The brass chronometer on my wrist ticked relentlessly, each second punctuated by a soft mechanical click that only I could hear. Three months, seventeen days, and approximately fourteen hours since I’d made the decision that haunted me with every waking breath. The decision that transformed me from Detective Inspector Eleanor Blackwood into… well, whatever I am now.
London’s underbelly looked different from below. The floating city districts cast long shadows over the lower quarters where I now made my home, their massive steam engines and propulsion systems creating an eternal twilight down here. Soot fell like black snow, coating everything in a fine layer of industrial progress.
I adjusted my modified air filter mask and pulled my leather coat tighter. The mechanical arm I’d been fitted with after the accident whirred softly as I flexed the brass fingers. The bounty notice crinkled in my pocket—Sebastian Thorne, airship pirate, murderer, and the man I’d once called partner.
“You look terrible, Blackwood,” came a familiar voice from the shadows.
I didn’t turn. “Charming as always, Grimsby.”
The old mechanic limped into view, his own prosthetics far more extensive than mine—both legs and his left arm replaced with intricate clockwork limbs that hissed with each movement. His workshop had become my unofficial headquarters since my fall from grace.
“Any news on Thorne’s whereabouts?” I asked.
Grimsby handed me a small brass cylinder. “Pneumatic message from my contact in New Edinburgh. Thorne’s Scarlet Raven was spotted docking at the eastern aerodrome yesterday.”
I slipped the cylinder into my pocket. “You’re a miracle worker.”
“And you’re a fool,” he replied, his mechanical eye whirring as it focused. “The Bounty Guild wants him dead or alive. The Admiralty wants him publicly hanged. And you… what exactly do you want, Blackwood?”
The question struck deeper than he knew. What did I want? Redemption? Justice? Or was it simply to look Sebastian in the eyes when I put a bullet through his clockwork heart—the heart I’d helped him steal from the Royal Academy of Mechanical Sciences?
“I want what’s right,” I said finally.
Grimsby’s laugh was like metal scraping against stone. “Right? In this world? You’re still thinking like a copper, not a hunter.”
Perhaps he was correct. Five years as Detective Inspector had instilled in me a belief in justice that seemed naively optimistic now. But fifteen years of friendship with Sebastian before his betrayal—that was harder to reconcile.
—
The airship to New Edinburgh departed from Paddington Aerodrome at dawn. I boarded under the name Claire Adler, bounty hunter license #7729, my mechanical arm concealed beneath long gloves and my coat. The floating city grew smaller behind us as we ascended through the perpetual smog, eventually breaking through to clear skies that few below ever glimpsed.
First-class passengers lounged in the observation deck, sipping champagne and watching the countryside roll beneath us like a patchwork quilt. I remained in my second-class cabin, spreading my collection of documents across the narrow bed.
Sebastian’s betrayal had been methodical and precise. He had used our friendship to gain access to the Academy’s most guarded invention—the perpetual motion heart designed by Dr. Flemming. The heart had been intended for the Queen’s youngest son, born with a cardiac defect that no conventional medicine could address. Instead, Sebastian had arranged an “accident” during transport, one that left three Academy guards dead and me with a shattered arm pinned beneath an iron beam.
I should have died that night. Sometimes I still wonder if I did, and if this existence—hunting the man I once called friend—was some divine punishment for my failure.
A knock at my cabin door interrupted my thoughts.
“Refreshments, miss?” came a voice.
I slid my hand to the modified pepperbox pistol at my hip. “No, thank you.”
“I must insist,” the voice replied, dropping an octave. “I’ve come quite a long way to speak with you, Inspector.”
My blood ran cold. I drew the pistol and aimed it at the door. “Identify yourself.”
“An old friend of your quarry. Someone who wants Thorne’s perpetual heart just as badly as the Crown does.”
I cracked the door, keeping the pistol visible. A man in a steward’s uniform stood in the corridor, his eyes obscured by tinted goggles, his right hand clearly mechanical beneath a white glove.
“You have two minutes,” I said, stepping back to allow him entry.
The man slipped inside and removed his cap, revealing close-cropped silver hair. “Dr. Julian Flemming, at your service.”
My grip on the pistol didn’t waver. “Flemming is dead. He died in the laboratory explosion last winter.”
The man smiled, revealing teeth too perfect to be natural. “A necessary deception. The Crown doesn’t appreciate when royal physicians develop… independent ambitions.”
“What do you want?”
“To help you find Thorne, of course. And to reclaim my greatest creation before he fully understands what he possesses.”
I narrowed my eyes. “The heart was designed for Prince Edward’s condition.”
Flemming’s laugh was soft and unsettling. “Is that what they told you? No, Inspector. The perpetual motion heart was never meant for the royal family. It was the prototype for something far greater—a power source that could revolutionize the Empire. Or destroy it.”
Even if he was telling the truth, I couldn’t trust him. But information was currency in my new profession, and Flemming—or whoever he was—clearly had plenty to spend.
“Tell me what you know about Thorne’s current operation,” I said, “and I might consider not turning you in at the next port.”
—
New Edinburgh rose from the Scottish highlands like a mechanical spider, its eight massive legs anchored to mountain peaks, its body a sprawling metropolis of brass and iron suspended between them. Steam billowed from vents along its undercarriage, and cargo elevators constantly shuttled goods and passengers to and from the ground below.
I disembarked at the eastern aerodrome, Flemming’s information replaying in my mind. According to the doctor, Thorne had formed an alliance with the Crimson Cog—a revolutionary group opposed to the Empire’s increasingly mechanized military forces. Ironic, given that Thorne himself was now partially mechanical.
The streets of New Edinburgh’s eastern district were narrow and winding, buildings stacked upon buildings in gravity-defying arrangements that would have been impossible without the city’s advanced structural engineering. Street vendors hawked everything from mechanical pets to questionable tonics promising to cure the industrial lung that plagued so many workers.
I followed the directions Flemming had provided to a modest tea shop called The Copper Kettle. The sign featured a dented kettle with gears for eyes, swinging gently in the perpetual breeze that swept through the elevated city.
Inside, the air was fragrant with spiced tea and mechanical oil—an oddly comforting combination. I took a seat at a corner table and ordered the house blend, keeping my mechanical arm hidden beneath the table. The waitress, a young woman with intricate brass filigree embedded along her hairline—fashion or function, I couldn’t tell—nodded and disappeared behind a beaded curtain.
Three sips into my tea, the curtain parted again, and my heart nearly stopped.
Sebastian Thorne stood before me, looking remarkably unchanged since I’d last seen him. His dark hair was still swept back from his forehead, his goatee neatly trimmed, and his green eyes still held that mischievous glint that had drawn so many to his confidence schemes over the years.
“Eleanor,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re looking… mechanical.”
I kept my expression neutral. “A parting gift from our last encounter.”
“An unfortunate necessity,” he replied, signaling the waitress for tea. “Though I see it hasn’t slowed you down. Bounty hunting suits you better than I would have expected.”
“Don’t,” I warned. “Don’t pretend this is a friendly reunion.”
Sebastian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then what is it? Are you here to kill me? Turn me in for the substantial reward? Or did you actually want to hear my side of the story before making your decision?”
I leaned forward. “Three Academy guards died that night, Sebastian. Good men with families.”
“And how many have died in the Queen’s colonial wars?” he countered. “How many children have been sent to the factories with their own mechanical ‘upgrades’ to make them more efficient workers? The Empire is rotting from within, Ellie, and the heart is the key to stopping it.”
“By giving it to terrorists?”
Sebastian’s expression hardened. “The Crimson Cog are freedom fighters, not terrorists. And I haven’t given them anything. Not yet.”
The waitress returned with Sebastian’s tea, and I noted the way her eyes lingered on him. Another acolyte to his cause, no doubt.
“Why am I still alive, Sebastian?” I asked when she had gone. “You could have killed me that night. It would have been easier.”
For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his face. “Because despite what you think of me now, I do have a conscience. And because I hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that when you learned the truth, you might join us.”
I nearly laughed. “Join you? After what you did?”
“What I did was steal technology that would have been weaponized by the Crown,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Flemming’s perpetual motion mechanism was never meant for Prince Edward. It was designed as a power source for a new class of mechanical soldiers—autonomous killing machines that could be deployed to crush dissent throughout the Empire.”
I wanted to dismiss his claims as the ravings of a revolutionary, but they aligned too perfectly with what Flemming had told me on the airship. And Sebastian had always been many things—thief, con artist, charmer—but never a liar. Not to me.
“Even if that’s true,” I said, “it doesn’t justify murder.”
Sebastian’s hand moved to his chest, resting over the place where the mechanical heart would be. “No, it doesn’t. And I live with that guilt every day, Eleanor. But I can’t change the past—I can only try to shape a better future.”
The clockwork gears in my prosthetic arm whirred softly as I clenched my fist beneath the table. “Show me,” I said finally. “Show me this grand plan that justified everything you’ve done.”
A spark of hope lit his eyes. “Now?”
“Now,” I confirmed. “Before I decide whether to fulfill my contract or not.”
Sebastian nodded slowly. “Fair enough. But I should warn you—once you see what we’re building, there’s no going back to your old life.”
I almost laughed. “My old life ended the moment you left me bleeding under that beam, Sebastian. I’m just trying to figure out what my new one looks like.”
—
The undercity of New Edinburgh was a maze of pipes, gears, and forgotten maintenance tunnels. Sebastian led me through narrow passages where we had to duck beneath hissing steam valves and step over churning drive shafts that powered the city above. The further we descended, the more I questioned my decision to come alone.
“Almost there,” Sebastian said, pausing before a massive copper door emblazoned with the symbol of a cog surrounding a flame. He pressed his mechanical heart against a circular panel, and the door responded to some unseen signal, gears grinding as it slowly swung open.
The chamber beyond took my breath away. It was a vast circular space with a domed ceiling, reminiscent of the great cathedrals of Europe but dedicated to a different kind of worship. Workbenches lined the walls, where dozens of people—some with mechanical enhancements, others without—labored over intricate devices. In the center stood a contraption that defied easy description: a towering apparatus of brass, crystal, and pulsing blue energy that seemed to bend the light around it.
“Welcome to the heart of the resistance,” Sebastian said, genuine pride in his voice. “We call it the Equalizer.”
A woman approached us, her left eye replaced with a complex lens system that clicked and adjusted as she focused on me. “This is the inspector?” she asked, her accent distinctly Russian.
“Former inspector,” Sebastian corrected. “Eleanor, this is Dr. Irina Petrov, formerly of the Imperial Russian Academy of Sciences, until they decided her work on energy distribution was too dangerous for civilian applications.”
Dr. Petrov extended her hand, and I noted the fine mechanical work on her fingers—more sophisticated than my own prosthetics. “Your reputation precedes you, Miss Blackwood. Sebastian has spoken highly of your intelligence and integrity.”
“Funny,” I replied, shaking her hand, “he never mentioned you at all.”
Sebastian winced. “There’s a lot I couldn’t tell you, Eleanor. For your safety as much as ours.”
“Spare me,” I said. “Tell me about this… Equalizer.”
Dr. Petrov gestured toward the central apparatus. “The perpetual motion heart that Sebastian… acquired… generates an extraordinary amount of energy. The Equalizer harnesses that energy and converts it into a signal that can temporarily disable mechanical systems within its radius.”
“An electromagnetic pulse,” I said, recognizing the concept from scientific journals.
“Similar, but more selective,” Sebastian explained. “It can be tuned to target specific types of mechanics, leaving critical systems—like medical devices and public transportation—unaffected.”
I approached the machine cautiously. “And what exactly do you plan to do with it?”
“We’re going to broadcast the signal across London during the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebration,” Dr. Petrov said matter-of-factly. “When the new mechanical army is unveiled in the grand parade, we will render them inert—a very public demonstration of their vulnerability.”
“And,” Sebastian added, “release documents proving that these soldiers were designed not for imperial defense, but for domestic suppression.”
My mind raced, evaluating their plan from every angle. “You’ll never get close enough. Security will be unprecedented.”
Sebastian smiled. “That’s where you come in, Eleanor. As a bounty hunter with a legitimate license and a record of successful captures, you could get us access that no one else could.”
And there it was—the real reason he’d allowed this meeting. Not reconciliation, not justification, but recruitment. I should have known.
“You want me to help you commit treason,” I said flatly.
“I want you to help us prevent atrocities,” Sebastian countered. “The mechanical soldiers are just the beginning. The Crown plans to expand the program, eventually replacing human judgment with algorithmic decision-making. Imagine a world where your guilt or innocence is determined by a machine programmed by the ruling class.”
I thought of my years with the Metropolitan Police, of the gradual introduction of mechanical assistance in investigations, evidence processing, even preliminary sentencing recommendations. I had embraced these advancements as progress, but had I been naive?
“I need time to think,” I said finally.
Sebastian nodded. “Of course. But not too much time—the Jubilee is in three days.”
Dr. Petrov handed me a small brass disk. “A communication device. Press the center when you’re ready to talk.”
As Sebastian escorted me back through the labyrinth of tunnels, neither of us spoke. The weight of the decision before me seemed to compress the air between us. At the final junction before we would emerge onto a public street, he finally broke the silence.
“I never wanted to hurt you, Eleanor. That night at the Academy… when the guards responded faster than we anticipated… I made a calculated choice that I’ve regretted every day since.”
“You chose the mission over me,” I said, the words tasting bitter.
“I chose the greater good over one life,” he corrected gently. “Even knowing it was your life—especially knowing it was your life—it was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”
I looked at him then, really looked at him, searching for the man I had known for fifteen years. Behind the revolutionary fervor and the charismatic leadership, I could still see glimpses of the brilliant, compassionate person who had once been my closest friend.
“If I decide to help you,” I said carefully, “it won’t be for you or your cause. It will be because I believe it’s the right thing to do.”
Sebastian smiled, a genuine expression that reached his eyes this time. “I would expect nothing less from you, Eleanor. It’s why I’ve always—” He stopped himself, then continued more formally, “It’s why I’ve always respected you.”
I turned away. “Don’t follow me. I’ll contact you when I’ve decided.”
As I walked away, I felt the weight of the brass disk in my pocket, heavy with possibility and danger in equal measure. Three days to make a decision that would define not only my future but potentially the future of the Empire itself. Three days to determine whether Sebastian Thorne was a visionary or a terrorist—or perhaps both.
And three days to reckon with the most difficult question of all: had I been pursuing him all these months to bring him to justice, or to find my way back to the person I used to be?
—
The modest room I’d rented in the mechanical district became my prison for the next twenty-four hours. I spread my evidence across the bed—Sebastian’s bounty notice, newspaper clippings about the Academy theft, my own notes from the investigation, and now the information from both Flemming and the Crimson Cog. Two narratives, equally compelling and mutually exclusive.
I removed my mechanical arm for maintenance, a ritual that always forced me to confront the physical manifestation of Sebastian’s betrayal. As I oiled the gears and tightened the connectors, I considered what I knew to be true.
Fact: Sebastian had stolen the perpetual motion heart.
Fact: Three guards had died during the theft.
Fact: I had nearly died as well.
Fact: Sebastian had not killed me when he could have.
Everything else—the Crown’s intentions for the heart, the Crimson Cog’s revolutionary agenda, Flemming’s mysterious survival—existed in a gray area of unverifiable claims and counterclaims.
A knock at my door startled me from my thoughts. I hastily reattached my arm and drew my pistol before approaching the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
“An old friend,” came the reply, in a voice I hadn’t heard in years.
I cracked the door, pistol at the ready, to find Commissioner Wallace standing in the hallway. My former superior looked older than I remembered, his mustache now completely gray, deep lines etched around his eyes.
“May I come in, Inspector? Or should I say, Hunter Blackwood?”
I stood aside, allowing him to enter while keeping my weapon visible. “How did you find me?”
Wallace removed his hat, turning it in his hands. “You’re not the only one with contacts in the Bounty Guild. May I sit?”
I gestured to the room’s only chair while I perched on the edge of the bed, discreetly covering my notes with a blanket. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”
“No,” he agreed, setting his hat aside. “I’m here about Sebastian Thorne.”
“I haven’t captured him yet,” I said carefully.
Wallace waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not here about the bounty. I’m here because I received a rather cryptic message suggesting you might have made contact with him. And with the Crimson Cog.”
My blood ran cold. “Who sent this message?”
“Dr. Flemming,” Wallace replied, watching my reaction closely. “Yes, the same Flemming who supposedly died last winter. It seems there are many people in this affair who aren’t what they appear to be.”
I kept my expression neutral. “Including you? Last I checked, commissioners don’t personally track down former inspectors who’ve become bounty hunters.”
A tired smile crossed his face. “Touché. No, I’m not here in an official capacity. In fact, no one at the Yard knows I’m in New Edinburgh.”
“Then why are you here?”
Wallace leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Because I believe Sebastian Thorne may be right. And because I fear what will happen if the Crown’s mechanical army is deployed as planned.”
I stared at him, searching for signs of deception. Commissioner Wallace had been a by-the-book leader, dedicated to the rule of law above all else. His apparent sympathy for revolutionaries seemed wildly out of character.
“You expect me to believe that you support the Crimson Cog?” I asked incredulously.
“Support is too strong a word,” he replied. “Let’s say I share their concerns about unchecked mechanization of police and military forces. I’ve seen the prototypes, Eleanor. They’re designed to follow orders without question, without hesitation, and without mercy.”
“If you’re so concerned, why not speak out? Your position gives you influence.”
Wallace laughed bitterly. “My position gives me a target on my back. Two commissioners before me attempted to question the Crown’s mechanization initiative. One was forced into early retirement after a mysterious scandal; the other suffered a fatal ‘accident’ while inspecting a factory.”
I studied him carefully. “What do you want from me?”
“Information,” he said simply. “What is Thorne planning? And is there a way to achieve his aims without bloodshed?”
I considered my options. If Wallace was sincere, he could be a powerful ally. If he was setting a trap, sharing information could doom Sebastian and the entire Crimson Cog.
“I need proof of your sincerity,” I said finally.
Wallace nodded as if he had expected this. He reached into his coat and removed a folded document, handing it to me. “This is the deployment schedule for the mechanical soldiers following the Jubilee demonstration. The first targets aren’t foreign enemies—they’re domestic labor organizers, political dissidents, and academic critics of the Empire.”
I scanned the document, recognizing the official seals and signatures. If it was a forgery, it was a masterful one.
“This is treason,” I said quietly. “Sharing this document alone could get you hanged.”
“Yes,” he agreed gravely. “So now you know I’m serious.”
—
The brass communication disk felt heavy in my palm as I stood on the rooftop of my boarding house, the winds of New Edinburgh whipping around me. Below, the city continued its perpetual motion—gears turning, steam hissing, people rushing through their lives unaware of the machinations that might soon change everything.
I pressed the center of the disk.
Within minutes, a small personal dirigible appeared above me, dropping a rope ladder that swayed in the wind. I climbed aboard to find Sebastian at the controls, his expression guarded but hopeful.
“Commissioner Wallace found me,” I said without preamble.
Sebastian’s hands tightened on the control wheel. “And?”
“And he provided evidence supporting your claims about the mechanical army’s true purpose.” I handed him Wallace’s document. “He wants to help.”
Sebastian scanned the deployment schedule, his expression darkening. “This is worse than we thought. They’re moving faster than our intelligence suggested.”
“Can you trust him?” I asked.
Sebastian returned the document. “The better question is, do you trust him?”
I considered this as we drifted through the cloud cover, the dirigible’s quiet electric motor barely audible over the wind. “I want to. He was a mentor to me. But this world has taught me that people rarely are what they seem.”
“Including me?” Sebastian asked softly.
I met his gaze. “Especially you.”
He nodded, accepting this. “Fair enough. But we need to make a decision about Wallace. The Jubilee is now less than forty-eight hours away.”
I thought of Wallace’s tired eyes, the risk he had taken in coming to me, the genuine concern in his voice when he spoke of the mechanical soldiers. “We test him,” I decided. “Give him information that’s accurate but not critical. See what he does with it.”
“And if he betrays us?”
“Then I’ll deal with him myself,” I said, surprising myself with how easily the words came. “This is bigger than any one person’s loyalty—even mine.”
Sebastian studied me for a long moment. “You’ve changed, Eleanor.”
“You left me no choice,” I replied.
He guided the dirigible toward the eastern mountains, where the city’s massive support legs anchored to the rocky terrain. “We all make choices that seem necessary in the moment. Sometimes we only understand the consequences much later.”
I thought of the path that had led me here—from dedicated police inspector to bounty hunter to potential revolutionary. Each step had seemed inevitable at the time, a reaction to circumstances beyond my control. But perhaps Sebastian was right. Perhaps every choice had been mine all along.
“I’ll help you,” I said finally. “Not because I forgive you, and not because I fully trust your cause. But because I’ve seen enough to believe that the alternative is worse.”
Relief washed over his face. “Thank you, Eleanor.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I warned. “I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“No casualties,” I said firmly. “Your plan needs to disable the mechanical soldiers without harming civilians or regular military personnel.”
He nodded. “Already our intention.”
“Wallace is under my protection. Whatever happens, he remains unharmed.”
Another nod. “Agreed.”
“And after this is over—if we survive—you turn yourself in to me. For the deaths at the Academy.”
Sebastian’s hands stilled on the controls. “You would still see me hanged?”
“I would see justice done,” I corrected. “But justice isn’t always what the Crown decrees. I’ll take you somewhere you can face a fair tribunal—perhaps the Independent Northern Territories or the Free Pacific States.”
He considered this for a long moment. “And if this tribunal finds me guilty?”
“Then you accept their punishment, knowing it was decided fairly.”
Sebastian extended his hand. “I agree to your terms, Eleanor.”
We shook hands, his warm fingers against my mechanical ones—a physical manifestation of how much had changed between us.
“Now,” I said, “tell me exactly what you need me to do.”
—
The plan was audacious, requiring split-second timing and multiple contingencies. As Sebastian outlined the details, I found myself admiring the strategic mind that I had once respected as a colleague and friend. The Crimson Cog had spent months infiltrating key positions throughout London, placing operatives in everything from the Jubilee planning committee to the mechanical maintenance crews that would service the soldiers before their unveiling.
My role was crucial: using my bounty hunter credentials, I would pose as security at the Jubilee, responsible for monitoring potential threats to the royal family. This position would allow me to access restricted areas and plant signal amplifiers for the Equalizer’s pulse.
“What about Flemming?” I asked as Sebastian finished his explanation.
A shadow crossed his face. “He’s a complication. We know he’s working with elements within the Royal Society who want the heart for their own purposes—purposes possibly more dangerous than the Crown’s.”
“He approached me on the airship here,” I admitted. “Claimed he wanted to help me find you.”
Sebastian’s expression hardened. “He can’t be trusted. His work on the heart was brilliant, but his vision for its application was… disturbing. He didn’t just want to power mechanical soldiers; he wanted to fundamentally alter human evolution through mechanization.”
“Creating a new class of enhanced humans loyal to whoever controls the technology,” I surmised.
“Exactly. Which is why we must ensure the Equalizer works as intended—it will not only disable the mechanical army but also render the perpetual motion heart temporarily inert, preventing anyone from misusing it during the chaos that follows.”
I considered this. “And afterward? What happens to the heart then?”
Sebastian hesitated. “That’s… still being debated among Cog leadership.”
“That’s not good enough,” I said sharply. “If this technology is as dangerous as you claim, I need to know it won’t fall into the wrong hands—including yours.”
“You still don’t trust me,” he observed.
“Should I?”
The dirigible began its descent toward a concealed hangar built into the mountainside. Sebastian was quiet for a moment, focused on the landing procedures.
“After the Jubilee,” he said finally, “I plan to destroy the heart. It’s too dangerous to exist—whether controlled by the Crown, the Cog, or anyone else.”
I searched his face for deception and found none. “The other Cog leaders agree with this?”
“No,” he admitted. “Most believe we should keep it as leverage or for future operations. But I’ve seen what the pursuit of this technology has already cost.” His eyes flickered to my mechanical arm. “Some prices are too high.”
The dirigible settled onto its landing platform with a gentle bump. Outside, I could see Cog members approaching to secure the aircraft.
“I believe you,” I said quietly. “About destroying the heart.”
Sebastian smiled, a shadow of our old camaraderie flickering between us. “That’s a start.”
—
Commissioner Wallace met me at an abandoned clocktower near the edge of New Edinburgh’s financial district. The massive gears that once drove the clock hands lay silent and rusting around us, casualties of technological progress.
“Did you meet with Thorne?” he asked without preamble.
I nodded. “They’re planning to disrupt the Jubilee demonstration using some kind of targeted pulse that will disable the mechanical soldiers.”
Wallace’s eyebrows rose. “Ambitious. And dangerous.”
“They believe they can do it without casualties,” I explained, watching his reaction carefully. “The pulse will only affect the new military models, not civilian mechanics or older military equipment.”
“And you believe this is possible?”
I shrugged. “They have some of the finest scientific minds in Europe working with them. If anyone can do it, they can.”
Wallace paced between the massive gears, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. “What role do they want you to play?”
“Security infiltration,” I said, feeding him the information Sebastian and I had agreed upon. “My bounty hunter credentials will get me access to restricted areas.”
He stopped pacing. “And they trust you this much? After you’ve been hunting Thorne for months?”
“They’re desperate,” I replied. “And Sebastian believes he can predict my actions because he knows me so well.”
“Does he?” Wallace asked softly.
I met his gaze steadily. “He thinks he does.”
The commissioner nodded slowly. “Well, then. I suppose I should offer my assistance as well. I can provide security protocols, patrol schedules, response plans—everything you would need to optimize your positioning.”
“That would be helpful,” I agreed, maintaining a neutral expression despite my internal alarm. Wallace was offering too much, too easily. “Though I have to wonder why you’re so willing to commit treason.”
Wallace smiled thinly. “The same reason you are, I imagine. Because sometimes the law and justice are not the same thing.”
I handed him a small brass disk identical to the one I’d received from Dr. Petrov. “Use this to contact me when you have the information. I’ll arrange a meeting.”
He pocketed the disk. “There’s something else you should know, Eleanor. Flemming has been meeting with Admiral Blackwood of Naval Intelligence.”
My breath caught. “My father?”
“I’m afraid so. It seems the Admiral has his own interest in the perpetual motion technology—something about advanced submarines capable of remaining submerged indefinitely.”
The revelation struck me like a physical blow. My father, the decorated naval hero, potentially involved in the same conspiracy that had led to Sebastian’s theft and my injury. The web of betrayal and manipulation extended further than I had imagined.
“Thank you for telling me,” I managed.
Wallace studied me with sympathy. “Family complications are the most difficult kind. Believe me, I understand.”
As he left the clocktower, I remained among the silent gears, trying to process this new information. If my father was involved, the personal stakes had just increased exponentially. But it also made me question everything about Wallace’s sudden appearance and convenient assistance.
I removed the false disk I had given him—identical to Dr. Petrov’s device in appearance but containing a tracking mechanism developed by the Cog’s engineers. Wherever Wallace went next would tell me whether he was truly an ally or a sophisticated plant.
—
The tracking device led me to an unexpected location: the New Edinburgh Public Archives, specifically the mechanical patent office on the third floor. I observed from across the street as Wallace spent nearly two hours inside before emerging with a leather portfolio tucked under his arm.
Following him proved challenging in the crowded streets, but my training served me well. He wound his way through the commercial district before entering an unassuming teahouse—not The Copper Kettle, but a similar establishment called The Gilded Gear.
I waited fifteen minutes before entering, disguised with a different coat and a mechanical eye attachment that changed my appearance just enough to avoid immediate recognition. I took a seat near the back, ordering jasmine tea while surveying the room.
Wallace sat in a private booth with a woman whose back was to me. From my position, I could see only her elaborate hairstyle adorned with small mechanical butterflies that occasionally flexed their wings—the height of aristocratic fashion.
Their conversation appeared intense but restrained, both leaning forward to speak in hushed tones. When the woman finally turned to signal for service, I nearly gasped aloud.
Lady Helena Blackwood. My mother.
I hadn’t seen her in over three years, not since my father had forbidden contact after I refused a prestigious administrative position in the Metropolitan Police in favor of continuing fieldwork. The estrangement had been painful but not unexpected—the Admiral had always envisioned a different path for his only daughter.
Seeing my mother here, conspiring with Wallace, shattered whatever remaining certainty I had about the players in this dangerous game. Was she working with my father? Against him? And where did her loyalties truly lie?
I abandoned my tea and slipped out of the teahouse, mind racing. I needed to report this development to Sebastian, but I also needed time to process what it might mean for our plans—and for me personally.
The communication disk vibrated in my pocket. I ducked into an alley and pressed it to my ear.
“Eleanor.” Sebastian’s voice was tense. “We’ve intercepted a Naval Intelligence transmission. They’re moving up the Jubilee demonstration. It’s happening tomorrow at noon, not the day after as originally planned.”
“What? Why?”
“Unknown, but we suspect security concerns. Multiple regional governors have canceled their attendance in the past twenty-four hours.”
I thought of Wallace meeting my mother, of Flemming’s connections to my father. “It’s a trap,” I realized aloud. “They know something’s coming.”
“Possibly,” Sebastian agreed. “But we can’t abort. If those mechanical soldiers are deployed as scheduled, it will be too late to stop what follows.”
“So we adapt,” I said, falling back on years of investigative work. “Change our insertion points, alter the timing.”
“Exactly. Return to the Cog headquarters immediately. We need to revise the entire operation.”
As I made my way through the labyrinthine streets toward our hidden entrance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. The sensation had followed me since leaving the teahouse, a prickling awareness that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
At a crowded intersection, I deliberately took a wrong turn, then another, creating a circuitous path that would reveal any tail. On my third detour, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure—the waitress from The Copper Kettle, the one with the brass filigree along her hairline.
Not a fashion choice after all, it seemed, but a marker of allegiance—or perhaps a communication device.
I ducked into a mechanical repair shop, pretending to browse replacement parts for my prosthetic arm while watching the street through the window. The waitress passed by, her eyes scanning the storefronts. When she moved on, I slipped out the back entrance and scaled a maintenance ladder to the rooftops.
New Edinburgh’s architecture made rooftop travel possible for those with the right equipment and training. I engaged the spring-loaded enhancements in my boots—another “gift” from my new profession—and began making my way across the city from above, jumping between buildings where the gaps were manageable.
By the time I reached the Cog’s hidden entrance, I was certain I had lost any pursuit. But the implications remained troubling. If the waitress from Sebastian’s teahouse was following me, it suggested either that Sebastian didn’t trust me as much as he claimed, or that the Cog had factions with different agendas.
Neither possibility boded well for tomorrow’s operation.
—
The Cog headquarters had transformed into a war room, with engineers making last-minute modifications to the Equalizer while runners carried messages between different sections of the resistance. Dr. Petrov directed the chaos from a central platform, her mechanical eye whirring constantly as she processed information from multiple sources.
Sebastian met me in a small side chamber, his face drawn with tension. “We’ve had to completely revise the plan,” he said without greeting. “The naval contingent has added additional security measures we hadn’t anticipated.”
“My father’s influence,” I surmised.
Sebastian’s expression confirmed my suspicion. “You know?”
“Wallace told me he’s working with Flemming. And I just saw Wallace meeting with my mother at a teahouse in the commercial district.”
Sebastian cursed under his breath. “Your family has complicated matters considerably. Admiral Blackwood has apparently convinced the Crown that the perpetual motion technology could revolutionize naval warfare—submarines that never need to surface, weapons systems with unlimited power.”
“And my mother’s role?”
“Unknown, but Lady Blackwood has always had connections throughout aristocratic circles. If she’s involved, it could mean political factions within the government are taking sides.”
I leaned against a workbench, suddenly exhausted. “I was followed today. The waitress from your teahouse—the one with the brass filigree.”
Sebastian tensed. “Evelyn? That’s impossible. She’s been with us from the beginning.”
“Well, she was following me after I left Wallace and my mother.”
He shook his head. “If she was following you, it wasn’t on my orders. Perhaps she recognized you from the teahouse and was concerned about your meeting with Wallace.”
“Or perhaps,” came a new voice, “there are more players in this game than either of you realize.”
We turned to find Dr. Petrov in the doorway, her mechanical eye fixed on us. “The waitress, Evelyn, disappeared three days ago. If someone resembling her was following you, it wasn’t her.”
“A doppelgänger?” I asked incredulously.
“Or a very sophisticated mechanical replacement,” Dr. Petrov replied. “The technology exists, though it’s extraordinarily expensive and complex.”
Sebastian and I exchanged alarmed glances. “Flemming,” we said in unison.
Dr. Petrov nodded grimly. “His work on mechanized prosthetics was revolutionary, but there were always rumors that he had developed more… comprehensive replacements. Human-appearing constructs that could infiltrate and observe.”
The implications were staggering. If Flemming possessed such technology, any of our allies could potentially be compromised—replaced with mechanical duplicates loyal to him or his backers.
“How do we identify these… constructs?” I asked.
“They cannot perfectly replicate human biological responses,” Dr. Petrov explained. “Minute differences in pupillary reaction, skin temperature gradients, perspiration patterns. With the right equipment, they can be detected.”
“Do we have this equipment?” Sebastian demanded.
Dr. Petrov shook her head. “Not in sufficient quantity to screen everyone before tomorrow’s operation.”
I thought of the mission ahead, now complicated by this new threat. “Then we trust no one outside this room,” I decided. “And we create a plan that can succeed even with potential infiltration.”
Sebastian studied me with newfound respect. “What do you propose?”
I straightened, my mind clicking into the analytical pattern that had made me an effective detective. “We create a decoy operation—one that any infiltrators would report back to their masters. Meanwhile, a smaller team executes the real plan.”
“And who would be in this smaller team?” Dr. Petrov asked.
I met Sebastian’s gaze. “Just the three of us. And Commissioner Wallace, if he proves trustworthy.”
“That’s absurdly dangerous,” Sebastian objected. “The original plan required at least twelve operatives in key positions.”
“The original plan is compromised,” I countered. “We need something unexpected, something only we know about.”
Dr. Petrov’s mechanical eye whirred as she calculated possibilities. “It could work, with modifications to the Equalizer. Instead of multiple signal amplifiers placed throughout the parade route, we could use a single, more powerful broadcast from the Clock Tower overlooking the main square.”
“That would require getting the Equalizer to the Clock Tower undetected,” Sebastian pointed out.
I smiled grimly. “Fortunately, you have a licensed bounty hunter with official access to secured areas. And I have a plan to get us all where we need to be.”