The Golden Yarn (Mirrorworld 3)

Jacob wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and maybe he didn’t really want to know.

“I warned him,” he said. “But I admit I myself am not very good at heeding the warnings of others.”

Ludmilla Akhmatova took a handkerchief from her bag. It was barely bigger than a calling card. “The man Orlando was trying to free—Isambard Brunel—is invaluable to Albion’s interests, and Orlando had little time. Our informants had told us the Tzar wasn’t going to use his precious prisoner to further Varangian progress, as the Goyl had expected, but instead was going to have him executed. And it’s quite understandable. Brunel’s “gift” was responsible for Varangia’s defeat by Albion.”

The gift of the Goyl . . .

That’s what happened when minds got muddled by Alderelves and jealousy. How often had Jacob heard in the past few days that Isambard Brunel’s failure to appear in public was due to some illness, and he still hadn’t managed to put two and two together?

“Where are they holding Orlando?”

“The same place from which he tried to free Brunel. In the secret wing of the Magic Collection.” Ludmilla blew her nose, the only expression of emotion she allowed herself. “Orlando managed to open the door—I procured some explosive for the poison lacquer—but it closed behind him

and raised the alarm.”

The knife-wire. Obviously, Orlando hadn’t quite known how to handle it.

“I’ll miss him.” Ludmilla dabbed a speck of mascara off her cheek. The women of this world still mixed their own beauty products. Some lamp soot, a few drops of elder juice... And there was, of course, the option to have a Witch conjure thicker lashes.

“There’s never been a better spy than Orlando Tennant,” Ludmilla Akhmatova continued. “Or a better dancer. It’s only fitting he’ll be executed together with the best engineer of this world. But I’m sorely disappointed in our Tzar. I thought he had more respect for talent.”

The painting next to the door depicted a naval battle. Like many of Baryatinsky’s paintings, it was fine enough that it could’ve been part of any museum’s collection. It reminded Jacob of another sea battle. Only a few months earlier, the Goyl’s airplanes had sunk this world’s first iron ship into the Great Channel, yet in the shipyards of Goldsmouth, they were already building three new ones, all designed by Isambard Brunel. Thanks to Brunel, Londra had underground trains, and its iron bridges were wider and more graceful than any other city’s. Nobody stood for the New Magic more than the man who called himself Isambard Christophorus Brunel. He had proven himself worthy of his name, which was like an echo of Jacob’s world.

Ludmilla Akhmatova had herself under control again.

Jacob wondered why she still spied for Albion. Madame Akhmatova didn’t seem like someone who did things for reasons other than her convictions.

She glanced at the closed door and whispered, “We shall, of course, try to free Orlando and Brunel. If we succeed, we’ll hide them in the Volodj Quarter until things settle down. A lot of Wolflings live there, so not even the secret police dare to search the houses. We have a trash collector who’ll get them there unnoticed. Trash collectors are everywhere after nightfall.”

Why did she tell him all this? After nightfall...

“You’re trying tonight?”

“When else? Orlando will be dead tomorrow morning. And Brunel probably, too.”

“How many helpers do you have?”

“Two.”

Two? To break into the secret wing of the Magic Collection? Impossible!

“I assume at least one of them knows how to handle protective spells?”

Ludmilla Akhmatova looked up and smiled. Ah, yes. A message for Celeste Auger. Maybe Orlando really had sent the Dwarf, but that wasn’t the only reason she’d come.

“No.” Jacob raised his hands. “Orlando and I are just acquaintances.” And these past few days he’d wished him worse than a cell, but that was none of her business.

“Then help us for Albion. It is your home, isn’t it?”

“Even so. Do I look like someone who’d happily die for King and country?”

Yet if he helped Ludmilla, it would prove to Fox he didn’t wish Orlando dead. You do wish him dead, Jacob.

The Dwarf smiled again.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling the gloves over her tiny fingers. “I was certain you’d help us. And that you wouldn’t do it for King and country. One o’clock, in front of the Academy. It’s right behind the Magic Collection.”

Jacob opened the door.