But in addition to being smart, William was irritated to note, Miss Oneal was also a very brisk walker. William sighed and increased his pace, taking only a moment to glare at a man with a face like a pickax, who was eyeing her with a little too much interest. The man took William’s measure and wisely retreated into the shadows.
Miss Ava Oneal walked another block and pivoted right. William trotted to keep up, turning the corner just as a coachman barked, a horse whickered, and another carriage full of ladies rumbled off to a midnight party. The sharp odor of fresh manure cut through the chill. Almost as suddenly, a round hatch opened in the middle of the street and two beetles crawled out—if beetles were the size of sheepdogs and made of shimmering, iridescent-green metal. The beetles skittered across the snow-frosted cobbles toward the pile of manure and, working together, packed the scattered pile into a neat, round ball. Then one of the beetles turned around and used its hind legs to roll the ball backward into the hatch. Both beetles vanished after the ball, and the hatch closed. The entire process took only a few moments.
William Covington Hanover had seen the Rollers many times, but he still wasn’t used to them. Unnatural, they were, those glittering, skittering machines. Another invention of the Morningstarrs: brother and sister, twins, geniuses. They had designed the shining Morningstarr Tower, the incandescent Starr Hotel. Built impossible bridges and the greenest of parks. Engineered the Underway. Paved the streets in strange, silvery cobblestones that somehow absorbed the power of the sun, spun shimmering window glass that did the same, and forged the Lion batteries that contained it all. Created all manner of Morningstarr Machines, including the Rollers that tidied the roads, mechanical snails that washed the windows, whirring dragonflies that did everything from drying shirts to cooling people in summer. For fifty-seven years, the Morningstarrs had performed architectural and mechanical wizardry to make New York City the most dazzling city in the world, or so New Yorkers claimed. And after seeing the gleaming metropolis of the future for himself, William begrudgingly had to agree. (Though he was certain Theodore, not Theresa, was the true genius behind all this invention, as ladies were much more suited to embroidering cushions and giggling at tall men.)
But, four weeks ago, Theresa and Theodore Morningstarr had disappeared into the labyrinth of the Morningstarr Tower, and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Before they vanished, the twins deeded all their land and property to a trust in the city’s name and left the city a parting gift: a sort of puzzle, or treasure hunt. The first clue, some string of incomprehensible gibberish, was printed in the newspaper. That clue would lead to another clue, the newspaper headlines howled, and another and another and would eventually reveal the greatest treasure known to man. The treasure only waited for a treasure hunter clever enough to discover it.
Well, William Covington Hanover was clever enough to know a joke when he saw one. A treasure hunt! What nonsense! Some great game the Morningstarrs played with an unwitting public, a public currently poring over the paper and then racing from one building to another on a wild-goose chase.
But the Morningstarrs had also left not a small sum of money in trust to Miss Ava Oneal, the young woman they had hired as help but looked upon as a granddaughter. And if anyone knew the secrets of the Morningstarrs—if anyone knew where the real treasures were hidden—it was her.
And because William Covington Hanover was a gentleman—or, at least, dressed like one—he would ask her nicely.
After that, he intended to bleed her secrets out of her.
Subtlety could take a man only so far.
Miss Ava Oneal continued walking until the elegant houses grew farther and farther apart, hidden by thickets of trees. When she reached West 73rd Street, Miss Ava finally slowed in front of a tall building with a light gray facade and surrounded on either side by two more nondescript buildings. He might not have known the center building to be a Morningstarr building except for the letters “TTM” etched into the cornerstones. Perhaps this was Miss Ava’s home, bequeathed to her by her benefactors. It was a pretty enough structure, so far west that William smelled the rich, oily stew of the Hudson River even in the cold. But William Covington Hanover had his sights set on bigger things, gold and silver and shiny—
“May I help you?”
William stopped walking so abruptly he slid on those odd icy cobbles and had to pinwheel his arms for balance.
Miss Ava Oneal stood staring at him. “Are you looking for someone? You’ve been following me for some time.”
William shaped his voice into that same plummy accent. “Following you? My dear lady, I assure you that I—”
“That’s quite a coat. Who did you steal it from?”
“I beg your pardon! I was a general in the queen’s army and—”
“No doubt,” she said rather rudely, just like an American. But she was very pretty. Doe-eyed, full-lipped, that brown skin so smooth. She had to be at least twenty-five years old, but she looked younger. Seventeen? Eighteen?
He switched tactics, smiling and spreading his arms. “I confess. I couldn’t help but notice that you traveled unescorted. And even this beautiful city can be a dangerous place for a young woman.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said, returning his smile. “And you mean to protect me?”
“Indeed,” he said, warming to the part. “Let me introduce myself. My name is William Covington Hanover.”
“William Hanover!” She tucked her book beneath one arm and clapped her hands. “You don’t say!”
“I do say!”
“Marvelous!”
“Well, yes. I mean, thank you, dear lady.” He took another step toward her, then another, in order to loom more properly.
“Did you have a disagreement with a cat, Mr. Hanover?” Miss Ava murmured, peering up under thick lashes at his scars.
“War takes its toll on us all,” he said. “Please allow me to see you inside. I would rest so much more easy knowing that such a handsome young woman arrived safely at her destination.”
“You are delightful,” said Miss Ava Oneal.
He couldn’t help it; his smile deepened to a grin. “Thank you again.”
“Much more delightful than the others.”
His smile wavered. “The . . . others?”
“The other men who have followed me. The ones given to clubbing people over the head and dragging them into dark alleys. Do you know one of them had the nerve to propose to me after he threatened to cut out my eyes? I said no.”
William’s jaw dropped. Ava Oneal withdrew her book from the folds of her cloak, placed the book beneath his chin, and gently closed his mouth.
“Gentlemen don’t threaten to cut ladies’ eyes out. It simply isn’t done. Not even in this book, which is quite scandalous. Have you read Penelope?” She tilted the book so that he could read the cover.
But unless he needed kindling, William Covington Hanover had no use for books. “I can’t say I’ve heard of it, Miss Oneal,” he said, holding out his elbow. “Now, let’s get you out of this chill.”
“Ah, you know my name.”
“Pardon?”