I heard a distant clock strike half past nine. I had to move quickly or chance drawing attention to myself entering the meeting after it had already begun.
The fly-bridge shimmied as I hurried across. On the other side, I located the pawnshop down several levels and to my right. Just above, I could see a small ledge that angled around the front of the building to the side-and, hopefully, to the rear. The perfect entrance.
It was simple to descend to the ledge. I climbed down by using a shadowy flight of stairs and then lowering myself from one ledge to another. When I got to the ledge above the pawnshop door, I skirted along its narrow width until I found a dark window. Moments later, I'd pried the glass free and slipped inside. The unlit chamber was filled with trunks, crates, and covered furniture. It was so dusty my eyes watered, and I had to muffle a sneeze in my sleeve. I hoped the toad below didn't hear.
In the dark, I could make out the faint outline of a door. There were no sounds of voices or footsteps, so I pushed . . . but it wouldn't open. Blast. It was locked.
I hesitated. The lock wasn't an issue; I could use the weight of my pistol to smash it. But the noise would be a problem. Fishing out a small burn-stick, I snapped it in half, and a soft green glow from the algae inside gave me a moment of illumination and the opportunity to look at the barrier more closely.
But before I could attempt to pick the lock, someone screamed.
I dug the pistol from my pocket. The scream had been feminine, and it came from above and toward the back of the building. It wasn't repeated.
No longer caring about noise, I slammed the heavy weight of metal down onto the doorknob. It shifted as the wood enclosing it cracked, and I drove the pistol butt down once more with a powerful blow. The knob snapped off and tumbled to the floor with a thud, but I was already pulling at the door.
I found myself in a corridor just as dark and dusty as the chamber I'd left. Despite the urgency, I paused to listen and sense where to go. Chafing at the delay, I drew in a deep breath, feeling, straining my ears. Waiting. Finally, I heard another, softer but no less desperate shriek.
I ran.
The voices drew me-sharp ones, and a high-pitched desperate one, along with some other spine-chilling cry I couldn't identify. I followed the sounds: down the corridor, up dark flights of stairs, and through a hallway, and so on. I went as silently as possible while running pell-mell, my pistol in hand.
At last I came to a long, shadowy hallway that ended at a double set of doors. They were closed, but golden light spilled from beneath and around the edges. I stopped and, putting my ear to the door, I heard movement from the other side. The heavy, cloying smell of something sweet wafted from the cracks. Opium. Voices came from the other side, but they were soft and didn't sound desperate or troubled. Had the scream come from here or not?
I wanted to burst through the doors and take whoever was on the other side by surprise. A rush of excitement had my fingers closing over the knob. But a prim voice in my head suggested that I might not want to be so capricious. It was as if Mina Holmes had somehow invaded my conscience. Capricious. That was definitely a word she'd use.
I tried the doorknob, grasping it carefully to muffle any rattle, and turned it slowly. It wasn't locked, and the door loosened.
Now all I had to do was gently pull it open and peek inside. I had just begun to ease the door open when a hand landed on my shoulder.
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?"