And Raphi only smiled wider, as if he knew exactly which ghost still sat at Felix’s shoulder, and was determined not to leave him to it.
Raphi raised an eyebrow in mock challenge and brought the hammer down with practiced precision, flattening the next piece of gold wire into a bright, shimmering ribbon. The soft thud, steady and hypnotic, reverberated through the room before he handed the piece to Felix.
Felix fed it into the press, carefully rolling it back and forth. The resulting sheet grew thinner with each pass, until it was delicate enough to catch even the faintest glimmer of light. He cut the sheet into even squares, then rolled one between his fingers. The gold foil crinkled delicately while he shaped the ball between his fingertips.
He pressed the mallet harder than he meant to. Gold was forgiving. People were not. Vienna had taught him that—taught him what it meant to watch someone pay for your mistakes.
“I’ll never understand how this becomes so compact with just a mallet,” Raphi remarked, handing over the next flattened piece.
“That’s what makes gold special and superior to all other metals.” Felix didn’t look up, his fingers deft as he formed another ball for the wooden case he had carefully sectioned into compartments. It was nearly half-full now, the precise organization of variously sized gold balls a small triumph in itself. He found satisfaction in the systematic nature of the work. “I clean the cavity,” he explained, his tone natural, “until only the hard enamel creates an edge. Then I push the gold balls in and compress them with pressure. That’s why I have a tiny mallet.”
“And it doesn’t hurt the patients?” Raphi’s gaze narrowed with genuine curiosity.
Felix paused, glancing at him. “You’ve never had a cavity, have you?”
“No. Have you?”
Felix gave a shrug. “No—not yet.”
“Then how do you know it doesn’t hurt?” Raphi pressed on, his tone teasing but underpinned with true interest.
“Because I know it would hurt far more if the cavities reached deeper than the hard enamel,” Felix replied pointedly, flattening another foil. His next words came slower, quieter. “Once it gets to the pulp, the pain can be excruciating.”
Another ball rolled into place within the case. Good. A week’s worth of material—for patients who depended on him to preserve their teeth against a lifetime of discomfort, or worse. Felix exhaled, the stakes always heavy on his shoulders, a weight he chose willingly.
“Then I’ll stick to my jewels,” Raphi said with a wrinkle of his nose, turning his attention to his work.
“You’re not just a jeweler.” Felix’s words broke the rhythm, quiet but resolute as he looked up.
Raphi quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? What am I, then?”
“You’re an expert,” Felix replied, threading confidence through his tone. “You don’t simply craft jewels. You studied geometry and graduated from the University of Edinburgh with honors. The connections between shapes and angles, along with your calculations and sketches for the Royal Service—I’ve seen what you are capable of. That’s why you’re one oftheCrown Jewelers. There’s art in precision, Raphi.”
Raphi considered this, his normally calm expression softening with something close to gratitude. “I suppose you’re more than a dentist, then?”
“Yes,” Felix said, surprising himself with the stark honesty of the word. “I am someone who helps. There’s good work in preserving what others might discard.” His fingers clenched briefly over the handle of the press. “I’m not like the butchers and barbers who don’t truly understand teeth, who leave people worse than before.” Felix didn’t want to say it, but he’d seen what those crooks did: extracting teeth too early or with pieces of the jawbone. They damaged adjacent teeth and caused patients such harm that they were left terrified of ever seeking help again. No, they were not dentists; they were perpetrators of assault on the human body. Despicable.
Raphi nodded, handing over another flattened wire. “And yet,” he murmured, “those less skilled often thrive. The dishonest ones profit from chaos. There’s no lack of them, not even across the street, making false jewels and taking shortcuts.”
“There’ll always be those who sell glass beads as pearls. Those who cut corners may get to their goals faster, but don’t learn much along the way,” Felix said quietly, though his jaw tightened at the thought. “But I admit, they get away with more than they should.”
The room stilled. Felix adjusted the press, his movements slower now. Felix adjusted the press, his movements slower now, as his mind drifted to the man who had gotten away with the most, and who didn’t deserve to continue.
Baron von List. His crimes—poison, attempted murder, kidnapping—were numerous. But his punishments were not.
“I’m afraid to ask about Baron von List,” Felix said at last, watching for his friend’s reaction.
Raphi’s expression darkened. “Then don’t,” he said sharply. “Ask me anything else. He’s taking the shortest path to victory and gets away with crimes twice and again.” He paused as if the name of the baron smelled bad. “Instead of using glass beads, List is the sort of man to put dung balls on a chain and get the world to admire it as if it were pearls—he’s the sort of criminal who dazzles with threats.”
“Blindingly so,” Felix remembered him well—the patient who had strutted into his chair, muttering that he’d never trust a Jewish dentist. Felix’s name had hidden him then, Leafley instead of Blattner, like the camouflage, but List wasn’t a natural predator; he was a menace. The memory still made his stomach tighten. Confidentiality kept him from speaking, even if the patient had been Baron von List himself—the same baron who carried his venom from Vienna into London, who cloaked his cruelty in titles and influence.
List had not only unleashed Bailiff Nagy against the Klonimus family—under cover of the Austrian Kaiser’s authority—but had made himself a parasite in Parliament, using his noble guest-rights in the Lords to block every measure that hinted at equality for Jews. To him, success was contagion; if a handful of Jewish families prospered in London, others might follow, and the thought of that ambition spreading struck him as the greatest threat of all.
List was dangerous. And Felix hadn’t forgotten the ride in the Spanish Riding School back in Vienna, the one who’d said that List was related to Hofstätter. A tightly-wound network of enemies across Europe. At least List hadn’t found out about Felix’s true identity, his connections to Vienna.
List was busy with the Jews in London. Specifically, to break the Klonimuses, whose commissions from the Prince Regent relied on steady gold, he’d gone for the source. Bands of men—his men—had stripped the mines in Transylvania, trying to starve the family’s supply and topple them from favor. If the ore ran dry, the Crown’s patience would run out, too.
Felix exhaled slowly, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. Baron von List was a reminder of everything Vienna had taken from him and everything London still demanded. He couldn’t go back—not now, not with 87 Harley Street depending on him, not with the Royal Warrant binding them all to their patients and to the Crown. Leaving would be betrayal. He told himself he’d never do such a thing.
