“I do not believe I can,” Mr. Stoke said with a half-smile. “This is my city, my home. And this mystery is undeniably entangled with the conflict.”
“I see.” I leaned forward to clasp his hand. I had meant the gesture perfunctorily, but found I held his hand a little more tightly than I intended. He held my gaze as I continued, “Thank you for your offer. But I have a plan, sir. You need not worry for me.”
He searched my face and, as the seconds passed, I saw his protests fade. “I will not ask you the details, for all our sakes. But the thought of you alone does not sit well with me.”
I said, smiling consolingly as I took half the money from the envelope and tucked the rest back into the box of my possessions, “I will not be alone. Constable? Do you mind keeping my cat for a short time? And keeping my things here?”
He blinked at me. “I suppose?”
“Thank you.” I tucked a thick fold of bills into my pocket. “Now, one last question. Do you have a spare uniform I might borrow?”
Ikept my constable’s helmet low as I surveyed the wreckage of the Grand Museum. It had begun to rain quite heavily, and thunder rolled across the city as a proper autumn storm settled in. It cooled the air, cooled my skin, and calmed the last of the conflict in the streets. I had made the journey relatively unaccosted, dropping Detective Supford’s name to the singular patrol who had questioned me.
The success of my journey did not encourage me, though. Not as I watched the rain pool in the museum courtyard, glistening puddles smoothing away broken glass and washing smoke stains from piles of rubble.
Half of the museum’s magnificent windows were blown out and the remainder were cracked and blackened. Scars of smoke licked upwards from these, memories of the flames that I had had such an integral part in sparking.
My heart broke. So much beauty, so much history. Gone. I felt it on the air, tasted it on the wind. It held memories of licking flame and crumbling stone, all that remained of so many treasures.
That alone was enough to sadden me, but a thought came with it. Even if the artifact had not been cracked or crushed, how could I find it in this destruction?
A museum guard, armed with a night stick and a rifle,met me at the gate. At mention that I had been sent by Detective Supford, he admitted me inside, if only to get back out of the rain.
It was dark within, the gaslamps long blown. Several lanterns illuminated the scarred foyer, and a table full of more guards off down the passageway towards the café. They seemed demoralized by their task, guarding a gutted museum from further ravages in the restless city, and paid more attention to the meal they were sharing than to me.
The air stank of smoke, burned varnish, and singed hair.
“Brought in the cadets, I see.” The guard from the gate looked me over. “Well, lad, I can’t allow you past the foyer, but tell me your business and I’ll see what I can do.”
“A file in the offices, upstairs,” I said. I was aware I was treading a little close to the truth, but needed the legitimacy of a known name. “Dr. Maddeson’s office. If it… survived?”
“Got the fires out before it reached the third floor.” The guard waved this aside. “What file?”
I fluffed a random description and watched the man leave, climbing the stairs carefully to the second floor. Then, cautiously, I made for the doors to the exhibits, opposite to the hallway and the other guards.
I glanced back, once. One of the guards was looking my way, so I made a show of stretching and sitting down on a fallen chunk of masonry, slightly in the shadows.
He looked away, and I continued on.
As soon as I was out of sight, I started to run. My Eventide eyes unfolded the darkness with little effort, and though what I saw in their sepia tones was grim, I did not falter.
Collapsed sections of floor. Toppled chunks of roof. Bracing had been placed everywhere, and far off I saw the light and heard the sounds of men at work, erecting more scaffolding and pillars, beams and supports.
I came to the room where I had faced off with Wake, fingers twitching with tension and urgency. Half the floor was gone, but, miracle of miracles, not the section where I had hidden the dodecahedron.
I skirted the collapsed section, passing charred statuesand cracked façades, until I came to the right one.
The little stone orb for which we had all fought and suffered slipped into my fingers. The moment felt… not momentous, but horribly insignificant. There was no great satisfaction, only an awareness of all the suffering it had caused, and the suffering it might yet produce.
I slipped it into my trouser pocket to join the others, beneath the protective fall of my constable’s jacket, and left the museum before the guard returned.
***
A feeling of unreality overtook me as I returned to the rain and headed straight across Old Harrow, for Dockside and Pretoria’s hotel. It was not a short walk, but time seemed to skew around me, my only thoughts of my next step, the next street. Before I knew it, I was in sight of the Old Citadel, before the statue of Lady Honoria Grey and her children.
Chanting wafted up the street as I approached. I slowed at the edge of a sudden and unexpected crowd, my skin beginning to crawl. There were dozens of people here, converging as I watched.
The citizens nearest me startled, pointing at my uniform. They carried clubs and guns, and did not seem to care for the rain slicking their hair and dripping from their hats.
