I made it to the front door before Grandmother beat it down and opened it to let her in. "Hello, Grandmother."
She swept past me into the foyer. "Is Admiral Sopcoate here?"
"No, ma'am. He's not."
"What about your mother and father?" she asked as she looked around the room.
"I'm afraid Mother's left to go get Father out of jail."
She looked relieved. "Oh, good, then. Sopcoate's with them."
"Um, I'm afraid not. Mother left alone."
Grandmother's face paled. "But I haven't been able to get a hold of the admiral. I expected to hear back from him by two o'clock at the latest, and I still haven't heard a word. I even sent a footman round to the admiralty to see if he'd gotten tied up there, but no one has seen him all day." She thumped her cane. "He promised me he'd help Alistair."
I stared at poor Grandmother. She'd fallen in love with a traitor, someone who had sold his soul to Chaos and was the worst sort of enemy Britain could have. Talk about errors in judgment! But of course, I could never point that out. I took a step toward her. "Grandmother—"
"What?" Her face was pinched, but I could tell she wasn't scowling at me. She was just ... scowling in general.
"I'm afraid there's been an incident."
"An incident? Where? And how do you know?"
This was the tricky part, wasn't it? "I overheard Inspector Turnbull talking."
I waited for her to say something about the wickedness of eavesdropping, but all she said was, "Well, get on with it! What did he say?"
"He said there was a dustup at the Dreadnought today. It turned out that who Admiral Sopcoate was escorting wasn't a delegation of Abyssinians, but a group of unidentified rebels who were posing as Abyssinians in order to spy on the Royal Navy's newest technological advances."
Grandmother gasped, and then her hand flew to her mouth, as if she was surprised such a noise could have escaped from her.
"Admiral Sopcoate discovered their disguise and tried to apprehend them. Single-handedly," I added for good measure. "But he was greatly outnumbered."
"Why didn't the others onboard try to help him?"
"Because none of them knew what was going on. Until it was too late."
"Too late?" she repeated.
I nodded. "They presume the admiral died or was taken prisoner while protecting his ship," I said as gently as I could.
Grandmother grew even more pale, and she suddenly looked very old and very frail, not like a curmudgeon at all. It was then that I remembered she'd already lost one man, my grandfather, and now she was losing a second.
Hating the look on Grandmother's face, I couldn't help but embellish a bit. "They say he was quite brave. And fearless." It wasn't exactly a lie. He had been all those things, but for the wrong cause.
The front door burst open just then, and Mother and Father waltzed in. Father was tired and rumpled, while Mother appeared jubilant and relieved.
"Look, Grandmother, Father's home! Isn't that lovely?" Surely this would cheer her up.
And it did. For a moment her face softened.
Father held his arms open for me. I longed to run and throw myself into them, but something held me back.
I glanced back at Grandmother, who seemed old, angry, and a little lost.
Not quite sure what I thought I was doing—or why—I reached out and grabbed her hand, half afraid she'd bean me with her cane for taking the liberty. Instead, she stared in puzzlement at my hand holding hers.
Honestly! Did I have to do everything around here? "Come on," I said gently. "Let's welcome Father home."
And then Father was upon us, capturing me in a vast, uncharacteristic hug, which I savored. Even Grandmother standing next to me couldn't ruin that hug.
After a long moment we pulled apart. Beside us, Grandmother took a handkerchief from her reticule. "Really, Alistair, you must speak with your employees. This place has far too much dust floating around. It's quite unhealthy."
We politely looked away as she dabbed at her eyes. "And you," she said, spearing me with her now dry gimlet eye. "What on earth were you thinking, eavesdropping on policemen? Hasn't this family had enough scandal?"
"Yes, Grandmother." I bowed my head meekly, but the truth was, I much preferred this Grandmother, the one made of iron and starch, to the frail old woman she'd been moments ago. In fact, I had an almost overwhelming desire to hug her, even though she would never have allowed such a messy display of emotion.
Even so, I did have the urge. Surely that counted for something!
Acknowledgments
Like Theodosia, I am lucky enough to have an entire secret organization behind me. However, since the Fate of the Known World does not rest in their hands, I think it's safe for me to give them the great big public thank-you that they all deserve.
First, to Yoko Tanaka, Artist Extraordinaire, whose illustrations captured the essence of Theo so perfectly and brought her world and surroundings to life.
Thank you also to Scott Magoon and Sheila Smallwood, whose creative vision for this book far exceeded my wildest dreams.
A round of heartfelt gratitude goes to Betsy Groban and Margaret Raymo for putting the weight of their amazing publishing house behind Theodosia. Surely I am the luckiest author alive (and if I'm not, don't tell me—I don't want to know)!
A very special thank-you to Molly Haselhorst and Thalia Chaltas for reading an early version of this book and giving me amazingly helpful feedback that kept my many plot threads from dangling.
Thank you also to Susan'T. Buckheit for making sure all my i's were dotted, my t's crossed, and who kept my many participles from dangling.
I also want to thank Ann-Marie Pucillo, Alison Kerr Miller, Jennifer Taber, Karen Walsh, Nadya Guerrero-Pezzano, Linda Magram, Lisa DiSarro, Jean Thrift, and Jennifer Williams for all their efforts on Theodosia's behalf. What an amazing team you all are!
Thanks also to Erin Murphy, Keeper of the Details and loyal champion.
And last (but never least!), to Kate O'Sullivan for her eagle eye and gentle touch, proving once again that she is the Best Editor Ever.
Houghton Mifflin Company
Boston 2008
Text copyright © 2008 by R. L. LaFevers
Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Yoko Tanaka
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions,
Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South,
New York, New York 10003.
The text of this book is set in Minister Book.
The illustrations are acrylic on board.
Map of 1905 London used courtesy of the Harvard Map Collection.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file.
ISBN-13: 978-0-618-92764-7
Manufactured in the United States of America
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