The Eidolon Page 4

Veronica didn’t want to scare Matilda but her ears listened for the smallest sound. The step she’d heard had been too heavy for an animal or even for a woman. If anyone ever worked out how and why she was connected to Bridges, her life would not be the only one at risk.

  I’m going to have to start bringing my ray gun when we go out. Heaven only knew there was room inside her monstrous dresses.

  Matilda rang the bell on the servant’s entrance. They heard the answering squeals of the boys and girls.

  Mistress Phillips flung open the door, her face flushed and her apron covered in paint. She curtsied. “Bless my soul! Good day, my Lady!”

  “Good day to you, Mistress,” Veronica said as she stepped in and shut the door quickly behind her and flipping the lock.

  “We’ve just been teaching the girls how to paint a proper portrait. The boys are in the science room. Who would you like to see first?”

  Veronica smiled and then asked in a low voice, “Did they all make it through the night?”

  Mistress Phillips nodded. “Yes, my lady. Every single one of this lot did.”

  Veronica’s heart lightened. They’d lost about a dozen children in the past, when the transition to freedom had been too much of a shock for them. Too institutionalized, too used to living as nothing more than slaves, they couldn’t bear the tender mercies of Mistress Phillips and her staff. Their minds shut down, unable to cope with the light after an existence of darkness.

  The stringy-haired girl of the night before peered out from behind Mistress Phillips’ apron, revealing nothing but a set of large, blue eyes.

  Veronica squatted down until her gaze met that of the little girl’s. “Hello, little miss. My name is….” She gasped and her hand flew to her open mouth. “Why, I don’t remember my name!”

  The girl looked at her solemnly.

  “Perhaps you can help me! Can I borrow yours?”

  The girl seemed to consider Veronica’s request very seriously and then said, “Agnes.”

  Veronica laughed delightedly. “What a fine name that is! Agnes, since we share the same name, might you show me up to the arts room? I’d like to see these brilliant portraits.” She smiled and held out a hand.

  Agnes dropped Mistress Phillips’ apron and placed her small, delicate hand in Veronica’s. Now that she could see her little charge, Veronica noticed Agnes’s hair and face had been scrubbed and her clothes replaced with a blue workhouse smock and collared shirt. Veronica guessed her age around seven years though she appeared much younger, with her hollow cheeks, but also much older, with that serious look in her eyes. Her fingers gripped Veronica’s as she led her up the stairs.

  “What a little doll she is, my Lady,” Matilda whispered.

  As they climbed the winding staircase, the newly mopped floors sparkled and the fresh flowers in every corner brightened the dull place. Mistress Phillips and her husband lived on the first floor along with the cook and a single guard. The main floor also contained the kitchen, dining area and laundry. A large, hidden cellar underneath the kitchen served as an emergency hiding spot for the children. The second, third and fourth floors housed the school and recreation rooms, while the rest had only bedrooms and washrooms. With the new additions from the previous evening, the orphanage now had over two hundred children. They’d run out of space—heaven only knew where Mistress Phillips placed the refugees last night.

  Since Veronica refused to turn any away or send any of her children into precarious or unknown situations, she now faced a rather large problem. She needed more space. That is, she needed to build another workhouse. But she had no funding to do so.

  She also did not know how much longer she could keep hiding the children like this. Laundry carriages, the supposed business of the workhouse, arrived daily with deliveries. It left with bundles of clothing—the children did perform actual, light work here—and even had a front office to greet customers.

  Veronica hadn’t decided upon her final plan for the older children. Perhaps some type of apprenticeship programs with reputable craftsman and businessmen and women. A few could stay on at Bridges, help instruct the younger ones. She needed to start approaching the locals she trusted and making inquiries. It was simply another problem she hadn’t yet solved.

  Agnes led Veronica into the large art room, her steps shy, tentative. Girls of all ages sat in pairs around the room, one drawing while the other sat for her portrait. Some couldn’t remain still or refrain from making silly faces at the “artist” opposite them. Many were stifling giggles and snorts.

  “They’ve been hard at work all morning on math and science. I thought I’d give them a bit of a break, my Lady,” said Mistress Phillips.

  “I am not displeased.” While Veronica pushed for her charges to learn all they could, she also instructed Mistress Phillips to allow them to play. To learn who they were, now that they could scrub off the filth of The Grave.

  When they spotted her, the students squealed. “Lady Flowers!” A tide of girls dropped their brushes and hurtled toward her. She knelt and flung open her arms. Twenty sets of hands grasped at her skirt and tiny mouths kissed her cheek. They rained questions on her and she answered them each in turn.

  Since Veronica hesitated to use her real name in front of the children, one of them solved the dilemma for her by commenting that she smelled like flowers. So Lady Flowers she became.

  “My little ladies, I hear we have some new arrivals. Can someone introduce me?” Veronica asked.

  Suzie, one of the older girls who’d been rescued on Veronica’s first mission, stepped forward. She curtsied properly and pointed out five girls at the back of the group. “That’s Beth, Erica, Leila, Marcia, and Madeline, my Lady. Oh, and the one behind you, that’s Agnes.”

  “Lady Flowers’ name is Agnes too! Agnes Flowers!” Agnes said and then hid behind Veronica again.

  “Really?”

  “Lucky! Can I change my name to Agnes?”

  “Awww!”

  The girls all chimed in their opinion of Veronica’s new name.

  Veronica laughed and motioned them forward. They came in a pack, each step heartbreakingly hesitant. She plopped down on the floor and one by one, they followed her lead. They sat just far enough away that she couldn’t reach them.

  “Has Mistress Phillips told you our three rules here?” Veronica asked them softly enough that they had to lean forward to hear. She felt a slight tug when Agnes sat down behind her on one of her skirts.

  The newcomers nodded as a group.

  “Can you tell me what they are?”

  “Please, miss. Don’t be afraid is one,” Leila, a brunette of eight or nine, said in a small voice.

  Veronica smiled and nodded. “I know it will take time for you to trust us here. You’ve had an awful time of it. No one blames you for being cautious. Suzie, come here, dear.”

  Suzie nudged in beside Veronica.

  “Suzie has been with us since the beginning. Were you frightened when you came here?” Veronica asked.

  Suzie nodded vigorously, her short, dark hair brushing her cheek. “I was in Grillet’s factories for five years. I thought this place might be mental or dunlops. No one could get past those coppers wot kept us in the Grave.”

  The new girls shivered and some curled up into a ball.

  “But the Eidolon scooped me up and dropped me ‘ere a year ago in this ‘eaven. I never been back. It took a while to get used to regular meals and the like.” She looked directly at the brunette. “But the nightmares stopped and this became … ‘ome.”

  The wild edge about the girls’ faces softened a bit while listening to Suzie, and one or two looked at Veronica with frantic hopefulness in their eyes. None of them ventured a question, but she could tell they’d heard Suzie and wanted to believe her. Veronica didn’t expect much progress the first day, or even the first week. But children were resilient, and just like the others, they would eventually start speaking and interacting.

  “And the other rules?”
Veronica asked.

  “Stay inside,” Beth squeaked.

  “Very good! These walls will protect you. They may even be … magic!” she whispered.

  A few of the younger girls giggled.

  “The last one is to make friends,” Suzie said. “We’re family now, we are.” She hugged Madeline to her side. The girl’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

  Agnes scooted closer. Veronica motioned for Mistress Phillips to hand her a book—the one she read to all her new orphans. “Now that you know the rules, I’d like to read you a story. This is the tale of the twelve-year old orphaned girl Melilot. When her parents died, she was all alone without food or family.”

  The newcomers all watched her warily. Suzie bounced and asked, “Tell the one about the hero pirate Kartal!”

  Veronica shook her head. “We save that one for later on, after the new girls and boys are settled. After all, he’s very fierce!”

  Suzie giggled.

  Kartal. The Eidolon’s cause could use such a soldier. Even if he was only a man.

  Veronica opened the book and began reading, lowering her voice to a smoothing cadence. She told of Melilot, a young girl like Agnes. Melilot was afraid when her parents died and she was left all alone. The first people that she encountered after leaving home were three, ugly, frog-like creatures who bade her enter their cottage. Taught to be brave and polite, Melilot did so. She told them of her plight, how she had neither food nor the physical strength to dig her parents’ graves. The creatures consoled her, followed her to the gravesites of her parents and buried them for her.

  As soon as the burial was complete, bread and milk appeared on the graves. Melilot gave the creatures the food and drink and ate only when they had finished. That night, she invited them to sleep in her parents’ bed. When yards of beautiful cloth magically appeared, she sewed them each magnificent dresses. When the creatures put on the clothes, they transformed into fairies. They revealed how they had been cursed but Melilot, through her generosity and selflessness, had freed them. Then they each bestowed a magical kiss upon her, granting her magnificent clothing, transforming her cottage and giving her all the food she could possibly eat.

  “Melilot went outside the cottage and knelt on the ground, ‘But all is changed about me. Why do the walls flower and why is my dress covered with glittering stones?” Veronica read, her voice trailing wistfulness.

  Some of her new charges had nodded off, their heads resting on the shoulders of the older girls next to them. The story was not yet finished. She said to those still awake, “So you see, my dears, that when night is darkest, when you have gone without even the barest of necessities, you can yet be brave. If you do, you may not have a dress covered with glittering stones, but you can still shine just as brightly.”

  Veronica thought of the dark days ahead of her. Orphans like Suzie, both girls and boys, proved themselves as brave as Melilot, choosing to face their fears and charge into the future.

  Perhaps she needed to borrow some of their courage.

  She wouldn’t deny these heroic children a future simply because the thought of giving up her own, the idea of losing her freedom made her throat swell until she could hardly breathe. She placed a kiss on Agnes’ head and pulled Claire tightly to her side. Claire leaned her head against Veronica’s shoulder, her hair smelling of the apple-scented soap Mistress Phillips favored keeping on hand. No matter the darkness she faced, she vowed they would never do so again.

  Chapter Six

  Two days before—on a royal airship

  Emil squeezed oil onto the hinges of the window before sliding it open and tossing out a rope. The prince finally slept, encouraged to do so by a bit of strong French wine. Rosseau had been left in charge, not that much supervision would be needed. No one would even know they’d arrived. A prince on an obscure ship with a ragtag crew, checked into the Imperial hotel under a German name? They were beneath everyone’s notice. No one liked the Germans these days. They held onto their steam tech with tight fists, like a child with a coveted toy.

  Emil slid out the window and pushed off the wall with his heels, his gloves slowing his descent until his soft-soled boots touched the dirt amidst the pruned bushes on the south side of the hotel. He tugged once on the rope and Rosseau pulled it back up into their room on the tenth floor.

  Instead of his traditional robes, Emil wore breeches, a long town coat and a top hat. With his scarf still securely covering his nose and mouth, he lowered the brim of his hat and headed toward Grosvenor Square.

  The streets smelled thickly of oil. The darkness at this hour of the night obscured all but the circle of light surrounding the lampposts set in odd intervals. All was improbably still as though London were suspended, caught in between worlds. Emil heard naught above the sound of his breath. The black paint surrounding his eyes and the dark threads of his clothing seemed unnecessary now, when so few walked the streets, and those that did averted their eyes from the shadows.

  Emil continued to weave his way through the darkness, savoring the quiet. Savoring the time to think.

  Years ago, long before he won his throne, Durad had fought side by side with Emil. The sparring ground they chose was dark and reeked of the unwashed and forgotten. Forgotten by all but Emil and Durad. They smuggled the boys and girls out, a few here and there. Most of them made it back to Durad’s plantation home, where they grew in size until an unlikely army formed, unflinchingly loyal and insensibly brave.

  The memories—the faces of each child—never left Emil.

  Perhaps Emil should drag his prince through the slums of Varna, Bucharest, or the Algiers. Change doesn’t stop with Sombor, Durad! We planned on changing the world, not just how we dressed. Ah but Emil would find a way to make him remember. He’d dangle Durad from the yardarm of his airship until he admitted he’d gone soft, that he’d lost sight of what was important. Admitted that this alliance could give Sombor the stability it needed. Admitted that with that stability, change could spread across continents, razing kings like wildfire, leaving new shoots to flourish amidst burnt embers. That they could be that change.

  Change. You promised me, Durad. No more factories. No more children like us.

  While Sombor had embraced Durad’s hard-won regency, they’d grown restless. They knew the truth—peace faded and vanished as quickly as the rising steam, dissipating in the stronger air. With threats on all sides, their people wanted more of Durad. More of what he promised when he seized the throne—action and passion.

  Emil stepped around a corner and leaned against the side of a five-story mansion in Grosvenor Square, opposite the Duke of Berkeley’s town home, and settled in. It was time to see what had a military hero whining like a nursery-age child. If Lady Veronica were addle-pated, vain, cunning, double-crossing or loose with her morals, he would find out. He’d take care of this ridiculous situation, knock some sense into Durad, and return to his crew, to the work that could not wait long. Not even for a prince.

  Several hours later, a steam carriage chugged up to the front door of the townhome, steered by a rather large and impressive gearman. He brought the long, sleek six-wheeled contraption to a smooth stop but hopped down to open the door with more enthusiasm than grace. A tall man in evening dress exited the carriage with the assistance of a walking stick. He took the stairs slowly, as though unhurried, but Emil spotted the slight limp. Guessing from the gentleman’s apparent age, it might’ve been from the last continental wars.

  Shouldn’t his daughter be with him? As an unmarried woman, she would hardly be out in society alone, even with a companion.

  The boxy gearman shut the door. Blast Durad, needing my comfort like an un-weaned pup. The daughter must’ve returned home earlier. She would hardly remain home in the evenings, a woman with her standing. It would not be done.

  Still, the situation made Emil curious. What social or business gathering brought Richmond home in the early hours of the morning? He was not young, nor, from what Emil guessed of such a well
-reputed Duke, prone to gaming houses or women of the night. Or out dancing or dining, as he would expect of a rising socialite like Lady Veronica.

  Before the front doors shut, the Duke turned and for one moment, Emil saw his face.

  Something clicked in the recesses of Emil’s brain. That face, he recognized it with sudden certainty. There was no mistake. He knew this man, not as a Duke, not as a member of civilized society. But as a shadowed profile, a sweeping fist masked by an iron gauntlet.

  With an instant plunge, his past memories stabbed him in the chest, opening a wound he thought long healed. He bled onto the cobblestones, the red threading its way through the veins of the stone. Suzana, my little canım. Sister. Image after image flashed through his mind in no particular order, jumbled together with snatches of dialogue. No! You cannot take her—stop! STOP! Fingers, slipping through his. A face, red with terror. A small voice, nearly drowned by an engine, pleading with him. Tears burning his eyes. My canım, I will find you!

  And then it was over, the doors closed, the night just as it had been.

  He scrubbed the stones with the soft heel of his boot, but when the light shifted the stain vanished. He pressed his hands to his chest over his heart. Nothing seemed amiss, yet a pressure still remained, sharp and heavy. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the height of the rooftops, the likelihood of discovery from his current position, the possible angle of attack, his mind reaching, calculating, sensing, diverting his thoughts until his heart iced over again.

  He lifted his eyes, staring at the heavy iron door the Duke had shut a few moments ago. He’d thought those memories long faded, like the sound of his mother’s voice or the shape of his father’s face. Emil ran his fingers along the scars beneath his scarf and wondered at fate, at how he could be here, now, about to meet a shadow from the past.

  He’d been given an opportunity. And though Sombor’s future, and Durad’s, fluttered in the wind like a sail from a broken mast, he would not hesitate to chop it down to reach the Duke.

  * * *