A Star Shall Fall

They went down in a heap, all three of them, and the knife clattered loose. Then someone else was there—Peregrin, dragging Aspell free and wrestling him to the boards, snarling curses in his ear.

No one had to do the same to Andrews. The mortal lay gasping, too weak to even cough. Galen crawled off him and stood, glaring down without pity. Only by a supreme effort of will did he keep from stamping on the hand that had held the knife.

But a whimper distracted him from vengeance. Lune twitched weakly against her bonds, until Irrith crawled forward and retrieved the three iron bullets she’d thrown at Aspell, stowing them once more in their hawthorn case. Galen shrugged out of his tattered coat and flung it over the Queen, giving her a measure of decency as he found and pulled free the pins that held her rowan chains.

The barge shifted beneath his feet. Someone had retrieved the jotun ice; the river was beginning to thaw once more. Galen helped Lune to her feet, supporting her out onto the open deck, and gave her reluctantly to Sir Cerenel, whose tatterfoal would carry her to immediate safety. They’d clearly fed her no bread, needing her faerie soul pure, and Galen suspected Andrews had done something more; the Queen’s knees were as weak as a newborn child’s. But she had the strength to press her lips to Galen’s cheek and murmur half-coherent thanks, before she was gone.

He turned back to see Irrith sprawled in the cabin doorway, hawthorn box dangling loosely from her fingers. The sprite turned dulled eyes up to him and said, “We did it.”

Galen was too weary to do more than nod. Looking past Irrith to the huddled form of Dr. Andrews, he thought, Yes. We saved Lune.

But we’ve lost the philosopher’s stone.

RED LION SQUARE, HOLBORN

18 March 1759

The weak rasp of Dr. Andrews’s breathing was the only sound in the room. Outside, the world went on, heedless of the comet in the sky above, and the acts it had inspired. The clouds still held, but imperfectly; the protection they had given these long months was failing at last.

The man in the bed would not live to see it end.

Galen said, “Why did you do it?”

He thought at first that Andrews was coughing. It turned out to be a laugh, bitter as gall. “Why. You stand there, watching me die, and you ask why.”

To save his own life, of course. “For that, you would murder an innocent woman. And not just her, but Savennis, Podder—”

“I tried everything, Mr. St. Clair.” Andrews lay limp beneath his sheets, unable even to lift his hands now. “If I could have done it some other way, I would have. But the sands of my hourglass had nearly run out. When the Lord Keeper came to me, offering his aid…” He had to pause for breath. “The others were tests of my method. I had to be sure it would work. Once I was—then yes. To save myself, and this city, and all of mankind, I would kill. Who would not?”

Galen thought of what Lune had said. That the Dragon would bring perfection through destruction. How many would such a creature truly save?

It didn’t matter. “I wouldn’t,” Galen said. “No moral man would.”

Andrews didn’t answer. After a few moments of waiting, Galen realised he would not speak again. The Prince stood and watched in silence as the wasted chest rose and fell, until it moved no more.

Then he went downstairs to tell Dr. Andrews’s faithful, unquestioning servants that their master was dead at last.

PART SEVEN CALCINATIO Spring 1759

’Tis Saturn’s offspring who keeps a well in wch drown Mars & then Saturn behold his face in’t wch will seem fresh & young when ye souls of both are blended together, for each need be amended by th’other. Then a star shall fall into ye well.

ISAAC NEWTON,

UNPUBLISHED ALCHEMICAL NOTES

The sun has come and gone, growing from a spark to a sphere of undying flame. Now it recedes into the dark once more.

And still the Dragon waits.