"My very big boots," he replied, a strange glitter in his eyes, "which are suddenly the topic of discussion among the female Rogues, though I can't quite work out why."
Memory repaid Adele with a sudden flash of Ingrid announcing, in all seriousness, "It has some sort of correlation with the size of a gentleman's feet, I've heard."
"That's ridiculous," Ava had replied. "That's the least scientific theory I've ever come across."
"Well, you're the scientist. In the interest of disproving the theory, you should test it," Lark had replied. "Use Kincaid's boot size as your sample."
"Kincaid?" Ingrid snorted. "I'm going to examine His Grace's boots, since Adele is so unforthcoming."
Ava looked dubious. "To properly test a theory, one would need a larger field of data. And I am not going to go about measuring the size of the gentlemen's boots in the house."
"Oh, no," Adele blurted.
What had she told him?
What had she told the other ladies?
"Oh, yes," Malloryn purred. "Bathe, drink your tea, and then meet me downstairs. Apparently, you're officially a Rogue now, which means we have schemes to plot. No matter what kind of condition some of us may be in."
Chapter 20
"What have you got for me?" Malloryn asked as he followed Jack and Ava through the cellars the rest of the Rogues had affectionately called Dungeon II. "Have you two managed to decipher what this Prometheus Project is all about?"
The most reclusive member of COR, Jack spent most of his time down here, fiddling with strange devices and creating weapons for the rest of the Rogues to use. And Kincaid liked to tinker.
"It looks like schematics for the control chip the latest metaljackets have," Kincaid said, leaning over the design Gemma had sketched for them.
The former mech knew everything there was to know about automatons after years of being trapped in the Echelon's enclaves, where they had been created.
Gemma sipped her tea as she followed Malloryn. "Control chip?"
Light flared to life in Jack's eyes. "If these schematics are what we think they are, then they're designed to control an automaton of some sort."
"Each squadron of metaljackets required a handler with a control box. They were brutally effective in number, but severely limited in what they could do on an individual scale," Kincaid added. "So the prince consort ordered a new ceremonial model that could be programmed individually. The contract wasn't finalized by the time he died, but the design was in place. They're designed to patrol a specific section of a building. You plant frequency transmitters in the walls, which communicate with the receivers in the automaton's head, so the metaljackets don't patrol beyond their limits."
Jack gestured with his hands. "We think that if someone replaced the chip inside a metaljacket with another, somewhat like this, they'd be keyed to obey the new instructions."
"Which makes the tower's metaljackets a weapon to be used against us." Malloryn scrubbed at his mouth.
"But how does Balfour get inside the Ivory Tower and replace the implants?" Gemma placed her cup on its saucer with an agitated rattle. "When Obsidian was under his control, he spent weeks trying to work out how to get past the tower's defenses."
"Maybe that's why he needs Sir George?" A frown of concentration drew Kincaid's brows together. "Adele's father used to own several manufacturing factories, and I think he had shares in the Ironmonger Enclaves."
"Which produced automatons."
"Household automatons. Not metaljackets," Kincaid replied. "They were created in the King Street and Oldgate enclaves. But Sir George has mechwork knowledge, contacts, and access to the tower."
"Kidnap him?" Gemma suggested, glancing at Malloryn.
Which was precisely the sort of thing one wasn't supposed to do to one's in-laws, though Malloryn knew Sir George didn't care for him.
The feeling was mutual.
"Not yet," he replied. "I'll need more proof if I'm to bring it to the queen and make it official. The membership rolls list our enemies, but if used in a court of law, then they may argue they are merely that. Membership lists. I need cold, hard proof."
He'd barely managed to get the queen's approval on Corvus, though considering it happened after he'd actually kidnapped the bastard, the queen had been in somewhat of a quandary. "If I start publicly arresting members of the Rising Sons, the entire Echelon will be up in arms. The queen wants everything to go smoothly for her celebrations."
"Bloody politics," Kincaid muttered under his breath.
"And unofficially?" Gemma joked. "I may know a dhampir who excels at making people disappear. He owes me a favor or two."
"I'll consider it."
"There's a slight problem with your theory," Ava interrupted. "This isn't the sort of thing that could be done in a short amount of time. And you have two hundred metaljackets in the tower. It would have been noticed. I don't think the metaljackets could have been tampered with."
"So back to the drawing board," Gemma grumbled.
Malloryn stared at the thin lines on the paper. "We can't afford to dismiss the fact it might have been done. Jack, I'll need you to work out how to detect if a metaljacket's been altered."
"You could just clear them out of the tower," Gemma suggested.
"And have Balfour know we're onto him?" Malloryn arched a brow. "I want to lure him out, Gem. Not make him scuttle back into hiding. Or use another weapon against us that we won't see coming."
"But what is he planning?" she asked.
"An attack on the tower."
Gemma rolled her eyes. "Very droll, Your Grace."
"Before you head upstairs for the meeting, Your Grace, may I show you the latest batch of designs?" Jack asked.
"Ooh." Gemma clapped her hands together. "New weapons? You shouldn't have, Jack. You do know the way to a girl's heart."
"You are not getting your hands on anything. You ruined my blast shield. That thing took me months to create."