The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

She was certain, absolutely so, that Emily was at the Putney Heath encampment. She missed her sister fiercely. Emily had been her only ally in a house full of people hell-bent on societal acceptance. Only because of her sister’s flight had Amanda found it within herself to challenge Father, to threaten him, to bargain with him so that she might achieve
her
dreams, and not Mother’s.

So, while a man might have died and died horribly, the life Amanda had dreamed of was finally in reach. Not just medical school, not just research, but the field application of both. Emily would be there. Emily would understand. Emily would help.

But first Amanda had to get to her.

Small, light and brown, Sparrow class dirigibles were designed for gentlemen of business‌—‌and the occasional passenger or two. With a streamlined open cabin and a narrow, cigar-shaped balloon, the Sparrow class carried a bare minimum of fuel and water. With a maximum range of eighty miles, they traveled easily from London rooftops to country manors, and could do so in a quarter of the time it took a steam carriage to negotiate the crowded, sometimes poorly maintained, roads.

Neither man spared her a glance‌—‌or offered assistance‌—‌as she stuffed herself and her voluminous skirts into the passenger seat.

Thornton and Black worked together seamlessly. Without so much as a word or a look, each pulled on leather gloves and set about preparing the Sparrow for flight, a task usually seen to by servants. Black checked the water level in the boiler, adding several buckets from a nearby cistern. Thornton spread a bed of lamp-oil soaked charcoal and flicked in a safety match before laying in a bed of coal to heat the water.

These two were no strangers to piloting a dirigible.

That Black knew how to fire a steam engine did not surprise her. Even with all the trappings of a gentleman, the man had certain rough edges. Rough edges he would need with a habit of running about the streets of London at night.

That an earl‌—‌a neurophysiologist‌—‌should know how…‌ that he was comfortable taking to the skies in a fog…‌

Tipping her head, she studied the man in question, considering the conversation she’d had with Simon days earlier.

A spy?

Thornton’s shirts stretched and pulled across his broad shoulders. If his arms were as strong and solid as the thighs she’d gripped…‌ Amanda’s face grew warm. She should feel shame. Humiliation. Kissing a professor was forbidden.

Instead, she wanted nothing more than to try it again. That kiss, sudden and unexpected, would have bought her to her knees had she not already been on them. The brush of his fingertip along her neck had sent shivers across her skin, but it was the touch of his lips that turned her muscles to liquid.

For hours during class, she’d stared at those lips as the deep timbre of his voice set her body aflame. While he lectured about how myelin wrapped about the nerve axon forming a sheath, she’d fantasized about wrapping herself around him, fantasized about how his lips might feel pressed against hers. Now she’d had a tantalizing taste. It was enough to drive a woman mad.

But from the moment he’d drawn back, she’d glanced into his dark eyes, seen the inevitable rejection. Such an entanglement would jeopardize everything. Were they discovered in a compromising situation, only she would pay the price. The rules of society favored men.

Amanda strapped on a pair of goggles and fixed her eyes on the steam gauge. She would not think about such things now. A man had died. As pressure began to rise in the boiler, she took to calling out its progress. “Fifteen psi. Eighteen. Twenty!”

“All aboard!” With a mighty heave, Black spun the propeller into motion and leapt into the rear jump seat, rocking the dirigible. The netted balloon swayed overhead as the engine roared to life with clangs and hisses, as the cylinders and pistons and rods and gears set up a comforting rhythm.

The dirigible tipped again and Thornton was beside her, his hands expertly working the various levers even as he folded himself into the pilot’s seat. Between his size and her skirts, it was a tight fit. His thigh bumped hers, and their shoulders pressed tight. Every inch of her skin tingled with awareness.

Though his leg didn’t seem to trouble him for the moment, pressure point massage only worked a few hours at most before the pain returned. The key to preventing the muscles from seizing, from pinching the damaged nerve, was repetition. Though it would only continue to work so long as the nerve retained a minimum of function.

What dosage had Thornton used? How much longer could he sustain its use?

Pulling on a pair of goggles, Thornton called, “Cast off!”

Black tossed away a final rope, and the dirigible began to rise. Tendrils of fog swirled about them.

Amanda ignored the warm, solid thigh pressed against hers and instead stared determinedly into the gray night.

Moments later, Thornton glanced at the altimeter. “We’re clear of the chimneys!” he called to Black. Then he turned to her, a glint in his eye. “Ready?”

If not for their destination and purpose, she could think of no better way to escape the tedium of a ball. She threw him an answering grin. “Ready.”

Thornton reached forward, and threw the throttle wide open.

She shrieked‌—‌from surprise or fear, she wasn’t certain‌—‌as she was thrown back into the seat as the dirigible shot clear of the roof out into the dense fog. For the first time, she heard Thornton laugh. Deep and dark and decidedly dangerous, it scraped across her skin. For once, she felt truly alive.

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE THRILL OF LEAVING
solid ground behind, of being unfettered, quickly faded. Flying nearly blind made for a tense twenty minutes in the sky. Hazy lights and shifting shadows made Amanda feel as if her sight was failing even as she kept her eyes wide open.

There’d been a couple of near misses that had sent her heart racing. Thank goodness other airships carried bright lanterns, providing precious seconds to avoid collision. But nocturnal pteryformes, a bird-like creature that glided over London at night, made no sound and were as dark as the night. The brush of leathery wings across the balloon of their dirigible had set her every hair on end. Much effort was necessary to keep her respiratory rate in normal range.

As the dirigible began its descent into Putney Heath, Amanda kept a white-knuckled grip on a nearby brass handle. Beside her, Thornton’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his hands moved rapidly over the various controls. He had a close eye on the altimeter, but the evening’s fog made choosing a clear landing site impossible. The dirigible veered.

“Trees!” Thornton yelled. “Brace for impact!”

Her eyes were wide, her heart pounded. Tree branches meant the ground was close.

Branches reached out with malicious intent, snagging on the balloon’s netting. A jerk, an ominous ripping sound, and the airship careened wildly.

A scattering of lights emerged, rushing up at them.

Campfires!

Thornton swore.

They were landing directly on the gypsy encampment!

Below them, dark forms scattered, screaming and yelling.

Thornton throttled back the engine and shouted commands to Black.

A loud crunch‌—‌one felt more than heard‌—‌signaled they’d landed. Hard. Lord Whitmore would not be pleased.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the yelling began. Harsh angry words in the Romani language filled the air. Gypsies pointed and waved.

“Fire!” Black yelled from behind them. “Get out. We’ve landed on a campfire.” He leapt from the jump seat. Thornton followed, vaulting to the ground. All while she still struggled to stand‌—‌the wire of her bustle was wedged in her seat.

“Jump, Amanda!” Thornton yelled.

There was a sudden whooshing sound and flames licked up the hull and climbed the ropes toward the balloon. Smoke swirled upward to twine with the fog.

“I’m stuck!” she yelled. But over the roar of the fire, had anyone heard her? Frantic, she yanked harder at her skirts, trying to rip them free. Did hydrogen or aether fill their balloon? She couldn’t remember and didn’t want to be in the dirigible when the answer became apparent.

“Amanda!” Thornton appeared at her side, balancing precariously on the wreckage. His hands pulled at her waist, wrenching her free. They dropped to the ground and, though Thornton hissed at the pain, he didn’t set her down as he ran from the flames. Amanda wrapped her hands about his neck, glancing back over his shoulder as he carried her to a safe distance.

Gypsies glared at them. Their dramatic entrance had won them no friends.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as he set her down onto her own somewhat unsteady feet, shaking from the aftereffects of too much adrenaline. With her bustle bent out of all proportion, her skirt sagged in odd places, promising to drag in a most unbecoming manner over the dew-dampened dirt.

“You’re bleeding,” he said and pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He wiped blood from her cheek while keeping a steadying hand at her elbow.

Several yards away, Black and another man gestured broadly with their hands, arguing in Romani. No need to understand the language to know they argued about the damage caused and how the gypsies would be compensated.

As the fire intensified, a crowd gathered about them emerging from the fog in all the colors one might find in a Turkish rug. Scarlet. Magenta. Saffron. Cobalt. Ochre. Gold. Brighter and more vibrant than anything one might find at a
ton
ball.

The men stood in front. Women clustered behind, babies in their arms, smaller children peering from behind their wide skirts. Older children shoved and pushed, vying for the best view. A hush fell over the crowd as the flames reached the skin of the balloon, licking across its surface.

“Hydrogen or aether?” she asked, this time aloud.

Left unsheltered and unattended and frequently unused on rooftops, personal dirigibles often sustained damage from the elements. In short, they tended to leak. Aether was stable, but expensive. Hydrogen was abundant and cheap but extremely flammable.

“Hydrogen,” Thornton answered. “This should be quite a show.”

The fabric of the upper fin began to flutter. There was a muffled explosion, and yellow-red flames jumped into the air, spreading, eating away the fabric as black smoke poured into the sky. The exposed underlying girders, weakened by the intense heat, collapsed over the hull of the airship as the fire dropped to a low smolder.

Amanda forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly, to slow the shaking that persisted in the face of a horrible demonstration of the dangers of in-air collision.

Men carrying water buckets rushed forward, dousing the flames as a multitude of faces with accusing, narrowed eyes turned in their direction. Not an ideal first impression.

“Amanda?”

She turned, searched for the source of the voice. “Emily?”

Men hissed in disapproval, moving quickly aside as an obviously pregnant woman pushed her way forward. Fog swirled around her skirt as its folds shifted; to be brushed by a woman’s skirts made one
marhime
, unclean.

A dark-haired woman with a cerulean blue shawl draped about her shoulders stepped forward.

“Emily!” Amanda cried. She rushed forward to clasp her sister’s hands and scanned her from head to toe. Her sister glowed‌—‌and was further along in her pregnancy than Amanda expected. Details that had clearly been kept from her. “You have no idea how badly I’ve missed you.”

Emily squeezed Amanda’s hands. “I feel the same. Your latest letter‌—‌”

A man emerged from the crowd, scolding Emily in Romani. Luca. Private concerns would have to wait.

“Your sister?” Thornton stood behind her. She nodded.

“Disaster always seems to follow you, Amanda,” Luca growled.

“Not true. Disaster arrived before me.” Dispensing with formalities, she tipped her head at Thornton. “We’re here about the body.”

There was a moment of startled silence.

“Tova?” Luca asked.

“If that is the name of the boy found in the ditch,” Thornton answered.

“What might you and Lady Amanda have to do with Tova?” Suspicion laced Luca’s words.

“This is about the clockwork spider, isn’t it?” Emily said, her face pale.

From Amanda’s letter, Emily would know it had been stolen. What she didn’t know was its involvement in the gypsy murders.

Luca’s face darkened. “Your work?” He glanced from Amanda to Emily. “You refer to the spider?”

“Yes,” Amanda answered. “And Emily’s nerve potion.”

“Why is your contraption being used on my people?” He glowered. “Don’t answer that. It’s because we are disposable.”

“We’re here to try to stop this man, this eye doctor. Better to ask ‘who would do such a thing’ and ‘to what end?” Amanda suggested. Though annoyed at her brother-in-law’s hostility, it was understandable, given the chaos their arrival caused. “Which is exactly what we hope to discover, Luca. By viewing the body.”

Emily laid a hand on Luca’s arm, her eyes large with worry and concern.

“Follow me.” Luca turned and led them into the heart of the encampment.