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THE CASTLE HALLS were littered with the guardsmen Katherine had incapacitated, and they had almost reached the kitchens when Watson returned to bump against Olivia’s ankle. She glanced down in time to see him blink twice before curling into a ball and retracting his spines.

“Someone’s approaching,” she hissed, scooping him up and shoving him into her reticule.

“I’ve only two darts left,” Ian warned. “Be prepared to run.” Drawing his pistol, he whipped about the corner and dropped the patrolling pair of guardsmen.

German echoed down the hallway as she leapt over the prone bodies of the two guardsmen to follow Ian into the kitchens. Heart pounding, she ran into the room, past Steam Matilda kneading a lump of dark brown bread upon a scarred wooden table, and darted through the door to the courtyard.

Ian pulled her to his side and closed the kitchen door while clutching a sharp knife, courtesy of the countess’ personal weaponry. Olivia prayed hand-to-hand combat wouldn’t be necessary.

The wall at her back was bone-chillingly cold, and the glacial wind scoured her face and clawed at her skirts. At some point, the sun must have shone, for the snow upon the courtyard’s cobblestones had melted, leaving behind frozen puddles and icy mud.

The drawstring of her reticule bit into the skin of her forearm. Watson, the osforare apparatus and all the punch cards and tools made the bag unwieldy and impractical. Next time, she would design a purse with a shoulder strap. Next time? She’d gone mad.

There was a shout of alarm, but the door stayed shut. Perhaps the guardsmen were too preoccupied—‌or sick—‌to follow the trail of fallen men and reach the rather obvious conclusion. Either way, lingering was a bad idea. Soon logic would return and compel the guardsmen to search the courtyard.

Wei stirred against Ian’s shoulder. “Down,” she said, struggling in Ian’s arms. “My bag. Need the…‌ sticks.”

He slid the knife back into its sheath and lowered the girl onto unsteady feet. “Take a moment. Find your feet. That was a dosage meant for a grown man.”

The girl hopped back and forth, from one foot to the other, testing her legs. Satisfied, she reached into her sack and pulled out two long, paper tubes painted red. Sharp sticks protruded from their ends. All had long…‌ fuses?

“Yes! Distraction.” Wei pulled another item from her sack. “And matches! Come, we move fast.”

Hugging the shadows, Ian and Wei set off down the stone stairs, stopping to peek around corners. Careful of her footing, Olivia followed, listening as they discussed the best strategy for employing the rocket.

They froze. Olivia held her breath, doing her best to become one with the shadows as a patrol of guardsmen passed not three feet from where they stood.

Wei nodded, and he jammed the end of a sharp stick into the hard-packed ground, pointing the tip of the rocket away from the castle gates. Wei lifted a match.

He and Wei scuttled backward, away from the rocket, grinning at each other with childish enthusiasm, giving her a fleeting vision of what it might be like to marry such a man. To raise a family. Anything but dull. Her heart ached, yearning for a love that could no longer be denied.

A whoosh and the rocket was gone. A trail of smoke led into the air, but try as she might, Olivia could not follow the rocket’s path.

There was a loud bang, and thousands upon thousands of lights flashed, forming a bright starburst in the still-dark sky. Guardsmen yelled and ran for the ramparts, gathering behind the castle walls, crouching, conferring. For not a single one possessed a pistol. A few brave souls peeked above the wall, searching for the as-yet unseen enemy.

Ian grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. In the commotion, no one noticed the three of them running for the castle gates.

Not one sentry stood before the gate. The count’s guardsmen were strong, perhaps, but not disciplined or well-trained. She slammed into the rough, wooden gate, her reticule knocking against the wood, and ran her palms over its surface, searching in the dark for the cool steel of the lock. Though her heart pounded, the lock—‌large and old—‌presented no challenge. The pick caught, and the lock fell open with a soft thunk. She nodded to Wei.

Wei lit a second rocket and, as a succession of bangs resulted in yet further chaos at the castle walls, Ian shoved the gate outward.

They hurried down the muddy road that curved around behind the castle’s base, leading ever downward. At last the road reached the winding, cobblestone streets of the village where tall, half-timbered houses stood shoulder to shoulder, rising upward, overhanging the streets and providing an illusion of protection.

Wei led them toward a stone bridge that arched over a river swollen by the melting snow. On the far bank, water diverted into a wooden trough poured and splashed onto a water wheel’s slats, spinning it at a furious pace. Beside the water chute loomed a squat building of rough plaster and exposed wooden framing. Its windows were securely boarded.

Olivia stepped onto the bridge, veering to avoid a lone, drunken man crossing in the other direction while staring at the sky in bewilderment—‌but his shoulder slammed into hers, throwing her sideways.

“Tut mir leid,” he murmured. I’m sorry. He caught her elbow, steadying her.

She looked up. His face was half-shrouded by a dark, woolen hood. But not shrouded enough. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to react. He gave her a sharp nod, then slid his hand down her arm and pressed a piece of paper into hers before limping onward. Hurrying, she stuffed the note into her bodice and caught up to Ian who waited beside a narrow path.

“Nothing.” Her chest tightened at the lie, but she curled her hand tightly about the paper. “A drunk staggered into me. I’m fine.” She’d promised him no secrets, but that was before Ian had all but forbidden her contact with Mr. Black.

Ian waved her ahead, and Olivia stepped onto the narrow path that led to the mill house. One glance at the door told her the building housed something of value.

“A Kreuger-Schalterhammer lock,” she whispered on an exhale. Impressive. “Forty-seven pins and a level containing a liquid mercury trigger.” Captain Jack could manage forty-six.

“Yes. It’s a significant investment in a lock for such an old building.” Impossible if one wasn’t a well-versed sneak thief with the latest advancement in technology available. “But nothing I can’t handle. Hold this.” She shoved her reticule into his arms and dug deep. Extracting Watson, she tapped his spines. “I can’t do this with picks alone.” She reached into Watson’s back and retrieved a tube of alkisorcyn and—‌

As a former Queen’s agent, he would be versed in its use and an excellent assistant. “We use both this and my picks. I’m going to need your help.” Even then…‌ Olivia rolled her shoulders. This was no time for self-doubt. She placed the zoetomatic upon the ground. “Tremor mode,” she ordered. Dutifully, Watson rose up upon hind legs and, pressing his front feet to the door, began to shake.

“Dispersing the mercury along a long thin tube inside the lock.” She looked to Ian. “Once I begin the process, I’ll have only one chance. If the tube tips and the mercury pools, a chemical reaction will dissolve the pins.”

“On my word, slowly depress the plunger on the tube while I hold a number of lock picks in place.”

She took a deep breath, then carefully inserted the copper coil into the key hole and readied the alkisorcyn. Reaching into her bodice, deep inside her corset, she pulled forth two highly-specialized lock picks. Ones she rarely used. Wind blew upon her bare fingers, stiffening them as she slid her picks past the copper tubing, probing, searching for the quartz tumblers.

“Now,” she told Ian, letting the cold fix her fingers in place. “Slowly and steadily.”

The gel oozed inward, solidifying. When she was certain her picks would hold, she released them and turned her attention to Captain Jack’s specialized dial. She pressed her ear to the vibrating door and made a few fine adjustments, waiting for the faint…‌ click.

Beaming, she picked up her reticule and stepped inside. Perhaps a future as a field agent wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

The ground floor of the mill was dim. Ian withdrew the bioluminescent decilamp from one of the many pockets hidden inside his waistcoat and gave it a good shake. The microorganisms, re-energized, demonstrated their approval by casting a green-blue glow into the room.

He directed the beam of light at the axel of the water wheel, an axel that extended inward from the outside water wheel to run parallel to the floor. An axel that connected to—‌ She let out a low whistle. “A three phase generator.”

This was the power source for Warrick’s alternating current—‌and an alternating current was an oscillating one.

Warrick had disconnected the water wheel’s axel from the many gears that once turned the millstone, grinding wheat into flour. Instead, the power generated by the water wheel had been re-directed into creating electricity.

A thick metal ring—‌a large magnet—‌was attached to the end of the axel. It spun in a blur of gray. Quite motionless inside this ring was a gear-like disc. Coil upon coil of copper wire wound about the disc.

“Yes,” Olivia said. “It’s a way of taking mechanical energy—‌the rushing water over the wheel—‌and turning it into electricity.” She pointed. “The magnet spinning about the copper wire generates an electric current. The more wire wraps, the more electricity.”

“What’s impressive is the huge amount of wire used.” Ian shook his head slowly. “The time it must have taken to wrap the disc…‌”

Using the torch’s light, Ian traced the wires that extended outward from the disc’s center to wrap about a tube, a tube constructed of two wine barrels placed end to end. Yet more copper wire—‌a vast length of it—‌enveloped the barrels.

A wide board, a kind of platform, was suspended inside the tube. The perfect length and width for one guardsman, for one patient to lie upon.

Wei tipped her head, considering the crude yet clever arrangement of wood, metal, and wire. “They power…‌ a tube?”

“When its magnetic fields oscillate, the electrical forces will imitate physical stress which, according to Wolff’s law, will in turn stimulate bone growth.” Ian pressed a quick kiss to her lips and yanked Warrick’s papers from his waistcoat. “Now I just need to calculate the exact dosage of arsenic and the length of exposure to the oscillating magnetic field.”

Ian spread out the notes upon a rough workbench containing a rudimentary assortment of laboratory equipment. Propping the bioluminescent torch beside him, he ran his finger over Warrick’s scribblings, over the mathematical formulas and Greek letters that filled the page. There was a wild, feverish look in his eyes as his mind wrestled with the problem, on the verge of forcing Warrick’s notes to surrender their final secrets.

“Mendeleev’s 1871 periodic table places arsenic in the same group, the same column as antimony,” Ian muttered under his breath. “It explains the chemical properties they share. From that I can conclude that if his cells bind phosphate to arsenic, and the cells’ metabolic activity is accelerated, then the dosage…‌” He dug a pencil from his waistcoat and began to scratch upon the pages.

Turning her back on him, she paced the perimeter of the room, pretending to examine the boards nailed to a window set high upon the wall. In truth, she sought the dull beam of light that struggled through a narrow crack between planks. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she tugged Mr. Black’s note from her bodice. Unfolding it, she squinted to read.

Found signal yesterday. Almost killed investigating creatures in woods. Beware Russian Agent Katerina Dyatlova. Local Roma stand ready to assist across border. Situation report received. Require update.

Gypsies? That was Mr. Black’s plan, to transport them from Germany into France by caravan? She’d hoped to read the dirigible was repaired and waiting. Clockwork horses could never outrun the count, not if he was mounted on a pteryform. She bit back her frustration. Rolling the note into a tiny ball, she popped it in her mouth and swallowed. The ink was bitter, but without a fire close by, there was no other option.

An update. How was she supposed to accomplish that? With one acousticotransmitter in Ian’s pocket and the other in the castle kitchens, she had no way to contact Mr. Black save to send Wei out into the streets. She closed her eyes and tried to think logically.

“That’s it.” Ian slapped a hand on the table. “I have the exact numbers to effect a cure.”

“The two elements, arsenic and antimony, have a number of similar properties, allowing both of them to bind to phosphorus in bone matrix.” Ian raised a finger. “If a patient consumes arsenic—‌instead of antimony—‌while the bones grow extremely rapidly, the concentration of the poison will rise in the altered osteoblasts, causing them to die,” he smiled, “curing the individual of bone cancer.” Ian aimed the light at the wire wrapped barrels. “The alternating current surging through the wires of this tube creates an oscillating magnetic field that imitates physical stress to the bone, inducing new growth.”

“Forcing the cells to accumulate the arsenic,” Olivia finished. “This will cure Elizabeth?”

“Yes.” Ian’s voice was euphoric. “A cure for anyone who received transplants of Warrick’s cells.”

“We do,” he said, eyes flashing with excitement. “Time for our first patient. Can you sneak out and find Stephan? Ask him to bring us a guardsman, one willing to defy the count in order to save his own life.”

“How many can we cure with the single vial of arsenic we possess?” Olivia asked.

“Four,” Ian answered. “Perhaps five.” He drew her into his arms. “But it will take hours of work. Each patient is going to need four separate treatments lasting two hours each.”

“Days, weeks.” Olivia pressed her face against Ian’s chest. Wrapped in his strong arms, she felt safe. “Months. The guardsmen will grow wise to the rockets, and with Katherine under our bed…‌”

“Tension will soar in the castle.” He lifted her chin with a finger. Concern flooded his eyes. “You should leave—‌now—‌with Black. Take the osforare apparatus. I don’t wish to be remembered as one who betrayed his country.”

Reaching into his waistcoat, he pulled forth the acousticotransmitter. The green light pulsed. “I turned it on before we left the castle. This is how he found you on the bridge.” He tried to press the listening device into her hand.

“You’ve said yourself, over and over, that you’re not a spy. This is your best chance to escape. I’ve worked with Black before. He’s a good agent. He’ll keep you safe.”

“No. I won’t leave you. If I turn up missing, the count will take out his anger on you, on Elizabeth, and he’ll hunt for me, with Zheng at his side.”

She shook her head. “The escape dirigible is not airworthy yet. Mr. Black’s current exit plan involves ground transportation via gypsy caravan. We need to make a coordinated exit. All of us at the same time.”

Ian swung the door open, and a young guardsman stumbled in. A wary hope filled his eyes. “Wei says you can cure me?”