The Clockwork Scarab

Miss Stoker By the Fog of an Opium Stew

“It would have behooved you to be more expedient and punctual in your arrival.”

My fingers still on the knob, I spun around, taking care not to jolt the door open. It was the shy, ruddy-faced girl from the pawnshop who’d charmed the toadly proprietor into letting her into the back room.

“Who the blooming fish are you?” I demanded. Then I looked her in the eye. “Miss Holmes?”

“Who else would it be?” Satisfaction flickered in her expression, then she said, “You weren’t going to simply walk in there, were you?”

“No,” I lied. And eased my fingers away from the knob.

Her eyes narrowed as she followed the movement of my hand. “Right.”

I sniffed. “You smell like opium.”

“Brilliant observation, Miss Stoker. It resembles an opium den in there. I find it quite interesting, for, as you might recall, Miss Hodgeworth’s hair smelled of opium the night we found her. I suspect we are going to learn the answers to many questions within.” She gestured to the double doors, then made another sharp movement. Apparently I was to follow her. “This way. There’s a side entrance that’s not as visible.”

Blast. I’d been in too much of a hurry to notice the heavy black curtains that hung along the corridor, shrouding a side door. “Have you been inside? What are they doing? I heard someone scream.”

She led me through the door and into a small alcove. The opium smell was even stronger here. A gaslamp lit the area, and I realized it was a narrow passageway that ran parallel to the room behind the double doors. It was barely wide enough for us to pass through in our voluminous skirts.

“Yes, of course I’ve been in there.” It was odd to hear Miss Holmes’s precise tones coming from this young woman. I looked closely and saw the outline of a false nose and the layers of makeup. “I arrived punctually and gained entrance on time. I was only inside the meeting chamber for a short while, and then I came to search for you. I do hope you weren’t wasting your time shopping in that filthy store.”

“I was examining the exterior of the building,” I told her through gritted teeth. “One of us should know whether there is another entrance if we need a quick escape.”

She nodded in agreement. “A commendable plan.”

“How did you know the password to get in? And why didn’t you take me with you? The shopkeeper wouldn’t let me pass.”

“Password? I employed no password. I suspect,” Miss Holmes said archly, “you were denied entrance because you clearly had no idea what you were doing there. I saw the scarabs and made an enthusiastic comment, which identified me as a member of the society. Had you done the same, I’m certain you would have experienced the same positive—”

“Someone screamed,” I interrupted her lecture.

“Yes. A female individual had the misfortune of spying a mouse,” she said. “It ran over her feet, and then someone else’s. Hence the second scream. It was quite chaotic for a moment.”

I rolled my eyes and then pointed to the wall which separated us and the double-doored room. “What’s happening in there?” For someone so fond of lecturing, Miss Holmes had been surprisingly distracted about this topic. “Have you seen the Ankh?”

“No, I haven’t seen it. Her. But the Society of Sekhmet is gathered, and they’re . . . well, you must see it to believe it.” She stopped and gestured to a small door that led into the chamber. “No one will notice us entering here.”

She cracked it open, and light filtered into the passage, along with a gust of sweet opium smoke. I peered around the edge and confirmed that we were entering from the side of the chamber, well placed in the shadows. Lights glowed, but there were none near the door, and it was simple to slip in unnoticed.

My jaw dropped at the sight. This was nothing like the previous Society of Sekhmet meeting we’d encountered.

Lamps, one in each corner, gave off small circles of light. The thick cloud of smoke was heaviest near the ceiling but it made the entire chamber seem muted and foggy. Silky fabric in crimson, garnet, topaz, and rust rippled on the walls. Large cushions and other soft, round furnishings littered the floor. Shallow bowls sat on low tables in front of the seats. They each held glowing coals . . . no, burning opium crystals. The smoldering drug gave off a low light and the narcotic smoke. Mellow music from an unfamiliar string instrument resonated, making the room feel even more exotic.

The scene reminded me of a picture of the thieves’ den I’d seen in The Arabian Nights. So where was the massive chest of jewels and gold spilling onto the floor?

A dozen young women were seated or half reclined on the cushions. They were arranged in lounging, unladylike poses. Florence would have fainted at such an improper display: loose hair falling over their shoulders, missing gloves, and stockinged feet. But it was the bare ankles exposed by their bunched up skirts that was the worst offense.

However, the most shocking sight of all was the young men in attendance. There were several who seemed to be serving the young ladies—offering them goblets, plates filled with food, and even long-stemmed pipes.

They were shirtless.

I gaped for a moment, counting a total of seven men wearing nothing but breeches and sleeveless, open vests. I’d never seen a male without a shirt, and I could not tear my eyes away from the sight. They looked so very different than we women do, with their broad, square shoulders and bulging arms. And the muscular ripples on their torsos.

Was the room tilting, or was it the effects of the opium? My brain went soft. I felt warm and tingly everywhere, and my knees weakened. If I sank onto the cushions, would one of those young gentlemen come over and serve me? The thought made my insides flutter.

Someone pinched me on the arm, then jammed something sharp and pungent beneath my nose. It smelled bitter and unpleasant, but it cleared the fogginess away immediately.

Miss Holmes pressed a vial into my hand, and I held it beneath my nose as I looked around again. The double doors through which I had originally meant to enter were at the far right. A guard stood there. He took turns watching the room and checking the door behind him. Another guard stood at a set of double doors across the room from his counterpart.

There was no sign of the Ankh.

“I managed to speak briefly with one of the women here,” Miss Holmes said softly. We remained unnoticed in the shadows, pressing flat against the wall. “What she said made little sense, due to the influence of this,” she said, waving at the opium fog. Then she took a sniff from her vial. “But it appears that the Inner Circle meets beyond those doors. Presumably with the Ankh.” She pointed to the double doors at the opposite end of the chamber.

“Is this what their salons are normally like?” I found it difficult to pull my attention from the shirtless young men. No wonder the ladies wanted to be members. This was more exciting than going to the theater!

“Smoking opium is dangerous and illegal, not to mention addicting,” she said in my ear, her breath hot against my false curls.

“Not the opium! The young men. They are very . . . handsome.”

“Don’t be a fool.” Miss Holmes elbowed me, and I grinned in the darkness before my moment of levity faded.

I’d been joking, but it wasn’t a laughing matter. Two girls had been killed, one nearly murdered, and those crimes were somehow related to what was happening here and with the Ankh’s Inner Circle. I had a feeling smoking opium was the least of the dangers for these young women.

We had to get beyond those double doors without being noticed.

Just then, one of the serving men passed closer to us than any of them had yet. He was carrying a tray of goblets, but didn’t pause to offer any to the waiting ladies. Instead, he moved quickly through the room as if heading for a particular destination.

His bare, sleek bicep caught my attention first. He wore a wide band, and I couldn’t tell if it was a leather cuff or a tattoo. But as he drew nearer, I happened to drag my attention up from his arm, over his shoulder to his bare throat. When I caught sight of his face, I couldn’t control a gasp.

“What is it?” Miss Holmes hissed as Pix met my gaze.

His eyes widened, and his stride faltered. How could he recognize me so easily? I was in disguise! But the hitch in his step indicated he hadn’t expected me any more than I’d expected him. Yet he gave no other indication as he passed by.

“Ouch! Stop poking me,” I snapped at Miss Holmes. “I’ll tell you later.” And I slipped away.

Taking another whiff from my vial, I followed Pix. He stopped to deliver a chalice to a young woman. She reached languidly to take the goblet, looking at him with a gaze that made me both ashamed for her wantonness and unaccountably hot at her expression. She beckoned to him to join her on the cushion as some of the other young men had done.

If he dared sit down next to her . . . I kicked him in the heel as I walked past. At least he had some sense, for he straightened up to accompany me.

At the first unoccupied cushion, I sank down in a pool of skirts and turned to glare up at him. Before I could ask what he was doing here, he crouched and grabbed my arm, demanding, “What in the devil are ye doing ’ere?” His expression was flat and angry, without the humor that usually lingered in his eyes.

“I might ask you the same question.” My head was swimming, and I was getting warm. I needed another sniff from that vial. His uncovered torso was right there, exposed behind the open vest. He was sleek and taut and dark. . . . I fumbled for the smelling salts and brought the vial to my nose.

“What are ye doin’ here, Evaline?” His fingers tightened, giving me a little shake. “I didn’ spec ye as a damned opium-eater, ye fool.”

I wasn’t certain which startled me more: his use of my name or his accusation. “I’m not,” I said, yanking my arm away. “Lilly was a member of this society. They’re killing young women, and I’m trying to stop them. But you’re here, Pix,” I said. His eyes were sharp and clear, despite the heavy smoke. “And you—”

“I got mates in ’ere,” he said. “M’ mate Jemmy’s been captured and forced to work for—”

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over us. I looked up to see one of the guards standing there.

“Problem here, miss?” he said, reaching for Pix as his eyes swept over me. “Who the devil are you?”

Was he talking to me or to my companion? Before I had the chance to respond, Pix stood. I wasn’t surprised how easily he evaded the man’s grasp. He was slick that way.

“No problem ’ere,” he said with an ingratiating smile, his hands spread innocently. Then before I could blink, his arm shifted close to his body, then jacked up in a strong, abrupt motion. The other man stiffened, his eyes widening, then slumped.

Pix caught him and eased the guard to the floor next to me.

“Good gad, is he dead?”

“Doubt it,” Pix replied, slipping something long and slender into his pocket. “Ye need t’leave,” he said, taking my arm again.

I bristled and pulled away. We were still crouched next to the hopefully-not-dead guard, and our faces were very close together. I could smell a hint of Pix’s minty scent mixed with wood smoke under the thick layer of opium.

“What do you know about the Ankh?” I had to say something to keep from getting lost in his intense gaze.

“I know nuthin’ but ’at there’s blokes been disappearin’. She’s been takin’ ’em, an’ I finally tracked ’em down—”

We looked up at the same moment to see my partner standing over us, glowering in the drassy light. “Miss Stoker, what the devil are you doing?”

I yanked her down next to us, then glanced at the other guard. He seemed oblivious to all our activity. Relieved, I turned to Miss Holmes. “I’m certain you have a plan.” I saw no need to hide my displeasure. Why couldn’t she just make things up as she went? It always worked for me.

“Of course I have a plan. We have to get through those doors there.” She pointed to the double doors that led to the Inner Circle. “And we need a distraction. Who are you?” she added.

“Ne’er min’ ’at,” Pix said, but without his usual charm. “I—”

The double doors opened abruptly, and a bright light spilled into the dim, smoky chamber. A gentleman stood in the entrance, outlined by the light as if he were an image in some holy icon. He was dressed in a long, dark coat, white shirt and shirtwaist, and trousers. He was hatless, with short blond hair gleaming in the light. He had a full, neat beard and mustache of the same color.

He didn’t look anything like the Ankh we’d seen only a week ago. But as soon as he spoke, he confirmed his identity.

“Welcome, my darlings,” said the leader of the Society of Sekhmet. “I trust you all are enjoying your evening?”

A low murmur rumbled through the chamber. Many of the young women were fully reclined, sleeping or otherwise unconscious. An uncomfortable prickle slid over my skin. Something was very wrong. But what? I sniffed from my vial again.

The Ankh laughed in a genteel, husky manner. “Very well, then, please carry on with your pleasure. I shall have need of only two of you tonight to join the Inner Circle. Who shall be the fortunate ones?”

He stepped into the chamber, using a walking stick for emphasis, and was followed by the two identical women who’d been at his side during the last meeting. My partner’s interest tensed through her body as we watched the trio walk through the lumps of cushions, stopping at one not far from ours.

“You,” intoned the Ankh, gesturing with the walking stick. “You are worthy.”

One of the servants bent and assisted a young woman to her feet. Rather than seeming apprehensive, the girl curtseyed unsteadily.

My companion hissed something under her breath, and the Ankh turned suddenly, looking in our direction. And then, as if pulled by an invisible string, he began to move toward us. One servant led the woman he’d already chosen toward the open doors while the second one accompanied her master.

I tensed as the Ankh came closer. I could leap up and attack. Easy to knock him to the ground and take on the servant at the same time. I glanced at Miss Holmes. She shook her head in a short, sharp movement. No.

What the blooming fish was wrong with her? This was our chance! I gave her a violent glare, tensing and ready to spring. My breathing steadied. I curled my fingers around the small pistol in my pocket as the Ankh came closer.

Then Pix’s fingers closed around my arm. “Nay, luv,” he breathed in my ear. “Look.”

Him too? Bristling, I turned . . . then I saw what caught his attention. The two large men who’d tried to capture us at the last Society of Sekhmet meeting stood just beyond the doorway. One of them held a shiny, evil-looking firearm.

Drat and blast! Even I couldn’t compete with a bullet. I settled back onto the cushion, trying to look unobtrusive. As he drew nearer, my pulse sped up again. Could there be a way? If he came close enough? Energy sang in my veins. I knew what to do. I could do this . . .

I cast a quick glance at Miss Holmes. She seemed hypnotized by the commanding person.

When the Ankh did the unthinkable, pausing next to us, I closed my fingers surreptitiously around the pocketed pistol again. Trying not to look directly at him, I readied myself. One . . . two . . . thr—

“You,” said the Ankh. “Come with me.”