Part 50 (1/2)

”There is cholera here,” said the woman severely. ”No one enters or leaves, not for two weeks. Now leave before you come down with it yourself.”

The window slammed shut, leaving Poppy and Alice standing in the dusty street. A sound came out of Poppy's mouth, somewhere between a curse and a cry of frustration. It matched the feeling bubbling along her nerves. They'd achieved exactly nothing.

Not sure what else to do, Poppy grasped Alice's hand and led her away, taking the shortest road she could find back to Regent Street. They moved quickly, all too aware of the growing sounds of fighting to the east.

”I think she's telling the truth,” Poppy said.

”I do, too,” Alice said in a wavering voice. ”Look over there.”

Between the buildings, Poppy could see men digging in a yard. There were three of them, and it was going to be a very large hole. ”What are they doing?”

Alice swallowed hard, and the next words were stronger. ”It's going to be a lime pit. They shouldn't be digging it this close to the houses. Papa's going to be furious.”

A lime pit was for burying ma.s.ses of bodies, which meant the cholera was real. Her stomach skittered with chill terror and she ran a few steps, as if a yard or two would make any kind of difference.

Alice caught up, her eyes wide. ”What now?”

”Does your father own any other foundling hospitals?”

”No. Charity work isn't a large part of his business.”

That Poppy could believe. The streets around them were growing steadily worse, without even the pretense of respectability. ”So where else can he hide a baby?” Poppy saw the broader, brighter expanse of Regent Street ahead and nearly broke into a run. ”You said there were two possible places.”

”There are a thousand places,” Alice said, despair creeping into her voice. ”I can't keep dragging you across London like this. Not without a better chance of success and a lot less danger.”

”Don't worry about me,” Poppy said, almost automatically.

”But I have to.”

”I can worry about myself well enough.”

”Poppy, think. We're only theorizing about what Father has done. We have no facts.” Alice looked guilty and miserable. No doubt her heart was dragging her forward, but her common sense was reining her back. ”You need to go home. I'll keep looking.”

Gunfire cracked again. A flock of enormous black birds flew overhead, croaking like doom. Both women looked up, momentarily startled, but the birds pa.s.sed by.

”But your theories are good,” Poppy protested, refusing to give up. There was no way she would let Alice go on without her. ”We're looking for your father's property, or at least within his territory. He needs to hide a baby and a nurse someplace they won't be noticed. Where is the other place you came up with? Does he have a home for unwed mothers?”

”No, but he has a rooming house in Covent Garden where a lot of actresses live.” Alice's cheeks flushed and she looked away. ”He thinks I don't know about it, but he used to keep a mistress there.”

”Then we try that,” said Poppy. ”It can't hurt, and it has to be nicer than this place.”

”Are you sure about that?” Alice said sharply. ”Be sensible. Covent Garden is due east.” But Alice's words didn't match the look in her eyes. She was pleading to go.

East was right into the gunfire. Poppy grimaced, wis.h.i.+ng she could give in to the terrified wailing insider her-but she just couldn't. ”But what if we're right, and Jeremy is there?”

London, October 16, 1889.

THREADNEEDLE STREET.

10:35 a.m. Wednesday.

THE CATERPILLAR CRAWLED DOWN THREADNEEDLE STREET, surrounded by a human sea. The air smelled of river and ash and the press of lost humanity, as if the Styx had emptied onto the London streets and this was the new land of the dead. And the throng only grew, gathering more and more bodies as they progressed. Volunteers arrived out of alleyways and taverns, or were simply swept up like flotsam from the curbs. They marched or ambled; some brought weapons and others beer. Moore and the other professionals kept order, but there was hardly any need. All were unified by a cheer distilled from reckless despair.

From atop the caterpillar, Tobias could see the devastation left from the bombs and the subsequent conflagration. It might have been a week ago, but the scars were still fresh. Blackened smears of ash were all that remained of shops and homes. Where the Bank of Empire had once stood, a choking black smoke rose from a crater the size of a battles.h.i.+p. All around, shards of stone thrust into the air, snaggletoothed remains of the Green Queen's stately counting houses.

”I worked there,” Corporal Yelland said, pointing to a particular heap of rubble. He had to raise his voice over the babble of the crowd, so it came out half as a yell. ”Fifteen years perched on a stool, tallying debits and credits.”

He was far from the only one whose livelihood had vanished overnight. Tobias wondered where all those workers would go-and how they would survive. ”Were you there when it started?”

”I'd gone home for a few minutes to see to my old Da,” Yelland replied. ”Saved my life. He's with my sister now, in her house further west.” He paused. ”My home's a pile of kindling today.”

”Your house and work gone in one night?” Tobias's chest tightened.

”I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't lose anyone, not even my cat.” Yelland gave a grim smile. ”That means I can keep a level head getting the job done, eh, guv'nor?” And he patted the b.u.t.t of the rifle propped next to him. It wasn't one of the many Moore had handed out, but his own, fitted with a clockwork loader and an aetherscope for measuring the direction and velocity of the wind.

”If only everyone's head was as level as yours,” Tobias replied. ”But then, we wouldn't be here if that were true.”

Tobias stood behind the lever that turned the caterpillar left or right, gripping it with his left hand. The machine was easy enough to steer, the sectioned tail following smoothly after. Still, it required concentration. Too many people were crowded close to make a sudden move. Perhaps that was why Yelland spotted the Blue King's army first.

”Look, guv'nor!”

He looked, and then blinked. The dome of St. Paul's Cathedral floated like a meringue over the skyline, but from either side of the precinct came a mob of Blue Boys, azure sashes tied over one shoulder like a sword belt. The sash was their only uniform, the rest of the Blue Boys' attire left to chance, the only requisite to personify trouble on two legs. But Tobias wasn't fooled-they might look disorganized, but the Blue King's forces had always been thorough killers. And their number had to be equal to the rebels gathered around the caterpillar. d.a.m.nation!

”How did they get here?” Tobias snapped, his stomach dropping to his knees. The Blue King's territory was east and south of there. By rights, the Blue Boys should be nipping at their heels, not threatening their flank.

He hadn't expected an answer, but Yelland gave one anyway as he poked b.u.t.tons on the weapons panel. ”The Blue King negotiated for Blackfriars Bridge, back when he took the Gray King's head. That gave him guaranteed pa.s.sage over the river.”

”b.u.g.g.e.r.” It was all Tobias had time to say before the rebels and Blue Boys surged toward one another like cras.h.i.+ng streams, forcing the caterpillar to a halt. Where once the machine had been at the vanguard of the procession, now it was somewhere in the middle, mired as wave after wave of angry rebels stormed toward their foe. The sheer force of the stampede rocked the caterpillar from side to side, making Tobias grab for the back of his seat.

Suddenly the potential of war became reality-and then it became death. Rifles fired on both sides, the sound weirdly like applause. Men fell, blood, brains, and limbs spraying London's soil. Outrage skewered Tobias. ”Give me a weapon!” he snarled.

Yelland was already there. At the push of a b.u.t.ton, the smiling caterpillar's antennae rose and tilted forward, a scope popping up. Tobias bent to peer through it, the margin where the rebels met the Blue Boys near the steps of St. Paul's zooming into view.

A bullet whined past his ear, proving the enemies had shooters of their own. Tobias started, alarm turning every nerve ending into a pinp.r.i.c.k of heat. He crouched, making himself smaller as Yelland raised his rifle and returned fire. Tobias heard a distant scream.

Releasing a shaky breath, Tobias returned his attention to his scope. Firing and hitting something wouldn't be a problem. But getting a clean shot at the enemy would be as the two forces began to swirl together. Tobias swore, his fingers shaking as he adjusted the aim of the antenna.

”Never mind, sir,” Yelland said. ”You'll know when to take your shot.”

Tobias was about to protest when a rumble of engines caught his ear. He raised his head from the scope and spotted movement to the west of the church. There were half a dozen machines coming their way, the likes of which Tobias had never seen. They were the size of an old-fas.h.i.+oned coach and powered by steam, with wheels as high as Tobias was tall. In the front were three appendages like fat fingers made of sectioned steel. He stared for a moment, wondering what on earth they were for.

The machines fanned out, forcing their way into the crowd. The three steel fingers began striking the earth in steady succession, one-two-three, one-two-three. Vibrations shook the steel plates beneath Tobias's feet, sending up a faint rattle from the caterpillar's gears. At first he wondered if they were just meant to frighten the enemy, but as the pounders moved forward, he saw the destruction in their wake.

”Dear G.o.d,” he breathed, momentarily frozen. A red trail followed them like the path of a scythe through wheat. Those steel fingers weren't meant simply to pound earth. They were meant to crush living flesh. Bile rose, souring Tobias's mouth and burning his throat.