Chapter 6 Three Choices
THREE CHOICES
Apollo couldn’t do it without the princess. He’d tried all night, all morning, but he could never make the iron key burn bright.
So even though he was close to falling over and making a bed of the street and a pillow of the horse droppings currently being excreted from a nearby equine’s furry backside, he found himself stumbling toward the British Museum.
It was almost deserted when he arrived, the only people roaming about alchemists heading to jobs and apprenticeships.
Apollo welcomed the dark beneath the museum, the heavy warmth of the forge, and he folded over onto his worktable as soon as he sat down.
He might have been snoring when a hand slapped his back.
He yelped as he sat upright.
“You look like horse shit,” Stone said. “Spent too long at the pub last night?”
Apollo grunted.
“Come with me. I have an offer for you.”
That woke Apollo up. Offers were usually interesting.
Stone led him to a small room off the side of the forge. It possessed a large desk and chair and a few books dusty on a shelf in a corner.
Stone sat in the chair behind the desk. “Mr. Chester, I know how… eager you are to rise in the alchemist world. But it has not escaped my notice that you are not… progressing at the usual pace.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“Not to worry. There are ways to rise through the ranks without mastering the basics.”
Ah. He wanted something from Apollo and was willing to offer power in return for whatever it was. Interesting indeed.
Apollo tapped his foot, looking out the fading window. “What do you want from me?”
“Information.” Stone settled back into his chair, folding his hands over his belly.
“About?”
“Your cousin’s husband. His family. The Grants.” The name said with a sneer.
“I’m not particularly close to my dear cuz. And that family is not particularly fond of me, especially her husband. I hate to say I may not be able to offer you the sort of information you’re looking for.”
“I simply need to know where they might… hide things. Or if you hear about any… disruptions in their ranks. Listen, Chester…” He leaned across the desk.
“I need something they have, something one of them stole from me. If you can find out where it’s being kept, perfect.
If you can bring it back to me… even better. ”
“And what do I get in return?”
“I was thinking of transferring you to a different division of the Guild. Our spy master suffered a fatal field injury. We need to replace him. As a former transcendent, you could easily tread where few of my kind can—among the upper classes.”
“Interesting proposition.”
“The pay is much better than an apprentice’s salary.”
Best not to show how much he liked that detail. “I have no experience spying let alone managing a network of spies.”
“Does that matter? This is the way the world works, Chester. You do something for me, I do something for you. What you’re equipped to do doesn’t matter. Titles are rewards in a game played by powerful men. Are you powerful, Chester?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Excellent. Begin at once. What can you tell me about them?”
Hm. What would it hurt to let slip a little something? To gauge his reaction. “There is some information I can share with you—I ran into my mother yesterday. She told me that one of the Grant daughters was abducted.”
Stone flinched, just one corner of his lips in an otherwise hard jaw. “And?”
“I’m not sure what happened to her. I wasn’t particularly interested.”
“Become interested. I want to know more about the missing daughter. Now leave. And until I get what I want from you, you remain in this forge, useless.”
“Understood.”
Apollo left, not just the office but the forge, the museum. God, he hated that man, but Apollo wanted what he offered, no use denying it. No use delaying it.
It didn’t take long to reach Temple Grant’s Bloomsbury terrace, and Apollo slammed his fist on the door until it popped open.
He brushed the rather cheerful-looking butler aside as he entered. “I come bearing news. Your master is going to want to see me.” He clapped the disgruntled butler on the shoulder. “Now where is he?”
The man’s rounded cheeks rushed red as his brows flew together like jousters down a track. “Who may I say is calling?”
“Family.” Apollo ambled down the hall, hands in pockets.
There were voices from all directions—behind him the butler trying to wrangle him back onto the street, and from behind the door to his left the low voices of two people in serious conversation. Ah. He’d found them.
He swept the door open without knocking.
And thanked God or Zeus or Vulcan or whoever that his cousin and her husband were not bare arsed and going at it.
This was almost worse. Diana sat in a small, elegant, upholstered chair, her dark hair sweeping up and her crisp new gown sweeping down, and her husband knelt before her.
He held her hands, and her eyes were actually glittering with pretty tears, and when they both startled and looked his way, she bounced upward and his arms went about her protectively, and—
Apollo gagged. “Good God, are you two always so repellently enamored?”
“I do not have the patience for your foolishness right now,” Temple said, his mouth a thin, grim line, his gray eyes hard as steel. “We’re in the middle of a family emergency. What are you doing here, Chester?”
A family emergency. They still did not know where Sybil was, then. They wanted the princess. Stone wanted her, too. But who would pay the highest for information about her?
“You still do not know where Miss Grant is, the—ack!”
Temple’s hand squeezed around Apollo’s throat as he slammed Apollo against the wall. “What have you done with her?”
Apollo clawed at Temple’s forearms. Good lord, why were they bigger than most men’s biceps? “Saved her!” he choked out. “I bloody well saved her!”
“Temple! Release him!” Diana tugged at her husband’s arm, too. “You know she’s well. The letter, remember? The letter.” She rushed across the room and returned with a bit of unfolded paper, waved it in her husband’s face.
Temple moved his jaw side to side and loosened the hand at Apollo’s throat.
“Loosen all the way now,” Apollo said, “like a good dog-elp—”
The hand tightened again.
Diana sighed.
Temple freed Apollo and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean you saved Sybil?”
Rubbing his throat, Apollo asked, “Can I see the letter?” Diana handed it over and Apollo rolled his eyes as he read.
Princess had said she was well and good but had failed to say where she was well and good at.
He handed the paper back to his cousin. “I can tell you where she is. I took her there last night after saving her.”
“Oh?” Temple clearly did not believe him. “If you saved her, why didn’t you bring her here?”
“I tried to! The damned woman is more stubborn than… than you. I thought,” Apollo drawled while he could still draw air, “the least I could do was to take her somewhere safe.”
“And where is that?” Diana asked.
“Lady Guinevere’s Potions.”
Temple made it to the door in two huge strides.
He was now the princess’s problem.
“But what happened to her?” Diana asked.
Temple rotated mid step and returned. “Yes, what happened to her? You said you rescued her. From what? From where?”
Apollo swallowed. He must play the game carefully from here out. “The dungeons of the Alchemist Guild.”
“What?” Temple barked. “Who the hell put her there?” He yelled out the door, “I need my greatcoat! And hat!”
“Stone.” A lie probably would have been wiser. But Miss Grant would simply tell the truth and ruin it. “He wants her to work on some invention of his.”
“That makes no sense.” Diana shook her head. “He could simply ask her.”
“Why would he ask one of the disgraced Grants for anything?” Temple yelled again: “And my sword cane! And pistols!”
“What are you planning to do?” Diana asked. “Storm the Guild?”
Temple nodded. “You remain here. The both of you. I’ll return when the whole damn thing is razed to the ground.”
The room filled with servants bringing greatcoats, hats, innocent-looking walking sticks, and a brace of pistols. Temple began to don it all.
Diana released a weary sigh. “There will be no storming, no razing, no pistols. Sybil is safe, and we will go to her. On the way, we will discuss what is to be done about the Master of the Alchemist Guild. Apollo, you will come along to tell us what you know.”
Temple took several deep breaths, then handed the pistols back to the butler who looked like he doled out and accepted weaponry as often as he did tea trays and greatcoats.
“Very well,” Temple said. “We will speak with Sybil first.” He looped his arm through Diana’s and practically dragged her out front where a carriage was waiting. They trundled up into it, and Apollo followed, slipping into a dark corner across from them.
“You’ve an apprenticeship with Stone, yes?” Temple asked as the carriage rolled forward.
“Ye-es.” Time for caution.
“Use it to gather information. His whereabouts, this machine he wants help with, any other plans he might have to steal my sister. Or anyone else he plans to harm. I want to know everything.”
“An excellent idea.” Diana patted her husband on the arm.
“The two of you want me to spy?” Apollo asked. Good God, the irony! It would smother him.
Diana nodded. Temple scowled.
Apollo grinned. Temple and Diana had the queen’s ear, her trust. They possessed power. Easy enough to spy on Stone while he was spying for Stone. A double agent. For the moment. Until he understood which side of the feud was more profitable to be on.
“Sounds diverting,” Apollo said beneath a yawn.
Temple scowled out the window. “Perhaps we should go to the queen. Stone abducted my sister. Imprisoned her.”
“He’ll deny it,” Diana said. “And Victoria will not want to cause conflict between East and West, which will happen if she has him arrested.”