Brother's Ruin by Emma Newman

Author:Emma Newman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Chapter 9

ON THE WAY TO New Road earlier that night, Charlotte had looked over her shoulder every minute or so and glanced fearfully at dark windows, scared that some unsavoury creature would spot a young woman out alone and pursue her. The bark of a dog or the slamming of a door had been enough to make her jolt and sometimes almost stumble into the gutter in her nervousness.

The way back from New Road felt so very different. She was too angry to be afraid of imaginary threats in the shadows. The Royal Society crowed about how they kept everyone safe, how they regulated the use of magic to ensure the good citizens of the Empire were never at risk. And now she had firm evidence that one of their order—no, two!—were involved in the deaths of so many misfortunate people, damned because they had borrowed money and been unable to pay it back.

She’d report all she’d discovered to the local magistrate first. George had told her he was a decent chap and all she needed to do was show him what she’d found and tell him about the cluster of deaths.

But magi were involved. Should she instead go to Master Judicant with her discovery? His job was to see things done properly and fairly wherever the magi were involved. And he would be impartial whereas the magistrate—

She collided with a man who stepped out of nowhere. Charlotte was so lost in her furious planning that it knocked her over. She banged her head on the pavement and cried out, more in surprise than pain, then realised a gloved hand was reaching down to help her up.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry, miss, it was my fault. Oh, Miss Gunn! What a surprise!”

Charlotte blinked away the momentary dizziness to focus on Magus Hopkins, dressed in white tie, top hat and evening cloak. She felt dreadfully underdressed as he pulled her to her feet. “Magus Hopkins? What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

“Walking back from a soiree.” He looked her up and down, noticing the absence of crinoline, no doubt. “I might ask the same of you. Do your parents know you’re stalking the streets of Whitechapel in the small hours of the morning?”

“Hardly ‘stalking,’ sir.”

Too ashamed to look at him dressed as she was, Charlotte brushed her coat off instead.

“What’s this?”

She looked up to see Hopkins picking up her notebook, which must have fallen from her satchel. He opened it and flipped through, looking at the sketches beneath the pool of gaslight from the lamppost.

“That’s mine!” She rushed over and tried to grab it, but he turned as if he were in a waltz with her, keeping the notebook out of reach.

“Well, this is very interesting,” he muttered at the last pages. “Where did you sketch these, Miss Gunn?”

“That is none of your business, sir.”

“Oh, but I think it is. This is a contraption with an esoteric purpose, and a terribly dangerous one, by all appearances. That’s assuming that this drawing is accurate.

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