A Star Shall Fall

“We don’t have much choice, Lune.” Hamilton had recovered enough to argue with her. The sudden jolt had dropped them both where they stood. Which they had expected—such an alteration to their realm could not help but affect them—it was the echo into the world above that came as an unpleasant surprise. The Onyx Hall both did and did not exist in the earth beneath the City, and apparently the blast had crossed that boundary. “We need a high-ceilinged chamber in which to construct the clock. Nothing suitable exists in the Hall, not that can be made secure. And unless we find some better way to hang the pendulum than off a moonbeam, we’ll need some way to draw the light down, of which the Monument is our best option. We’re lucky to have even one zenith telescope inside the City walls.”

Inside the walls. That was a goodly portion of the problem. “The Sanists will find all the fodder they need in this,” Lune said. Her angry stride weakened, and she put one hand out for support, catching the black wall. “If I admit we’ve been blasting a new chamber, changing the fabric of the palace…”

“Then lie,” Gertrude suggested, cheerful as always.

The Queen nodded, anger giving way to thoughtful calculation. “We can’t hide it, that’s for certain. But another story…” Inspiration straightened her back once more. “We need Peregrin. A cannon blast could explain it—development of a weapon against the Dragon. That’s the best we can hope to make of it, I think.”

“Von moment,” Wilhas said delicately, as Gertrude went to the door. “There is a small complication.”

Lune’s expression chilled once more. “What?”

“Ve need to do it again,” Niklas said bluntly.

Hamilton groaned and reached for the mead again. “You didn’t blast far enough?”

The dwarves shook their heads, mirror images of each other in red and blond. “Not even halfvay,” Niklas said. “Ve need a bigger charge. Not yet—it vill take a little vile to prepare—but next month, I think.”

Lune said, without much hope, “Is there any way to prevent it from disturbing the Hall and the City again?” More shaking of heads. She finally sank into a chair, head rolling back. Her exhaustion was as much of the will as of the body. “Then I will definitely need to speak to Peregrin. When will you do it?”

“March eighth,” Wilhas said. “The new moon is good for these things. Ve just missed it this time, and that I think did not help.”

One month later, to the day. Lune rubbed at her eyes, then said, “Get it right the second time, gentlemen. A third earthquake in as many months, and Londoners will be convinced the end is at hand.”

MONTAGU HOUSE, BLOOMSBURY

18 August 1758

The blank front wall of Montagu House was well lit by moonlight as five fae came strolling up Great Russell Street. Irrith would have preferred to wait for the new moon; faerie charms were always helped along by details like that. But they needed to steal their target in time for Lune to trade it to the Greeks in time for them to provide help creating clouds in time to hide from the comet, and no one felt comfortable wasting two perfectly good weeks just to make the thieves’ lives easier.

They paused at the corner of Bloomsbury Square. Five simple fellows out for a walk, never mind the late hour; Irrith hoped no constables would pass by, keeping the houses of the wealthy safe. She squinted down the street, then nodded to the sharp-faced fellow that was the disguise of Charcoal Eddie. “See those rooms above the gate? That’s where the porter lives. But don’t have him open the main gate; it’ll be much too noisy. Use the eastern door instead—”

“I remember,” the puck said, annoyed. “I flew over it this morning. Eastern door in the little courtyard. Give me three minutes.” Without bothering to make sure they were still alone, he hopped into the air, and flashed off down Great Russell Street in the form of a shabby-feathered raven.

“Do you know where to find the stand?” Angrisla murmured into her ear. Unlike Eddie, the mara was keeping very careful watch indeed over the square and the surrounding streets.

Irrith shook her head. “Lord Galen said they’ve brought everything into Montagu House for sorting, but things are still being moved around. It’s big, though. We shouldn’t have much trouble.” Assuming the Greeks were right, that it was even there to begin with. One piece of old bronze looked much like another, to Irrith; how could they be certain?

In the quiet street, the sound of a bolt being shot back echoed like a gun. Irrith jumped, and got a disgusted look from Dead Rick. “Come on,” she muttered, and under the cover of cloaking charms, they all went forward.

The warm weather meant the porter had been sleeping with his window open; it also meant he was standing in the courtyard stark naked, with his eyes shut and gentle snores issuing forth. Eddie was lounging against the stable wall, smirking. “Do we keep him with us?”