“You do not look as pleased as you should, daughter,” Helen had said. “These are the people who relegated you to being a kitchen maid. You should be glad that we have them safely locked up so they can’t interfere with our plans. You do not understand those plans yet—I will tell you more when the time is right—but in the end we will have such power as you cannot imagine. You and I and Margaret—will that not be grand?”
“Yes, mother,” Alice had said. She had tried to smile, while Margaret had looked up at her sharply. She did not want either her mother or Margaret to suspect her betrayal. That night, she had barely slept. No matter how she tried, she could not keep from sobbing. If Mary, Justine, and Diana were here, that meant they had returned from their mission in Europe and were trying to rescue her and Mr. Holmes. If they had been captured, it was her fault.
In the middle of the night, she had tried to sneak all the way down to the coal cellar. She was sure the door would be locked, but perhaps she could knock on it quietly and contact them? Perhaps she could help them escape in some way? Diana was with them, and Diana could pick any lock that had ever been made, couldn’t she?
DIANA: Damn right I could!
But when she got down to the bottom of the back stairs, she had seen that the cellar door was guarded by one of Colonel Moran’s men. After that boy had told her there were only two of them guarding the house, she had tried to observe them surreptitiously, to figure out any weaknesses that might be important if one were trying to escape. Surely that was what Mary would do? Observe and learn.… This was the younger one, with shaggy dark hair. The older one was bald and had a broken nose. He must be guarding the house outside. This one was sitting in front of the door, playing some sort of solitary card game by the light of a single lantern. There was no way she could get past him. She waited a while to see if he might go to the kitchen for some food, or perhaps to use what she thought of as the facilities, but he had not moved. Finally, she crept back up the dark staircase to the second floor. She paused by the door of the room where Mr. Holmes was being kept and put her ear to the keyhole, but all was silent. As far as she knew, no one had noticed the substitution of the salt for heroin, although she had replaced almost half the bottle. She hoped a lower dose of the drug would have some effect. Then she had gone back to bed and cried herself to sleep, feeling useless.
Now here she was, watching through the window as Dr. Watson and the Baker Street boys attempted a rescue.
“Give me your hand,” said her mother again. Reluctantly, Alice put her hand in Helen’s. Once again she could feel the tug of mesmeric power being pulled out of her. What was her mother trying to do? What did she need Alice’s power for?
Suddenly, there were men standing in front of the house—men with pistols in their hands. Where had they come from? Of course—they were only an illusion. But that one—no, he was no illusion. That was the older guard, the bald one. And, yes, there was the younger, with his shaggy hair. Now Alice could see boys running across the street toward the front of the house. Those must be the Baker Street Irregulars! They were carrying knives, slings, what looked like pieces of lead pipe. She could hear their cries through the closed windows. They sounded like war whoops. Did those boys think this was some sort of game? Did they not realize the gravity of the situation? Two of the guards shot—no, they were illusory guards, and the bullets were illusions as well. The boys hesitated. Some of them kept running forward, some of them retreated. One of them cried out to those who were retreating and waved them forward. Had they realized the bullets weren’t real? They were rushing forward again, and there was Dr. Watson, who had run to the front, leading the charge, a pistol in his hand. Something struck the window—a rock thrown from a sling, she guessed, because cracks spread across the glass. Another of the guards shot—illusion again? No, it was the bald one. That shot was real. Dr. Watson was down! The Baker Street boys would not be able to tell which of the shots were real and which ones weren’t.
Horrified, Alice pulled her hand from her mother’s.
“What is it, Lydia?” said Helen, looking down at her. “Are you afraid those boys will get in here somehow and harm you? You should not be—I will protect you. I learned very young that life is a struggle. What matters is how much power you have in that struggle. The more power, the better. You and I will emerge from this particular struggle triumphant, you shall see. And then we shall have enough power so that no one will ever harm us again. Now, let me finish this, and then we can have—breakfast? Have you breakfasted yet? No?”
Outside, the Baker Street boys seemed to be retreating. Where was Watson? Alice could not see him. The illusory guards were still there, alongside the real ones, although they seemed to be growing fainter, more translucent, and they were no longer shooting their pistols. Helen must not be paying as much attention.
“I had coffee and toast early, with Margaret. She has already gone to the British Museum to prepare for our ritual. We shall join her tonight, after the museum closes. It will be closed tomorrow as well—it is always closed on Sundays—so we shall have plenty of time to complete the ritual without fear of interruption. Fortunately, the director himself gave her a set of keys so she could complete work on the exhibit after hours, which means we can come and go as we please. Now, I think the situation outside has been resolved satisfactorily. Mr. Hoskins and Isaac can handle any remaining disturbance. I’ll order an omelet and—what else? Potatoes and sausage? Some sort of compote? You’re so skinny, my dear. And you need to keep up your strength—this will be a busy day.”
Feeling heartsick, and dreadfully worried about the people she loved, Alice followed her mother out of the room. She had no idea what to do. Somehow, she must try to rescue her friends. But how?
CATHERINE: Do you know what happened to that set of keys? I would love to be able to get in and out of the British Museum whenever I pleased.
MARY: I haven’t the faintest idea. That wasn’t at all what we were focused on at the time!
CATHERINE: Could they be somewhere in the Alchemical Society headquarters? Or would Margaret Trelawny have taken them with her?
MARY: You’re interrupting your own narrative for this stupid question?
BEATRICE: Forgive me, Mary, but it is not a stupid question. A person who had such a set of keys would have access to one of the most magnificent collections of art and artifacts in the world. Imagine being able to roam among the Elgin Marbles without interruption!
ALICE: Or study the mummies. I’ve been trying to learn about the Egyptians. Ancient history means so much more when it actually happens to you.…
CATHERINE: All right, we’ll start by searching the Alchemical Society, and then if that doesn’t work, who’s up for a trip to Cornwall and Kyllion Keep?
MARY: You are all quite mad.
DIANA: Barmy, the lot of them.
Mary sat up groggily. Had Mrs. Poole come in to tell her that breakfast was ready? She was terribly hungry! It took her a moment to realize that she was still in the coal cellar. The lamp had burned low, and she could only see dimly, but Diana was still asleep, thank goodness. She heard a groan. Who was that? Of course—Justine. Was she all right? Mary managed to sit up again. What time was it? Automatically, she looked at her wrist, but they had taken her wristwatch.