Fletcher cut in. “I hadn’t realized until you pointed it out, but you’re both right. What do you think it means?”
This was the only part Kane hadn’t yet shared. He waited for a group of women on horseback to pass, then cleared his throat. “Price said he talked to an alchemologist who believes the devices are harnessing something.”
Zaria frowned. “What an odd thing to say. Alchemology doesn’t really involve theharnessingof anything, other than one’s own energy.”
“I hoped you’d be able to make more sense of it,” he admitted.
“I’ll give it some thought.” Her lip was between her teeth again. “We have to be missing something. There has to be a piece that connects it all.”
Kane privately agreed, and he was determined to find it.
First, though, it meant doing something he’d been trying to avoid.
The door beside Kane’s office had been locked for weeks.
Despite being in possession of the key—he did, after all, have access to every room in the manor—he hadn’t been able to bring himself to enter until now.
He inserted the key, heard the latch give, and then stepped into Ward’s bedroom.
Truth be told, Kane didn’t know what he’d expected. The space was simply… normal. Ward had operated out of a dozen different buildings over the years that Kane could remember, but Kane had never seen where the kingpin slept. Sometimes he was almost convinced Ward was above such human necessities. In many ways, the man had seemed godlike. Demanding compliance in exchange for love. Meting out punishment and deeming it penance.
Kane felt unsteady as he shut the door behind him, stepping farther into the room. The air was cool, the bed carefully made. The nearby desk was clean, save for a black coat that had been tossed onto its surface. He sank onto the bed, suddenly feeling the impact of the whiskey he’d drank an hour prior.
After returning from the Exhibition, Fletcher had left to join Adam and Elijah in paying a visit to a nearby dockmaster, and Zaria and Jules were sequestered in Zaria’s rooms, presumably working on those blasted commissions. Jules had been far more concernedabout their recent escapades than he was about relaying his own, so all Kane had been able to learn from the boy was that the next Mansion House meeting was in two days’ time. That was the day before the inspector’s deadline, which didn’t leave much room for error if they didn’t get the information they needed.
Kane would simply have to hope that they did. Otherwise, all he had to rely on was a false primateria source.
He knew he needed to rest—his body was protesting after the hours spent walking from Seven Dials to Hyde Park, then back to the manor—but he couldn’t make himself relax. The longer he stayed upright, the more each breath seemed to tear through his ribs like they were being cracked open. He knew drinking wasn’t the answer, but he’d refused the laudanum and he hadn’t been able to focus on the documents Tom had delivered withoutsomethingto dull the pain.
Then, somehow, afternoon had slipped into evening and he couldn’t put it off any longer.
Despite the hours spent in Ward’s former office, Kane hadn’t been able to muster the strength to enter this particular space. He’d been afraid it would feel too personal. As if Ward had never left, and then Kane would be forced to truly face what he’d done. To his surprise, however, the kingpin’s lingering presence was stronger in the office than it was in this generic room.
Mostly Kane was relieved, but there was also a small part of him that felt… disappointed?
No. That couldn’t be right. He inhaled deeply, then winced. He needed to do what he’d come here for, which was to search the room for Ward’s personal effects. Everything related to the kingpin’s business dealings had been accessible in the office, but Kane was no longer looking for information about business. He wanted to know why Ward had been writing to Cecile Meurdrac.
Whether their correspondence was something Ward would’ve kept, Kane didn’t know. As luck would have it, however, there weren’t many places to search. The desk drawers were mostly empty, and the closet contained only clothing, as did the armoire on the opposite wall. There were a few pieces of jewelry, some alchemological items Kane couldn’t identify, and—his heart had leapt in his chest—a letter from someone named James, but the correspondence contained little more than formalities and vague descriptions of small-town life.
The letter was addressed to Alex, and the familiarity of it made Kane wonder if Ward had family outside of London. Friends, perhaps. The idea was preposterous, but really, what did he know about the kingpin’s former life? Ward had never spoken about his past. Knowing someone out there had called him Alex made Kane’s stomach do an odd little flip.
Finally, when he had exhausted all other options, he lowered himself painstakingly to the bedroom floor. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his cheek to the cool floorboards and peered beneath the canopied bed. Apart from dust and a stray sock, he saw nothing, save a couple of small boxes. Kane pulled them out with some difficulty, coughing to clear his lungs of dust, then yanked the lid off the first box. Inside was more jewelry, a pair of gloves, and what appeared to be a few embroidered handkerchiefs.
The second box, though, contained a stack of yellowed parchment.
Kane’s pulse quickened as he spread the pages on the floor in front of him. It was strange, the care with which they’d been stored. He couldn’t fathom the purpose of keeping a letter once you’d already replied to it. But then he saw who the letters were from, and he was suddenly very glad Ward had done just that.
Alexander, the most recent one began—the handwriting identical to what they’d seen at Cecile’s apartment. Kane kept reading.
I don’t know what else you could possibly want from me. They don’t trust me any longer. None of the Scriniarii do—her most of all. Their plan remains the same, and we both know they’ll have to unseat you in order for it to come to fruition. Truth be told, I find it all rather foolish. They’re pursuing a fantasy. I’m certain of one thing, however: They know Itzal Mendoza was successful in creating a primateria source, and that he subsequently attempted to get rid of it. I don’t—
Kane started into the next sentence without fully digesting the one prior. Once it registered, his mouth dried, his thoughts slamming up against one another. Surely Cecile had to have been mistaken.
His heart pounded in his ears as he read on.
I don’t know what they plan to do with that information, but I have a guess. It’s complicated to explain, and involves the Magnum Opus. Still, I doubt they’ll be successful. My attempt to create a source using your energy was, as far as I know, the closest anyone has come since Itzal. Either way, I unfortunately won’t have much to report from now on. The Scriniarii’s trust in me has eroded. I believe they suspect our connection, and they know what you did to the Durantes when you learned of their deceit and betrayal.
The letter continued for a few more lines after that, but Kane didn’t read any further. He couldn’t—his vision started to waver.
