The Clockwork Scarab

Chapter 17

Miss Holmes
Wherein Our Heroines Learn the
Meaning of the Word "Debrief"
"If you'd just waited a moment longer, everything would have been fine," I said, eyeing Evaline with unconcealed resentment.
It was three days after the events above the fish-smokers' shop at the docks.
"If you hadn't shown up, my plan would have worked perfectly," she retorted, folding her arms over her middle.
"Yes, and you would have been dead."
"That might be the case, but at least we'd be certain of the Ankh's identity. Thanks to your ridiculous, overly complicated plan, we still don't know who she was."
I opened my mouth to argue, then I saw the glint of humor in her eyes and relaxed. "Quite true," I conceded, and exchanged a glance with Dylan. Our plan had been perfectly wrought and flawlessly executed . . . but in the end, the Ankh had had her own victory.
That was the only thing that continued to niggle at me.
We still didn't know who the Ankh was, or precisely why she (at least I'd been correct about the gender) had collected young women. Had she been trying to stir up their independence while attempting to raise a goddess's powers, or had that merely been a byproduct of her mad plan? I still found the concept absurd, but then again . . . Dylan Ekhert's time traveling was a testament to events and concepts beyond my understanding.
We did have a body . . . but it was bloated and nibbled beyond recognition. Pulled just this morning from the canal where it met the Thames, the dead woman had been dressed in dark trousers and a loose black tunic-just as the Ankh had been. I hadn't been given ample opportunity to examine the deceased, thanks to Inspector Luckworth's insistence that girls had no reason to be so morbid, but one thing was certain: even from my brief look, it was clear that the body didn't resemble Lady Cosgrove-Pitt.
Aside from that, the lady in question had been seen leaving London yesterday with her husband, bound for their country estate. It was still inconceivable that I'd been wrong about the Ankh's identity, but unless the body wasn't actually the villainess in question, the unthinkable was true: my deductions were incorrect.
No one could have survived the fall from that window, three stories off the ground. As I would have been such a casualty myself if it weren't for Inspector Grayling and Dylan both grabbing me at the last minute (how humiliating), I'd examined the area below quite carefully. Someone tumbling from the window would either have crashed to the cobblestones or landed in the canal. No body was found or witnessed on the street, which left the canal. And although it took three days, a corpse matching the description of the Ankh as we'd last seen her had been dragged from the sewage.
Thus, as far as Scotland Yard was concerned, the case was closed. The only reason I wasn't completely convinced was because in accepting that, it would mean I had been irrefutably wrong. And that I probably owed Lady Cosgrove-Pitt, as well as Grayling, an explanation. And an apology.
I turned my mind away from that unpleasant thought and looked at Evaline. I might have made a deductive reasoning error, but I must admit: she had done something much more heroic. "You were ready to die," I said. "You would have died. Willingly."
Our eyes met, and I saw wariness there, and another emotion I couldn't identify. Surprise? Gratitude? Shyness?
Evaline shrugged, but I could see how much it cost her to appear casual. "And you ignored the directions on the message from the Ankh. You didn't go to Fannery's Square. Instead, you risked your life to find me. You saved my life."
I remembered again how utterly tied in knots my insides had been after I reversed my decision to go to Fannery's Square. They didn't relax until I saw Sekhmet through the high window above the fish-smokers' shop. Only then was I certain I'd done the right thing. And only then did I send for Grayling and Luckworth. "In the end, I had to listen to my instincts."
"I'm rather glad you did."
That was when I realized that, somewhere along the way, she'd ceased being Miss Stoker and had become Evaline.
Not quite a friend, but no longer a stranger.
The unfamiliar sensation of camaraderie made me smile. "And I'm quite certain the remaining Society of Sekhmet members would have been just as appreciative of your sacrifice if you'd actually been able to make it."
A loud throat-clearing drew my attention to Miss Adler. She, Evaline, Dylan, and myself were sitting in her office, engaging in what our friend from the future oddly called a "debrief."
Miss Adler looked around at us, her eyes tired but pleased. I wasn't certain when she'd returned from whatever had called her away so unexpectedly, but yesterday morning I received communication from her to meet at the museum today. "The important thing is, you're all safe. Perhaps in the future, you'll learn to work together more easily instead of relying only on yourselves." She looked at us meaningfully, and I felt my cheeks warm. "Nevertheless, you've completed your first task for Her Royal Highness. She is very pleased, as am I. You undertook a complicated, dangerous mission and came through mostly unscathed and . . . I am inclined to believe . . . a bit more willing to recognize your limitations as well as your strengths."
Evaline and I exchanged glances.
"But no one's found any of the Ankh's papers? Her hideout? Anything she left behind about her plans? Any evidence at all?"
I looked at Dylan. Defeat showed in his face, and I understood why. He'd hoped that once we stopped the Ankh, we'd be able to find something that would help him. Something about the statue's history, her research . . . anything. We'd found Sekhmet, of course, and Miss Adler had made arrangements to have the statue delivered here to the museum.
We all hoped that once Dylan was in the presence of the artifact again, he'd be able to use it to return to his time. But when we replaced it in the cellar chamber in which he'd first appeared, nothing happened.
"There was a scarab in the base," he said, pointing to a deep indentation where the beetle had once been. "It was glowing, and when I touched it, that's when and how it happened. But I'm not sure how."
"It must have had something to do with timing of the Ankh performing her ceremony. The one when Mayellen Hodgeworth died. She was conducting her activity here at the same time you saw the glowing scarab . . . a hundred years from now. You touched it, and . . . it happened."
"There's no way to send me back, is there? Replacing the scarab won't work?"
"The ones we found from Lilly and the others don't fit in the spot," I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. His muscles trembled beneath my touch, and I felt his breath hitch. I waited for a long moment for him to regain control of his emotions. "But there must be one. Somewhere. Or we'll find another way."
"I guess I won't be going home anytime soon," he said. His voice was strangely muffled.
When he stood, I wrapped one arm around him in an awkward embrace and patted him on the shoulder. I knew a little how he felt, a stranger forced to be part of a world in which one didn't quite fit. He was warm and very tall against me, and I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd touched another person with affection.
Or was touched.
I experienced a sudden momentary relief that he wouldn't be leaving after all. That he'd be here a little longer, someone who was even more of an outsider than I. Angry with myself for such selfish thoughts, I pushed them away.
"I'm sorry, Dylan. I promise, I'm going to find a way to help you. Perhaps one of the Ankh's assistants might know where the missing scarab is. Since the Ankh is dead, they may be willing to help us now. There's a way. There must be a way."
Osiris and Amunet were in police custody. The explosions, noises, and general altercation-even for a location as rough as the docks-had brought not only the authorities but also other witnesses. Even so, Hathor and Bastet had managed to escape, but enough witnesses had seen fugitives running from the rooms above the fish-smokers' shop that I was optimistic that they'd be apprehended. I'd been down at Scotland Yard several times to give them my story . . . but I hadn't seen Inspector Grayling.
I considered that very fortunate.
Thank goodness I hadn't told anyone-even Dylan and Miss Adler-my suspicions about Lady Cosgrove-Pitt.
Dylan was looking hard at Evaline. "By the way . . . I've been trying to figure out how that all worked. The Ankh actually did move the lever, right? So, like, why didn't you get zapped? Or did you? What happened?"
"I felt a low, buzzing sensation just before I knocked us over. But it evaporated as we fell, and I hardly felt any shock at all."
"I suspect it was because the Ankh wasn't using the true diadem," I interjected. "Only the true diadem would extract the life force from the individual. If one believed in that sort of thing."
"Or," Evaline said, "the lever could have bounced back when we fell to the ground. And then everything went into chaos."
"And it was Dylan who created this distraction?" asked Miss Adler.
"It was all my plan, but he was the one who made it possible. I knew his telephone could make loud odd noises, and he arranged it so that it would do so at a certain time."
"I set two alarms," he explained. "One to go off first and to make a siren sound, and then another one to sound off later, with police voices shouting that they were surrounding the building."
"But the sounds came from across the room. No one was there," Evaline said.
I couldn't control my complacent smile. "Yes. That was precisely the point. We were able to employ Dylan's particular skill called . . . hockey-is that correct?"
"The game is called hockey," he said. "It involves shooting a puck across the ice-well, anyway, I'm really good at it and I can shoot exactly where something needs to go. Fast, straight, and smooth. That came in handy when I had to slide the phone across the room without anyone seeing it. The phone's about the same size as a puck. I sneaked in after Mina, and no one noticed me standing in the dark corner. And then I shot a smoke bomb into the fireplace without anyone seeing me either. It was like scoring two perfect goals."
"I heard it," Evaline said, turning to look at him. Interest shone in her eyes. "Both times, I heard it going across the floor. And then Mina started coughing, I suppose to warn me . . . but I didn't see anything to explain what was happening."
"But now," Dylan said, pulling the device from his pocket, "it's completely out of battery. I'm going to need to find a way to charge it again if I ever want to use it. Isn't there any way to get some access to electricity?"
"I know someone who could probably help." Evaline's face turned an interesting shade of pink. "His name is Pix."
That afternoon, I returned to my empty house. I felt bereft now that the adventure was over. I could return to my work in the laboratory and finish my treatise, but that no longer seemed as interesting or compelling.
Perhaps Princess Alexandra would contact me-us-again for another task.
Or since the Ankh had never been unmasked, perhaps Her Royal Highness wouldn't consider the project fully complete, despite Miss Adler's praise.
An unsolved mystery, riddled with my deductive error and an embarrassing incident with the Parliamentary leader's wife. I shuddered.
I might be discharged from working for the Crown before I'd hardly begun.
Depressed and irritated, I almost didn't see the package sitting on the kitchen table.
My name, in a dark, scrawling penmanship-written by a man, confident and perhaps even arrogant.
Inexpensive brown wrapping-the sort that could be purchased at any stationer or apothecary-the sender was practical and tight with funds.
Twine from a butcher shop-
My pulse increased as I unwrapped the packet.
A small note was attached. It read:
To replace the one which was broken.
It was signed with a firm, solid A. Grayling.
Inside was a very cognogginish, head-mounting glass magnifyer.