All Men of Genius

XII.



THE next morning after breakfast, Jack, Violet, and the other first-years took the long winding stairs to the astronomy tower on top of Illyria. All the first-years were exhausted from the excitement of their first long week.

The astronomy tower was a large dome made of spotless glass plates and thick bronze beams. There were glass doors out onto the balcony surrounding it, which was punctuated by the moving statues on the clocks. Inside the dome were boards hung with star maps and tables covered with various astronomical tools that Violet recognized from her father’s lab. Idly, she picked one up and began to toy with it as she did when she was a child, flipping a lens this way, a switch that way. Bracknell was nowhere to be seen. The students stood about, confused as to what to do next.

“If he doesn’t show up,” said Lane, “what do we do?”

“Well, I’d imagine we get the day off,” Jack said

“But this is the one class I’d be good at!” Merriman said. “I don’t want to have the day off.”

At that moment, the loud clang of the door closing at the bottom of stairs echoed, followed by Bracknell’s muttering and heavy footfalls. “F*cking lift. It wouldn’t have been hard to have it go all the f*cking way up here, would it? No, the buggers want me to walk.” Bracknell’s head emerged at the opening of the stairwell, red and sweaty. For a moment, he looked surprised to see the students all standing about, but quickly covered that surprise with annoyance. “Adams! Put that down.”

Violet swallowed and lay the instrument back on the table.

“Honestly, I’d think you of all people would know better. Isn’t your father that bigwig astronomer nutter? Doesn’t he teach you how to respect the tools of the trade? Or is he too busy trying to prove life on the moon?”

“Actually, sir, many scholars think that lunar life might be possi—”

“Do I look like I bloody well care?” Bracknell screamed, spit flying from his mouth. “You don’t touch anything in the room until I tell you you can, understood?” Violet nodded. “You’d best be careful, Adams, or you’ll bring shame down on your father and family. Though, considering the state of your father, I don’t know how much more shame is really possible. Everyone, sit down!”

Violet felt her face go hot, but sat down anyway. Jack gave her a pat on the back, probably trying to ease her anger. She clenched her fists. Her father was perhaps thought of as being a little odd, but most people also agreed he was brilliant. Everyone discussed his papers. Even the Queen had written him a letter. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She turned her focus from her anger, and thought instead of her invention, and how it would change the world.

“I don’t know why they insist on having this class during the day,” Bracknell said. “Seems a waste of time. But I’m to teach you the basic theory, and then you’re required to come up after sundown at least once a week to do your various assignments. I’m supposed to be here each night, too, but they don’t pay me for that, so I’ll just leave the door open and you can all come up and do your work and leave the place nice and tidy. If anything is amiss in the morning, I’ll have Curio up here to check for fingerprints, and then I’ll see to it that whichever of you is too good to clean up after yourself is expelled.” He glared pointedly at Violet. “Now. The lesson. Who can tell me which celestial bodies we should expect to see tonight, and at what times?” Merriman’s hand shot up. Everyone else stayed quiet. Violet tried to calculate the answer in her head—it was fall, so the stars would show Libra. Or was it Virgo? And what about the planets? “Only the fat one? Nothing from Adams-whose-father-is-a-famous-astronomer-so-he-can-handle-whatever-he-likes-in-the-tower? Fine, Fatty, your answer?”

The lesson went on like that for some time, as Bracknell posed a series of questions, mocked Violet for not automatically knowing the answers, and then called on Merriman, whom he persisted in calling Fatty. By the end of the class, none of the students felt like they had learned anything, and even Merriman felt uncomfortable. “Do you want to sit by me next time?” he asked Violet as they walked down the stairwell. “I can tell you some of the answers. I don’t mind not being the one he always calls on. It might make him get my name right.”

“That’s all right, Humphrey. Thank you, though,” Violet said, smiling as much as she could.

“Surely we could report him for something,” Jack said. “Abuse of students, maybe?”

“I don’t think anyone would care,” Lane said. “Curio has called me far worse during his bad spells. I think it’s supposed to toughen us up.”

“He’s a brute,” Jack said. “I’m glad he’s just here for a year.”

“Maybe he’ll fall off the tower,” Fairfax offered in an unexpected moment of solidarity, which made them all uncomfortable. They walked in silence down to the lift and rode it to the dining hall. Violet felt hot and cold at the same time, angry and embarrassed, and most of all, annoyed that of all the people to make her worry about her venture again, it was Bracknell.

“You okay?” Jack whispered as they got off the lift. She nodded, and bit her lip. “Your father will never be ashamed of you,” he said, “no matter what you do.” She nodded again. She couldn’t let Bracknell break her. If he pushed her to a point of rage, she might give herself away, and that would be unimaginably horrible. Not just because Bracknell would surely expose her, but for what he might do to her before that. She shivered as she thought of him finding out her secret, of his hands grabbing and squeezing her sides and prodding at her body with a hungry, wicked grin on his face.

“Well, well!” called Toby, waving as they walked into the dining hall and approached the table. “I’ve had a breakthrough! At least, I think I have,” Toby continued in a lower voice. “We’ll have to go out tonight and get very very drunk so I can test it in the morning.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jack said, “you?”

“Fine,” Violet said, too busy trying to shake off the unbidden images in her mind to listen. She tried to focus on what she was going to do during her lab time, and she half succeeded. By the end of lunch, she was conversing with Drew about the most flattering scents to add to his perfume, and she could smile. But she felt dreary, and during her free time in the lab, she worked sluggishly.

She was fastening together a series of gears to go on the bottom of the machine and enable it to move more easily, when a shadow fell over her work. Cecily had walked in.

“Hullo, Ashton,” Cecily said when Violet looked up. Cecily was fluttering her eyelashes and wearing a high-collared blue dress with a long line of buttons cascading down it.

Why did Violet notice the beauty of dresses only now that she could not wear them? It’s probably uncomfortable, she told herself, binding at the waist, and limiting to the stride. But Cecily looked quite content in it.

“Good afternoon, Cecily,” Violet said. “How are your experiments going?”

“Very well, thanks.” She stood there silently for a while. “I’m letting the most recent batch harden right now. I think I have the formula down. If it works, it could revolutionize the way things are made. Machines with gears made of my … I don’t know what to call it—paste? clay?—could be lighter, and run more smoothly.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Violet said. “In fact, that may be just what I need for my own machine. If you would assist me?”

Cecily lit up, then turned pink. “Well, of course,” she said. “I would be glad to help you in any way I can.”

“I need to find a substance that will not wear away. If yours is as hard and light as you say, then the gears shouldn’t wear as quickly.” Violet pulled out the sketches of her engine. “You see?”

Cecily walked around the table to stand next to Violet and looked over the plans, her body hovering close to Violet’s. “Yes,” Cecily said, “I see—a few turns of the key and it could power something for ages. This could be revolutionary.”

“If your … clay works, yes,” Violet said. The sadness she felt moments before had faded. She looked at Cecily’s face, the way she studied the plans and furrowed her brow when thinking. Here, finally, was a sister scientist.

“Then I shall make sure it does,” Cecily said. “What is your engine powering?”

Violet met Cecily’s gaze, but paused. She hadn’t shown anyone the plans for her machine yet. She had told Miriam the basic idea, but the specifics, the look of it, were secret so far, and she enjoyed keeping that secret. In fact, she feared that if anyone were to look at her plans and see the form of the machine—its feminine shape, the drapes of metal—that they might be able to see her own secret. She looked Cecily over, from top to bottom, wondering if she could trust her. The girl was no fool, certainly, but she was much more of a girl than Violet herself had ever been, and Violet wondered if she was the sort who giggled and gossiped about things that delighted her.

Cecily looked surprised by the delay, and opened her mouth as if to retract her request, but Violet spoke first. “If I show you,” Violet said, “will you keep them secret? Even from your cousin?”

Cecily pursed her lips. “Of course,” she said, “if you ask me to.”

“I do,” Violet said, pulling out the plans. “I want it to be a surprise.” She unrolled the plans and showed them to Cecily, watching her face. Cecily’s eyes sharpened and focused on the sketches and notes, taking everything in a bit at a time.

“Why … this is genius,” Cecily whispered. “With this device, well, anyone could do difficult jobs. Old men could work well past the age they normally could.”

“And women would be able to work as men do.”

“Yes. That’s why it looks like … that’s very clever. And so thoughtful, to come up with an idea like this. So sensitive to the gentle sex, that you wish to give us the opportunities this will provide. You’re a very generous man,” she said, gazing at Violet in a way that made her uncomfortable. Especially when paired with the word man.

Violet stroked her own neck, swallowing. She wanted to reveal the truth, but knew she could not. “Thank you,” she said, instead.

“If you sketch me the exact gears you need, with specific measurements, I can make the molds for them,” Cecily said.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“It would be a pleasure. And it will assist me in testing this formula.” Cecily looked up at the doorway of the lab, where Miriam stood in the frame, shadowy. “I’d best be going to check on the clay now,” she continued. You’ll get those sketches ready for me? I can collect them on Monday?”

“Certainly.”

“Good,” Cecily said, heading toward the door of the lab.

As Cecily walked out of the room, she had to restrain herself from skipping. How good she felt! How nice it was to stand so close to Ashton and look over his designs. And to find that what she knew in her heart—that he was a good, generous man, worthy of her love—was true. She clasped her hands to her chest and walked out into the hallway, smiling. Miriam nodded at her and followed her, walking a step behind, like a shadow.

“Isn’t he a wonderful man?” Cecily asked.

“I couldn’t really say,” Miriam said. How sad Miriam was, Cecily thought, to have lost her love so young and become a widow, without the ability to see the beauty in men such as Ashton, or to fall in love with them.

Cecily boarded the lift and pulled the crank with some force, sending it up a floor, and then pulled the crank again to stop it. It was possible that Ashton had some sort of love outside of Illyria. But Cecily didn’t think so. She would know. Ashton didn’t have that droopy-eyed look Cecily knew from so many other young men at Illyria. That look of pining, and wandering thoughts. So many young men in the school were in love with someone. She thought maybe a handful were in love with her, and she rather enjoyed that sort of flattery, but it must be insufferable for the others: having to focus their minds on their work while their hearts longed to be far from school, gazing at the object of their affections. How lucky Cecily was that her love should come to Illyria so that she needn’t go out and seek him.

As they walked past the door to the biological lab, a rat came bolting out of it. Cecily shrieked and stepped back a pace. She would not faint, though. She wasn’t that sort of girl.

“Sorry! I am so, so sorry, Miss Cecily,” said a young man who chased out after the rat and grabbed it up in his hands. Cecily nodded, and noticed that it wasn’t actually a rat, but a weasel of some sort, with a long, wiggling body and bright black eyes that regarded her happily.

“I thought it was a rat,” Cecily said.

“Oh no,” said the young man, “it’s a ferret. His name is Dorian. Would you like to pet him?” Cecily looked the ferret in the eye as it wiggled about in the young man’s hands. It had a charm to it.

“Certainly,” she said, stepping forward to stroke the creature’s head.

“I’m Jack, by the way,” said the young man. Cecily looked up at him, and he smiled. He wasn’t a bad-looking young man, she thought. His features lacked Ashton’s gentle refinement, but he had sweet bright green eyes and a goodly shaped face, and his blond hair looked soft to the touch.

She smiled back. “I’m Cecily,” she said.

“Oh, I know, miss,” Jack said. He was sweating now.

“Am I so famous?”

“Yes,” Jack said, looking uncomfortable. “You’re so lovely. How could anyone not—?”

“Oh,” Cecily said. This was one of the handful who was in love with her. Why did they always focus on her beauty? Could they not tell her she was clever, or at least focus on something more specific, like how her eyes shone with intelligence, or her lips curled so nicely? Ashton would tell her those things, she was sure.

“Oh?” Jack asked.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s very easy to call me lovely when you see no other women during the day but Miriam, who shrouds herself in black.”

“Well, I’ve never had the chance to speak to you before, so I could not judge your wit, or really anything other than the beauty that I’ve seen from afar.”

Cecily raised an eyebrow. “And now?” she asked. “Can you judge my wit now?”

Jack swallowed. “I think I would need more time with you,” he said.

Cecily laughed. “You’re certainly cheeky,” she said. Jack grinned. “And your ferret is quite cute. What experiments do you plan to enact on him?”

“I want to teach him to sing,” Jack said, and looked down at the animal. “Like a bird.”

Cecily reached out to stroke the creature’s head again. By now it had given up on squirming free. Cecily’s hand brushed Jack’s as she petted the ferret, and she quickly pulled it back. “Well, that will be quite an accomplishment, if you are successful.”

“If I am successful, may I show you?”

“You may show anyone you like, I’d imagine,” Cecily said, sounding perhaps a little crueler than she meant. “And next time, if you wish to flatter me, I’d suggest doing so more succinctly. Beauty is such a broad term, as though you’re not really sure why you find me beautiful.” And with that, she continued down the hall, Miriam trailing after her.

“There are many reasons,” Jack called after her. “I shall name them for you, if you let me.”

Cecily smiled to herself, but she didn’t turn back, so Jack couldn’t see her expression as he watched her vanish down the hall.

Nonetheless, Jack felt elated. He had spoken with Cecily. She had spoken back, and proved to be clever and smart. Her hand had grazed his. She really was the most beautiful creature in the world. He clutched Dorian to his chest and sighed as he reentered the lab, then put Dorian in his cage, where he began to leap around wildly, mimicking Jack’s heart.

Now, he realized, he needed to make the ferret sing. He hadn’t really planned on doing that—he had been thinking about giving it two sets of bat wings, so that it would be able to bounce in the air as it did on land, but that had not seemed like the right answer to give to Cecily. So he would make the ferret sing, evidence of the romance of his soul. Dorian danced about as if on fire.

Jack worked for the next few hours, performing extensive surgery on both Dorian and a pigeon named Albert under Valentine’s watchful eye. By suppertime, the pigeon had died and Dorian would occasionally make an uncomfortable sound—half coo, half cough—then begin bouncing around as if shocked and unable to tell where the sound had come from.

“Well, it was a good try,” Valentine said, patting Jack lightly on the shoulder, “but I think you should study up on the voice box a little more before you attempt anything like it again. You’ll find it in chapter forty-six of my book.”

Jack nodded. He needed a drink.

* * *



AT supper, everyone was glum. Jack had killed a pigeon and felt terrible about it, Toby and Drew had had unproductive days in the lab, and Violet felt guilty for even being there, but couldn’t talk to anyone about it.

“It’s a good thing we’re going drinking tonight,” Toby said, playing with his food. “And we can still test my formula in the morning, right? Just ’cause it made the rats vomit and faint doesn’t mean it’ll have the same effect on us.” Jack and Violet exchanged a glance. Drew nodded. A peculiar smell drifted off him, like roses and camphor. It did not help anyone’s appetite.

“Let’s go,” Toby said after a minute. “I need a drink before I can eat.” The others stood, scooted back their chairs in silence, and followed Toby out.

From the professors’ table, Miriam watched them go and wondered when she might be free enough to join them. She missed Toby’s arms, and his odd smell—warm ale and chemicals. When they had first met out at the pub, she hadn’t thought much of him: large, loud, drunk, not an uncommon man. His being a student at Illyria made him slightly more interesting, and his laughter at her when she asked him not to tell anyone about her going out at night was, if not charming, then endearing. Younger, yes, but full of merriment and generosity. He wouldn’t persecute her, he said, just for wanting a drink. He was handsome, too, with soft skin and large smiling eyes, though he hid it under all that bluster and sweat.

“And so,” Cecily was telling her cousin, “Ashton said that if my formula works out as I plan, he would like to use it in his own invention!” She was pleased with herself.

“I’m not sure, Cecily, that I like you being so intimate with the students,” the duke said, casting a glance at Miriam. Miriam met his eyes but said nothing.

“Oh, don’t worry, Cousin Ernest,” Cecily said. “Ashton is a sweet boy, with a gentle soul, but I wouldn’t want to distract him from his studies.” She put a particular, wicked emphasis on the word distract. “I’m just going to help him. He’s quite clever. He showed me the plans for his engine.”

“Will it work?” the duke asked.

“Oh yes, if I can get my parts to work.”

“Perhaps I shall go down and see these plans myself, then.”

“All right, but don’t be so stuffy, and don’t tell him not to be friends with me. I may be friends with whoever I’d like.”

“As long as his marks keep up,” the duke said, frowning slightly, then biting into a piece of bread. What is it about Ashton Adams that is so alluring to everyone around him? First Aunt Ada bets that he will be the most surprising, and then Cecily goes out of her way to befriend him and even assist him in his work. And, the duke had to confess, he felt a strange sort of attraction to the young man himself. It would be best, he decided, to investigate, to drop in on him often, and see how his work went. Maybe Cecily was right after all, and he was simply a genius of such high caliber that he impressed everyone around him. And if that were the case, the duke might enjoy exchanging ideas with him. Which of course, was what an education at Illyria was all about. He would take the young man under his wing, perhaps, and foster his various talents.

Miriam cleared her throat. “Sir?” she asked, and he nodded. Supper was done, and she was free to go for the evening. He never asked where she took herself on her free weekends. He assumed she went to her house of worship, somewhere in the city, but didn’t know where it was, and thought it rude to ask.

“Are you going?” Cecily asked Miriam. “Isn’t it a little early?”

“Would you like me to stay longer?” Miriam asked.

“No, it’s all right,” Cecily said with a sigh. “I just always miss you when you go.”

“I miss you, too,” Miriam said, smiling. She kissed Cecily on the forehead and stood. “But you’re a young lady now. Soon you’ll have no need of a governess.”

“Then I shall make you my lady’s maid. I think you will be with me forever and ever.”

“I shall be your friend forever, if nothing else,” Miriam said, and patted Cecily on the head. “Sweet dreams. I shall see you in the morning.” Cecily nodded and turned back to her empty plate. Miriam took the stairs to the high bridge, which stretched across the Great Hall and to the duke’s apartments. She had a small room next to Cecily’s, with a bed and a wardrobe. Leaving on the weekends was always difficult, as she didn’t want the duke or Cecily to see her in any of her more lascivious gowns. But it was cool enough now that she could throw a cloak over her red silk dress, and let her hair down later. She didn’t mind these little inconveniences. They were worth her freedom. Keeping that freedom was becoming more difficult to maintain with Volio making demands on her.

She nodded at the doorman as she left the college, and hailed a parked hansom cab. In the cab, she took her hair out of the large bun at the back of her head, let it fall over her neck, and loosed her cloak, showing the low neckline of her dress. She wished for a moment that she had more to show, like Cecily—ten years her junior, and far more voluptuous—but smiled again, thinking of how Toby had once told her he loved the litheness of her body.

Her freedom came in part from her outsider status. She had learned she was an outsider when she was still a child in Persia. She had learned how to use being an outsider in Paris, where her family had moved when she was six. At school, she would tell her headmistress she needed to leave for religious reasons. The headmistress, not knowing better, would nod, and Miriam would spend her day on the Seine. Adults would walk by her and assume she was working because her dark skin relegated her in their minds to servant status. Only her family and the Jewish community kept a tight grip on her, and when she came to London at sixteen to be married, that grip slipped. When she was widowed, it let go altogether.

Miriam’s late husband was named Joshua, but there wasn’t much to say about him beyond that. It was an arranged marriage. She had moved with her father from Paris to London when she was sixteen so she could be married. Her mother had died a year before that. Joshua was a sweet, wiry man, with thick curly hair and perpetual stubble, no matter how often he shaved. On their wedding night, he had been sweet to her, but quiet. They had never learned to talk to one another, beyond simple pleasantries. Then the army had moved him around for a few months, and Miriam was left alone to make their new home. Her father died, and Joshua came home and told her he would take care of her, and Miriam almost believed him. He had been the sort of man she could have seen herself falling in love with, given enough time. She also could have grown to hate him, but he had gentle eyes, and long eyelashes, so she preferred to think it would have been the former.

And then, nine months into the marriage, he died. Fell off a horse and was trampled. At the funeral, she didn’t cry; afterwards, her in-laws had tried to take her in, make her family, but she had just walked away. She remembered that as she walked away from the funeral, from the East End, from the mere outline of a life she had there, that it had begun to rain, and she had walked through London in a wet and torn black dress, with a black handkerchief in her hand, and had felt her chest open like wings.

She discovered that very day that no one in London minded a Persian—or Arab, or whatever they thought she was—woman drinking with men at a low-class pub. They assumed she was a prostitute. And if anyone knew her as something else—a governess, a widow—they would never realize that the Miriam Issacs they knew and that dark-skinned woman at the bar were the same. No one paid that much attention to dark-skinned women at the bar, after all. Or anywhere else.

As long as she was clever, she was free to do what she pleased. And she did. She made love to Toby in hotel rooms on Saturday night, and wandered the streets of London alone. She let the rain fall on her face.

Volio could take all this away from her. He needed to be stopped. Could she trust Toby and the others to handle this for her? She wasn’t sure. Their idea of false notes exchanged with Volio seemed clever, but how long could they keep it up? And was Volio really so conceited that he could believe that any real note from Cecily would include anything but a polite rejection of his advances? Miriam tilted her head and looked out at passing London. He probably was. Maybe the idea would work. And if it didn’t, she would figure something out. She usually did. She wasn’t a genius, like the people who surrounded her—Cecily had long ago become more of a teacher than a student in all her lessons but French—but she was smart. She knew how to come back from disaster and form a life, a good life, for herself. And she could certainly do it again, if she was required to. Perhaps she could move back to France, this time. Or Greece.

The cab came to a stop outside the Well-Seasoned Pig, and Miriam was helped out by the cabdriver, whom she paid, and who smiled at her lecherously. She restrained herself from kicking him in the shin and went into the bar. Her group was sitting in a corner, eating and drinking. Toby and Drew seemed to be in good spirits again, Toby chewing perhaps too vigorously on a banger and Drew shifting about in his seat in time to the music coming from the old piano in the corner. She had a certain affection for Drew. He reminded her of a puppy: always eager to play until refused, and then he’d fall asleep at your feet. And he was a good young man, too. A little bit of a follower to Toby’s leader, but she imagined he’d grow out of that once Toby graduated. He would have to run his family business one day, after all. And he wasn’t stupid; he just fell asleep more easily than most.

And the newcomers. She liked them, too. They were fine additions to their little group. She sat down with them.

“We took off early,” Toby said to her, and reached under the table to clasp her hand firmly in his. “We all had rotten days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Miriam said. They had all clearly had quite a bit to drink already, and were probably determined to become very drunk, and test Toby’s elixir in the morning. She slid Toby’s glass away from him and took a swig from it. She loved Toby, and his hand in hers made her heart float lazily on a river within her.

“I killed a pigeon,” Jack said with a frown.

“Part of your singing ferret experiment, for Cecily?”

“Yes,” Jack said wistfully, perking up at the thought of Cecily, and then frowning again. “But it’s nowhere near ready yet. Don’t tell her I killed a pigeon.”

“I can’t even tell her that I see you outside of Illyria,” Miriam said. “Thank you, both of you,” she said, including Ashton, “for not mentioning that to Cecily.”

“You saw Cecily today, too?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Ashton said, “she came down to see me. And actually, if all goes well, she can help me.”

“Help you?” Jack asked, stricken.

“With my machine. With the engine, really. If her clay works out, then we can mold the parts from it, so they don’t wear down as fast. It would be brilliant if it worked.”

“What are you upset about?” Miriam asked Ashton.

“He got picked on by Bracknell,” Jack said, “just ’cause his dad’s an astronomer.”

“Bracknell est un con,” Miriam said. “He pinched my bottom once as he passed me in the hall.”

“He what?” Toby roared.

“Calm down,” Miriam said. “I forbid you to get yourself in trouble defending my honor.”

“Oh,” Toby said, and slumped down.

“Do I smell funny?” Drew asked.

Everyone was silent until Ashton said, “Yes, but it’s fading.”

Jack laughed, then told Ashton, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me she visited you.” Miriam narrowed her eyes. She expected jealousy, maybe competition, but Jack was acting as though Ashton’s befriending of Cecily somehow benefited him. “Did you talk to her about me?”

“No,” Ashton said, “we spoke only of science.”

“Oh,” Jack said, disappointed. “Well, next time, tell her what a great fellow I am, will you?”

“Sure,” Ashton said.

“We have to figure out how to help Miriam,” Toby announced suddenly.

“I thought we were going to Ashton’s cousin Ashton,” Drew said, snickering.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think to tell her how great I was today,” Jack said to Ashton.

“It didn’t cross my mind,” Ashton said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” Toby continued, “we will ask Ashton’s cousin Ashton to write the notes, but we should tell him what he has to say.”

“Well, clearly, the notes have to say that Cecily can’t speak to him in public,” Miriam said.

“Yeah,” Drew said, “’cause otherwise the duke might see, ’n’ get real mad.”

“Good,” Toby said, slapping Drew on the back.

“And we could make him do loads of crazy shit,” Drew continued, “like wear ugly yellow pants. Backwards!” He burst out laughing at this thought and slapped the table loudly.

“I don’t think we should do anything too odd,” Miriam said, “or he might catch on.”

“Right,” Toby said, “we just have to keep leading him on: ‘I think you’re a fine chap, Volio. It’s only that I can’t ever pretend to know you in public or speak two words to you. You understand, right?’ That sort of thing.”

“I think Ashton’s cousin Ashton could handle that,” Jack said, smirking. “Quite well, in fact.” Ashton nodded.

“Well, good, then,” Toby said.

“There’s something that bothers me,” Ashton said, looking at Miriam.

“What?” Miriam asked.

“Well, you said Volio’s elder brother made weapons—automata with pistols for hands—and led them out of the school without anyone knowing where they came from.”

“Yes,” Miriam said.

“And Volio somehow found us that night when we came in through the basement. He couldn’t have just been dawdling about in the lobby.”

“I thought so as well,” Miriam said.

“And then when we were initiated—when we explored the basement, we found these peculiar skeleton automata. And a locked door,” Ashton said, looking at Miriam. Miriam watched as his eyes unfocused and then refocused. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“I think you are suggesting that Volio’s elder brother had knowledge of the basement which he shared with his brother.” Miriam said, “Secret knowledge. Perhaps a special room—though how they would have access, I don’t know.”

“We should go back!” Drew said, standing up suddenly. Everyone looked at him. “Yeah, we should go, and find those automata again, and give ’em a good smashin’. Then, we can break down the door, and see if it’s Volio hiding there.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, looking amused. “That could be right fun.”

“And it would keep me stimulated,” Drew said.

Miriam inwardly groaned. This was not how she wanted to spend her evening. She appealed to Toby. “Wouldn’t you rather just stay here?” she asked as sweetly as possible, “drinking with me?”

“You’ll come with us,” Toby said. “Besides, this is for you. If it is Volio, and he’s making some sort of weapons like his brother, then we can blackmail him back, and then you don’t have to play his soddin’ game at all.”

Miriam smiled. He was really very sweet. Not quite a knight in shining armor, but almost. She sighed, rose from the table, and downed what was left in Toby’s glass. The rest of them stood as well, and headed for the door.

Outside, it had turned completely dark, and the streetlamps glowed yellow. Down here, in the less fashionable parts of London, the streetlamps were still gas, and they made a hissing noise, as if fighting back the darkness of night by scolding it.

They piled into a cab and headed back to Illyria, where they sneaked through the garden and into the secret basement entrance. The others were stumbling. Ashton in particular seemed to be having trouble walking, but Jack took his arm and propped him up.

“Is this his first time drunk, you think?” Miriam asked Toby, nodding at Ashton.

“Nah,” Toby said. “Us lads start getting drunk before we’re ten. It’s you ladies who don’t experience the bliss of sheer inebriation until later in life.”

Miriam snorted. “You’ve clearly never been to a French seder,” she said.

“What?” He looked confused. Miriam just shook her head and stepped carefully down into the basement.

“Where was it?” Drew said, peering around the basement. The floors were thick with greasy dust, and only a few electric lights flickered dimly. No one spoke.

Miriam realized what a bad idea this was: hunting through a labrythine basement with a group of drunken students for weapons that were liable to attack them. She cleared her throat. “Maybe we should try this another evening.”

“We’re doing this for you, love,” Toby replied, and held her hand tight in the darkness. There was nothing she could say to that.

“It was this way!” Jack said.

“Wait a sec,” Ashton said, fussing with his jacket pocket. “I always bring it with me … just in … in case,” he mumbled, pulling something out of the pocket. In a moment, a beam of light shot out from his hand. Miriam was impressed. She’d seen many marvelous inventions over the years in Illyria, but nothing so practical.

They headed forward into the darkness, Miriam tracing her finger through the grime on the walls, so they could find their way back easily. She was concerned, but not overly frightened. She had heard of the various initiations over the years, and knew that the first-years’ minds could play tricks on them. Most likely, they’d find a suit of rusty display armor, or something to that effect. And yet, she had also heard stories while sitting at the professors’ table. None of the current professors had been around when the building was constructed, and few of them went down there regularly, but when they did, they found the place eerie, and imagined hearing noises. The duke was always curiously mute on the subject, never mentioning anything about the basement, or its construction. Probably just tricks of the mind, as Prism said, though, Prism had those ridiculous glasses, which made it much easier to trick his mind. She told herself it was perfectly safe down here, despite the occasional feeling of something brushing up against her skirts when she could see nothing, or the soft creaking and sighing noises that came from the darkness. It had to be. The duke couldn’t keep a cellar full of monsters a secret, could he?

“It was up here, I think,” Drew said, pointing down a dark corridor. Slowly, they advanced down the hall.

Jack saw them first and gasped, causing everyone to stop. Slowly, Ashton raised his beam of light and pointed it at the mound of metal at the end of the hall. They were right, Miriam thought: It did look like a bunch of metal skeletons. And all different metals, too: copper and iron, and maybe even silver and gold, though why anyone would gild so complex a machine, she didn’t know.

They stepped closer, and the closest skeletons seemed to sense them, turning their heads toward the approaching party. Miriam gasped.

“What’s really odd,” Ashton whispered, “is that they look so bloody familiar, but I don’t know what it is they remind me of … or whom.”

But Miriam did. It was a crude imitation, to be sure, but the skull staring at them was familiar to her. The jutting metal cheeks, the rounded depressions around the eyes, the shape of the jaw and forehead—she had worked for that skull for the past six years. It was unmistakably the face of Ernest, the Duke of Illyria.