Angel of Brass (12 page)

As if it had happened yesterday instead of
years ago, he remembered the first time he’d seen the smiling men
hunt someone down. A youth had braved the deep forest surrounding
the manor, thinking that the risk of trespassing had been worth the
reward of poaching.

The boy had been wrong, of course; horribly
wrong. The smiling men had chased him down and dragged him to the
manor yard, where their master could question him. As soon as
Malachi had been satisfied that the terrified boy was on his own,
he had told the smiling men to turn him loose.

The youth had broken into a run, pelting down
the drive. With a laugh, Malachi set the smiling men on him. They’d
caught him easily, their metal teeth ripping his flesh,
dismembering him a bite at a time, so that he died screaming in
agony.

Del had burst into tears, and Jin had thrown
up. Shaking his head at their behavior, Malachi had taken them into
his study and sat them both down.

“I have to do this, to keep you safe,” he’d
said seriously. “The two of you are marvels—miracles! You’re strong
and fast, far superior to any human who has ever lived. But you
must understand that the outside world will never accept you. If
they ever saw you, they’d react with either jealousy or fear, and
in their ignorance would try to destroy you. That’s why we have to
stay here, on the estate, where you can be safe. It’s the only way,
my darlings. Everything that I do, I do for your sakes.”

The incident with Rebecca had seemed to
confirm Malachi’s words. Surely, if someone who lived in Malachi’s
house of horrors couldn’t accept Jin, no one else would,
either.

Liam doesn’t.

But Molly did. And, to be fair, Liam had,
before he realized how deep the alterations went.

So maybe if I walked down the streets without
my gloves, I wouldn’t be mobbed and killed out of hand. Maybe even
if I had my rig.

Father was wrong. Or he lied.

Maybe all the people who died because they
were in the wrong place at the wrong time
weren’t
our fault.
Maybe Father is the only one to blame after all.

An odd feeling filled Jin’s chest. After a
long moment, he realized that it was hope.

* * *

Molly stopped in the doorway to the lab and
put her hands on her hips. “What in the name of all the saints is
wrong with you?”

Liam’s green eyes met her gaze defiantly.
“You saw the sketches. To have such extensive alterations—this
isn’t the result of surgery to attach prosthetics. He was built
from the ground up.”

“So? He didn’t ask to be made that way, any
more than you asked to be born. How can you hold that against
him?”

“Because he’s just a machine! All right, yes,
he has an organic brain, but so do the shamblers.” Liam gestured to
the controller on the table in front of him. “Think about it for a
minute. If this Dr. Malachi can make a device to control the dead,
wouldn’t he have done it with the rest of his creations?”

“If Jin had a controller, then how could he
have escaped in the first place?”

“Exactly. Maybe he was ordered to come here,”
Liam said stubbornly.

“Jin ran away, crashed an airship, got shot
in the foot, and ended up with no better help than you and me, all
as part of some nefarious plan? To do
what
, exactly?”

Liam wavered. “I don’t know. Maybe he
doesn’t, either. Perhaps this was all some sort of elaborate scheme
on Malachi’s part, and Jin doesn’t even realize that he’s been
manipulated. No, let me finish,” he said when she opened her mouth
to protest. “Your brother-in-law has connections to the royal
spymaster. Maybe Jin didn’t crash where he did through chance.
Maybe he was supposed to meet you. You would be his way to get to
the spymaster, who might threaten the conspiracy.”

“I didn’t know Gibson had such connections,
but somehow Malachi did?” Molly shook her head. “You’re grasping at
straws. There’s no reason to think that Jin is under any control
but his own.”

“I still think you’re being too
trusting.”

“You don’t understand.” She crossed the room
and sat down on the bench opposite him. “Jin saved my life last
night. More than that. He was kind to me, later on, when he didn’t
have to be. There’s no malice in him, and unless you can offer
proof that he’s being controlled against his will, I’m not going to
believe it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Liam said quietly.
Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small, single-charge ray
gun. “But I’m going to keep this on hand, just the same.”

“You’re not supposed to have that in here!”
she exclaimed, scandalized.

He tucked it away with a smirk. “Are you
going to tell anyone?”

“No...so long as you’re civil to Jin, that
is.”

The smirk turned into a frown. “Fine. If it
will make you happy.”

“It will.” She turned to the controller
sitting on the table. “Now, let’s see if we can figure out how this
thing works.”

* * *

By the time they went back to Ellington House
that evening, the aches in Molly’s body had settled in deep, and
she wondered if Winifred would let her borrow the tub for a long
soak.
Problem is, I’d probably fall asleep, sink to the bottom,
and drown without even waking up
.

She and Liam had spent most of the day taking
apart the controller and trying to determine how it worked. Jin had
rejoined them after a few hours. He and Liam had avoided speaking
directly, but each kept a wary eye on the other that lent an air of
tension to the lab. After the second hour of posturing, Molly
considered bashing them both with her wrench.

When the afternoon had grown late, she and
Jin had taken leave of Liam and caught a hansom cab over to
Ellington House, out of deference to Molly’s aching legs. Sitting
beside Jin, it was hard to believe that he was the boy in the
notebook sketch. With his boots and gloves firmly in place, he
looked perfectly normal.

Well, maybe a bit more handsome than the
ordinary
. The light of the setting sun slanted through the
cab’s window, laying a warm tinge of ochre over his copper skin,
and softening the angles of his high cheekbones and hawk-like nose.
The goggles perched on his forehead held back his long hair, and
the feathers of red, green, blue, and gold jutted back like some
sort of exotic crest. His dark eyes looked weary, as if he carried
the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

When the cab let them off in front of the
gates, Crowley came hurrying out of his little guardhouse. “Miss
Feldman, Mr. Malachi! You two look a fright!”

“It’s been a long couple of days,” Molly said
ruefully, while he hastily unlocked the gates and ushered them
inside.

“You haven’t been having trouble with no one,
have you, miss? Because if you have, you just tell me their names,
and I’ll do for them.”

His unexpected offer touched her, although
the idea of Crowley trying to take on so much as a street urchin
struck her as laughable. “I’m afraid it’s not so simple,” she told
him. “But thank you, nonetheless.”

Crowley must have mentioned their condition
when calling up to the house, because the moment they reached the
steps, the door flew open and Winifred rushed out. “Molly! What
happened to your clothes? Were you in a carriage accident?”

Molly winced; apparently, she looked worse
than she realized. “I’m fine. We’re both fine. We tried to look
into the matter that we told you about the other day, and it didn’t
work out quite the way either of us expected.”

Winifred’s mouth flattened. “I see. Come
inside, both of you. Gibson is waiting in the study. I’ll call for
some refreshment, and you can tell us everything.”

Gibson seemed less startled by their
appearances, although he did urge them to take tea before beginning
their tale. They elected to combine the two activities, each taking
up the narrative when the other was occupied with devouring
teacakes. Winifred sat solemnly in a chair, while Gibson stood by
her. When Molly described their harrowing escape from the
shamblers, Winifred took her husband’s hand for comfort.

“That’s quite a story,” Gibson said at last,
when they were done. “Can you give me the address of the
resurrectionists’ house? With any luck, we can find them in their
lair and put a quick end to things.”

Winifred glanced up worriedly at him. “I
don’t like the sound of these shamblers, Gibson. If they can
survive headless, as Jin says, destroying them will be
dangerous.”

“Nevertheless, it must be done, my dear,” he
replied calmly.

Molly set down her teacup and tried to give
Winifred an encouraging smile. “Don’t fret, Winifred. It’s not as
though Gibson will be personally involved.”

Gibson and Winifred exchanged a glance,
seeming to communicate volumes without speaking. Then Gibson nodded
once, firmly. “I have something to tell the two of you,” he said,
turning his attention back to Molly and Jin, “but you both must
swear never to repeat it to another living soul. I won’t be so
crude as to threaten either of you, but only point out that
Winifred’s life may depend on your secrecy.”

It seemed impossible that quiet, bumbling
Gibson could possibly know anything so important. While Molly sat
bemused, Jin nodded his agreement. “You—all of you—helped me when I
didn’t have anywhere else to turn. I swear by Saint Cygnus that
I’ll never tell anyone.”

Molly wondered why Jin chose to swear by the
patron saint of airship pilots, given that his only experience with
one had ended by crashing it into a building. “Of course I swear,”
she said. “You know I’d never do anything to endanger either of
you.”

“Which I deeply appreciate.” Gibson said with
a faint smile. “I told you the other day that I knew the identity
of the queen’s spymaster. What I neglected to mention is that he
is...me.”

Molly burst out laughing. Surely,
Gibson—normal, average, boring Gibson—didn’t expect them to believe
that he could possibly be the head of the queen’s spy network.

She glanced at Winifred, expecting a smile.
But her sister’s face was completely composed and serious.

Saints above. He means it.

“Oh,” Molly said, floundering. “I,
er...really?”

Gibson smiled, not seeming at all offended by
her reaction. “I take it my disguise, such as it is, has been an
effective one?”

“Erm, yes.” Molly felt her face heat with
embarrassment, but Gibson only laughed.

“It’s meant to be,” he said. “Had you seen
through it, I would hardly be worthy of the position, now would
I?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Jin said. He’d
taken a seat on a spare ottoman, and now leaned over with his hands
loosely clasped in front of him, brow furrowed. “What does a
spymaster do, exactly?”

“Gathers intelligence, mostly. Collates it,
sifts through it looking for any clandestine threats or
conspiracies. Occasionally I lead covert actions, such as the one
we’ll undertake tonight against the resurrectionist headquarters
you visited.” Gibson absently stroked the gaudy watch on his
cravat. “All of the servants here have other talents as well, of
course. Crowley is my right-hand man.”

“
Crowley?”
Molly sank back into her
overstuffed chair, feeling her head spin.

Winifred laughed. “Poor Molly. This is a bit
much for you to take in, isn’t it?”

Molly took a gulp of her tea, wishing it were
brandy instead. “Just tell me you aren’t an assassin of some sort,”
she begged.

Winifred shook her head, laughing again. “Of
course not. I’ve picked up a thing or two from Gibson, naturally,
but I’m the same boring sister you grew up with.”

“Well, that’s reassuring, anyway,” Molly
muttered. “I was starting to worry that no one was what they seem
to be.”

Jin gave her a quick look, and she winced,
not having meant to imply anything about him. Gibson, however,
noticed the exchange and arched a brow.

“More than my arms and legs are...enhanced,”
Jin admitted with a shrug. But she noted the way he looked down
when he said it, as if ashamed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Molly told him. “We’ve
already been over this, haven’t we? You’re a person, Jin, no matter
what Liam, or Dr. Malachi, or anyone else says.”

Winifred leaned over and touched Jin’s hand
lightly. “I’m sorry. There’s no need to delve into what is
obviously a painful topic for you.”

He flashed her a grateful smile, and Molly
sighed mentally. Once again, Winifred’s charm accomplished what all
Molly’s words couldn’t.
No wonder Gibson married her. Such a
talent must be a great asset to a spymaster.

It was an unworthy thought, and Molly
instantly felt a surge of guilt. Pasting a smile on her face, she
said, “So, then, what do you suggest we do next, Gibson?”

Her brother-in-law sighed and folded his
hands behind his back, before pacing over to the window and staring
at the garden outside. “After you and Jin came to us, I sent men to
Dr. Malachi’s manor with orders to observe and record whatever
information they could find. They came back almost immediately and
reported that the manor is deserted.”

Jin started badly, slopping his tea onto the
ottoman. “Deserted?”

“Completely. Not a soul to be seen anywhere,
whether servant, guard, or otherwise. There was evidence that a
great deal of equipment had been removed as well. Malachi obviously
thought it possible that someone would be coming to investigate.
Not a surprising conclusion, given your escape, especially if he
suspected that you might go to the authorities.” Gibson turned back
to them and gave Jin a penetrating look. “Do you have any idea
where he might have gone? Did he have another house somewhere, even
farther into the country, perhaps?”

Jin shook his head slowly. “Not that I know
of. We never left the manor, and he never mentioned anything about
another house.”