All Men of Genius

VII.



IN the last week of September, all the servants of Messaline gathered to see the young master and mistress leave for the city. When they had heard that the Adams twins were going to London, nearly all had been shocked. The young master, certainly, seemed an urbane sort of fellow, but the young mistress? Surely her going to London would cause great trouble, most of it for London. The serving girls told stories of horrible automata that would soon be roaming the city streets, and the stable boys wondered if she would go out at night, testing her strange experiments on the beggars. But all were agreed on one thing: they were relieved to see her go.

Ashton, Violet, and Jack waved at the gathered staff as they stepped into the coach. They were all quite flattered that so many of the servants had come to see them off—assuming, of course, that it was a gesture of love, and not merely them wanting to confirm that Violet was really and truly going. Antony tied their luggage to the top of the carriage. It was mostly filled with dresses made in the latest fashions by Mrs. Capshaw, one of which Violet wore.

“I wonder where Mrs. Capshaw gets her feathers,” Violet wondered, sitting down. Antony closed the door after them.

Jack looked at the hat. “Pheasant,” he said. “A large one, I’d guess.”

“Is everything planned out?” Ashton asked softly. He was clearly anxious for the scheme to go off perfectly. Jack and Violet would go to the school tomorrow, to enroll and begin the semester. Ashton had already bought several suits and shirts in Violet’s size, and Violet had mastered her own costume. Sharing rooms was required for the first- and second-year students, so Jack and Violet had both written to the duke requesting they be roomed together, and the duke had granted this request.

“We’ll be fine, brother,” Violet said with a sigh. They’d been over the plan countless times. She wanted to focus on the joy she would have as a student, not the stress of keeping up her disguise.

“We’ll meet you at the house every Sunday,” Jack recited, sensing Ashton’s nervousness. “Violet will have a letter for Mrs. Wilks, and you’ll mail it. This will keep her from coming to town unexpectedly. Although, hullo—I’ve just thought of something. When we go home for breaks, won’t Mrs. Wilks expect Violet to bring her new lady’s maid with her?”

“I’ll just tell her I sent her home for the holidays,” Violet said.

“That may work for Christmas,” Ashton said anxiously, “but not for always. This is a problem.” He began fussing with his vest.

Violet hated this particular nervous habit of his. She put her mind to the task. “We’ll hire an actress,” she said. “Explain the situation and have her pretend to be my lady’s maid. We’ll pay her well, and she’ll stay in a nice house in the country. All she’ll have to do is be able to put up hair. Most actresses have to do much worse.”

“Some actresses,” Ashton huffed, “are more than just streetwalkers on a stage.”

“I hope so,” Violet said, “because she’ll have to fool Mrs. Wilks. But, in any case, we don’t need to worry about that just yet.”

“No,” Ashton said, “not when there are so many other things to worry about.” Violet sighed and leaned back into the chair. For the entire trip to London, Ashton made them go over the plot: the rules they must follow, the ways they would communicate, the ways of behaving like a man that Violet had yet to master, and what to do if someone discovered her secret, which usually amounted to bribery. Violet and Jack listened and half responded, thinking more of what they would feel in Illyria.

* * *



WALKING into the college as an accepted student was, for some reason, more terrifying than walking in as a potential student. Perhaps it was the feeling that she was now being judged, or that what was once just a ridiculous idea had blossomed into the actual fruit of a plot dangling heavily on the branch, likely to fall down any moment, leaving only shattered rind, pulp, and juices.

She swallowed.

“No helping it now,” Jack said, grabbing her by the arm and steering her through the garden and into the college. Other students were rushing past them or standing off to the side, admiring the flora before going in. Each was dressed in his best suit, with tie and hair firmly in place. Behind them, in a busy dance, porters and servants took luggage from the students’ carriages and brought it into the college.

The Great Hall, where the students assembled, was set up as it had been for the interviews, but now Violet and Jack took more time to admire it. It was at least two stories high, with doors from the lobby and a few pairs of doors to the side as well. The entrance they used brought them in facing the great turning wheel and the wall of gears. A story or so above them, a bridge with a marble railing stretched from one wall to the other. There didn’t seem to be a way up to the bridge from inside the Great Hall. It seemed instead to lean over the hall, from one part of the school to the other. There were fifteen chairs set up in front of the raised stage, each with a name on it. Jack and Violet found theirs in the front row and picked up the sheets of paper attached to them.

“Our schedules,” Jack said, flipping through his packet. “A map of the building, and book lists, and when lectures are going to be. Ah, and room keys,” he said, pulling a thin key out from the sheaf of papers. Violet glanced at her schedule. It was surprisingly simple: a class from nine to noon every day of the week except Saturday and Sunday, and then she was expected to work in one of the labs independently, under a professor’s supervision, from one to six. On Saturdays there was a lecture by the headmaster or a special guest in place of class, and then more independent time in the labs. Sundays were free—to worship, Violet supposed. The class schedule would change every trimester. It seemed simple to Violet, and gave her plenty of time to use the school’s resources to work on her own projects. She smiled. She flipped to the map and began studying it, trying to memorize the location of each lab. The Great Hall was flanked by the dining hall and kitchens, through the halls to the side, and the duke’s private apartments, which the map clearly stated were off-limits without an invitation. In the basement was the mechanical laboratory and the chemical laboratory. Above the kitchens were the professors’ offices, and above that, the—

“Sit down,” Jack whispered. Violet looked up. The chairs were all full and everyone was seated. Violet quickly sat down just as the side door flew open. In marched the duke, followed by the professors and, to Violet’s surprise—and not just hers, she wagered by the sudden intakes of breath around her—the Countess Lovelace, Ada Byron. She remembered that the countess was the duke’s godmother, but hadn’t expected to see her on the first day.

The professors and the countess walked onto the stage and took their seats; then the duke stepped forward to a podium and addressed the students. “Welcome,” he said, “to a new year at Illyria. My father founded Illyria with the intention of creating a place where the greatest scientific minds could come together to learn from one another, and where the most promising students of the sciences, regardless of class or station, can come together and learn. The returning students know this already. You are here to learn, and to work hard to use that knowledge. Fail me in this, fail my father in this, fail yourself in this, and you fail the world. You were brought here to fulfill your promise. Your promise, and my father’s promise. Don’t disappoint us.”

The students and professors all applauded the opening statements. “Returning students, you should know what to do. Go find your rooms and move in, and meet the rest of us in the dining hall for lunch at noon.” Everyone behind the front row got up and left quietly, leaving only Violet, Jack, and the three other new students in the hall. “New students. Please stand.”

Violet and Jack stood. The professors gazed down on them silently. Violet felt her hands sweating. What sort of initiation would they have to endure?

“What I have said goes doubly for all of you. The returning students have proved themselves as men of intelligence and good breeding, worthy of another year. You have yet to do that. Follow the rules. They are outlined in the papers you have—I recommend memorizing them, as ‘not knowing the rules’ is not an excuse for breaking them. After supper, you have free time to use as you wish. I recommend you spend that time in the student lounge studying. The wall behind you, as I’m sure most of you have gathered, can be used to power various inventions, and this wall extends to the student lounge. However, I do not like to be awakened at three in the morning to fend off some large clockwork automaton that has gone mad, so be careful. The making of weapons is forbidden within these halls. Out in the real world, use your skills as you wish, but here, no weapons. Anyone violating this rule will be instantly expelled. I’m sure you’ve all heard rumors about experiments gone awry that still lurk in the lower basements of the college. They are all false, I assure you. That said, students are forbidden from going into any of the lower basements. They are mainly used for storage, but they are labyrinthine, and it is easy to get lost, and I don’t like having to take professors away from teaching to form search parties. Now, our honored guest, Countess Lovelace, would like to inspect all of you. She is a fine judge of character, and I hope you will listen to any advice she has.”

Countess Lovelace rose and slowly descended from the platform to stand in front of the students. She was a small, pale woman with flashing dark eyes. She was sixty-seven, a widow, and dressed in deep navy, which seemed to bring out her careful, knowing smile. Her hair was pulled into a high bun on top of her head, and was almost entirely gray, but for a few streaks of black. She smelled faintly of brandy and smoke, and leaned heavily on a bronze and wood cane, peering at each of the new students in turn. “They look as though they’ll do,” she called over to the duke.

“I’m glad you approve, madam.”

She walked past the line of students and stopped in front of Violet, who could feel the woman’s breath on her. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor and tried not to look into Ada Byron’s dark, fiery gaze. “What’s your name?” Ada asked after a moment.

“Ashton Adams, ma’am,” Violet answered, keeping her head down.

“You may walk me to the dining room,” Ada said, offering an arm.

Violet nodded. She could feel the other students’ jealous gazes on her. To be favored by the great Ada Byron, the first Reckoner, to be picked out by her, to touch her. Looking forward, but not at the countess herself, Violet took her by the arm and escorted her out of the room.

Once in the hallway, Ada stopped and released her arm from Violet’s.

“The dining hall is this way, I believe, madam,” Violet said, still not daring to look Ada in the eyes.

“When you nodded to me back in the hall, you almost curtsied. You’ll have to work on that,” Ada said.

Violet looked up into Ada’s mischievous eyes and tried not to let her shock and chagrin show. “Ma’am, I—”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot, girl. Any fool can see you’re a woman. Luckily, this is a school full of geniuses, so I don’t think you’ll have too much trouble. Unless you keep curtsying. I’d improve your walk, and don’t look down all the time. And your voice sounds too deep, like a child pretending to be a man.”

“Countess, I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you meant to. You’re here, and they all think you’re a man, and it’s really very clever, if you can pull it off. Now, take my arm again; the rest of them are coming.” Violet did so, as the huge bronze doors opened and the students walked out into the hall. Seeing Lady Byron, they all kept their faces somber and their voices low, parting around her like a stream and heading to the dining hall, while Ada and Violet ambled slowly along after them. Finally, the last of the students was in the dining hall, and Ada released Violet’s arm again.

“Countess, I—”

“I can’t help you, you realize. You’re on your own if you get caught. I’m around the school only a few times a year, and I can’t show you too much favor or it will draw more attention to you, and more attention isn’t what you need. So stop dressing like a dandy. It only highlights your femininity. Honestly, girl, who dressed you?”

“My brother.”

“Well, get the help of someone else. Is your roommate in on your little hoax?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, it might be unseemly otherwise. Have him help you. But don’t let him abuse you. Some men might be prone to take advantage of this situation.”

“I trust him.”

“Good for you. Now, be a good boy, and take me to the dining hall.” Violet took the countess’s arm once more and led her, much more quickly now, to the dining hall. Violet opened the door for her; then the countess left her to sit to the right of the duke, while Violet found a seat next to Jack.

“Already the favorite,” Jack whispered to her.

“She recognized my gender,” Violet replied. Jack’s eyes widened. “She gave me advice.”

“Well,” Jack said, “that’s something.”

Ernest led the students in grace, and the meal was served: eggs, porridge, toast, kippers, tomatoes, various cheeses, bacon, and ham, which smelled heavenly to everyone. At the duke’s table, the duke leaned in to the countess and spoke softly. “What was that about, Ada? I’ve never seen you favor a student so blatantly.”

“I’m growing old, Ernest, and I find myself enjoying the company of young men more and more.” The duke laughed at this. “Will there be cards after supper tonight?”

“Of course, Countess. What is a day with you without gambling?”

“And cigars,” the countess added, and smiled happily.

The dining hall was larger than the Great Hall, which made it quite large for the fewer than thirty people eating. The professors and the duke ate on a raised platform at the end of the hall, but the students chose their own seats from among the small tables placed on the main level. There was a balcony with a twisting marble stairwell coming down from it on the side of the room from which they had entered. On the balcony was an archway, which Violet assumed led out to the bridge she had spotted stretching over the Great Hall.

Jack took out the map from his sheaf of papers. “That archway, there,” he said to Violet, pointing to the balcony, “must lead to the bridge, which goes to the duke’s private apartments. That’s his personal entrance.”

“I suppose so,” Violet said. She was staring at the other three men at their table, who were staring back, nervous. Jack looked up. He had apparently forgotten all about the other students he was sitting with, all first-years, like himself and Violet. No one spoke. They just ate, sometimes staring at one another. At the other tables, conversation hummed.

“So,” Jack said, “I guess we’re all going to be in our classes together. I’m Jack Feste. This is Ashton Adams. Who are you lot?”

The three young men stared back piggishly. The most handsome of them spoke first. “I’m Roger Fairfax, Earl of Cheshireford,” he said, proudly sticking his chin out in a way that no longer made him look the handsomest.

Then the tallest extended his hand to Jack’s to shake it. “I’m James Lane,” he said.

Finally, the shortest one eagerly stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “Humphrey Merriman,” he said with a faint Irish accent. They all shook hands and then settled into silence.

Violet looked at the men across from her, and around the room, and was pleased to note that she didn’t feel any sort of romantic feeling for any of them, even the most attractive, and so wouldn’t be distracted by flowery emotions.

Violet was luckier than the other students in this regard, for at that moment, Cecily Worthing, the duke’s cousin and ward, appeared in the archway at which Jack had just been pointing and began to descend the winding stairs to join her cousin at the table. The conversation hushed slightly as the students noticed her one by one and stared. The returning students, of course, had seen her before. Most went quickly back to their eating, not wanting to attract the duke’s wrath, though they all secretly wished to invite her to sit with them.

Of course, as Cecily was the one young lady permitted to roam the halls of the college, it was only natural that the students would all find her attentions something to be sought after, as many young men enjoy the attentions of young women. However, even if Cecily were but one of hundreds of young ladies set free to roam the halls of Illyria as they pleased, she would still be the most sought after for companionship.

She was charming. A little short, but with a comely figure, long golden hair, and clear fair skin that glowed in the bronze hallways. Her smile and laugh were the sort that would make everyone around her smile and laugh as well, not just because of the fine pink color of her lips, or her perfect set of teeth, but because when she was happy, she seemed like a fresh country breeze that has somehow snuck into the heavy coal-stained air of the city.

Jack, who had not been prone to romance before this moment, fell immediately in love. He had known his share of women in school, the village girls who grinned openly and had an unrefined charm. And he had known Violet, of course, though she was more of a sister. Going through London, he had often seen the aristocratic ladies with their huge hats and slim waists, but he had never seen anything like Cecily. She walked through the rows of tables like a swan floated on the river. She kissed the duke on the cheek with the lightness of a hummingbird, and swept her loose hair back behind her ear with a simple gesture, like a dove taking flight. In that moment, Jack knew that he could live and study for a thousand years and never be able to create anything as beautiful as her. “Who is that?” he asked.

“That must be Cecily,” Violet said, eyeing the girl. She felt strangely jealous, probably because the girl had been raised here, whereas Violet had to hide herself to gain entry. “She is the duke’s cousin and ward.”

“Oh,” Jack said, staring after her.

“Don’t stare too hard, now,” said a large student who had come up from one of the other tables. “The duke is mighty protective of her, and he has views on how women are distracting to us student types.” The man placed his hand on his belly and chortled. He had brought with him another student, thin and terribly pale, who laughed as well. “I’m Toby, and this is Drew. We’re upperclassmen, so it’s our job to welcome you newlings and show you the ropes today. So, who are all of you?”

No one spoke immediately. Violet studied Toby, who was scratching his stomach and looking unimpressed. Drew stood behind him, occasionally looking toward the duke’s table and then snapping his attention back to Toby. “Ashton Adams,” Violet said, extending her hand. “This is Jack Feste, James Lane, Roger Fairfax—”

“Earl of Cheshireford,” Roger interrupted.

“Yes. And Humphrey Merriman,” Violet finished.

“Okay,” Toby said, “that’s a start, anyway. I saw you escorting the countess in, Adams. Never seen that happen before. Usually the duke brings her in.”

“She asked me to escort her. She wanted to have a word with me about my wardrobe.”

“You do look like a bit of a git,” Toby said.

“My … sister dressed me. I normally don’t pay attention to clothes, but it was a special occasion, so—”

“Ha!” Toby barked. “Can’t dress yourself.” He slapped Violet on the back. “I’m just joking with you, mate. I don’t know how to dress myself either. Let Mother buy all my suits. Well, it was a pleasure meeting all you fine first-years. I imagine I’ll be seeing more of you tonight. I wouldn’t sleep in your nightshirts tonight. You never know when you’ll be doing a lot of running.” Toby smirked and walked back to his table, Drew following.

“Sounds like an initiation,” Jack said, grinning widely at Violet. “We’d better prepare.” The other first-years all seemed frightened, except Fairfax, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Violet said, “but it probably wouldn’t hurt to sleep in our pants and have some tricks in our pockets.”

“I didn’t bring any tricks,” Lane said.

“Then we’ll make some,” Jack said. “The entire college is open for exploration today. I’m sure we can nick some stuff from the labs.”

Violet nodded. The others looked scared, but Jack and Violet didn’t. They were excited for an adventure, and eager to prove themselves. They happily finished their meal and waited for the duke to dismiss them.

* * *



THE duke, meanwhile, was talking with his godmother and the other professors. “I think it will be a good year,” the duke said to Ada. Cecily also leaned forward, which made him flinch slightly. He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to discuss the virtues of the young men, even in the abstract, in her presence.

“It’s certainly a promising-looking group,” Ada said, “though none of them seem to have much range.”

“Is it so bad to be an expert in one’s field?” the duke asked.

“Your father was a master in every field,” Ada said, “and so are you, though you’re oddly loath to admit it.”

“Your eyes are clouded with the affection you bear me.”

“In any case, master of one area is a fine thing, a great thing, more than most men will achieve. But this is Illyria, the place for scientific greatness. You should be breeding geniuses of every craft.”

“We only take the best.”

“Perhaps if you took students who seemed to do well in all fields instead of mastering one of them, you could make that student a master of all the sciences. Think what such a genius could accomplish.”

“I quite agree with Auntie Ada,” Cecily said. “A student who shows great skill in all fields is one worthy of Illyria, if not its ideal.” The duke nodded into his food but didn’t look up. He didn’t like Cecily disagreeing with him on matters scientific, particularly in front of the professors, who he could feel were all grinning.

“I’ll take it under consideration,” he said. “I think that mealtime has gone on long enough, though, hasn’t it?” He stood and clapped his hands to get the attention of the students. He looked out over their faces, young, clever, full of ambition. This was a good group, he thought.

“Go. Unpack, get your books, settle in to your rooms, explore the college. Tomorrow, your classes begin. Today is your last day of holiday. Spend it wisely.”

The students all stood and filed out quietly, the air around the first-years trembling visibly with exhilaration. After a moment, the professors left, too, for their lounge on the second floor, or for their offices, or to prepare for their first lectures tomorrow. Only Ada and Cecily stayed with the duke as the servants came in to clear away the dirty dishes.

“I’m going to go lie down for a while,” Ada said. “Cecily, would you escort me to the lounge in your apartments?”

“Of course, Auntie Ada.”

“I’ll see you at supper, Ernest,” Ada said, walking with Cecily toward the stairs to their private apartments. He would suggest she use the lift out in the hall, but he knew Ada would be insulted by any insinuation that she was frail. Instead, he watched Cecily support her as they slowly climbed the twisted marble stairs and headed out through the archway, toward home. The servants danced around the dining hall, cleaning and scrubbing the floors till they gleamed.

The duke sighed and rested his head in his hands. It wasn’t sadness that caused this gesture, for he was a man content with the luxuries life had afforded him. If one were to ask what caused him to sigh, he would have no answer, for he was not conscious of the malaise that troubled him. All he knew was that he had felt as though he had had something in his grasp, and that it was now slipping away again. But he had work to do, and would not let himself indulge in his emotions. Instead he would head for the labs to inspect everything, then look in on the dormitory and demonstrate to the new students that he could drop by at any moment to make sure they were behaving.

And then there was the first lecture he would be giving on Saturday, for which he had to prepare. It would be on the possibilities of space travel, the duke had decided. The idea had stuck with him since he’d read Ashton Adams’s essay. There were strong ideas there, which warranted exploration for the entire student body. The Adams twins were a striking pair. Even young Ashton, with his gentle face, struck the duke as a handsome lad, filled with promise. In fact, the duke had thought of both the Adamses a lot in the past month, though only in passing. He thought he would like to meet their father. They were a remarkable family, clearly.

The duke looked up at the clock on the wall. It was time to visit the labs.

* * *



VIOLET was herself visiting the labs. It hadn’t taken long for her and Jack to settle into their room, though they’d had a small argument about whether or not to hang a sheet across the room for modesty’s sake, so Jack couldn’t see Violet sleeping. Violet had insisted that it was quite unnecessary, and suspicious to boot. Besides, she wasn’t the sort of girl who was modest. She could change in the water closet—each of the rooms had one—and her nightshirt wasn’t revealing in any way. On the other hand, Jack wanted it because he was afraid of Violet seeing his naked legs and making judgments. Violet promised not to make any judgments whatsoever, and so no sheet was hung.

The rooms were pleasant, if small, with green rugs and wood floors. They all opened onto a hall, at the end of which was the student lounge, with its constantly moving wall of gears, and several tables to work on. Many of the returning students were already hard at work in the lounge, catching up on their work or chatting with friends while showing off various inventions they had perfected over the summer. Violet saw a clockwork automaton in the shape of a large insect that seemed able to sense walls and avoid them, and odd potions that put people to sleep right away—the latter demonstrated on Merriman, who seemed eager to get on well with the older students. But as exciting as these were, what she and Jack wanted to see most were the labs.

The chemical laboratory smelled of strange toxins and smoke, and the once-golden walls had rusted into a deep brown in places, giving them a mottled look. Professor Curio walked around the room, sometimes mumbling to himself as he rearranged the potions on the cabinets, then placing them back in their original order, then rearranging them again. The microscopes that lay at one end of the room were large and shone expectantly, as though they had missed being used all summer. When Curio spotted the students, he stared at them silently until they left.

The reckoning laboratory was tall and contained six huge analytical engines, looming towers twice as tall as Violet. They had huge slots in the middle for the reckoning programs, and another slot where the parchment printed with results came out. They hummed silently in the dark, ominous. In the center of the room were a group of tables for punching out the reckoning programs. Violet and Jack walked through the room silently, Violet pausing to touch the machines, gently caressing the long levers, but after a little while, the quiet humming under the cranking of the gears became a bit disarming, and they left.

The astronomy lab at the top of the college seemed to Violet less sophisticated, if rather larger, than her father’s lab back at the manor. But the two clock towers outside the glass dome were of particular fascination to them both. The door out to the landing was locked, but through the glass they could see life-sized statues that danced at the striking of each hour.

“I think we should pick the lock and go ride the statue of the lion,” Jack said, pointing. “You still have that lock-picking tool you made?”

“It’s down in our room,” Violet said, “but I’d rather not get into trouble before classes have started. Besides, the lion already has Leonardo da Vinci riding it. I don’t know that there’d be room for you.”

“I’m sure Leo wouldn’t mind,” Jack said. They both stared at the clocks awhile longer, and then descended back into the college.

The biology and natural science lab smelled like embalming fluid, but Jack was soon clearly quite enamored with it. Despite Violet’s objections, he started going through the cabinets, picking up pickled mice and various bottles of strange glowing fluids and cooing excitedly over each one: “These are liquefied jellyfish!” “Strips of preserved hog hide!” “An empty armadillo shell!” And so on. After a few minutes of this, Violet said she was going to continue with the tour. Jack waved her on, barely looking up as he said he would catch up with her later. Violet headed down to the basement, where the mechanical lab was located.

She tried to restrain herself at first, images of Jack going wild in the empty biology lab still fresh in her mind, but she couldn’t resist for long, and was soon at one of the large tables, hands sticky with oil and grease and the beginnings of a small invention lying in front of her. She was so taken by the endless supplies of gears and springs and the huge wall of clanking, forever-turning wheels that she didn’t notice how much time was passing.

“Getting started early?”

Violet looked up. Standing in the door was a shadowy figure of a man, looking as if he’d been there for a while. Violet raised her hand above her eyes, hoping to make out a face, though she had already begun to suspect who it was and started blushing.

“Don’t do that now,” the duke said, striding into the lab. “You’ll get grease on your face.” He reached Violet’s table and grabbed at her wrist to keep her hand from her face. “Too late!” he said. “Make sure you wash that before you go to bed.” He grinned down at her.

“Oh,” Violet said, standing. “Sorry, sir.”

“No need to apologize, Mr. Adams,” the duke said. “It’s admirable that you’re already working. May I ask what it is?”

“I don’t quite know yet, sir,” Violet confessed. “I was just so energized by the supplies and tools and space that I started toying about. I can take it apart and put all the pieces back.”

“Don’t be silly. There are cubbies over on that wall that you can keep your small inventions in. Larger things, you can just push to the side. This place gets crowded by the end of the year. Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The duke leaned over Violet, placing his hand on her shoulder with a feeling of camaraderie. But Violet couldn’t help but notice that the duke’s breath on her neck was far warmer than the flames of her own lab, back home.

“Well, at home, I designed a device that could pick locks,” Violet said, trying to focus on the gears and knobs in front of her. “I used it to terrorize my bro—sister. Jack was just talking about it earlier. And some of the elder students said at lunch that we might have some sort of initiation tonight. So I guess I was thinking I could make some sort of attachment to the lock-picking—”

“You brought it here?”

“What?”

“The lockpick? You thought you’d need a lockpick?”

Violet pursed her lips, and the duke couldn’t help but notice that young Mr. Adams’s lips were remarkably smooth, and how long and attractive his neck was. Still, he had brought a lockpick to school. That implied a mischievous streak. Although, truthfully, the duke was torn—he also wanted to see the lockpick. It sounded clever.

“I brought most of my small inventions. I didn’t really know what I’d need.”

“Well, don’t go breaking into my apartments with it.”

“Oh, of course not, sir!” Violet said, blushing.

“So, what were you thinking this attachment could do to assist you in your initiation this evening?”

“You know about the initiation?” Violet asked.

“It’s the same every year,” the duke said, “but that’s all I’ll tell you.”

“Well, I don’t know what it could be, but the basic mechanism of the lockpick is adaptable, so I thought that I could create an attachment that could make it multipurpose … a few different tools, a small electrical torch, maybe—that’s what this part is. I used Volta’s theories and some ideas from a young scientist named Tesla. It generates a constant electrically generated light if I keep squeezing this trigger, here…”

“May I see?” the duke asked, placing his hand over Violet’s on the trigger and squeezing. The device whirred slightly and then projected a beam of light, before the whirring slowed down and the beam faded. The laboratory was dark, and Violet and the duke were both suddenly aware, in the darkness, of the touching of their hands.

“Impressive,” the duke said, taking his hand off the device.

“It’ll be easier to use attached to the lockpick,” Violet said. “The lockpick generates more energy with a pull, so the beam will stay on longer.”

“Very impressive, Mr. Adams,” the duke said, “and I’m sure it will come in quite handy tonight. Mind that you sleep with it in your pockets, though. Won’t do any good in your room.”

“Thanks,” Violet said, smiling.

“You look quite like your sister, when you smile,” the duke said. Then he turned around and walked out of the lab, leaving Violet biting her lip in the dark.

The duke walked down the corridor and up the stairs, stopping by the students’ lounge and walking the dormitory hall, where the students all went quiet as he nodded at them. It was nearly supper time. He and the other professors and Ada would be eating in the professors’ lounge tonight, and gambling, and drinking, and—as Ada was there—smoking cigars. He had left the lab quickly because socializing too much with any one student could be seen as favoritism, and also because he had found himself oddly drawn to Ashton Adams, not just intellectually, but physically. This was a new feeling for him: he was a man of learning, and felt that to judge a man on his actions in the bedroom was a ridiculous standard, but he had never considered himself to have inverted tendencies. Yet, he also found Ashton Adams’s skin to be of a lovely hue. That thought, creeping into his mind, seemed out of place and confusing. Perhaps it was a side effect of seeing the boy’s inventions. Or perhaps it was just that Ashton bore a remarkable resemblance to his sister, Violet, whom the duke remembered fondly. That must be it. Perhaps it was Violet who had drawn out these feelings in him, and Ashton was merely a memory of them walking the halls. In any case, the duke decided, it would be best to avoid any undue intimacy with Ashton, and not to think on the matter any longer. To dwell on the desires of one’s heart was to spend time in a world of fantasy, when he belonged in a world of reason.

“Ah-ha!” Ada said as the duke came into the lounge. “I knew you’d show up once I lit the first cigar. Say what you will about bad habits, but I don’t believe a word of it. Sometimes I suspect you have me over just as an excuse to inhale the smoke of the cigars I light.”

The duke coughed. The smell of cigar smoke and freshly lit matches was spiraling around the lounge. A bottle of brandy was open as well, and everyone had a full glass. “Am I that late?” the duke asked.

“Not too terribly late,” Valentine said, “but we’re all rather impatient where brandy and cigars are involved.”

The professors’ lounge was a cozy place that the duke’s father had designed with his scientific collegues at the time. It had a deep brown and gold rug on the floor and a large golden fireplace. Ada sat at the far end of the table, with the professors—save for Bracknell, who was, the duke noted with some relief, absent—gathered around her, craning their necks toward her like daises to the sun—except for Professor Bunburry, who, given the large metal funnel around his neck, could not crane it, so he merely listed slightly in her direction. The duke smiled and sat down in his armchair at the head of the table. Across from him, Ada reclined in her chair, her cigar smoke haloing around her.

“They’re sending Welsh rarebit for supper tonight,” the duke said. “Pass me the brandy.”

Valentine grinned and slid the bottle of brandy down the table to the duke.

“We were just dis-dis-dis-cussing the new students,” Curio said.

“The countess has asked us which of the students we think will prove most surprising in this coming year,” Valentine said.

“And what do you mean by ‘surprising’?” the duke asked his godmother.

“That’s just what we were asking,” Prism said.

“I just mean,” Ada said, blowing smoke into the air, “the student most likely to do things that are … unexpected.”

“That’s very vague, madam,” Valentine said, leering.

“I feel quite sure, though, that by the end of the year, you’ll all agree on one student.”

“That sounds like a ch-ch-challenge,” Curio said.

“Take it as you will.”

“You’re challenging us to a wager, it seems,” Valentine said. Ada’s love of gambling was well known among the professors. “But we have yet to hear whom you’ll place your money on.”

“I’d bet a hundred pounds at least on Mr. Adams,” Ada said.

The duke frowned. He didn’t like gambling that involved the students. “I hope you’re not asking my professors to engage in a bet where punishing a student could work to their advantage,” he said.

“Of course not, Ernest. That’s why the terms are vague. ‘Surprising’ could mean any number of things.”

“I still feel uncomfortable with this,” the duke said. The bell beside the dumbwaiter rang and he rose to open it. Inside, several steaming platters rested on a silver tray. He removed them and placed them on the table before the professors. Normally, a servant would do this, but the duke didn’t like having servants in the lounge. He felt it made some of the professors ill at ease, as though they needed to constantly impress the servants with their great skill. And besides, he liked placing the food in front of the professors himself, so as to remind them where it came from.

“Then maybe you will engage my wager, if the professors won’t,” Ada said, lifting the cover off one of the platters. Steam rose into her face, wavering the wisps of loose hair at her forehead and then blending with the smoke of the room. Her platter held steamed spinach and lemon, and the smell filled the room. “But, instead of money, I will bet something else, whatever you’d like.”

“And what will I bet?” the duke asked, aware that if he backed down, he would lose face in front of the professors. They all liked him, but he was younger than they, and everyone knew his position was inherited, not earned. Keeping their respect and docility was a constant struggle.

“If I win,” Ada said, the professors looking at her, “then I may pick one student for next year’s class. It will give me a chance to bring in a student whom you might not normally recognize as having the potential for true brilliance, such as we were discussing at lunch.”

“That seems a small prize for you, Countess,” the duke said.

“Perhaps. But perhaps I’ll bring in someone unique—someone without all the politeness you always seem to expect from your students.”

“Politeness?” Prism asked.

“Your scientists are often statesmen,” Ada said, placing some spinach on her plate. “They’re all such gentlemen, so refined.”

“That’s quite untrue,” the duke said. The other professors were lifting the lids off the plates and serving themselves. “One of our students this year is the son of a gardener.”

“Really?” Valentine asked. “How horrid.”

“That may be so,” Ada said. “But none of your students are ever rough. They are always charming and polite, even if not always of good birth. Where’s the rough-and-tumble son of a fisherman who swears like a sailor and mixes salt water with wormwood to create an elixir?”

“To be a proper scientist these days,” Prism said, flipping down a lens of his glasses to look over the food, “you need funding, patronage. And for that, you need charm.”

“So teach the charm the way you teach science,” Ada said.

“I don’t know about the others, but I do teach charm,” Valentine said. “By example, anyway.”

“You’ve made your point,” the duke said. “You can choose a student if you win. But what if I win?”

“What do you want?” Ada asked.

“You to come work for me,” the duke said, smiling. “For one year.”

Professor Prism looked up sadly at the duke through his many lenses.

“Don’t worry, Prism, I don’t plan on replacing you. The countess would become my assistant of sorts. She would sit in on all the classes and offer her years of experience to the students. She would perform lectures when I couldn’t. She would be a constant font of wisdom from which the students could drink.”

Ada cocked an eyebrow across the table. “Accepted,” she said.

Valentine applauded, but no one joined in.

“So, if Mr. Adams proves most surprising,” the duke said, “you may choose a student for next year’s class. But if any of the other new students proves more shocking, then you will come work here. These are the terms?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Then it is a bet.”

“Excellent,” said Ada. “Now let’s finish supper and play some cards. And this time, do try to win at least a little, gentlemen. I find myself growing bored.”

The duke and his godmother and the professors feasted and drank and chatted about their plans and expectations for the coming year. The mood dimmed considerably when Bracknell appeared, just in time for dessert, but he seemed so afraid of the countess that, to everyone’s delight, she merely had to glare at him to make him stop speaking. After supper, they smoked more cigars, drank more brandy, and played several hands of bridge. The countess won the majority.