“No!” Morvath screamed.
Miss Darlington shrugged. “What can I say? If society wanted me to keep track of my illicit lovers, they should have educated me better.”
“But he’s nobody!” Morvath raged. “Just some half-witted copper probably raised on a farm.”
“Pig farm,” Jacobsen agreed.
Morvath hauled Cecilia back two steps, pressing the knife so hard against her throat she could feel her pulse bash urgently against the blade. She tried to think of how she might break his grip, disarm him, but the wine and cocaine were swirling heavily through her body, weighing her down, making her feel as though she might at any moment take a nap in her father’s arms. She stared at Ned, at his grim mouth that was usually smiling, his cold eyes that had warmed her so many times. She tried to impress the vision of him on her brain so that when Morvath killed her she could carry her own secret heaven beyond the grave. Somewhere out there stood Aunt Darlington, but Cecilia already had her tucked into her heart. It was Ned she wanted, here in these last moments—Ned like a mystery, a flare of magic, a horizon.
“You!” Morvath shouted abruptly, causing her thoughts to shatter. The King of Portugal tapped a finger to his own chest and mouthed,Me?in horror. “Yes, you. Find something to tie the hands and gag the mouths of the pirate women I can see in this crowd.”
“Why?” Olivia asked, feet akimbo, hands on her hips. “What is your plan?”
“Yes, reveal it to us,” Bloodhound Bess urged.
Morvath turned purple with rage. “I will not be mocked!” He hauled in a long, deep breath, trying to calm himself. As he exhaled, he began to intone the pirates’ flying spell. The castle jolted; people screamed, grasping at one another as they stumbled; some fell to their knees.
“Don’t be stupid,” Ned warned. “You don’t have the strength to fly a castle like this on your own, especially without a wheel.”
“I don’t need a wheel to merely lift it to a great height and then drop it,” Morvath retorted.
“But then you’ll die too.”
“Ha! I’m not as stupid as you, Lightbourne. I always have a premises on hand. Cecilia and I are going to the roof, where a tool shed awaits my escape. Anyone tries to follow me and you’ll have to clamber over her dead body.”
“Well, that’s a fairly reasonable plan,” Miss Fairweather said to Bloodhound Bess, who nodded.
“Don’t do it,” Ned said.
“Shut up, you—you—mummy’s boy!” Morvath sneered in reply.
Ned rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“What—?”
Morvath looked behind, but he was too late. With an inarticulate cry, he crumpled to the ground and was still.
Queen Victoria hoisted the emerald crown with which she had bashed the villain over the head. “I told you these things were heavy,” she said, handing it to a lady-in-waiting.
A relieved exhalation went through the crowd. Alex O’Riley holstered the gun he’d been silently pointing toward Morvath. Several pirate ladies turned to shrug at one another and then look around for another drink. Ned hurried forward, taking Cecilia in his arms, but she struggled to break free.
“Sir,” she whispered. “Not over my father’s dead body.”
“I don’t think he’s dead,” Ned reassured her. “I can hear him moaning. That was always Morvath’s problem—never knew when to shut up.”
“But my reputation!”
He laughed. “Cecilia, your father tried to kill the royalty of several countries. I expect your reputation is entirely lost.” He drew back, hands shifting to either side of her head, gun handle pressing against her ear. “My love,” he said, and kissed her.
The assembled crowd cooed and whistled in most unregal fashion.
Cecilia tried to push him away but her wits captured her nerves and forced her to sag against his body. He held her close, and yet she felt as if she was flying to a wild horizon. Finally he let her go, and she stumbled back, confused by gravity.
“You’ll have to marry him now,” Queen Victoria said with a chuckle. Then she grimaced down at Morvath’s unconscious body. “What a repulsive fellow. And his waistcoat is far too long. Someone clear this mess away.”
Two red-coated guards rushed to drag Morvath from the dance floor. Ladies moved back, pulling their skirts against their legs so he did not sully them as he was hauled past. Gentlemen murmured to whoever would listen that they of course would have attacked the fiend themselves, foiling his dastardly plot, if only they had been close enough... wearing their sword... not protecting the lady at their side... not suffering from a terrible nameless malady that slowed their movements. When the body neared Petunia Dole, her foot suffered an unforeseen spasm and kicked him in the head. Olivia Etterly was so astonished by this, she stumbled, and only by stepping heavily upon his groin was she able to restore her balance.
Morvath was then taken from the palace into the custody of the police force. (Charged with disturbing the peace, attempted murder, and upsetting the Queen on her special day, he was shipped off to Afghanistan, where they put him to work in a copper mine. But he escaped, developed an addiction to opium, and wandered the southern mountains orating epic poetry about the poppy—rhymes with floppy—until eventually meeting his doom at the hands of a prospective bride and her pet weasel.)
