“Ah.” Kane turned to smirk at Fletcher, who stared stonily back. “Someone’s confident today. Don’t worry, I only came to ask a simple favor. I suppose your lot are going to be contributing security to the Exhibition?”
Price’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t look all that impressive, the only one of them seated, like a child who had been told to relax. The wall behind him was papered with certificates of obvious import, each one depicting his name in fancy penmanship—no doubt a nod to his work-related escapades.
Kane was not impressed by paper. Kane was impressed by those who made deals with confidence and exceeded expectations. Alas, his expectations for Price were not high, but he was going to have to make it work.
He dropped into the chair opposite the man. “You and your father have cooperated with Ward for quite some time. As such, you know what people like me can offer you.” He flashed his teeth, eyeing the fountain pen Price tapped against the inside of his wrist. “But you also know what people like me are capable of.”
“You’re only boys” was Price’s acidic response. His furtive gaze slipped to Fletcher, then back to Kane, cheeks coloring. Evidently, he was deciding not to acknowledge that Fletcher was a good head taller than he was. “Being part of Ward’s crew may make you feel important, but you’re not. And you certainly don’t understand the intricacies of the law.”
Kane leaned back in his chair, arranging his face in a frown. “Fletch, do we know anything about the law?”
There was a pause as Fletcher pretended to think. “You know what? I think—Ithink—I remember hearing you’re not supposed to take bribes or look the other way when something illegal happens.”
“That sounds right. But if someonewereto start taking bribes, don’t you think it’s in their best interest to keep that information quiet?”
“Oh, certainly.” Fletcher was the portrait of seriousness. “Especially when the man paying out those bribes keeps averycomprehensive list of names and dates. It’s important to remember where your money went and when.”
Kane nodded at the ceiling. “That it is.”
“Iget it,” Price snarled, now looking more like an angry law enforcement officer and less like a boy playing at one. He half rose from his seat, fingers splayed across the desk. “What, specifically, do you want from me?”
Kane leaned forward until he and Price were almost nose to nose. He grinned. “Nothing.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to do nothing. Hear nothing. See nothing. I want you and your most charmingly corrupt colleagues to do whatever it takes to get placed inside the Crystal Palace, as close as you can get to the Waterhouse exhibit, and then I want you to doabsolutely nothing.”
Now Price simply looked dubious. “The Duke of Wellington has upward of ten thousand troops on standby, and we’ve recruited an additional thousand officers. I only have control over my own division, and I’ve no idea where the Royal Commission will want my men.”
This had occurred to Kane already. It might have been a problem, but if he could be certain of one thing, it was that powerful men were suggestible when it came to other powerful men. “Then stand by the exhibit yourself and put your rank to good use for once.”
“And what do I get out of this, Hunt?” Price crossed his arms over the brass buttons carving a line down the front of his black uniform. “Besides watching someone other than me catch you in the middle of whatever stunt you’re trying to pull.”
Kane ticked the answers off on his fingers. “One, you know Ward is good for money. If everything goes well, you’ll see it. Two, your family’s dirty little secrets stay buried. And three, Fletcher won’t kill you.”
The wooden floorboards creaked as Fletcher shifted his weight in the corner. He wasn’t much of a killer, but Price didn’t need to know that. What mattered was that he was large, intimidating, andlookedlike he might kill you if it suited him.
“I don’t think even Ward would dare have a copper harmed,” Price said, the final shred of his bravery laid out between them.
Kane snorted. He couldn’t help it.
“God help you, Junior,” he said. “We both know who really runs this city, and it sure as hell ain’t the coppers.”
ZARIA
ZARIA’S FATHER HAD NEVER BEEN WARM.
Itzal Mendoza was the type of man who taught you how to be clever, how to navigate situations, and how to survive. He hadn’t wasted much time on love and affection, though Zaria hadn’t particularly minded. She was desperate to be clever in a world where women were told they didn’t need to be. She yearned to take what she wanted from people who didn’t want to give her anything. And of course, above all else, she wanted to survive.
Perhaps it was that Itzal had spent too much time grieving her mother. After immigrating from Spain to England, he’d met Aurora Clarke, a middle-class woman who fell for his handsome face and smooth accent. But Itzal’s heart was broken when Aurora left him for a Welshman, turning up only once nine months later to deliver a child.
If she’d known her mother at all, Zaria might have been hurtthat the woman hadn’t wanted her. Of course, Itzal hadn’t wanted her, either—he’d told her as much. He had loved Aurora and gotten Zaria instead. A poor consolation prize. But during the years that Cecile was around, Zaria hadn’t felt quite so alone. She had been something of a mother figure, though she was only about a decade older than Zaria. Cecile had taught her more than just alchemology—she’d taught her how to be a woman in a man’s field. How constantly being underestimated was a series of chances to prove yourself. With Cecile at her side, Zaria had nearly stopped resenting her father.
For a while.
Now that they were both gone, she remembered what it was to be angry.
So really it didn’t matter that Itzal might not have loved Zaria, just like it didn’t matter that her mother had abandoned both of them the moment she had the chance. Thanks to Cecile, Zaria was equipped nonetheless with the tools she needed. What she hadn’t committed to memory, she could learn on her own. She hadn’t needed Itzal’s help then, and she didn’t need it now. What shedidneed, though, was a primateria source.
