as though a large weapon had stood there. And they found one of these buried in the bank opposite the wreckage of my captains’ landau.” He dug in the pocket of his uniform jacket and held up the strangest projectile Claire had ever seen.

  It was shaped like a bullet, but it had a tiny engine and propeller on its stern. Its nose was pushed in, likely from impact with earth instead of flesh. Her mind’s eye reconstructed what had happened in a flash. “That’s why we heard no report,” she exclaimed. “If they are using some kind of air gun, and the projectile’s speed is enhanced with an engine, it could do its damage silently.”

  “And if it hits its target,” Andrew said slowly, “death is unavoidable, considering its size. You could conceivably drop a bear in one shot with one of these, could you not?” He took the projectile gingerly, examined it, then handed it to Tigg. “Was there any—Tigg, what are you doing? That is not yours.”

  For Tigg had picked up his unused butter knife and had begun removing the screws holding the engine in place. His fingers were nimble, his actions precise, and before the count could say yea or nay, the tiny engine had been removed and an even tinier compartment revealed in the body of the projectile.

  Yellow liquid drained out, and in less than a second, a slender plume of smoke rose as it ate its way through the bottom half of the casing and into the mahogany dining table. The countess gasped as Tigg pushed away from the table so hard he knocked his chair over. Andrew grabbed the heavy porcelain gravy boat and caught the dribble of acid when it ate its way through to the underside. Sinking into the gravy, the liquid seemed to extinguish itself.

  “Mr. Andersen,” the countess called in a voice that did not resemble her own, “remove the gravy, if you please, and return with a ceramic container and some gloves.”

  “Looks like an effective way to get rid of the evidence,” Alice said, her gaze locked on the hole in the table. “Can’t imagine there’d be many survivors, either, and the body’s liquids would neutralize it.”

  “Fiendish device,” the earl snarled. The countess had already hustled Willie over to the window seat, half a sausage still in his chubby hand.

  The count snapped something in Prussian to his aides, and when the chief steward returned with a freshly scrubbed thunder mug, they waited until what was left of the projectile had been deposited within, and removed the damaged leaf from the table.

  “Tigg, the engine, too,” Claire said. “There might be traces of acid left on it.”

  “There’s summat here, Lady. Lemme get a good squint at it.” He carried the engine casing over to the window of the salon.

  “Tigg, I must insist—”

  He looked up. “Lady, wot’s M-A-M-W spell?”

  Maggie made a face. “Nuffink.”

  Lizzie nudged her. “Wot, you know all the words in the world now?”

  “No, but I know that ent one, unless you got a mouth full o’ toffee.”

  “Maggie is quite correct,” Claire said, cautiously examining the interior of the tiny engine’s housing. “It is not a word. These are initials, most likely indicating the maker.”

  “Perhaps if we discover who made this so small engine,” Count von Zeppelin said grimly, “we may discover who tried to assassinate me.”

  *

  Andrew had never passed a more uncomfortable hour in all his life. It was worse even than sitting the board examinations for the Royal Society of Engineers—at least there, he had been prepared and had a good idea of what to say once he took his seat opposite his examiners.

  With women, one never knew what to do—and when one did something, it was inevitably wrong.

  He had wanted to apologize profusely last night, there in the Margrethe’s huge shadow, for his ungentlemanly conduct. He didn’t know what he expected from Alice upon being kissed—a modest shrug, a chummy laugh at his stupidity, a return to their cordiality—but it wasn’t what he got.

  Alice’s lips had parted in surprise, and then she had melted in his arms—for about five seconds. Then she’d come to herself with a shocked noise in her throat, pushed away, and fled into the dark so fast that by the time he’d emerged into the light of the mooring mast, he could no longer see her.

  Or apologize.

  Or figure out what on earth was the matter with him for treating her in such a fashion.

  Because was he not promised to Claire—in his heart at least, if not in words acknowledged on both sides? What madness had seized him and compelled him to kiss a woman whom he respected as a fellow engineer and liked immensely as a person? Because such a stupid move was bound to shatter both respect and liking on her side. If she and Claire should happen to exchange confidences, then the jig was well and truly up, because he would not blame either of them in the least for giving him the air and sending him on his sorry way.

  Stop lying to yourself, man. You know why you kissed her.

  No. He was not that much of a cad.

  You kissed Alice because Ian Hollys kissed Claire.

  He hadn’t. That was ridiculous.

  It was a jealousy kiss. And you used your friend poorly.

  Oh, sweet mercy.

  If he could have flung himself down the gangway and never come back, he would have. But no. He had to sit at this breakfast table and smile and smile, and be a villain—and see her opposite, pale and having clearly spent a sleepless night on his account.

  He could not meet her eyes. The fact that she could not meet his, either, was almost a relief.

  Claire handed the projectile’s engine casing to the count, who pocketed it. “Here is what I propose,” he said. “John, you and Davina plan to lift this morning, taking Lady Claire and Mr. Malvern along with you to the mine?”

  “We do,” his lordship said.

  “I’m going that way, too,” Alice said quietly. “I got a lead on my pa last night from a man who used to know my ma. He says pa might’ve been working the cargo ships up there, so I’m going to see where that takes me.”

  “Excellent.” Count von Zeppelin nodded briskly. “I will leave an officer and six men here to make inquiries while I go also to the mine. I believe our discussions at Government House may bear fruit, but they need more in the way of tending, do you not agree, John?”

  What discussions? Andrew would give a good deal to know what the two nobles had to talk about besides the merits of efficient flight, but that was none of his business.

  “So we shall be a flotilla, then?” Claire asked with a smile. “An impressive sight, to be sure. One almost wishes one could watch from the ground.”

  “I don’t.” Davina adjusted Willie’s sailor collar gently, and touched his cheek. “The sooner we lift, the happier I shall be.”

  “One thing, though,” Alice said diffidently. “I’m going to need a navigator. The automatons are all very well, but they don’t read charts.”

  “I do.” Jake lifted his head like a pointer scenting a pheasant. “I’ll go wiv you.”

  “Me too,” Tigg said. “You’ll need someone in the engine compartment who ’as a foggy clue about ’ow to work the Lady’s power cell. And since you ent got a replacement steam engine yet, that would be me.”

  “Power cell?” The count’s hawklike gaze stooped upon Tigg, who took a breath and bore up bravely under it.

  “Aye,” he said. “It got ki
dnapped ’ere by—” Claire cleared her throat and Tigg changed course without missing a beat. “—by mischance and we put it in the Stalwart Lass when ’er engine burned up in midair.”

  It was fortunate the count did not wear a monocle, for it would have fallen out when his eyebrows rose under his cap in astonishment. “Was sagst du? How extraordinary. You must tell me this adventure sometime soon. Tonight at dinner, perhaps.”

  “Dinner in midair?” Maggie asked. “’Ow we gonna get from one ship to another?”

  “The Firstwater mine is not far, as the crow flies, Maggie,” Davina said with a smile. “If we leave before noon, we shall reach it by sunset, even with the days as short as they are now.”

  The count glanced over his shoulder, and one of his aides sprang to his side. Andrew didn’t know much Prussian, but it seemed he was giving instructions for the dinner party. He suppressed a sigh. Once again, it seemed, he would have to face Alice across a table. He must resolve this, and sooner rather than later.

  As soon as he figured out how.

  “Master Tigg,” Lord Dunsmuir said, “are you prepared to abandon your post so soon?”

  “My … post, sir?” Tigg looked from his lordship to Alice in some confusion.

  “I believe you were to sign on as midshipman to the Lady Lucy, Tigg,” Claire said gently. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, I ent … but Lady, Alice needs me. Four could’ve ’elped, but ’e ’s an engine housing now.”

  “I would not shanghai you if you have a prior commitment, Tigg,” Alice said. “I’ll manage with Jake.”

  Andrew could not imagine her flying the Lass with fewer than three in her crew. This was absurd. “I will go as chief engineer,” he blurted. “I know that cell as well as Tigg, and you cannot fly with so few. Besides, we have already been attacked once. Each ship should have someone aboard who can fire a gun.”

  “That would be us,” Lizzie announced. “If the Lady makes us some capsaiceous bombs, we can take ’em with us.”