Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(42)

As my aunt’s spoon clinked in her cup, I’d tried to process this new information. If someone was supposed to interfere with past events, did that mean they were destined to be in that place and time? My brain twinged, trying to wrap itself around the implications.

“When Celia was with us,” Lucinda went on, “she claimed the Timeslippers were trying to push the boundaries of the Grandfather Paradox. Fortunately, the Dim limits them as well. Like us, they cannot force it open to a specific time or place. However, with Tesla’s designs, if they locate the Nonius Stone, that could change.

“It’s why we must find it before—” She gave a sudden, violent yawn. When it passed, my aunt had peered at me through watering eyes. “Forgive me. I seem to be a bit fatigued.”

“That’s okay, Aunt Lucinda,” I said. “You don’t have to—”

“But I do,” she said. “So let these words be your guide, Hope. No matter what you see or hear. No matter how badly you may wish it. Do not interfere with—or interject yourself into—any situation that is not of your direct concern.”

As she rose to unsteady feet, I’d brushed off her warning. “Don’t worry about me, Aunt Lucinda. Danger . . . it’s not really my thing.”





I let my head roll back on my shoulders until I was staring up at the smoky London sky. Blowing out a breath, I marched over and pounded on the nearest door. “Hello? Help! I think someone needs help out here!”

Nothing.

The cry came again. Louder. More insistent.

“Crap.” I groaned. “Crap, crap, crap.”

The image of the map faded as I headed toward the sound. At the mouth of the next alley, I crouched behind a pile of straw-lined crates. The sounds of a struggle came from the far end, in the deep shadows cast between two houses.

What am I doing? This is none of my business.

Splintery wood dug into my cheek as I peered around the stack. At first, all I could see were the backs of two men in the black and silver livery of the city guard. Under the control of the London constable, the guard were supposed to watch over the citizens, keeping them safe.

Dark cloaks whipped back and forth in the wind that swirled down the passage, bringing the aromas of manure and filthy snow. I couldn’t see her. The girl. The men had her pinned against the dead-end wall. Though she sounded calm, she was obviously in a bad spot.

“Please,” she said, “just let me go. I do not wish for trouble.”

The larger man bent toward her until his head was low enough that I could see the pale part in her brown hair. “Oh, but we like trouble, don’t we Charles?”

“Aye, Eustace,” he replied. “Trouble sounds just about right.”

My jaw clenched. My blood turned to slush.

“Eustace Clarkson”—the girl’s voice was louder, though still steady—“my grandfather sent me to deliver this medicament to our new lady queen. I’m sure Her Grace would not wish you to tamper with her servant. If you release me, I shall make no mention of this to her. Or to Captain Lucie.”

The boy turned to his friend, and I saw his profile. Bulky. Cropped platinum hair, so light his pink scalp peeked through. A murky pale-gray eye narrowed.

I should run. I should just run away right now.

“You dare threaten me?”

I flinched as Eustace slammed a palm onto the wooden boards next to the girl’s face. “It sickens me that our king would allow a Jew to even enter his palace, much less tend his queen.”

The muscles stiffened across my back. A burn of anger began to edge out fear as I saw him flash a cruel grin.

Charles cleared his throat nervously. “Eustace, oughten we get back to our duties? We do not wish to be at odds with Captain Lucie. He could have us dismissed from the city guard. Or worse.”

“William Lucie.” Eustace spat at the girl’s feet. “That piece of shite. Thinks he’s better than me because he’s the son of the Castellan? He’s only a bastard Richard Lucie got off some serving whore. We’ll say we were trying to control the crowd. They’ll never know we left to chase this one down.”

Charles spoke haltingly. “Aye, but Sir Richard claims him as his son, and William is good with a sword. If she tells him—”

“Shut up!” Eustace roared. “Rachel here knows better than to open her pretty Jew mouth, don’t you Rachel?”

“Master Eustace.” Rachel’s voice was so magnificently composed, I found myself rooting for her to spit on him or kick him right where it counted. “If you leave me be, I shall say nothing to Captain Lucie. But let me pass, for Queen Eleanor will not appreciate being made to wait for her draught.”

I tensed, ready to back away. If they didn’t let the girl go, I’d just beat on doors until someone came and make them help her. It was the smart thing to do.

Snarling, Eustace reached down and rucked Rachel’s russet skirts up to the waist, baring white legs. She flailed at him, but Charles—apparently forgetting his fear of this Captain Lucie—snatched hold of her thrashing fists and pinned them above her head.

“You know,” Eustace purred, “I always wondered what a Jewess had between her legs.”

Oh, that’s it.

I scrambled to my feet. “Stop it! Leave her alone!”