The Eidolon Page 8

  Veronica’s skin chilled, and then sweated, remembering the face of the Enforcer she’d burned nearly to ash. He’d worn an expression much like this one. How much more time did she have? Minutes? Seconds? “Kneel, turn around, hands behind your head,” she said in a rough voice.

  “No.”

  “What?” She flicked her sword up and sliced a crooked nick on his cheek.

  He laughed and spat on the ground. “Whatever ya plan to do, do’s it to my face.”

  She controlled the urge to lift her sword a few inches and slice open his neck. The way he spoke to her, like most men spoke to her, his voice light with disdain, made her shake with fury. She should just run him through. The Enforcers would be here any moment anyway.

  “Very well.” She whirled and kicked him in the face with the sharpened heel of her boot. He crumpled instantly. She sheathed her sword and ran. Alley after alley, she heard the whisper of the Enforcers’ cape. Veronica ran until her lungs burned with a pain sharper than anything she’d felt before.

  There. Up ahead. Clank had the children strapped in and the engine running. She leapt into the carriage just as it surged forward.

  It wasn’t until they’d been moving for several long minutes that she slumped onto the seat and finally breathed. They hadn’t caught her. Had they? She watched Clank steer them through the still streets of the merchant district.

  No. They were safe.

  Safe. k`1`2

  Her heart still felt like it might explode through her ears. She took a breath to give Clank an order but unexpectedly felt the strong fingers of his gloved hand press a cloth on her bleeding shoulder. She nodded her thanks even though she knew he couldn’t see it, focused as he was on navigating the dimly lit streets with his free hand. Nor could he possibly understand the concept of gratitude. As an automaton, he was quite simply designed to follow commands, verbal or non. The first and only of his kind, he had been with her for so long, she had come to think of him less as a machine and more as a companion, steady and strong. He seemed to learn more each time she took him out, understanding her needs and requiring less instruction.

  She didn’t think, no she knew, she couldn’t do this without him. As he continued to put pressure on her wound, she wished for a moment that Clank could do more than just process and evaluate—that he could speak, think … feel. That he could strengthen and build her. That he could encourage her to do the unexpected.

  She shook her head, wondering if the dizziness she felt from her injury had seeped into her mind.

  “You may let go, Clank,” she said. He waited until her hand covered the wound and then used his free hand to secure the harness around her waist. She closed her eyes, exhaustion settling in.

  The children were silent the entire way to Bridges.

  Chapter Eleven

  Five years ago

  The Duke circled her, hands clasped behind his back. The low heel of his shined shoes hardly made a sound on the wood floor. Every movement, as always, was perfectly measured and deliberate. His posture was precise, perfect. His eyes never left her, searching and finding every sign of weakness.

  “Lower, your chin must be lower. You cannot appear to be haughty. You hunch forward too much. Straighten up.”

  Veronica attempted to comply. It hurt to hold her shoulders so far back—her muscles ached both across her chest and her back. Sweat dripped steadily down her shoulder blades under her shift. She’d been there for two hours so far, ever since breakfast.

  The Duke continued to circle her, rapping her on her back when she faltered. “Critchton let you read the article about the robbery in the paper this morning, as I ordered?” he asked.

  “Yes, your Grace.”

  “Those children—the ones who broke into the bakery—you understand why they did so?” he asked, his tone utterly indifferent.

  She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and think for a moment. He was always testing her. The Duke needed a specific answer and she had to provide it or fail. The consequences seemed to worsen with each passing month.

  “The orphans have no family to instruct them on what’s right and what’s wrong. They are thoroughly corrupted and serve no purpose,” she answered. Veronica’s shoulders started to tremble but she willed them still.

  “What about you and Alec? How are you different from those children?” the Duke asked. He rapped his stick lightly on his hand.

  She swallowed. “Alec and I have a parent to show us how to be of service and provide value to society.”

  He lifted a brow. “Correct. You must always remember that. You are nothing unless you can serve England in some way. That is why I train you day and night to be the perfect lady.”

  She nearly smiled with relief. Her posture slipped for a moment.

  The Duke noticed. He calmly motioned for her to hold out both her hands. He slapped his cane across them once.

  A tear escaped the corner of her eye. The Duke was so very strong.

  He slapped his cane down again. And again. “I only do this to teach you, to instruct you. You are fortunate to have a father who cares for you enough to give you his precious time. My advice is sought throughout EurAsia, yet I dedicate hours upon hours to the instruction of my offspring.”

  The Duke replaced his cane in the closet. Veronica put her hands down by her side, careful to keep them clenched. She dare not get blood on the new teak floor.

  The Duke sat at his desk without dismissing her. She let the tears dry on her face without wiping them away. To do so would be a weakness she would not admit.

  An hour later, Critchton entered the office with a bow. “The Colonel to see you, your Grace.”

  The Duke didn’t glance up from his daily correspondence. He sat straight and tall at his desk, pen held at precisely the right angle, the paper in front of him covered in an elegant scrawl. He continued to write as he replied, “Very well. Show him in.”

  Veronica silently cheered. A guest meant she would be sent away from the Duke’s presence. Given a reprieve at last.

  “Your posture still leaves much to be desired. We’ll continue this exercise tomorrow. For the remainder of today, you will practice the pianoforte. The one in the servants’ quarters. My guests are not to be assaulted with such mediocrity. Critchton will supervise. Go.” The Duke placed his pen carefully in the holder to his right and set the paper aside to dry.

  She curtsied and left the room quickly. The Duke didn’t like his guests to see her at all. She constantly embarrassed him. Failed him.

  Once out of the Duke’s sight, Veronica ran to the kitchen in a very unladylike fashion, careful to avoid any servants. She could hardly feel her legs after remaining in one spot so long. It felt good to move freely.

  After downing a glass of water and sneaking a sandwich from the icebox, Veronica didn’t go to the servants’ quarters. The Duke would’ve told Critchton, of course, but the old butler moved slowly. She had a few minutes before he made it over there, to the other side of the house.

  Instead, Veronica flew into the gardens. The bright, bold oranges and reds of fall encircled her. Usually this was her favorite time of year. The weather was mild, the world about her on fire with color.

  Today, however, she ran until she collapsed. Hearty, wrenching sobs filled her lungs and spilled out her eyes and mouth. Surely, surely she could not endure such a life much longer. Secretly, she envied those orphans. Free to choose. Free to go where they may. They might not know if or when they would eat, but they had the most precious gift of all—choice.

  Veronica, on the other hand, was allowed to do nothing of her own accord. Her meals were chosen by the Duke’s cook. Her plain dresses and shifts ordered by the housekeeper. She was instructed in Latin and French by a retired military officer—a stern, older man who tolerated nothing from her. After her private tutoring, she practiced the arts of an accomplished lady—embroidery, singing, pianoforte, dancing. The Duke often interceded, adding his own brand of instruction to her many tutors. Not one of
them showed an ounce of caring for her personally. They all taught the Duke’s doctrine. The orphans were evil. She was lucky. By the time she ate supper each night, she nearly fell asleep at the table.

  The times she failed, which happened more and more often, the Duke’s punishments wore her down. Standing for hours. Waking every hour at night and checking in with whichever chambermaid was assigned to her, to prove she could endure sleep deprivation. While she might have had the will to resist at one point, she felt it slipping through her fingers. That will was the last piece she felt was truly her.

  Now, she was simply tired. So very tired. She couldn’t leave. The Duke would find her. Not a single person in the household would help her. There was no way out.

  A handkerchief appeared in front of her. It fluttered once. Twice.

  She took it and glanced up. A man with shockingly white, thick hair smiled at her. It was a little manic, yet full of warmth.

  “Oh, my child. Such tears. How would you like to do something about it?” he asked, sounding very pleased with himself.

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Veronica replied, unsure of how to properly address this man. He didn’t appear to be a gentleman. He wore a leather vest riddled with oddly sized pockets and a leather aviator’s cap. Several pairs of goggles hung about his neck.

  “I mean, dear lady, that it’s high time you did something about your circumstances. You’re smart, of course, and with all that Latin and science and government, you know enough to be dangerous. I mean to make you much more so.” He extended a hand to help her up.

  She eyed it warily. “I’m only thirteen. And a girl. How could I ever be dangerous? The Duke says—”

  The man reached down and pulled her up anyway. He set her firmly on the ground and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Never mind what the Duke says. You and I will outsmart the Duke. I assure you, my dear, it can be done.”

  She used the handkerchief to wipe her face clean. “Outsmart him? At what? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I still don’t even know your name.”

  He stepped back and clumsily saluted her. “Dr. Hoch, at your service, my lady. Inventor extraordinaire.”

  She curtsied. She’d heard of the man, of course. The famous scientist who took the steam engine into the skies. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  He grinned again. It looked even stranger this time. She found it a bit charming. “What I mean to do, Lady Veronica, is to give you a purpose. A reason to fight.”

  “Fight what?” she asked. This man seemed sincere enough, even if he were an associate of the Duke’s.

  Unless this was another test? She stepped back and straightened her posture. The Duke could be watching, even now.

  “Relax, this isn’t one of the Duke’s twisted tests.” Dr. Hoch waved his hand carelessly.

  “You know about those?” she asked.

  The man nodded, his smile turning sad. “Yes. I know many things, if not everything about this household. Don’t ask me how, I must protect those in my service.”

  For the first time, the idea that this man might truly have a solution to offer her entered her mind. Her heart warmed in spite of her past, in spite of the blood that soaked her hands. “What kind of purpose? And why help me?” she asked.

  “Because you, Lady Veronica, can change the lives of many. Your title, your position, your education—you can use it all to do such a work the world has not seen.” His eyes sparkled. He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his vest and rocked back on his heels.

  “What work?” Everything Dr. Hoch said led to more questions. Why could he not answer her plainly?

  He lowered his voice. “You will save them.”

  “Who?”

  His features flipped from joy to sadness in a blink, and he suddenly looked much older to Veronica. “It’s my fault. Those poor children. You, my dear, will be their salvation.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The day it started

  “It’s nearly four, my Lady,” Matilda reminded her. “Hale will be waiting. And I must have time to prepare you for the ball.”

  They’d lingered in the science room of the boy’s wing, while Veronica demonstrated how to run the miniature clockwork train set. That caught the attention of all the new arrivals, even an boy of about fifteen with hard lines creasing his forehead and a stare that seemed to see directly through her.

  Veronica rolled her eyes at the clock, wishing it didn’t perform its duty quite so accurately.

  “Time doesn’t pass here like it does in other places, does it my Lady?” Matilda asked.

  Veronica threw one last wistful glance over her shoulder before shrugging and setting a brisk pace toward the door. “And it’s worth every sacrifice I have to make.”

  Even a man she might have cared for, with lilting words and smelling of far off places.

  * * *

  Veronica groaned. And it wasn’t just from the stitches that alternately itched and burned. “I must simply think of the children,” she muttered.

  “Think hard,” Matilda replied. “Or you might cry.”

  Veronica’s papá had sent a dress for her to wear that evening, one that made her usual fluffy gowns look ridiculous. Endless lace and dozens of ribbon bows covered every possible surface on the bodice, looking as if they’d been tossed on the fabric in a random pattern. Folds of blue silk were gathered in odd bunches on the skirt, held up by bows, and doubling Veronica in size. The sleeves, two stiff, giant bows perched on her arms, would quite possibly injure all of her waltz companions that evening, should she even have any.

  Veronica’s face flushed at the thought of appearing in public in such a monstrosity. Her dresses had always been maudlin, but nothing so … utterly horrendous.

  What if she came across the man from the masque? He would not possibly recognize her now. He may know the shape of her face—she shivered remembering the touch of his fingers—but how could he pick her out from the hundreds that would be there this evening? Not that anyone would even look at her face when there was such a show going on below her neck.

  Would she know him, if he were there? His figure was quite unmistakable.

  Suddenly, Matilda giggled. “You could certainly hide your Tesla-ray in there, my Lady.”

  Veronica glanced down. “Excellent point.”

  “Perhaps Clank as well.”

  Veronica snorted.

  Matilda laughed and Veronica joined in until their eyes watered. She mimed drawing her ray gun from the folds of her skirt. Matilda feigned a hit and fell back on the bed.

  Then an image flashed in Veronica’s mind and she smelled burnt flesh. She turned away from her companion, hiding her reaction. Matilda didn’t need to know about the Enforcer, nor that she’d lost control. It was only the one time, when she’d been forced to do so in order to save her own life.

  She’d done fine since then, kept her actions and feelings under control. Put to the test, she wouldn’t collapse.

  “It could be a test,” Veronica mused. “The dress.”

  “What milady?” Matilda asked.

  “The estimable Duke would never take it upon himself to learn ladies’ fashions. This has to be a test of some sort.” Matilda knew something of the Duke, but not enough of Veronica’s childhood to understand his fascination with tests. This one, the wearing of The Dress, made Veronica suddenly wary.

  Her companion examined Veronica from her shoulders down to her toes. “Wouldn’t he be embarrassing not only you, but himself? Honestly, I’ve never seen the like.”

  Veronica tried to smooth the fabric. “He expects me to follow orders, of course, so for some reason he wants me to appear in public like this. He also wants this marriage, so why put off Sombor in this fashion? This can’t be all the rage anywhere, even in foreign parts. Is he even testing me? Or perhaps someone else?”

  “Just be careful, will you?” Matilda dropped a wrap over her lady’s shoulders. “Perhaps this may, er, cover up those sleeves a bit?”r />
  But the wrap simply sat atop the sleeves, as stiff and structured as they were. Veronica looked in the mirror and once again laughed, in spite of her dark thoughts. Matilda snickered. Veronica tossed off the wrap.

  “I will preserve some shred of my dignity if you please.”

  “Not much to work with, is there my lady?”

  They took the servants’ exit to avoid Alec. If he saw her, he would never cease teasing her.

  “Good evening, Hale,” Veronica said with a sheepish smile.

  To his credit, Hale never blinked.

  “My lady.” He offered her a hand into the carriage but when she groaned at the thought of lifting her dress up the steps, he grabbed her waist and tossed her gently inside.

  “Thank you,” Matilda said softly to Hale as he helped her inside next. His hand lingered on hers as it always did. And as always, she pretended not to notice.

  “The prince will certainly get the surprise of his life,” Veronica said as she tried to avoid crushing Matilda with The Dress. When Hale started the carriage, she opened the window. She certainly didn’t need a wrap with all these layers.

  As they passed carriage after carriage, Veronica’s mouth twisted into a calculating smile. “A surprise. Yes, I’m known to be a poorly dressed spinster. But not as touched as this.” She gestured to The Dress. “Perhaps he might suddenly find a need to call off the engagement.”

  She pulled on a pair of white leather gloves, snapping them in a satisfying sound. “Suddenly, I cannot wait to meet his Royal Highness.”

  * * *

  The carriages in front of them seemed to dump their passengers with undo haste like loads of refuse. As she watched one particular carriage, the gearman hopped down from the driver’s box, revealing shortened breeches and a very, very short … skirt. The gearman, er, woman, opened the door, one hand on the heavy silver belt around her waist that held goggles, a scope, several wrenches, and other tools. A man with silver-streaked hair stepped out, revealing gold plated armor underneath a full overcoat. Several younger men followed. Their gearwoman bowed, shut the door, and followed the empty carriages around the back of Almacks.