I rubbed at my forehead. “I see. Mr. Hopgood has told me the rest, I believe. You found the valet, and Mr. Wake found the pair of you. As did a Starlight mage.”
Mr. Stoke watched my expression for a breath or two, evidently trying to read me. “Yes. I encountered the Starlight mage when I attempted to return to my office for supplies. In fleeing him, I crossed paths with Wake again, and was saved only by that other mage’s approach. The next time I saw Wake, however, I was not so lucky. Nor was the valet.”
I found myself nodding slowly. “Wake must not have wanted Moran to recognize him. They have a history.”
Mr. Stoke’s interest piqued. “Moran?”
“Everard Moran. I have much to tell you, as well,” I said, sitting back finally and folding my hands in my lap. I wrote dignity into my posture, but my fingers laced a little too tight. “I had my share of adventure while you lay in hospital. But you have not mentioned Mr. Harden, nor what you did with the artifact itself.”
“Yes,” Stoke acknowledged. “After fleeing both Moran and Wake in one night, I realized more drastic measures were required if I intended to keep the artifact safe. I had devised how to open the box. So I sent the box itself to Mr. Harden, while I removed the contents, a stone dodecahedron. I hid it in the wall of the room I had rented.”
“Took me days to find,” Hopgood griped. He had reentered the room with a tray, set with a teapot and cups, and a tin of biscuits. He set the service on the table and sat down in the last remaining chair. “’Course I hardly had the time. With the city in this state, one dead man, even a former Detective Sergeant and military man, was not priority. Supford gave me what time he could.”
“When you found the artifact, you told Supford, and he reached out to Maddeson,” I noted.
Hopgood nodded and poured three cups of tea with nosaucers. He then popped the tin of biscuits open and took two for himself. “Didn’t know not to. Also didn’t know the Grand General was keeping tabs on our investigation.”
I watched Hopgood, momentarily struck by the calmness of his movements, the nonchalance of the way he took up biscuits and tea. He exuded safety, finality, as if something were at an end.
Perhaps it was. He had found me, as Stoke had asked. He had found Stoke, as he and Supford had set out to do.
But just because Mr. Stoke was alive and the pieces of the puzzle were coming together did not mean thatmypart was over.
Pretoria. Madge. Lewis. Harden. Even Dr. Maddeson himself. I had to find them.
I gave Mr. Stoke and Constable Hopgood a brief account of my part in the last week’s tumult. I held nothing back, save details that might risk other parties, like Pretoria and Harden and the Separatists, and did not touch on the unexpected efficacy of Thera’s meddling.
I also did not speak of the artifacts in my pocket, noting only that the one from the box was now missing.
When all was laid bare, we were quiet for a time. Hopgood had eaten half the tin of biscuits. Ronny had crept out and settled in my lap, and I petted him with gratitude, calming both my nerves and his.
“Oh,” Hopgood said suddenly. He reached around the side of his chair and picked up a box, large, but evidently not heavy. He handed it to me. “These are yours.”
Inside I found all my possessions confiscated by the police, including my hat with its yellow silk flowers, and my picture of my sisters and I. My throat felt thick at the sight of it, and I hoped desperately that Pretoria was safe and that Madge… Well, that she was not dead, at least.
The last thing Hopgood handed over was my envelope of money. I stared at it, my eyes, my mind, suddenly full of all it represented. Renewed hope of a new life, a new name. A momentous step towards freedom. A journey with Lewis, and the chance to begin and end each day in quiet and safety. To have a simple, unobtrusive existence.
My imaginings still warmed me, but now my mind kept turning, and more thoughts came to the forefront. I considered how I would feel months from now, after Lewis and I had parted ways in Ilandrume and my life had fallen into routine. Day after day of waking, rising, tending to whatever new employment I found, then returning to bed alone. Would it not, eventually, feel mundane? Lonely? Could I forget, as I lay in bed in that new world, that Harrow was in turmoil, that Harden and Stoke might burn with it? Could I truly accept that I might never see Pretoria again, and that she remained under threat from a Guild that, itself, was on a precipice? And Madge…
I thought of the artifacts in my pockets. Of Thera and her research, of Lewis and I and the uncertainty before us. Of Wake, his power, and his madness.
There was no real decision, at the end of my pondering. I simply knew, then and there, that I could not have the life I had hoped for—at least not yet. There was no heroism in that conclusion. It was a fact, and a burden.
I could not let Baffin, or the Guild, unlock the secrets of the Landsdown Trove. I could not close my eyes and walk away.
Ronny, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts, leapt off my lap in disapproval and meandered out into the hallway.
“He’s making himself at home,” Hopgood remarked.
I eyed him, considering the thought.
“Ottilie, if I may,” Mr. Stoke interrupted. “This city is no longer safe for you. I have a friend in Mittleport who would gladly take you in, once we get you out of Harrow.”
I almost rejected the offer immediately, but asked instead, “What about you?”
Mr. Stoke looked at Hopgood briefly. “There is a great deal to do here, in Harrow. I intend to keep a weather eye on Mr. Baffin, and I must speak with my old friend Lord Stillwell. He has been conspicuously quiet, this past week, and I struggle to believe he has no notion of the power of the artifact.”
“It would be best if you let the matter lie,” I urged. Sudden, deep-seated concern overtook my thoughts and plans, my reserves and resentment.
