Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(91)

“Follow me,” Grenville ordered. His fine leather shoes scuffed along the cement floor, echoing off the walls and the ceiling two stories above as he led the way across the massive factory floor. The factory was dark, the only light coming from the lanterns Grenville and his guards carried.

The older man waddled down the wide aisle lined with stamping machines, conveyor belts and a great two-story smelter, his breathing obviously labored. Edison detected the wet wheeze of a man losing the battle with age and ill-health.

One blow below the breastbone would drop the old sack of lard.

But he couldn’t rely on Grenville’s hired thugs abandoning the piece of filth. If he thought for a second the three goons would flee…. He flexed his fingers. Too early to rely on such a risky strategy.

He eyed every piece of machinery, every tool, every pail and pot and cog they passed, cataloguing anything that might serve as a weapon.

Or a distraction.

Many sharp, heavy, damage-inducing implements lay at hand. If only he dared grab one.

“Over here,” Grenville commanded as they reached the far corner of the space.

The boilers. Edison sighed. He should have anticipated that.

Tucked in the corner behind one of the great boilers that supplied the steam power for the factory’s many machines, Grenville had arranged a pathetic pile of ragged blankets. Old prototypes of Ada’s batteries had been stacked together to form a makeshift table top.

Above that, Grenville had designed his accident. Empty cans used to package chemicals were stacked atop the batteries, close enough together to hold a dented cooking pot. In the circle formed by the cans, a pile of old candle stubs waited to be lit.

Part of him saluted the man’s twisted genius. If anything survived the fire, it would look as if they’d set themselves a makeshift stove.

A familiar, smoky smell caught his attention. He leaned over the pot, close enough to catch a glimpse inside before a guard shoved him away. “Is that bacon?”

Grenville sniggered. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought. Wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a vagrant couple to fry up an old piece of fatback, would it?”

He was enjoying this. Enjoying their fear.

Good. Edison eyed the makeshift disaster. The more Grenville savored their reactions, the longer he’d draw things out. A stupid, stupid thing to do.

Edison licked his lips and let his gaze dart about the room, forcing himself to project fear. Desperation.

He pretended interest in a scrap of paper on the floor by his foot. He toed it away, at the same time dipping his head close to Ada’s ear. “Are those cans flammable?”

“No,” she murmured back.

So he’d have to use something else to create the explosion. Edison glared at Grenville’s goons, as if preparing to rush them. In reality, he had no such plans. His real interest was the table behind the two men on his left.

Beakers and boxes of white powder and metallic dust stood at the ready.

Thank God Grenville had strong lanterns. Edison had no trouble making out the labels on the different supplies. Eyebrow raised, he sent Ada a sideways glance, hoping she understood his unasked question. Her nod was infinitesimal.

That was it then.

Grenville would jigger a flammable device from the products on the table. He’d set the place on fire, then gas them with the cyanide. Still, he’d need to have a way for he and his men to escape.

A touchy plan that would hinge on perfect timing.

Edison took a long, slow breath and prepared to scramble Grenville’s breakfast.

But Ada beat him to it.

“Damnation!” She stamped her feet and wriggled about, scratching frantically at her legs and hips, as if plagued by lice.

The guards laughed.

Grenville laughed, enjoying the show. “It’s only what you deserve, you whore. But chats won’t be bothering you much longer. I’ve got something that’ll help with that.” The man was still chuckling as he pushed between the two guards and headed for the table.

“Not chloroform,” she whispered as she jigged about. “Prussic acid. He’ll have to mix it carefully.”

Edison clamped down on the appreciative smile that threatened to turn up his lips. God, she was brave. Brave and smart and plucky as an entire regiment.

“That’s our opening,” he whispered as he pretended to help her shake out her skirts.

Without warning, Ada slapped him. Hard. “Keep your hands off me!” She shoved him away, pushing him a few steps closer to Grenville.

Edison rubbed his cheek, careful to keep his hand over the grin he couldn’t stop. “Fine by me.” He sneered at her. “You’re nothing but trouble.” He raked her with a disgusted look. “Nothing worth dying over.”

“Well you’re a lying pig.” Ada warmed to her role. “You with all your fancy dance hall girls.” She flounced over toward the third guard. “You can go straight to hell.”

“You’ll be joining me.” Edison sidled closer to Grenville.

Despite his confidence, his stomach fluttered. They were approaching the danger point when anything could—and would—happen.

He needed to get between the gunmen, close enough that one leap would land him close enough to Grenville for the knife to be of use.

“Only because of your damned incompetence,” Ada said.