Wrexford fingered the pocket pistol tucked in his coat. “Have your weapon ready. As someone seems overly fond of using a knife, it’s best not to be caught by surprise.”
“Getting shot several weeks ago earned me a great deal of sympathy from Cordelia,” drawled Sheffield. “Perhaps another injury will help soften her current anger.” It was said lightly but couldn’t quite mask the fear behind his words.
“Let us survive this current investigation, and then we shall see what we can do about winning back her heart.”
“You think she will—”
“Sshhh,” hissed Wrexford as they approached the end of the alleyway. “The laboratory is there,” he said, pointing down the sloping footpath to a large soot-dark brick building which sat behind the high perimeter wall that surrounded the wharf area. A wrought-iron gate guarding an archway in the chiseled stones gave access to the cul-de-sac.
As they crept closer, Wrexford saw that it looked to be chained shut with a fancy German puzzle lock.
“Is that a problem?” whispered Sheffield.
“None whatsoever,” answered the earl. He pulled a steel probe from his boot and crouched down. “These mechanisms are quite ingenious.”Click-click. “They simply require patience and a good sense of touch.”
The night was turning chilly as a gusty breeze swirled up from the river. Sheffield blew on his hands, his breath turning into a puff of silvery mist. “I imagine the night watchman makes regular rounds.”
“Quiet,” growled Wrexford. “I need to hear what the lock is saying to me.” He twisted his probe several more times, earning a subtlesnick. “Ha, we’ve come to a meeting of minds.”
After unwrapping the chain, he eased the gate open just wide enough for him and Sheffield to slip through.
“Any idea where we should attempt to enter the building?” asked his friend as the earl rearranged the gate and chain to disguise any signs of tampering.
There was a large, cobbled loading area fronting the wharves within the walled area, the rhythmicwhooshand gurgle of dark water among the wooden pilings rippling the stillness of the night. On the opposite side rose the silhouette of the laboratory building, unlit save for a scudding of moonlight.
“The main door is set beneath a shallow portico at the near end of the building,” replied Wrexford. “The windows are all barred, and the portals for loading the supply wagons are forged of iron and fastened shut from the inside with chains. However, there’s a recessed door around back, by the chimney for the forge and foundry, that will give us access directly to the laboratory workspace.”
“How the devil do you know all that?”
“The Weasels have their ways of wheedling out information.” A pause. “I prefer not to ask for the details.” The earl peered into the gloom, checking for any movement around the docks. “Follow me.”
He made quick work of opening the foundry door, allowing them to step inside.
The air was thick with the acrid smells of burnt coal and sooty smoke. Wrexford took a moment to light the small folding candle lantern he had brought with him. As the wick flared to life, the beam illuminated a massive anvil and a work counter filled with the usual assortment of blacksmithing hammers, chisels, and tongs.
A cursory inspection revealed nothing of interest.
The earl turned, the lantern’s glow revealing an iron-banded oak door on the other side of the forge. A hurried check on what lay behind it showed a huge cauldron for melting iron and a collection of molds for casting engine parts.
“Let’s move on,” said Wrexford, retracing his steps. “But quietly, Kit. The place looks to be deserted, however it’s best to err on the side of caution.”
He moved stealthily through the gloom to a corridor leading deeper into the bowels of the building. As they came to the next workshop, a pungent fug of odors made him pause and take a few experimental sniffs.
“Chemicals,” he muttered, as he signaled for them to enter. “Be careful not to knock into anything. Some of the substances being used here are highly volatile.”
Holding the lantern high above the stone counter that ran the length of the side wall, Wrexford angled the beam to light up the array of laboratory beakers and bottles. Colors refracted off the beveled glass, pale yellows flickering with sparks of gold and amber. Lurking in the shadows at the far end of the counter sat a selection of blue liquids ranging from cerulean to an ominous shade of cobalt. He studied the entire collection for a long moment before summoning Sheffield to hold the lantern.
“For God’s sake, don’t drop it,” he warned, then moved slowly along the orderly procession of glassware, examining the individual labels. Halfway down the row, he paused to remove the glass stopper from a bottle of greenish liquid and waved it under his nose.
A burning sensation bit at his nostrils.
Sheffield repressed a gagging cough as the noxious smell wafted his way. “Double, double toil and trouble . . . fire burn and cauldron bubble,” he mumbled.
“Ye heavens, you’ve actually read Shakespeare’sMacbeth,” quipped Wrexford as he plucked a small vial from a shelf and carefully transferred a sample of the chemical compound into it.
“Only the ghoulish parts,” replied his friend. “What unholy mischief are they brewing in here?”
“Chemicals are frequently used to test metals or temper formulas, so most of the bottles contain standard mixtures,” came the reply. “But this . . .” Wrexford corked the vial, and as he held it up to the light, the liquid seemed to shimmer with a darker glow. “This is a highly potent—and highly flammable—accelerant, designed to turn a tiny flame into a conflagration within the blink of an eye.”
