Free The Iron Duke by Meljean Brook Page B

family earned just enough to scrape by.
    But her father had heard that a bounder’s personal physician had fled back to the New World. To bring in more ready cash, he’d intended to recommend his services to the gentleman.
    “I am,” he said, puffing himself up in parody and adopting a bounder’s flat accent, “a jolly good man to offer such a favor.”
    A favor? That didn’t sound promising. “In exchange for what?”
    “His good esteem? A reference?” He shook his head, his chest deflating to normal size. “I couldn’t say. But clearly, payment did not enter Moutten’s mind.”
    Did they assume her father’s work was a hobby? Blast those thickheaded bounders. What in the blazes did they eat in Manhattan City? Air? Maybe the food fell from the trees and rolled onto golden plates.
    Or maybe they thought the services of a Horde-trained physician weren’t worth anything. Arrogant bigots, those bounders were—the whole lot of them.
    “Perhaps it’s for the best, however,” he continued evenly, and Mina didn’t know how he could remain so calm when steam all but spouted from her ears. “I would advise them all to infect themselves, and none of them want to hear that.”
    Her mother lifted her chin, gesturing at the newssheets. “They’ll not be able to anyway, once the Free Party has their way.”
    Unlike every nation in the New World, England hadn’t outlawed the practice of injecting someone with blood infected by the nanoagents. Any physician or blacksmith could perform the injection. The process posed no risk; some people contracted low-grade bug fever in the first hours, but Mina had never heard of anyone dying from the injection—and her father had infected thousands, most of them children.
    But the health risks concerned the Free Party less than the nanoagents themselves, and had become the most divisive issue in the upcoming general election. And it shouldn’t have been so, but with the bounders reclaiming their seats and the influence of merchants on pocket boroughs, the Free Party had the buggers themselves arguing against their own interests. Political opponents debated whether a bugger should be able to hold office or inherit, citing the danger of a judge or a lawmaker whose decisions could be influenced by a radio signal. Pointing out that the Horde hadn’t controlled their thoughts did little to help, because the Horde had made King Edward a puppet, yanking on his strings so hard and so often that they’d ruined his mind.
    Fear of control had become the Horde’s legacy, and the Free Party did little to dispel it. The paranoia had become so prevalent that Mina had even heard tales of a Black Guard—silent agents of the Horde who stole into buggers’ homes during the night, freezing their nanoagents and leaving them helpless, or taking others away to enslave.
    Mina didn’t know how many letters her father had written to aristocrats and the influential merchants, asserting the need for common sense over fear, but he spent almost every evening composing them. When Parliament came into session again, he’d be occupied by matters in the White Chamber during the daytime hours—and tend to fewer patients.
    So they’d tighten their belts again.
    “I will do my best, dear. Perhaps we will win more over before the election.”
    Her mother sighed and nodded. “And despite my efforts, I do not expect any new ladies at this evening’s League meeting. Mina, please tell us that you were more successful than we proved to be.”
    She hadn’t been; she didn’t even know who had been murdered. But she was determined to change that.
    “I met the Iron Duke and spent several hours at his home,” she told them, and although Mina didn’t look up from her plate, she felt the sudden intensity of their regard. “He knew who you were, Mother. He mentioned your League.”
    Her mother gasped, hand flying to cover her heart. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she whispered, “You are not