"There is cholera here," said the woman severely. "No one enters or leaves, not for two weeks. Now leave before you come down with it yourself."

The window slammed shut, leaving Poppy and Alice standing in the dusty street. A sound came out of Poppy's mouth, somewhere between a curse and a cry of frustration. It matched the feeling bubbling along her nerves. They'd achieved exactly nothing.

Not sure what else to do, Poppy grasped Alice's hand and led her away, taking the shortest road she could find back to Regent Street. They moved quickly, all too aware of the growing sounds of fighting to the east.

"I think she's telling the truth," Poppy said.

"I do, too," Alice said in a wavering voice. "Look over there."

Between the buildings, Poppy could see men digging in a yard. There were three of them, and it was going to be a very large hole. "What are they doing?"

Alice swallowed hard, and the next words were stronger. "It's going to be a lime pit. They shouldn't be digging it this close to the houses. Papa's going to be furious."

A lime pit was for burying ma.s.ses of bodies, which meant the cholera was real. Her stomach skittered with chill terror and she ran a few steps, as if a yard or two would make any kind of difference.

Alice caught up, her eyes wide. "What now?"

"Does your father own any other foundling hospitals?"

"No. Charity work isn't a large part of his business."

That Poppy could believe. The streets around them were growing steadily worse, without even the pretense of respectability. "So where else can he hide a baby?" Poppy saw the broader, brighter expanse of Regent Street ahead and nearly broke into a run. "You said there were two possible places."

"There are a thousand places," Alice said, despair creeping into her voice. "I can't keep dragging you across London like this. Not without a better chance of success and a lot less danger."

"Don't worry about me," Poppy said, almost automatically.

"But I have to."

"I can worry about myself well enough."

"Poppy, think. We're only theorizing about what Father has done. We have no facts." Alice looked guilty and miserable. No doubt her heart was dragging her forward, but her common sense was reining her back. "You need to go home. I'll keep looking."

Gunfire cracked again. A flock of enormous black birds flew overhead, croaking like doom. Both women looked up, momentarily startled, but the birds pa.s.sed by.

"But your theories are good," Poppy protested, refusing to give up. There was no way she would let Alice go on without her. "We're looking for your father's property, or at least within his territory. He needs to hide a baby and a nurse someplace they won't be noticed. Where is the other place you came up with? Does he have a home for unwed mothers?"

"No, but he has a rooming house in Covent Garden where a lot of actresses live." Alice's cheeks flushed and she looked away. "He thinks I don't know about it, but he used to keep a mistress there."

"Then we try that," said Poppy. "It can't hurt, and it has to be nicer than this place."

"Are you sure about that?" Alice said sharply. "Be sensible. Covent Garden is due east." But Alice's words didn't match the look in her eyes. She was pleading to go.

East was right into the gunfire. Poppy grimaced, wishing she could give in to the terrified wailing insider her-but she just couldn't. "But what if we're right, and Jeremy is there?"

London, October 16, 1889.

THREADNEEDLE STREET.

10:35 a.m. Wednesday.

THE CATERPILLAR CRAWLED DOWN THREADNEEDLE STREET, surrounded by a human sea. The air smelled of river and ash and the press of lost humanity, as if the Styx had emptied onto the London streets and this was the new land of the dead. And the throng only grew, gathering more and more bodies as they progressed. Volunteers arrived out of alleyways and taverns, or were simply swept up like flotsam from the curbs. They marched or ambled; some brought weapons and others beer. Moore and the other professionals kept order, but there was hardly any need. All were unified by a cheer distilled from reckless despair.

From atop the caterpillar, Tobias could see the devastation left from the bombs and the subsequent conflagration. It might have been a week ago, but the scars were still fresh. Blackened smears of ash were all that remained of shops and homes. Where the Bank of Empire had once stood, a choking black smoke rose from a crater the size of a battleship. All around, shards of stone thrust into the air, snaggletoothed remains of the Green Queen's stately counting houses.

"I worked there," Corporal Yelland said, pointing to a particular heap of rubble. He had to raise his voice over the babble of the crowd, so it came out half as a yell. "Fifteen years perched on a stool, tallying debits and credits."

He was far from the only one whose livelihood had vanished overnight. Tobias wondered where all those workers would go-and how they would survive. "Were you there when it started?"

"I'd gone home for a few minutes to see to my old Da," Yelland replied. "Saved my life. He's with my sister now, in her house further west." He paused. "My home's a pile of kindling today."

"Your house and work gone in one night?" Tobias's chest tightened.

"I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't lose anyone, not even my cat." Yelland gave a grim smile. "That means I can keep a level head getting the job done, eh, guv'nor?" And he patted the b.u.t.t of the rifle propped next to him. It wasn't one of the many Moore had handed out, but his own, fitted with a clockwork loader and an aetherscope for measuring the direction and velocity of the wind.

"If only everyone's head was as level as yours," Tobias replied. "But then, we wouldn't be here if that were true."

Tobias stood behind the lever that turned the caterpillar left or right, gripping it with his left hand. The machine was easy enough to steer, the sectioned tail following smoothly after. Still, it required concentration. Too many people were crowded close to make a sudden move. Perhaps that was why Yelland spotted the Blue King's army first.

"Look, guv'nor!"

He looked, and then blinked. The dome of St. Paul's Cathedral floated like a meringue over the skyline, but from either side of the precinct came a mob of Blue Boys, azure sashes tied over one shoulder like a sword belt. The sash was their only uniform, the rest of the Blue Boys' attire left to chance, the only requisite to personify trouble on two legs. But Tobias wasn't fooled-they might look disorganized, but the Blue King's forces had always been thorough killers. And their number had to be equal to the rebels gathered around the caterpillar. d.a.m.nation!

"How did they get here?" Tobias snapped, his stomach dropping to his knees. The Blue King's territory was east and south of there. By rights, the Blue Boys should be nipping at their heels, not threatening their flank.

He hadn't expected an answer, but Yelland gave one anyway as he poked b.u.t.tons on the weapons panel. "The Blue King negotiated for Blackfriars Bridge, back when he took the Gray King's head. That gave him guaranteed pa.s.sage over the river."

"b.u.g.g.e.r." It was all Tobias had time to say before the rebels and Blue Boys surged toward one another like crashing streams, forcing the caterpillar to a halt. Where once the machine had been at the vanguard of the procession, now it was somewhere in the middle, mired as wave after wave of angry rebels stormed toward their foe. The sheer force of the stampede rocked the caterpillar from side to side, making Tobias grab for the back of his seat.

Suddenly the potential of war became reality-and then it became death. Rifles fired on both sides, the sound weirdly like applause. Men fell, blood, brains, and limbs spraying London's soil. Outrage skewered Tobias. "Give me a weapon!" he snarled.

Yelland was already there. At the push of a b.u.t.ton, the smiling caterpillar's antennae rose and tilted forward, a scope popping up. Tobias bent to peer through it, the margin where the rebels met the Blue Boys near the steps of St. Paul's zooming into view.

A bullet whined past his ear, proving the enemies had shooters of their own. Tobias started, alarm turning every nerve ending into a pinp.r.i.c.k of heat. He crouched, making himself smaller as Yelland raised his rifle and returned fire. Tobias heard a distant scream.

Releasing a shaky breath, Tobias returned his attention to his scope. Firing and hitting something wouldn't be a problem. But getting a clean shot at the enemy would be as the two forces began to swirl together. Tobias swore, his fingers shaking as he adjusted the aim of the antenna.

"Never mind, sir," Yelland said. "You'll know when to take your shot."

Tobias was about to protest when a rumble of engines caught his ear. He raised his head from the scope and spotted movement to the west of the church. There were half a dozen machines coming their way, the likes of which Tobias had never seen. They were the size of an old-fashioned coach and powered by steam, with wheels as high as Tobias was tall. In the front were three appendages like fat fingers made of sectioned steel. He stared for a moment, wondering what on earth they were for.

The machines fanned out, forcing their way into the crowd. The three steel fingers began striking the earth in steady succession, one-two-three, one-two-three. Vibrations shook the steel plates beneath Tobias's feet, sending up a faint rattle from the caterpillar's gears. At first he wondered if they were just meant to frighten the enemy, but as the pounders moved forward, he saw the destruction in their wake.

"Dear G.o.d," he breathed, momentarily frozen. A red trail followed them like the path of a scythe through wheat. Those steel fingers weren't meant simply to pound earth. They were meant to crush living flesh. Bile rose, souring Tobias's mouth and burning his throat.

Horror snapped him back to himself, firing a new sense of purpose. Shoot the operators, he decided, bending once again to the scope. But soon he saw there was no one driving, and a new fear twisted in his gut. Magnus had been the Blue King's maker. These are driven by sorcery!

Yelland fired, the careful aim of his bullet useless against the machine. The crowds were parting before them now, all too aware of what the pounding steel could do. It was a wise plan, except that it allowed the machines to move all the faster, and they were heading right for the heart of the rebel forces-including the caterpillar. Tobias fired the mounted antenna rifle. A blob of magnetized aether zipped through the air, bursting on the front panel of the nearest machine.

"Good shot, sir," Yelland said, barely pausing in his campaign to pick off Blue Boys as fast as the clockwork loader would permit. There hadn't been any more bullets. .h.i.tting the caterpillar, and Tobias guessed this was the cause. No one wanted to become Yelland's target.

Tobias pulled the lever to reload the antenna and grunted, considering the results of his last effort. The blast had been hard enough to make the thing rock on its wheels, but the only result was that one of the pounding fingers hung limp. The other two continued to crush without pause. This won't work. He watched the things, his mind all but rotating the machines in midair, searching for flaws in the design. All machines had them-it was just a matter of seeing what was in front of him. He fired another shot, watching as the machine rocked again. Watching for the center of gravity, which was too high for stability. Come at them at the right height and the right angle, and they'll topple over like a discarded toy. Tobias felt himself smiling, and he was fairly sure it was an evil grin.

"Moore!" he bellowed, looking around below. The sergeant had been nearby, controlling the troops close to the caterpillar. "Moore!"

"Sir!" came a brisk voice from the crowd below. The baker's face appeared, sweaty and streaked with dirt and sweat.

Tobias took a deep breath, wondering how best to explain what he wanted. "Do you know how to tip a cow?"

LORD BANCROFT CURLED his lip in distaste, but said nothing as he watched Bucky Penner work. They were in the back of the toy factory, the thin sunlight from the high, narrow windows augmented by an oil lamp suspended over the workbench. He'd spent more time around tools in the last few days than he had in a dozen years, and it brought back black memories. Plus, Bancroft hated the fact that he'd been forced to cooperate with the man who'd done his best to steal Imogen-an escapade that ended in an illness that would probably kill her.

"How many are there left to do?" Bancroft asked in an unfriendly voice.

Penner fitted another piece into the device without looking up. "This is going to take me hours, my lord, and watching me isn't making it go any faster."

Bancroft narrowed his eyes at the comment. Penner was finishing the handheld switches that would seize control of the Gold King's ma.s.sive machines. There were dozens of them, each attuned to a different unit, and all required the last few components to be inserted and the housing a.s.sembled. Tobias had originally created the design as a safeguard in case the weapons were seized by the enemy. Now-if Penner finished his work in time-the Gold King's machines could be turned against their commanders. "We don't have hours."

Wordlessly, the man picked up a plate and began s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it onto the back of the device, his movements swift and dexterous. Bancroft had to admit that Penner had talent. He'd seen it in him when he'd still been a lad in short pants, getting into sc.r.a.pes with Tobias. Bancroft encouraged the friendship, even though the Penners were nothing more than newly rich social upstarts. Bucky had seemed a steadying influence on his highly strung boy. A good lad all around-until he'd forgotten his place and started making eyes at Imogen.

But as much as he disapproved of Penner, it was difficult to stand and watch with nothing to do. "Wouldn't the Alldevice Number Two have better grip?"

Penner straightened, pushing the magnifying goggles he'd been wearing to the top of his head, where they looked like stumpy horns. "Respectfully, my lord, would you like to help? We might actually make it in time if two people worked on this."

The toymaker's tone was even, but the words still hit him like a slap. Lords don't do, they supervise. But it was far more than that. His will to create had been wrapped up with Anna's death and Magnus's black magic, and he'd mentally hidden the whole tangle from the rational part of his mind. I made a mechanical doll and let Magnus trap my daughter's soul inside. And when Tobias had tried to tell him Anna had escaped to terrorize the East End, he'd refused to listen. There was only so much a man should be expected to take. But long ago, he'd sworn never to touch a rack of tools again, and he'd held to that promise.

Bucky Penner was standing there, a questioning look on his face. "I can't do this alone, and Tobias is counting on us to get these to the prince."

Tobias. It would have been nice to believe that he could reclaim his love of building again. After all, it was something he could share with his son. But he would never hold a tool without thinking of the screams of his dead daughter. And soon the scent of a workshop-bitter with oil and sharp with the smell of hot metal-would remind him of his dead son, too.

Grief-more real and deep than he ever thought possible-tore him in its claws, ripping right through his breastbone. I'm sorry, my boy. And yet his eyes stayed dry. Lord Bancroft had banished tears right along with any joy he took in working with his hands-and filled those rents in his soul with ambition.

Wordlessly, he took the screwdriver from Penner's hand. It felt clumsy and unfamiliar, but he knew his skill would quickly revive. A furtive happiness stirred, but he stepped on it. This deviation from his personal rules was for the good of the Empire, not for him. "Move over," he snarled.

Penner had the gall to smile. "I hear you were quite a talent as a maker, my lord."

Bancroft braced his hands on the workbench, for the first time risking a mental glance backward. "I was. I used to live for the time I spent away from my daily work. No one bothered me when I had a tool in my hands."

He wasn't sure why he'd spoken-perhaps it was simply an acknowledgment to himself that he would be forced to work beside Penner, not just to finish the d.a.m.ned devices but to cross enemy lines and put them in the hands of the prince. And they had to do it within hours.

"I understand," Penner replied, clearing a second spot at the workbench. "I do my best thinking here."

Bancroft stepped up to the bench, picked out a few tools, and remembered those hours of quiet self-reflection he'd enjoyed so long ago. A queasy sense of unease a.s.sailed him. The past is quicksand.

And then he picked up one of the devices Tobias had begun, and his breath hitched at the sight of his son's elegant handiwork. I'm so sorry, my boy. However bad the past was, the future looked even more strewn with regrets.

He picked up a component and began s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it on, because he didn't know what else to do. If he was lucky, he wouldn't start to think.

South of London, October 16, 1889.

ABOARD THE ATHENA.

11:10 a.m. Wednesday.

EVELINA STOOD ON THE BRIDGE, PEERING DOWN THROUGH Nick's spygla.s.s at the land below. Nick was on the other side of the room, talking to a crewman she didn't know. She'd overheard that something was going on with the ash rooks, but she hadn't caught the specifics.

She was tired, her senses flattened from doing too much magic. The Athena had visited two other of the maker's armies before joining the column moving toward London from the south, and in both places Evelina had called on the devas to mobilize the machines. As before, they had taken care of the manufactories first, tearing them brick from brick with the relentless drive of nature itself, returning all to earth and stream.

The forces in the south would not require the same kind of help. Prince Edmond's march from Bath had begun as a relatively small force, but many had joined along the way. Above sailed those pirates-including Captain Roberts-who had not dispersed to watch the coasts for foreign invasion. Below marched makers and their creations, some with steam-driven wagons and others riding whatever invention they contributed to the cause. There were many men who had trained in secret for this uprising, and there were folk who had simply shown up, weapon in hand. This was truly the people's army.

The swelling numbers were heartening, but they slowed the column down. The group would have fragmented-some speeding ahead and leaving the rest behind-had not the makers brought several of those steam trains that Evelina had seen earlier with the self-laying tracks. Those now trundled in the middle of the pack, sandwiched between those trained to march.

The Athena hovered over the long tail of humanity, Evelina sweeping the circle of the spygla.s.s along its length. The prince stood a few feet away, doing his own reconnaissance through the telescope mounted at the foremost point of the bridge. He had been down with the troops most of the morning, but had returned to the ship with its superior vantage point to plan their next move.

"What is that at the back of the column?" she asked. "It looks like a frisky cow."

"It's not," he replied. "I'm not sure what it is, but the men are frightened to death of it."

Evelina squinted, but Nick's spygla.s.s had its limits. All she could see was a black shape loping twenty yards behind the last clump of men. "How long has it been there? Since Bath?"

"Since Dartmoor." The Schoolmaster-she still hadn't grown used to thinking of him as anything else-lifted his face from the eyepiece of the telescope. "It first appeared the morning after the destruction of the laboratories."

She thought of the monstrous animal she'd seen bound from the flames and reflexively drew back from the windows. "If that is the case, beware of it."

He shrugged. "So far it has done nothing but follow us."

Nick strode onto the bridge, with Striker behind him. They had news; it was written plainly across their tense features. Bacon scrambled from his basket by the door, but promptly sat at attention, eyes wide, when the atmosphere in the room turned grave. "It's not going to be as simple as we think to enter the city."

"We go up King's Road and through the barricades," the Schoolmaster said stubbornly. "There are too many of us to hold back. That will take us right to Westminster."

"This is going to be won in the air," Nick replied. His face was flushed, the color high on his cheekbones. "The ash rooks bring word of the Gold King's dirigibles coming in from Hampstead. It makes sense; there is an airfield on the heath."

Evelina saw the panic flicker behind the Schoolmaster's eyes, but he quickly submerged it. "Who are the best tacticians?" he asked.

"Me and Roberts."

"Then coordinate with him and give me options. If there's no time for options, do what needs to be done."