Heart of Iron

Seventeen

A ruby. He’d bought her a ruby.

Lena held her bare hand out. She couldn’t stop looking at it, watching the play of light through the polished gem. It was the size of her littlest fingernail. She’d seen bigger. A dozen times over in the Echelon, where they liked to drape their thralls in jewels to indicate the status of their masters. But for Will to have bought her something like this made it more precious than the largest diamond in the world.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the seat. What was she going to do? How could she keep her heart safely locked away when he did things like this for her? For it was becoming dangerously apparent that her feelings for him were growing.

Dabbing at the perspiration across her brow, she sighed. From the pounding in her head, she was in for a good cup of willow bark tea when she got home.

A sudden jolt threw her across the seat.

Lena snatched at the carriage strap and glanced out the window. They’d stopped. The driver was one of Leo’s men, well skilled in the use of the horseless steam-driven carriages. Though they’d barely left Whitechapel behind, the roads weren’t bad and nobody would dare attack her this close to Blade’s turf. Every man and woman in the rookery knew who the gilded hawk on the carriage belonged to. Blade had declared Leo safe passage to his realm. The cost of crossing his word was death.

“Coachman?” she called as the carriage careened to a halt. “Henry?” There was no sign of the footman riding on back as she glanced out the window. “What’s going on?”

Silence greeted her. Considering it was early evening, the streets were frightfully deserted.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, a lambent blue eye suddenly lit up. Lena shrank back into the carriage as a shadow detached itself from the rest. It rose to a height of nearly six feet, then suddenly unfolded itself further until it stood almost eight or nine feet. The eerie gaslit blue of its eye was reminiscent of a metaljacket.

But no metaljacket had ever stood so tall.

Locking the carriage door, she looked around for something—anything—with which to defend herself. Only a few forlorn cushions greeted her gaze. Will had taken the pistol back, determined to improve it for her.

The metal creature stepped out of the alley, moving in large, jerking strides. It was a metaljacket, the overlapping plates of its chest and abdomen gleaming with cold steel. The head was square, crowned with a demonic steel helm. A thin slit of glass in its throat was the only sign of any weakness, and behind the glass were a pair of eyes. Human eyes.

Lifting its massive fist, it swung a blow toward her. Lena shrieked and dove across the seat as glass from the window sprayed throughout the carriage. She tore the other door open and fell onto the cobbles, collapsing in a puddle of yellow skirts.

Something tugged in her hair. Reaching up, she found the fine gold chain and followed it to the whistle Will had hung around her neck. Hydraulic hoses hissed behind her and the carriage shuddered. Lena stuck the whistle in her mouth and blew.

There was no sound. Nothing but steel screeching as the carriage slowly tipped on its edge, the monstrous creature trying to turn it over.

Grabbing her skirts, she bolted out of the way. The carriage smashed onto the cobbles, exactly where she’d just been kneeling. Gasping for breath, she darted forward blindly and crashed into something solid and warm.

Hands caught her by the arms. Lena jerked back instinctively and tore free from a man’s grip. A leering face came into view. He towered over her, wearing little more than a rough worker’s jerkin and tight leather pants. A seeming arsenal of metal hung at his belt. She didn’t take the time to look. Instead she turned and bolted back the way she’d come.

Men were everywhere. Ducking under snatching hands, she ran through a gauntlet of ragged, mismatched bandits.

Sound whirred behind her. “I’ve got ’er.”

Lena screamed as something wrapped around her ankles. Pitching forward onto her face, she hit the cobbles hard. Pain tore through her lip and her lungs shrank to a quarter of their size. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. There was a great, gaping vacuum in her chest and she sucked and sucked for air but none came. Then suddenly her lungs expanded and she dragged in a huge, rasping breath.

It hurt all the way through her.

The slow step of a pair of boots sounded on the cobbles behind her as someone made their way toward her.

“We oughta hurry, Mendici.” A young boy, by the sound of him. “Can’t keep the streets clear forever.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna cry hue, Jeremy.” The giant laughed. “Not in these parts.”

Lena’s gaze fell on the whistle, lying on the ground in front of her. She snatched for it but a boot came out of nowhere and ground it beneath his heel.

The giant smiled at her. “Well, ain’t you a pretty little puss?”

She tried to scramble to her hands and knees. Her skirts were wrapped firmly around her ankles by a weighted rope and she got nowhere for her efforts. Behind her a heavy metal boot stepped forward, hydraulics hissing.

“Rollins,” the giant gestured. “Pick her up and let’s get movin’.”

“What’d she mean with that whistle?” A young lad with dirty cheeks came into view, his eyes darting nervously. “Weren’t no noise from it.” He looked at her. “What’d you mean with that whistle?”

Licking the blood from her split lip, she summoned a smile. She could barely see for the throbbing of her head. “You’re in trouble now.”

The metal automaton leaned down with a steely hiss, its enormous hand closing around her waist. “Got her,” called an echoing voice from within. Then it straightened and she caught a glimpse of the man encased in the metal.

“Trouble?” Mendici looked up at her as she dangled precariously. “From whom? The Devil himself?”

Several men laughed.

“We know how to deal with the bleeders,” one called.

“Stick ’em with a shiv coated in hemlock,” another called, making a stabbing motion.

“Or a screamer.”

“Set Rollins and Percy on ’em,” another called.

The laughter swelled.

A shiver of unease ran through her. Far from being the threat it was, these men looked as though they’d relish the idea, and they sounded remarkably well prepared to handle it. If Will had heard the whistle, he’d be walking directly into an ambush. How she wished she’d never blown it.

“Come on, boys.” Mendici gave her a wink. “Let’s take her to see the master.”

***

Will sat at the kitchen counter, watching Esme stir her stew. The smell of it made his mouth water. This was the one place that felt like home to him. He’d spent hours here over the years, dozing lightly in the corner whilst Esme went about her jobs.

When she’d first became Blade’s thrall he’d found her presence disconcerting. Until that moment, the warren had been strictly all-male and he’d had little to do with women since his mother sold him to Tom Sturrett.

Esme had been grieving the loss of her husband, desperate straits forcing her to accept Blade’s protection. It had been her that taught him to read and fed him good food when his body tried to outgrow him. Her that bandaged his cuts when his first forays into the rookery ended in fights—fights that he’d gone seeking.

He had little recollection of his own mother. Esme was as close as he was ever going to get.

“So,” she murmured, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot and turning to face him. “What’s going on between you and Lena?”

The question shouldn’t have shocked him. There were no secrets in the warren, with four of them owning preternatural hearing. But he couldn’t recall ever saying anything that might have given them fodder for rumor. “What d’you mean?”

Esme gave him a look. “William Carver, let’s not pretend that I’m in any way stupid. Or blind. You wouldn’t want to insult me, would you?”

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on between her and I. And that’s the way I intend to keep it.”

With a speculative look on her face, she wiped her hands on her apron and crossed to sit beside him. “Why?” She slid a warm hand over his. “It’s clear you have feelings for her, Will.”

He scowled down at the scarred kitchen bench. “I can’t, Esme.”

“John felt the same, you know,” she whispered with a sympathetic look in her green eyes. “He was afraid to hurt me. Afraid he couldn’t control himself around me. We took our time, but it’s worked for us.”

Will rubbed the back of his neck. “Esme, it ain’t that simple.”

“Oh?”

“Rip’s got the cravin’,” he said. “Spread through blood to blood contact. The loupe’s different. Spread by blood, by a man’s seed…”

A knowing light came into her eyes.

“I can’t ever be with her,” he growled the words out. “I wouldn’t subject her to a life like this. And that’s if she survived the initial infection.”

“Oh, Will—”

The door smashed open.

Will shoved Esme behind him. Rip glowered in the doorway, his gaze following the hand that had pressed her into the corner. A dark light came into his menacing eyes and Will jerked his hands away, holding them up in the air. If it came down to it, he could take Rip and they both knew it. But right now the man wasn’t thinking. Ruled by his own personal demons, all he saw was another man touching his wife.

“Just protectin’ her, Rip.”

“What’s wrong, John?” Esme asked.

“Heard a whistle.” His gaze darted over the pair of them. “Where’s Blade? Anyone missin’?”

Cold touched the back of Will’s neck. “Where’d you hear it? How long ago?”

“Outside the wall. Near Old Castle Street. ’Bout ten minutes ago mebbe.”

On the way to Aldgate.

Lena. Heat roared through him, blanking his mind. He was moving before he thought about it, snatching the bladed half gloves off the bench and his hunting knife.

“Who is it?” Rip asked, his voice sounding as though it were distorted through glass.

Esme grabbed Will’s arm. “It’s Lena, isn’t it?”

The next thing he knew, he was hauling himself up onto the gutters of the warren. The rookery stretched out in front of him, a maze of decrepit buildings and lean-tos. Taking a running leap, he headed for the wall that encircled Whitechapel.

Built fifty years ago, during the time of trouble when Blade had first come to the rookery, it stood nearly twenty feet high. More a symbol than a solid edifice, it had been constructed with whatever lay at hand, in order to keep the Echelon out.

Vaulting over the top of it, he dropped down onto a roof far below. Another jump and he was in the street.

People took one look at him and scattered. As he made his way to Old Castle Street, he saw a crowd hovered around something in the street. A glint of gilt caught his eye and his heart leaped into his throat. Shoving through the crowd, ignoring the cries, he staggered to a halt in front of the Caine carriage. It was tipped on its side, glass sprayed across the cobbles. Some enterprising sorts had already started trying to work the gilt free and the curtains were long gone.

Turning, he raked his gaze across the crowd, looking for someone he recognized. Bill the Tanner met his eyes and flinched. Will grabbed him by the collar.

“What happened here?”

“Dunno,” Bill muttered, his breath stinking of gin and his mismatched eyes darting independently. “Weren’t ’ere, guv. Didn’t see nuthin’.”

Will drew him up until they were face to face, letting the heat—the Beast—wash through his eyes. “Did you know I can smell it when a man lies? Think carefully, Bill, about whether you saw anythin’ here.”

“I can’t,” Bill sobbed. “They’ll kill me. Said they’d do it if I breathed a word.”

Will’s fist tightened until Bill could barely breathe. “What makes you think I won’t?”

Clawing at his collar, Bill’s eyes boggled. “They got…a monster with ’em… A fire-breathin’ monster! I can’t. He’ll roast me…like a leg o’ lamb! Better you than them!”

“They took a young woman with them, didn’t they? She’s mine, Bill. My woman. And they took her.” He forced his fist to open and dropped the man onto the cobbles before he killed him.

The urge to do so was almost overwhelming. The vein in his temple throbbed, his vision blanking at moments. Time and space became odd vignettes of sound and movement. Bill scrambled back across the cobbles and then the world blurred again.

Someone caught his wrist. He barely felt it. Looking down with a snarl, he stopped when he saw the young lad staring up at him with a face as white as a ghost.

“Don’t hurt me da,” he pleaded. “They went that way.” Then he pointed toward the nearest alley, one that ended in a brick wall and a boarded tunnel into the old, abandoned ELU line.

The world came back, narrowing in with crystal precision on the boarded up tunnel. Of course.

“Undertown.”