“For that, I have a simple solution,” Mr. Kent proudly announced, rubbing his palms in anticipation. “Consider that first house. Dr. Beck went through all the trouble to hire Camille to impersonate Miss Rosamund, but Mr. Braddock simply paid her to learn the address. Dr. Beck should have expected her deception and never hired her in the first place, or the house should have been vacated by the time you arrived.” Mr. Kent paused, smiled, and tapped his head with his finger, indicating where his brain was.
“Judging by those mistakes, I must conclude that he’s short-sighted. He can only see the future to a certain extent or specific elements of it. So he did not know of Camille’s nature or your arrival at the apartment until it was too late to alter his plans. If this is true, then we have to move swiftly and seize every opportunity we can. There is no way to ever know the limitations of his power—unless, of course, we ask him. And if I were him, I would maintain this illusion of . . . omniscience . . . simply for the discouraging effect it produces upon those who believe it.
“The problem is, the two times you encountered him did not go well because you were trying to follow him, which put you at a natural disadvantage. He could escape with his head start or turn around and ambush you, depending on his mood. Due to the combination of his power and planning, he’s always been better prepared, but now we can best him with this list of his possible locations. Instead of chasing him, which he’ll anticipate, we will anticipate his anticipations and, in a way, have him come to us.”
He stopped his pacing and held out his palms, as if he had performed a magic trick with flair. Our gasps filled the room. “Impressive, I know,” Mr. Kent said, smiling.
“It is . . . if you anticipated him,” I said, pointing behind him at the pale, thin man who had appeared through a crack in the air.
But judging by Mr. Kent’s startled reaction, he hadn’t. Mr. Hale’s arrival most definitely wasn’t a part of his grand plan.
MR. HALE HELD up his hand cautiously and spoke in a soft, hoarse voice: “Please, I’ve come because I need your help.”
He looked earnest—and in fact rather desperate. His rumpled clothing barely fit him, his graying hair sat in disarray, and he seemed to lean his thin, gaunt frame entirely too much on his cane. In this light, there was nothing threatening about him.
That only disconcerted me more. “You want our help? After what you did?” I asked, convinced that the world had turned inside out.
His eyes widened when he saw me, and he stepped closer. “Miss Wyndham—you are all right—”
Sebastian slid between us, cutting the man off. “Do not come any closer, or I will,” he interrupted, anger pitching his voice low and gravelly.
The wooden floorboards creaked uncomfortably as Mr. Hale stopped by the stairs. “Of course,” he said. “I am just . . . glad to see she is well after I heard—”
“What your friends did?” Miss Grey spoke up, only wavering a little. “What do you want?”
“I want to help save Miss Rosamund,” the man answered.
Silence greeted his appalling statement.
“This is a trick,” I gasped, almost ready to laugh.
“A terrible one at that,” Mr. Kent added. “But there must be a reason Dr. Beck is doing this. Perhaps he anticipated our anticipation of his anticipation . . .”
“This is no trick, I promise you,” Mr. Hale pleaded. “If I was your enemy, I could have opened doors under your feet and dropped you all into the ocean without stepping in here.”
“How reassuring,” Mr. Kent said.
“You could have also saved Rose without stepping in here,” I returned. “But you’ve persisted in helping Dr. Beck.”
Mr. Hale’s eyes went wide at the accusation. “I only learned of his terrible plans for Miss Rosamund yesterday. And when I tried to free her, Dr. Beck was already there, waiting for me. I couldn’t fight him. He was too fast with his knife.” He clutched his stomach in pain. “He would have killed me had Miss Rosamund not distracted him. I barely escaped to a hospital.”
“What happened to Rose?” I asked.
“They were all gone by this morning. They must have taken her elsewhere. He has laboratories all over the city.”
“And you cannot open a door directly to them now?” Sebastian asked.
He shifted and winced again. “No. I can only create doors to places I’ve seen.”
“I can’t recall ever inviting you in here for tea,” Mr. Kent said.
Mr. Hale reached into his coat and revealed a small telescope.“In which case, I rely on this tool.”
“How clever,” muttered Mr. Kent. “But this has still been a waste of time. We already have a list of locations.”
Mr. Hale shook his head urgently. “If you follow that, it’ll be too late by the time you find them. I know how we may find him before he starts her . . . surgery.” We all fell silent. Even the city streets outside seemed to hush at those words.
“How?” Mr. Kent finally asked for us.
Mr. Hale’s hand tightened around the wooden banister. “He requires a sedative for the procedure. It is a unique substance— one more controllable than any other and without side effects. And it is made with a newly discovered chemical from Germany called barbital. His servant purchases directly from the merchant, and this afternoon, he will be at the Royal Docks. A man named Mr. Greene who owns a ship called the Aurora.”