“What’s happening?” Putty said from behind. “I can’t see. Edward, get out of the way.”
I held her back with one outstretched arm. “Don’t look,” I said, although I couldn’t turn my own eyes away. The professor was lying on his back, and he’d been stabbed. His white shirt was dark with blood.
“Is he dead?” Putty said. “I’ve never seen a dead body before.”
“And you’re not going to start now,” Olivia said, her voice sharp. “Come away. You too, Edward. Leave the poor man some dignity.”
I tore my gaze away and helped Olivia pull Putty back into the corridor. She protested all the way. It was only when I was out of sight of the professor’s body that I suddenly started shaking. My skin felt cold. How could they have done that to that poor old man? Surely the professor had never done harm to anyone.
The junior-under-curator came tottering up behind us. He shouldered his way into the room and stopped with a gasp.
“Professor?” He turned to Freddie. “What…?”
“The professor has been murdered,” Freddie said. “You showed some men in just before us. Who were they?”
“Murdered? Who would do that? Why? It is true that we did not all agree with his theories regarding the preservation of artifacts, but—”
“Describe the men, please,” Freddie said.
“I…” The junior-under-curator backed out of the room. “There were two of them. One … One was a native Martian. They all look alike to me. The other was a short man. An ugly fellow, with a squashed face, like a frog. But he seemed to appreciate pottery. How could he murder someone?”
“Where did they go?”
The junior-under-curator gaped.
“You said you showed them in just before us. We didn’t pass them. Which way would they have gone?”
The junior-under-curator rubbed at his forehead, as though trying to rub away a headache. “Down there … I … Why…?”
Freddie turned to me. “They may still be here. Edward, get your sisters out—”
“No,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”
Freddie didn’t argue. He took off at a sprint, and I followed. We raced down the corridors, past closed offices and cavernous storerooms. Surprised faces stared out at us, but we were gone before anyone could say anything. I tried to peer into the storerooms as we passed, but Freddie kept going, head down, pulling away from me with each stride.
We skidded around a corner, and there, ahead of us, a door hung open. Bright desert sunlight spilled through, outlining two familiar figures: Frog-face and the native Martian.
Freddie threw himself forward. The native Martian tried to slam the door, but Freddie barged into it, smacking it open. Frog-face lunged at him with a knife, and Freddie danced out of the way. I forced an extra burst of speed into my legs.
I stumbled into the burning sunlight just as the native Martian swung at Freddie with a heavy blackjack. I crashed into the native Martian, and we went down in a pile.
Freddie jabbed at Frog-face with his walking stick, fending off the knife and forcing the man back. The Martian came to his feet, lifting me off the ground. I clung on and sank my teeth into his arm. He gave a shout and dropped the blackjack. With a roar of anger, he thumped me into the wall. The impact knocked me to the ground. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. The Martian drew a small dagger.
Freddie drove Frog-face back. A ringing blow sent the man’s knife flying.
“Freddie!” I managed as the Martian raised his dagger.
Freddie crossed the gap between us with two quick steps. He whipped his walking stick across the Martian’s head. The man slumped, his eyes rolling back.
Freddie spun just as Frog-face thrust. Freddie tried to dodge, but he didn’t have time. The knife slid across his ribs. He grunted. His legs gave way and he fell to his knees.
Frog-face stood over him. The man’s face was twisted with hatred. Freddie’s blood dripped from his knife as he brought it forward.
Then a whistle sounded, and someone shouted, “Militia!”
Frog-face hesitated for a second. Then he turned on his heel and was gone.
* * *
We didn’t have time to run. By the time I’d helped Freddie back to his feet, the open area behind the museum was full of militiamen.
The three of us—me, Freddie, and the Martian—were marched through city streets. Freddie tried to talk to the militia leader, both in English and native Martian, but they shoved him back and didn’t answer.
How had this happened? Surely Dr. Guzman had told them we had nothing to do with the professor’s murder? I didn’t understand why we were being arrested.
The militiamen took us to an underground cell in a squat, fort-like building. The only light in the cell came from a small grille above us. The floor was covered in damp straw. A long stone block served as a bed. We were pushed in, along with the Martian, and the cell door closed behind us with a clang. They even took away Freddie’s walking stick.
I slumped against the wall and rested my head in my hands. My sisters were out there on their own, unprotected. Sir Titus still had Mama, Papa, and Jane, and now he knew we were here. And Freddie and I were trapped, helpless, with one of Sir Titus’s chief henchmen.
How could it all have gone so wrong?
* * *
No one came to see us that evening, nor the next day. Somewhere out there, Sir Titus had his abacus and Papa was translating the map. Surely it couldn’t take much longer. He might have done it already. I banged against the bars, but it was pointless. The militiamen ignored us.
Freddie’s wound was still seeping blood. I’d have liked to clean it properly with wine or spirits and to stitch it. At least there was water in the cell. I washed the wound, then bandaged it with strips torn from Freddie’s shirt.
A guard pushed food under the door once the next day, along with more water, then disappeared without speaking. The bread was stale, but I was starving. The hours seemed to drag on endlessly in the dark cell.
Near the evening of the second day, guards came down and led us up to an office. I was tired and grimy. Freddie stumbled as he climbed the stairs and had to lean on a guard’s shoulder.
The militia captain was sitting behind his desk as we entered. There was an auto-scribe beside him, but its brass speaking tube was turned down, unused.
“So,” the militia captain said. “A respected professor dead, murdered in his office. The museum staff say that you three and the man who fled were the professor’s only visitors that day. Then my men catch you fighting in the street.” He shook his head. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Freddie was bent over his wounded side, his face set in a grimace. A thin layer of sweat covered his face. His shirt was ragged where we’d torn it away for bandages. The bloodstains had turned brown.
“We…” I cleared my throat and tried again. “We were just visiting the museum. The professor was dead when we got there.” I shot an accusing look at the native Martian.
The captain made a noncommittal sound, then turned to Sir Titus’s man. “And you?”
“The professor was alive when my companion and I left,” the native Martian said.
The militia captain tilted his head. “Why did your companion run when my men approached?”
“We were attacked by these two. I was knocked unconscious. I’m sure he went to find help.”
“You attacked us!” I shot back.
“Enough!” The militia officer slapped his palm on the table. “I could lock the three of you up for a week for fighting in public.” He sat back in his seat, sighing. “It appears there were no witnesses. The museum staff didn’t see the professor between your visits, and no one was in that part of the building. I can’t prove that your stories are lies, but I can’t prove they’re true, either. Someone killed that man.”
“Will you release us?” Freddie managed. His voice was strained.
The militiaman shrugged. “Perhaps. But someone must vouch for you. A person of good character.” He nodded to the native Martian. “Someone has come forward for you.” The captain gestured to one of the guards. “Release this gentleman.”
“Wait!” Freddie said. He took a step and stumbled. I caught his arm.
The militia captain turned to Freddie. “Yes?”
Freddie let out a breath. “Nothing. We’d like to see the British-Martian ambassador. He’ll vouch for us.”
“We’ll send for him, but I’m sure he’s a busy man. Is there anyone else who could vouch for you? Anyone at all?”
Olivia could, but Sir Titus’s men might be watching the prison. She and Putty would be in danger. I shook my head.
“Then I have no choice but to return you to your cell.”
The guards led us away again. The moment we were alone, Freddie slumped on the block of stone that passed for a bed. “Blast!” he said. “That’s blown it. I was sure they’d release the three of us together. Now there’s nothing to stop Sir Titus from finding that tomb and selling the secrets to Napoleon.”
And doing away with my family, I thought. But all I said was, “You’re not well.”
“My injury feels hot,” Freddie said. “I think I have a touch of fever. It’ll pass.”
“Will it?” I asked.
Freddie shrugged painfully. “There’s nothing we can do about it here. At least our Martian friend will report back that I’m on my last legs. That’ll give us an advantage.”
“Not if you are on your last legs,” I said.
Freddie flashed a grin. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“Will the ambassador come?” I asked.
Freddie lay down carefully on the stone bed. “I don’t know. Sir Titus has a long history in this city and many important friends. What if the ambassador is one of those?”
“You think he might hand us over to Sir Titus?”
“Nothing so rash,” Freddie said. “Sir Titus is a fugitive, and the intelligence service is unforgiving. But he might easily pretend to never have received our message.”
“Then what do we do?”
Freddie smiled. “I’m going to sleep. You should rest, too. Wake me if anything happens.”
With that, his eyes drifted shut, and I was left there in the cell as the light outside faded.
I must have slept eventually, because the next thing I knew, the cell door banged open.
“Get up,” one of the guards said in accented English. “The captain wants to see you.”
Freddie seemed a little better when I helped him up, although he was still weak and leaned on my arm.
“The ambassador?” I asked Freddie in a whisper as they led us up the stairs.
“Perhaps. It’s early, but if he’s verified my identity with the intelligence service…”
“He must have.”
The guard pushed open the door to the captain’s office. I straightened, brushing down my filthy clothes. I knew that I looked awful. If I’d been the ambassador, I would have taken one look and sent us back to the cell.
I’d hardly taken a step inside when something hit me so hard I almost fell. Arms wrapped themselves tightly enough to choke me.
“Putty?” I managed, staring down at my sister.
Olivia was there, too, standing by the captain’s desk, her cheeks pink and her fingers clutching nervously at her dress.
“These are your brothers?” the captain said, looking at Livvy.
Olivia nodded. “Oh, yes. We were so worried. My older brother, Viscount Winchester, and my younger brother, the Honorable Edward Winchester.” I tried not to choke. Viscount Winchester? Livvy had managed the lie without blinking. “We were in the museum with them. When we discovered the poor dead professor, they went looking for the culprits, and they did not return. We did not know what to do. Had Viscount Winchester been harmed, the scandal…” She shook her head. “It is unthinkable.” She peered closely at Freddie. “What have you done to him?”
The captain cleared his throat. “We had no idea … If only you had said, sir…”
Olivia shook her head again. “I don’t know what the ambassador will say when he finds out that Viscount Winchester has been abused in your cells. He gave the Prince Regent his personal assurances that Viscount Winchester would be safe, and what with Viscount Winchester being a confidant of the Prince Regent himself…” She turned sad eyes on the militia captain. “In these uncertain, war-filled times, I shudder to think. I once saw His Majesty’s Royal Aeronautical Brigade bombard a city over a matter of honor. It was a frightening sight.” She lowered her voice. “It is said the Prince Regent sees allies of the French everywhere.”
The captain came out of his chair, his face reddening. “Your ladyship, I assure you—”
“I take it we’re free to go?” Freddie interrupted, drawing himself up.
The captain stared, unmoving, for a second. Then he pulled himself together. “Of course. I will send a detachment of my men to escort you—”
Freddie held up his hand. “That won’t be necessary. Now, you have my walking stick, I believe?”
* * *
I felt the captain’s worried gaze follow us all the way across the prison yard.
The moment we were outside the walls, Olivia turned to Freddie. “You’re hurt!”
“It was scarcely skin-deep,” Freddie admitted through gritted teeth, “but the cell was full of foul humors. They’ve seeped in, and we weren’t able to clean the wound properly. I’ll be well now that we’re out of there.” He reached out and touched Olivia’s arm briefly. “You were wonderful. We didn’t think we’d ever be released.”
Olivia blushed.
“I’ve never heard of His Majesty’s Royal Aeronautical Brigade,” Putty said.
“Neither, I suspect, has His Majesty,” Freddie said. “Otherwise Britain might be better placed to see off Napoleon. Your sister made it up.”
Olivia’s blush deepened.
“You were wonderful,” Freddie said again, “but Edward and I have failed you. Sir Titus’s man was released before us. We lost him. We have no way to find your family.”
Olivia tried to hold back a smile, but she couldn’t. “Shall I tell them or will you?” she said to Putty.
“Tell us what?” I said.
“Livvy wanted to get you out straightaway,” Putty said, “but I made her wait.”
I stared at her. “Why on Mars would you make us wait around in that horrible cell?”
Putty grinned up at me. “Honestly, Edward. I don’t know how you manage anything without me. We waited because we knew your Martian would be released sooner or later. When he was, we followed him.” Her grin widened. “We have found Sir Titus’s house.”