their heels on the slick black marble floor echoing as they walked toward a small platform that was decorated with red, white, and blue bunting. Several men were gathered around the platform. They all wore silk top hats and dark frock coats with red orchids in their lapels. They all turned as Emily and Stanton approached, each man’s eyes narrowing by a different degree.
“We must see Professor Mirabilis,” Stanton said breathlessly.
No one said anything. The men stared at Stanton and Emily with knit brows and slack jaws. Emily was suddenly aware of how awful they both looked. She was dusty and tattered and wispy with spider silk, and Stanton was worse, pale and trembling, sleeves and shirt soaked in blood both fresh and dried.
“What’s going on here?” The voice came from within the cluster of dignitaries, and from it stepped a compact young man with a neatly clipped red mustache and a ferret on his shoulder. He was wearing a trim charcoal suit and a green silk tie, and there were many gold rings on his fingers. He was carrying a leather notebook and a stub of pencil. When he saw Stanton, his civil servant’s look of incipient dismissiveness mutated into amusement and surprise.
“Aren’t you … why you are! Dreadnought Stanton!” The young man had an undulating southern accent, heavy as honey. He cast a long lazy look over Stanton’s bloodsoaked form. “Gone back to your true calling?”
“We must see Professor Mirabilis,” Stanton repeated, louder.
“He’s getting ready for the ceremony to open the pavilion. And then … why, he’s ever so busy. Really, I don’t think he’ll be available at all during the exposition. Maybe you can call on him back at the Institute next week—”
“Next week?” Stanton roared. “Tarnham, you idiot, we have to see Mirabilis now! It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Life and death?” Tarnham smirked.
“Life and death,” Emily snarled. She pulled Rose’s revolvers from her pockets and cocked back the hammers. She leveled the guns at Tarnham’s gut, and the smile on his face became brittle.
“Life and death?” It was a rich, robust voice, and it rang bell clear. The clot of dignitaries parted, and a man with longish white hair and a white goatee stepped forward. He wore an exquisitely tailored suit of plum-colored silk and a vivid red waistcoat, across which draped a gold watch chain sparkling with a variety of strange fobs. His keen, appraising eyes made three precise movements: first to Emily’s revolvers, then to her face, then to Stanton’s bloody hands.
“Well, never let it be said that I don’t make myself available when it’s a matter of life and death.”
“Professor Mirabilis,” Stanton sighed. He motioned for Emily to lower the guns, then strode forward and clasped the old man’s hand gratefully, his green eyes brilliant. “You don’t know how good it is to see you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Senator Stanton
Mirabilis led them into an antechamber, a room designed to serve as the office of the Mantic Pavilion. It was decorated somewhat more simply than the rest of the structure; what was a riot of exotic color outside was kept to a mild commotion within. The walls were a deep rich red, and the pressed-tin ceiling gleamed with gold leaf.
“Have a seat. You both look … overwrought.” Mirabilis reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped away the bloody smear Stanton’s handshake had left on his palm. He gestured to two black leather chairs positioned in front of a black lacquered desk. Emily and Stanton sat gratefully. Mirabilis went to a sideboard where a bottle of liqueur and a platterful of small glasses sat. He poured two glasses of the liqueur and handed one to each of them. Stanton put his liqueur on the desk without a second look, but Emily bolted hers, the sweet taste of oranges and spices trickling down the back of her throat.
“Another?” he asked her. “Perhaps we can trade.” He looked meaningfully at her guns, and Emily felt suddenly embarrassed. Sheepishly, she slid the revolvers over the polished desk. Nodding like a grandparent who’d heard a clever recitation, Mirabilis poured her another glass.
“Now, Mr. Stanton, what’s this all about?” Mirabilis took a seat behind the desk. He carefully retrieved the guns and placed them in a drawer. “You’ll make it quickish, I trust? The President’s due to arrive in fifteen minutes.”
Stanton drew a deep breath, as if to launch into a lengthy explanation. Then he released the breath and shook his head.