Into the Ether (3 page)

 

Dinner sat like a heavy lump of coal in my gut as Phillip led the way up the service staircase into the museum.
It didn't matter how often we did this, I was always amazed that such a large man could be so quiet.
His feet barely made a sound on the wooden
treads
.

A
t the top landing,
he stopped and unlocked
the door.
One finger tapped under my chin gently.
“You know the drill.
Don't get caught.
I like this job.”

I smiled and
wiped my sweating palms on my dress.
The trust in his eyes made me feel lower than coal scum.
Someday I'd think of a way to make this up to him
.

“Thanks, Phillip.”

He
patted me on the back
and I slipped through the doorway into the dim interior of the museum.
Two pedestals rose on either side, both capped with large
,
Greek vases.
I peeked around the corner, checking for the one guard who would be patrolling.

Walter Freedman wasn't fast, but he could be annoying.
He'd caught me once, and I hadn't been able to get close to the museum for weeks.
He'd made a huge fuss.
Enough to make me believe he would be able to recognize me on the spot should I be within spitting distance of the building.

I'd learned since that he could barely make out shapes through the huge pancake-thick lenses of his glasses.
A smile crept across my lips at the memory of Walter flirting with an armless
Aphrodite
.
It had taken almost five minutes before he'd reached out and touched the cold marble and continued on his way.
It had been during visiting hours that time.
He hadn't gone into the Greek and Roman wing for several weeks after that.

Tonight, there was no telling where he would be.
I crouched, my fingers resting lightly on the wooden
pedestal
bolted to the floor.
I strained my ears.
Whispers echoed around me, but nothing human.

Listening to those whispers
was one of the reasons I came after hours.
People frowned on someone who spoke to the exhibits.
I could hear the whole conversation, but I'd learned early that others just saw a daft teenager wandering the museum.

As a
touch
-
know
any object would tell me its secrets if I asked.
But here, these objects had a mind of their own.
They'd been worshipped, revered, bled for, started wars
,
and ended them.
Many of them, over the course of centuries, developed a will of their own.
At first it had frightened me.
Now it was like visiting old friends.
Sometimes they even asked me questions.
Those were the ones I wondered about.
Perhaps they held more than memories.

But I didn't ask.
I had enough problems.

I stood and padded across the room
, keeping
one ear open for Walter and another for anything unusual.
Irritation made me frown.
What good was this going to do?
The collections were huge, and even more lay below in storerooms.
Marble statues watched me in the low gaslight, waiting until I turned my attention to them.
Gold and jewels glittered like the night sky outside London's fog from heavy glass cases.
How was I supposed to find one box when all I knew was that it was smallish and metal?

Thiss way.

The voice was metallic and almost seemed to be…hissing?
I turned the corner, moving toward a series of cases with jewelry.
Inside, next to large
,
beaten gold earrings, rested a simple gold armband.
The head was a serpent, decorated with enamel and two large eyes.
One was missing, but the other was made of a sparkling emerald.

This thing you sseek iss not in a casse.
You mussst sspeak to the curator.
Only he can help you.

I nodded
;
knowing in a strange way, the thing inside the jewels could see and understand.
The armband of a hundred priestesses, it had its own sense of self.
I murmured a thank you, turned to walk away and stopped short.

“You wouldn't happen to know what it is, would you?”
I got around the stupidity of asking ancient jewelry for information with the comfort of knowing no one else was there.

“What what is?
And who are you talking to?”
The rough voice bounced off the polished marble floor and made me jump.

A
man leaned heavily on a
crutch
and watched me from beneath huge eyebrows that looked like frosted caterpillars.
His eyes twinkled at me with a mixture of suspicion and amusement.
A shock of salt and pepper hair spiked wildly around his head, and he was dressed in worn but well made clothes.

“I, well, um, I was talking to myself
, sir
.”
I backed up then realized what I was doing and stopped.
Not like there was anywhere to run anyway.

He laughed and moved next to me to stare into the case.
He looked back at me for a long moment.
“Most people try to steal the artifacts, not talk to them.
But to each their own, I suppose.”

He leaned back against a large
,
marble pillar.
“Now, please explain what you
'
re doing here.”

Words seemed to have left me.
I could
n'
t think of a single lie.
With a sigh, I crossed my arms.
“I was asking the jewelry about a special item I wanted to see.”

Not quite the truth, but not a lie.

One brow arched to his hairline, looking like it had crawled there.
“You were asking the jewelry?”

I
shrugged
.
He wasn't looking at me like he'd call the
loony
bin, and I could've sworn
I saw his lips twitch.
Surprise wasn't quite the emotion I'd have placed with his face.

“I've seen many people listening to the artifacts before, but never actively seeking information.”

My jaw dropped.
“You've seen others listening?
I
mean
,
you think I was listening?”

His lips pulled into another wide grin.
“My girl, if you hadn't been so intent on that case, you'd have heard me coming.”
He patted his right thigh where the trouser was neatly folded to the knee.
“I'm not exactly the stealthy type.”

Embarrassment made my face burn.
I hadn't been so careless in a long, long time.

“Well, I'm assuming you've charmed Phillip or snuck in to escape the new edict Scotland Yard's been promoting, yes?
Can't say I blame you.
Grown men don't want to work in those new factories and coal mines
.
I don't see why a child would.”

My mouth opened and closed, but I took what he offered and ran with it.
I hadn't heard of this new edict, but it explained the extra patrols around the city.
They were sending orphans to work.
Cheap, expendable and renewable labor.
It made my stomach turn.
“I most certainly don't want to go there.”

He
jerked his head towards the center of the museum
and pushed off from the
column
.
“Come on then.
You can sit with me and tell me all about the sweet nothings the artifacts have been whispering in your ear.”

I didn't have much of a choice.
T
his felt like a test.
Beneath his friendly exterior, I caught
a
thread of steel.
His last words were not an offer of friendship.
They were a command.
He wanted to know why I was here, and I needed to come up with something good.

He moved with surprising speed, considering the brass crutch he used.
We passed through the Egyptian gallery, where he stopped beside a huge statue of a seated pharaoh and opened
a
service door hidden in the shadows.
He motioned me inside.

He led the way through the dark hallway without a second glance.
A small lantern was attached to the brass crutch, and before he closed the door, he struck a match, opened the tiny glass cover
,
and lit the candle inside.
Then he latched it and led the way.
The light from the candle bobbed in time to the movement of his crutch, but it lit the way well enough.
Of course, I think it had been more for my benefit than his.
He could have navigated the museum
blindfolded
, I'm sure
.

The corridor we followed twisted around the museum, eventually descending down a short staircase and ending in a worn
,
wooden door.
He twisted a
n
iron key in the lock and pushed the door open, motioning for me to lead the way.

I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop now.
Even if I tried to run, I probably wouldn't be able to find my way out in the dark.

“Have a seat, please.”

He opened the lantern and doused the candle then moved to the short
,
potbelly stove that sat in the corner.
A pot of water steamed on the back, and he pulled it off, pouring some into a fine china teapot.
He added it to a tea tray already prepared with two cups and a tray of biscuits and brought it over to sit on the end table between us.

Despite my affection for the drink, I was too nervous.
I didn't want to sit and sip tea with him.
Chances were good that he would send me to Scotland Yard quicker than I could blink.
My stomach churned and I pressed one hand against my belly.
I didn't need all this suspense beforehand.

“Now, if you please, who are you and why you were sneaking around my museum at this ungodly hour of the night.”

“My name is Genevieve.”
I accepted the bone china cup from him.
Acid
tickled the back of my throat.

He sat down in a large wingchair across from me.
“I'm
Colonel
David
Worthington, the curator.”

 

The teacup in my hand vibrated.
Things were not going well.
When the armband had told me I needed to speak with the curator, I hadn't planned on doing it right then.
There was supposed to be time to think of a plan.
The walls seemed to be closer than they'd been before, and my breath came in short, shallow pants.
I made an effort to collect myself.
Panicking would do no good, and any reaction could give him power over me.
Judging by the glint in his dark eyes, he knew what I was thinking.

“Are you going to make me guess?” he asked.
Amusement tinged the edge of the words.

An image popped into my head.
Another teen sat here, holding this cup, telling
Colonel Worthington
about his sordid childhood.
Colonel Worthington
comforting the orphan, offering him a full belly and a new job.
If it worked once…

“Don't even think it, my dear.”

I froze.
“What?”

“I can see it on your face.
Don't lie to me.
I didn't spend forty years in
Her M
ajesty's service to be fooled by a scrawny girl like you.”

My hackles rose.
Anger simmered and I had to bite my tongue to keep a smart reply from my lips.

“I came to look at the artifacts.
I like the museum.”

“Not to steal them?”

I held his gaze.
“No.”

It was easy to say it and mean it this time.
It wasn't a lie.
Tonight had been an attempt to locate the box.
I hadn't intended on taking it until later.

We sat like that for a few minutes, until he sat back into the chair with a mumbled curse.
One side of his lips rose.
“Ah
,
Genevieve, you remind me of someone.”

I sipped at the tea, letting the taste wash over my tongue and the heat thaw my insides.
“I get that a lot.”

He cocked his head.
“Could you have picked my pocket?”

The laugh escaped before I could stop myself.
“I'm a horrible thief, sir.”

He chuckled.
“Yes, well, I suppose you don't have to be that good, with your talents.”

My grip on the handle of the teacup tightened.
“What do you mean?”

He snorted and grabbed a biscuit from the tray he'd brought over.
“You aren't the first, you know.
Many gangs of thieves have a
touch
-
know
.
It
'
s good business practice, or so I'm told.”

Unexpected tears burned in my eyes and
a twinge of pain echoed through my chest
.
Justin always made it sound as if I were unique
,
something special.
He'd told me no one had anything like me.
Another lie.
The curator's
quick
dismissal
made me believe him
indifferen
t
,
but I thought I caught a flash of
curiosity floating
across his craggy features
.

“I suppose we
'
re good for that.”
I couldn't help the shiver in my words.
He either didn't notice or pretended not to.
Either way, I was grateful.
He held out the plate
and offered me a biscuit
.

“So what are you most interested in here at the museum?”

Did he really think I'd be so easy to manipulate?

“I like all of the exhibits, but I like Ancient Greece and Rome and Egypt best.
The
statues
are fascinating.”

He snorted.
“They're a pain, but they are pretty.
Attendance has gone up since they were installed.
Makes Wal
ter work harder at keeping visitors from touching the sculptures
.
A
nd keeping thieves out
.
Even had to hire extra help.
He hates it.”

“I imagine he would,” I said.

A knock sounded on the door.
Colonel Worthington
called out a greeting and it swung open.
I sputtered, coughing, the sip of tea
spraying
from my lips.
A tall man stood in the doorway.
His flesh was shiny bronze and a thin stream of steam curled from one nostril.
His eyes were huge on his face
,
goggles that lit from within and glowed a strange orange yellow.
His clo
thing had been made to fit, which seemed a rather strange expense for a machine
.
A dark
,
blue
,
linen shirt covered his metal chest, and black
trousers
and boots completed the outfit.
I wondered why a metal man would need shoes.

He stood
still
for a moment, then closed the door and moved toward the woodstove in the corner.
I couldn't
tear
my eyes away, though I knew
Colonel Worthington
watched me.
The automaton unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and rolled the material to his hinged elbow.
With a few more clumsy flicks of his fingers, he opened a small compartment in his forearm and pulled out a small steel box.
It appeared to smoke slightly in the cooler air of the room.
He opened the grate in the front of the stove and pulled several red coals out with his bare hands.
All
but two
he quickly stashed
in the box.
Those he clutched in his hand.
Brass flesh glowed orange from the heat.
He carefully laid the coals on the metal surface of the stovetop,
opened the other palm, and
unscrewed a small round button.

Taking the steaming kettle from the back burner, he poured the remaining hot wa
ter into the hole in his palm.
After a few moments, he
replaced the water and then picked up the two coals, popping each one into his mouth.
Steam hissed from his nose and one ear and he turned back around.

He
focused on me.
I'm not sure how I knew that, as he had no pupils.
Quicker than I believed he could move, he took two large steps towards
me and yanked me from my seat.
Colonel Worthington
laughed.

“Thomason, please release my guest.”

He let go as suddenly as he'd picked me up.
I collapsed back into the chair, rubbing my arms in disbelief.
If he'd held on any longer, or I'd not had heavy wool sleeves, he'd have singed my skin.
The skin there tingled with warmth.

“Forgive Thomason.
He's a prototype model of
Gregory
's new automatons.
Sometimes he's a bit overzealous.”

Sarcasm oozed from my words
.
“A bit?”

“Thomason, may I introduce Genevieve…”
He waited.

“Genevieve Bond.
Gennie.”

“Thomason, this is Gennie.
She
'
s a guest.”
I caught his eye and he smiled.
“For now, at least.”

Thomason gave a jerky nod in my direction.
He backed away a few steps and leaned against the wall next to the door.
I stared at the door in dumb fascination for a few moments, ignoring the low chuckle of the curator.

“Impressive, isn't he?”

I didn't want to turn my back to him, but I had little choice.

“How does he hear?
He has no ears.”
I hadn't meant to wonder out loud.

Colonel Worthington
shrugged.
“I have no idea.
I just know he can.
One doesn't question
Ephraim
Gregory's
about his machines.”

I nodded and finished the last of my tea.
“I suppose it's safe to assume that he's Walter's new help, yes?”

Colonel Worthington
laughed.
“You are a cheeky thing, aren't you?”

I
grinned
.
“I've heard something along those lines before, sir.”

He slid his teacup and saucer onto the tray and then sat back.
“I don't think you're telling me the whole truth, Ms. Bond, but you aren't lying either.
And I like you.
I suppose the question now is what to do with you.”

I shifted in my seat, eyeing the distance between
me
and the doorway.
When my gaze strayed back to the
colonel's
, he winked.
Irritation sprang to life, replacing some of my panic.
He was playing with me.

“I swear I didn't come here tonight to steal anything.”
I chewed on my lip, willing him to believe me.

He snorted.
I think he caught the ‘tonight' I'd thrown in there.
Who knew I had such a conscience?

He cocked his head.
“
If you want, I've got a few jobs for you around the museum.
You have skills which I think may be useful, if you're willing.”

I considered my options.
Not that I had many.
I could leave and try to explain things.
Or I could take him up on his offer.
Either way, I had to get the box, and he was the key to finding it.
If I stayed, I would be closer and I could try to get in his good graces.
I looked the
colonel
over.
We were both keeping our motives hidden, but for the moment
there was no
better solution.

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Mr. Worthington.
When should I come back to the museum to start?”

“Call me
Colonel Worthington
.
Mr. Worthington sounds too much like my father.”
He spread his hands.
“Do you need to leave?
I keep an extra cot and a couple old tables in one of the storage rooms nearby.
They're chilly, but I have plenty of blankets.”

Suspicion crawled through my gut.
“Why do you keep a guest room?”

He pushed out of the chair and grabbed the
crutch from its
place against the mantle.
“My girl, I may look as old as some of the items in this museum, but I did once have a life outside these walls.
Occasionally friends do visit.”

My face heated.
I had thought of him as being somehow
as
attached to the museum
as the relics.
And possibly as old
.
“I would appreciate the use of the room then.”

“Come with me.”

I trailed behind him, uncomfortable with the way Thomason's luminous eyes followed our movements.
Colonel Worthington
led me a few feet down the dark hallway then reached out and twisted a doorknob, opening a new room.
My brow furrowed.
I could have sworn there was no doorway there earlier, but it had been so dar
k
, maybe I'd missed it
.

Thomason clanked up the hallway behind me, the warmth from his
steam-
powered body tangible even though he was an arm's length away from me.
I felt trapped.

Colonel Worthington
had already entered, and I followed.
He adjusted the flame on the gas lamp that sprang from the wall near the door.
The room was just as he said – full of junk.
Broken furniture had been neatly stacked along one wall, while the other held a cot piled with blankets and a few pillows.
The linens and cot, at least, were a little worn, but in good shape.
A mahogany table and matching chair sat against the other wall.

“Like I said, it isn't much, but it will do for now.
All the linens are clean, though some might be a bit dusty.”