Chapter Thirteen #3
“Through everything we’ve endured, I have never been more thankful for his guidance than our time in Vosburg.
It wasn’t as bad as one might expect, and that is mostly due to my friend’s unflappable good spirits.
He rallied us through so many productions of The Pirates of Penzance that I still lie awake at night humming ‘cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.’”
This drew an even bigger laugh. A small smile flitted across Neville’s face as he returned to his notes. But the smile vanished.
“When Robert—Robert Crowne—” Neville swallowed. “When Robert was unmasked as the Germans’ informant die Krone in Vosburg—”
Gin’s fingers tightened around her punch glass. “Did he say die Krone?” she whispered to Hughes.
He shrugged. “Sorry, I’m not great with German.”
Frantic, Gin searched for Braithwaite among the crowd.
Could it be a bizarre coincidence? She had heard this story numerous times and did not recall any significant German words, though of course Leland did always change the telling slightly, and she might have tuned him out entirely after the first time.
… Oh, but she’d been so sure Neville flinched when she threw that word at him over the chess game!
She could always ask Leland to clarify, of course, though that would entail suffering an hour of grandiose storytelling.
It was then, however, Gin noticed the room had grown considerably more full. Newcomers encircled the crowd watching Neville, shapeless figures in gray boilersuits pressing close to one another in an unbreakable line. Black masks covered each of their faces.
Ginevra’s skin prickled with gooseflesh. “Who the devil are they?”
Hughes followed her gaze and frowned. “I don’t know.”
Neville’s speech pattered on, and for a moment Ginevra wondered if she and Hughes had gone mad together, for no one else had reacted to the strangers’ presence—until one leaped onto the stage and shoved Dr. Neville aside.
The stranger pulled the microphone toward the mask’s hollow mouth. “The sword is going to fall!”
“The sword is going to fall! The sword is going to fall!” The words repeated in an echoing chant throughout the room. The crowd quieted, confused and murmuring.
“What’s going on?” Leland cried. “Come, I know Neville dislikes making speeches, but this is a bit much.”
“The sword is going to fall!” the leader on the stage yelled again.
“The sword is going to fall! The sword is going to fall!”
Hughes shifted closer to Gin as the call and answer continued, growing in strength. “Is this customary at parties here?”
“It most certainly is not.” Gin recoiled from two of the strangers who now stood quite close. They stared at her with vacant menace, and her blood chilled. “I don’t like it though.”
“Is this some little entertainment you arranged?” Trixie batted Leland’s arm flirtatiously, then yelped. Four more masked people now stood beside their group, hemming them in on all sides.
“No.” Leland’s good humor had disappeared. He dropped Trixie’s arm and pushed toward the stage. “Now see here.” The closest pair of strangers blocked his path, and he hesitated.
“The sword is going to fall!”
“The sword is going to fall! The sword is going to fall!”
“Perhaps we should leave?” Trixie gave a weak laugh and tugged him back to her side. “I don’t like this, Michael.”
“Nonsense,” Leland growled, “they’re not going to ruin my party.” He forced a smile and tapped the tip of Trixie’s nose. “One of my colleagues probably put them up to it. If we applaud their theatrics, everything shall continue.”
Hughes’s eyes cut toward Gin in silent question.
“I think leaving is sensible,” she said, willing her voice to remain firm. “There are far too many people in here now for my comfort.”
“Oh, come, Ginevra,” Leland chided, “I thought you were made of sterner stuff. This is merely a lark—”
The leader at the podium yanked down the Damocles Club banner. “Death to Damocles!”
“Death to Damocles! Death to Damocles!”
“Get off—let me through.” Donald shoved aside a masked man to enter their circle, a thick lock of flaxen hair flopping over one eye.
He grimaced at Leland. “I don’t know what’s going on, Professor, but the club won’t stand for it.
What would you like us to do? Toss them out ourselves or call the police? ”
Leland clapped Donald’s arm. “No need to fret, I’m sure they’ll calm down and leave—”
A window broke, and a woman screamed. The whole crowd started charging for the door, and someone shoved Gin in the back, toppling her to the floor.
She threw her arms over her head to protect herself from the onslaught of swinging arms and bags, then a sharp heel twisted in the back of her calf, and she lurched forward, gasping and cursing.
She had to get up. She had to get up before she was trampled—
The scarf around her neck yanked tight, jerking her whole body like she was a doll. Someone tugged on the scarf as though to wrench it off, and she scrabbled in vain to loosen the knot. The silk burned against her skin, twisting tighter.
Ginevra choked on the last gulp of air in her lungs.