Chapter 15 Kane
KANE
Kane couldn’t shake the feeling that visiting the Exhibition had been a waste.
He’d hoped they would be able to glean something from the device.
A clue, perhaps, as to the identity of the Curator.
Instead, he felt more confused than ever.
It was no wonder Cubitt hadn’t had much information to relay; the device wasn’t much to look at.
Kane suspected it only drew attention because of that eerie, dully glowing orb, luring patrons over the way an open flame drew moths at night.
He kept circling back to Zaria’s suggestion that the device served no purpose but to intrigue.
It was possible, he supposed, but it didn’t seem likely.
“Maybe we’re approaching this the wrong way,” said Fletcher, dropping his elbows onto his knees. The three of them sat in Kane’s office as afternoon shifted to evening, attempting to devise their next course of action.
Kane tapped his unlit pipe against the desk. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we were hoping the device would give us information about the Curator, right? Maybe instead of starting there, we ought to start with the Curator themself. There are only so many people who would be able to get into the Exhibition after hours.”
That was true. It didn’t make sense that anyone would be able to sneak into the building with security being none the wiser. Unless…
“Unless they were already there,” Kane murmured, dropping the pipe. How hadn’t he considered this before? “Who has constant access to the Crystal Palace?”
“The coppers,” Fletcher said at once.
Kane’s question drew Zaria’s attention away from the curiosities cabinet.
She appeared to be particularly fascinated by it; rather than participating in the conversation, she’d spent much of the past several minutes glancing around Kane’s office as if looking for something.
“What about members of the Royal Commission?” she said.
“I’m sure they can come and go as often as they like without being questioned by security. ”
Kane exhaled through his teeth, running through the members in his mind.
Apart from Cubitt, he didn’t know any who might be interested in alchemology.
Most were politicians or businessmen with few connections to the dark market, apart from infrequent purchases.
It was possible the device had been intended as a publicity stunt, but what purpose would that serve?
There were already more people visiting the Exhibition than London could handle.
“No member of the commission would have a reason to do something like this. It undermines their entire goal.”
Fletcher grimaced. “Maybe, but I can’t see the coppers being involved. If that were the case, the inspector would already know about it. He wouldn’t have come to you for help in the first place.”
“Then what about an exhibitor?” Kane suggested. “Or a vendor?”
“Even they don’t have access after hours, now that the Exhibition is up and running.”
Damn it. He fell silent, racking his brain as he tried to consider who else might be a potential suspect.
“Going back to the Royal Commission,” Zaria said haltingly, almost like she hadn’t wanted to speak at all.
Her spine was straight against the back of her chair, her fingers tapping a pattern in her lap.
“You said none of the members would have a reason to do this, but what if that’s not true?
What if there’s a rift among them that the public doesn’t know about?
They’ve been working together for over a year—I’m sure they’ve run into a number of disagreements.
Maybe someone is simply trying to cause problems, or maybe the device does have a purpose.
Either way, only the commission would have both access to the Crystal Palace and connections to the dark market. ”
Kane tried not to let the shock show on his face.
Put that way, he had a difficult time coming up with an argument.
If an alchemologist wasn’t directly responsible for sneaking the device into the Exhibition, there was always the possibility that one had been hired to create it.
And who had the means to commission such a thing but someone wealthy?
“I think she might be right, Kane,” said Fletcher, rubbing the base of his skull. “It would also explain why Inspector Price doesn’t have any leads. Even if some members of the commission did suspect others, they’d never say it. They’d try to deal with it internally to avoid any bad press.”
That, too, aligned with what Cubitt had said.
He’d been shocked to learn Kane knew about the existence of the Curator, claiming someone must have committed a breach of confidence.
Obviously the commission had wanted to keep the pseudonym a secret.
Kane gave a slow nod, fragments of a plan starting to fit together as he stared into the middle distance.
He didn’t like that Zaria had been the one to come up with the theory, but he wasn’t so proud that he would refuse to act on it.
“I suppose it does seem the most likely explanation. A pity we didn’t question Cubitt about it the other night. ”
“So kidnap him again,” Zaria said, folding her arms over her chest. “That’s what you do, right?”
Kane ignored her acerbic tone. “He won’t fall for that twice. Besides, I’m sure he’s laying low now.”
“I can’t imagine he’d be useful regardless,” Fletcher put in—Kane had briefed him on the meeting with Cubitt on their walk back from the Exhibition. “He’s far from the most important person on the commission, and definitely won’t be highly trusted.”
Kane nodded in agreement. “The best way to sniff out a rift in the commission is to watch how they interact with one another. See who appears to be an outsider or dissident.”
“And just how do you plan on doing that?” Zaria said, her expression dubious. “I’d guess the members are rarely all in the same place at the same time. Unless you plan on infiltrating one of their Mansion House meetings.”
Kane reclined in his chair, letting one side of his mouth quirk up.
“Oh, hell no. You have got to be kidding me.” She perched on the edge of her seat, silencing Fletcher with a glare when he opened his mouth to intervene.
“Have you completely lost your mind? Did you forget that we’ve met several members of the commission?
At least two of them think you’re Charles Fox’s apprentice, and Cubitt knows you’re the damned kingpin.
No disguise will be good enough to negate that. ”
“I’m quite aware, thank you. I have no intention of disguising myself.”
“They’ll recognize Zaria and me as well,” said Fletcher, picking up on Kane’s implication. “I mean, I was pretending to be a copper, so I doubt they paid me much attention, but it’s still risky.”
Zaria made a face. “I’d never get in there regardless. There aren’t any women on the commission.”
Kane waited until they had finished. “Rather than trying to guess my plan and listing all the reasons your imagined hypothetical wouldn’t work, why don’t you let me speak?”
Both turned to him—Zaria with continued skepticism, Fletcher with cautious hope.
“You’re forgetting that there’s someone else. Someone who knows about the theft and the primateria source. Someone nobody on the Royal Commission has seen before.”
Fletcher’s face tightened as he considered this, but Zaria’s eyes flew wide. “Absolutely not.”
Kane didn’t react. “You don’t think he’d be willing?”
“I know he would, and that’s why I’m saying no. I’m not putting Jules in any more danger than I already have.”
“He’d hardly be in danger. Do you really think I’d trust him to get me the information I need? There are staff at Mansion House, you know, who I guarantee will cater the commission’s meetings. I get Master Zhao onto the staff, he gets me inside, and I’ll do most of the listening from there.”
Zaria’s expression was baleful. “Why don’t you simply pick a lock and get yourself inside?”
“Because that’s far riskier. I won’t know who or what is waiting on the other side. Not to mention that I don’t have access to a floor plan. This is the mayor’s home we’re talking about, you realize.”
“Wait. Henry Cole met Jules,” Zaria said with triumph, obviously not having listened to a word Kane had said. “They were introduced the day of the heist.”
This didn’t concern Kane. “Cole is the commission’s chief administrator. Just like the prince, he rarely attends any routine meetings now that the Exhibition is open.”
“But what if he does?”
“Then it still won’t matter, because he doesn’t know anything about Julian. He’ll have no reason to question his position.”
“It sounds like a decent enough plan to me,” said Fletcher with a shrug. “We’ll just need to figure out when the next meeting is.”
“I said no,” Zaria snapped as she quite literally put her foot down, the heel of her boot thudding against the floorboard. “When I took Jules’s place here, it was with the understanding that he wouldn’t have to be involved in anything like this.”
The tenuous hold Kane had on his temper snapped.
He felt it happen, ire abruptly pouring through him as if from an unstoppered bottle.
“When you took his place here,” he said, low and dangerous, “it was with the understanding that you would do as I asked. That was all. There were no further specifications. If I want Julian to help, and if he’s willing, then you will not stand in the way.
Things aren’t the same as last time—this isn’t an equal partnership. ”
He’d begun speaking more rapidly as he went on, the words edged with a ferocity that made both Zaria and Fletcher go still.
Kane meant it, though: Things weren’t the same as when he and Zaria had worked together last. He would not be swayed by her anger, her contention, or the fire in her dark eyes.
His fondness for her had been his undoing once, and he wouldn’t let it happen again.
That fondness had died alongside the last shreds of Kane’s humanity. It had died alongside Ward.
He’d already come so close to failing. What had he been thinking, admitting to Zaria that he’d nearly upheld his end of their deal after all? Why had he wanted, even for a moment, to redeem himself in her eyes? It wasn’t as though it mattered. He couldn’t let himself forget what she’d done.
Zaria lifted her chin, as she so often did when he challenged her. Glared at him in that way that made Kane feel like she could see right through to his core. Her lips scarcely moved as she said, “I hate you.”
Good. “I can live with that.”
Fletcher, who had watched their exchange with an unreadable expression, rose to stand. “I told Adam I’d accompany him to the wharf at nightfall. I’d better head out.”
Something inside Kane seemed to collapse as he nodded.
Only a short time ago, it would have been him and Fletcher going to the wharf.
His sole concern would have been how Ward might seek to punish him next.
It had felt like a miserable existence at the time.
Now, though, Kane was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t understood true misery yet.
True misery felt hollow. It was the knowledge that all action, all effort, was futile. That the only thing left was to feel nothing at all.
“Am I free to go?” Zaria demanded once Fletcher was gone.
Kane busied himself with arranging the stacks of parchment on his desk. “Elijah should be waiting to escort you to your rooms.”
“I thought you’d fired him from being my shadow.”
“No. The few hours of reprieve I gave him were just to clear his head.” Kane felt he’d been extremely forgiving, in light of the circumstances.
Then again, Elijah was trustworthy and hardworking, and Kane didn’t want to make him feel badly.
Once Elijah had heard what happened with Cleland and Ferrington, it was obvious he’d blamed himself.
“Great.” Zaria leapt to her feet with a scoff. “I’m sure he’ll be as pleasant as ever.”
No sooner was Kane alone than did Tom burst in, chest heaving like he’d just run a lap of Devil’s Acre as opposed to a single flight of stairs.
The man looked ill at ease—more so than normal, at least—and it took Kane a minute to realize that it was because of him.
He didn’t know what he looked like, but it was evidently unsettling.
“Tommy,” he said, making a conscious attempt to relax his face. “What is it?”
“Note was delivered for you.” Tom thrust the envelope across the desk. It was sealed with red wax, the intricate embossing suggesting it had come from someone of import. “The runner said your services are being requested.”
His services as the kingpin, no doubt. If a dispute between a dark market buyer and seller had ensued, Kane would be called upon to resolve it—and punish whichever party hadn’t delivered their side of the agreement.
He broke the seal, dismissing Tom with a wave as he unfolded the piece of paper within.
A glance at the signature told him he vaguely recognized the family name of the man who had written; Mister Lombard had purchased from the dark market before, albeit not frequently.
It was obvious from the tone of the writing that he was irate, and, as Kane had predicted, he was indeed requesting the kingpin’s help.
What Kane hadn’t predicted, however, was the name of the intended target. He skimmed the letter a second time, just to make sure he hadn’t misread.
The name of the alchemologist who has refused to deliver, as I understand it, is one Miss Zaria Mendoza.