Chapter 12 Zaria #2
That sounded reasonable, Zaria had to admit, though she didn’t say it aloud. She only wanted to find what they’d come for and get this excursion over with. “Do we know where the Waterhouse exhibit is supposed to be?”
Kane rotated in place, pulling her along with him as he squinted at their surroundings.
“The whole building is shaped like a cross. See?” He indicated with an arm.
“It’s divided into machinery and mechanical inventions, decorative manufactures, sculptures and architecture, and raw materials.
In this direction are the exhibits from Britain and its dominions.
All the foreign countries are the other way.
Since Waterhouse is Irish, the necklace should be… this way.” He pointed.
Of course they had divided the British from the foreign. A proverbial line drawn in the sand, separating the represented nations into a clear hierarchy. It was, Zaria thought, an odd way to approach unification.
As they walked, she dragged her attention away from Kane to the myriad items that made up the Exhibition.
The walls had been painted in garish shades of red, blue, and yellow, and somewhere an organ played a triumphant tune.
As they drew closer to the sound, she yearned to cover her ears.
There was just so much: a second fountain, this one sporting a statue of a boy holding a swan; an enormous ivory throne; an entire gazebo; a taxidermy elephant upon which sat a beautifully embroidered howdah.
It was ostentatious in a way that bordered on infuriating.
“Everyone will be attending the Exhibition,” Kane told her under his breath. “Not only people from all across London, or even Britain, but people from all over the world. And it’s not only for the wealthy—when I say everyone, I mean everyone.”
“Then why try to steal from it during the day?” Zaria hissed back. “Every single patron becomes a potential witness.”
“Because at night there’s nobody here except security. Try stealing from a display when a copper is looking directly at it. The crowds may be inconvenient, but they also lend anonymity. Also, on the off chance we need to make a quick escape, it’ll be easy to get lost.”
That, too, made sense. Still, Zaria chewed on her lower lip. She couldn’t imagine trying to do anything covertly surrounded by this many people. And this was merely a private viewing—it would be even busier when the Exhibition opened to the public.
“Besides,” Kane continued, “that’s where you come in. I know alchemologists can create explosives that emit a substance to provide cover, if only for a few moments. And I shouldn’t need much longer than that.”
Zaria tapped the fingers of her free hand together in a rapid, repetitive rhythm. She knew exactly what Kane was referring to, but her mind raced as she considered all the problems they could encounter. “I can’t just carry an armful of explosives into the Exhibition.”
“No, you can’t,” he agreed, but said nothing more.
They passed a few foreign displays on their way to the British ones: Greece and Turkey, Spain and Portugal.
Zaria stopped to gawk when they reached France.
It was the largest exhibit thus far, with tapestries and textiles far more beautiful than anyone else had to offer.
Next was Belgium, which had provided a statue of a man on a horse; the German states had sent glassware; and Russia’s exhibit was empty, given that the ships carrying their contributions had apparently gotten stuck in ice and hadn’t yet arrived.
The scene changed to reveal Trinidad and its fragrant spices, Canada and its well-crafted canoe, and something called a Tempest Prognosticator, which somehow predicted storms using leeches. That one intrigued Zaria greatly.
“Have you quite finished?” Kane asked, and she ripped her gaze away from the prognosticator. She hadn’t even realized she’d come to a full halt.
“It’s interesting.”
“Yes. And you know what’s even more interesting?
That.” Kane jutted his chin toward what appeared to be an overlarge bird cage, all thin brassy lines culminating in a tapered point.
Within the cage was a glass box, and within the box was an array of beautiful jewelry.
There were brooches and earrings, necklaces and cuffs.
It was all far flashier than anything Zaria had seen even the richest Londoners sport.
“Is that it?” she said, a chill abruptly crossing her skin. “The Waterhouse exhibit?”
“Yes.” Kane’s voice was reverential. He led her closer, eyes shining in a way that, had anyone else cared to look closely, would surely have given him away as a thief. “Yes, this is it. And that”—he pointed—“is the necklace.”
It was lovely, to be certain. Set behind the glass upon a soft cream-colored cloth, it was the center of the display.
A point of pride for George Waterhouse, the famed Irish jeweler, it looked far too heavy to wear.
Shining white rocks that must have been diamonds sat within individual frames of elaborate gold filigree, and in the very middle was a beautiful bloodred stone—the largest gem Zaria had ever seen.
It was perfectly cut, shaped like a teardrop.
That said, she couldn’t imagine why Kane wanted it, other than perhaps its inconceivable worth. But so many items in the Exhibition had to be priceless—why this one specifically?
It didn’t matter. The rest of Waterhouse’s display would be Zaria’s, and here it was, so close that she could barely refrain from stretching out a hand and grasping the bars of the display.
For an echo of a moment, she saw it all again: the house in the country, the calm silence of a place without squalor and suffering.
Jules’s smile, free from strain as it hadn’t been since their youth.
In one week, everything would change.