jam pots. “They returned to the scene at first light and were able to discover where the gunmen lay as they fired.”
“Were there shell casings?” Alice asked.
“Alas, no. These weapons do not seem to depend on powder or brass, but rather on air pressure. The grass was flattened in a fan shape for ten feet, and there were depressions in the soil as though a large weapon had stood there. And they found one of these buried in the bank opposite the wreckage of my captains’ landau.” He dug in the pocket of his uniform jacket and held up the strangest projectile Claire had ever seen.
It was shaped like a bullet, but it had a tiny engine and propeller on its stern. Its nose was pushed in, likely from impact with earth instead of flesh. Her mind’s eye reconstructed what had happened in a flash. “That’s why we heard no report,” she exclaimed. “If they are using some kind of air gun, and the projectile’s speed is enhanced with an engine, it could do its damage silently.”
“And if it hits its target,” Andrew said slowly, “death is unavoidable, considering its size. You could conceivably drop a bear in one shot with one of these, could you not?” He took the projectile gingerly, examined it, then handed it to Tigg. “Was there any—Tigg, what are you doing? That is not yours.”
For Tigg had picked up his unused butter knife and had begun removing the screws holding the engine in place. His fingers were nimble, his actions precise, and before the count could say yea or nay, the tiny engine had been removed and an even tinier compartment revealed in the body of the projectile.
Yellow liquid drained out, and in less than a second, a slender plume of smoke rose as it ate its way through the bottom half of the casing and into the mahogany dining table. The countess gasped as Tigg pushed away from the table so hard he knocked his chair over. Andrew grabbed the heavy porcelain gravy boat and caught the dribble of acid when it ate its way through to the underside. Sinking into the gravy, the liquid seemed to extinguish itself.
“Mr. Andersen,” the countess called in a voice that did not resemble her own, “remove the gravy, if you please, and return with a ceramic container and some gloves.”
“Looks like an effective way to get rid of the evidence,” Alice said, her gaze locked on the hole in the table. “Can’t imagine there’d be many survivors, either, and the body’s liquids would neutralize it.”
“Fiendish device,” the earl snarled. The countess had already hustled Willie over to the window seat, half a sausage still in his chubby hand.
The count snapped something in Prussian to his aides, and when the chief steward returned with a freshly scrubbed thunder mug, they waited until what was left of the projectile had been deposited within, and removed the damaged leaf from the table.
“Tigg, the engine, too,” Claire said. “There might be traces of acid left on it.”
“There’s summat here, Lady. Lemme get a good squint at it.” He carried the engine casing over to the window of the salon.
“Tigg, I must insist—”
He looked up. “Lady, wot’s M-A-M-W spell?”
Maggie made a face. “Nuffink.”
Lizzie nudged her. “Wot, you know all the words in the world now?”
“No, but I know that ent one, unless you got a mouth full o’ toffee.”
“Maggie is quite correct,” Claire said, cautiously examining the interior of the tiny engine’s housing. “It is not a word. These are initials, most likely indicating the maker.”
“Perhaps if we discover who made this so small engine,” Count von Zeppelin said grimly, “we may discover who tried to assassinate me.”
*
Andrew had never passed a more uncomfortable hour in all his life. It was worse even than sitting the board examinations for the Royal Society of Engineers—at least there, he had been prepared and had a good idea of what to say once he took his seat opposite his examiners.
With women, one never knew what to do—and when one did something, it was inevitably wrong.
He had wanted to apologize profusely last night, there in the Margrethe’s huge shadow, for his ungentlemanly conduct. He didn’t know what he expected from Alice upon being kissed—a modest shrug, a chummy laugh at his stupidity, a return to their cordiality—but it wasn’t what he got.
Alice’s lips had parted in surprise, and then she had melted in his arms—for about five seconds. Then she’d come to herself with a shocked