Free A Study in Darkness by Emma Jane Holloway

Gold King.”
    The Schoolmaster gave him a sharp look. “I’ve heard about you. You’re the streetkeeper who bit the hand that fed him.”
    “Beat me, more like—and, yeah, I bite.”
    “Enough to take a job aimed at driving a spike in the underbelly of the council?”
    Nick and Striker exchanged a look. Taking a job for rebels upped the ante. Resistance business meant there would be more danger, just as the Schoolmaster had warned. All of the steam barons had combined forces, forging an army dedicated to wiping it out. That wasn’t the same as dodgingthe odd excise patrol. It would be a hell-for-leather bolt for their lives.
    Plus, there was no real money in the job, and a smuggler had to be practical.
    Nick named a sum for expenses. “Plus ten percent of the value of the goods. It’s not our problem if you want to give them away.”
    “Don’t you care that the widows and orphans of Whitechapel are freezing in the dark?” the man countered.
    Of course Nick did, and it was a tribute to his concern that they’d take the job at all. Perhaps that shipment of parts would save a hundred families, but there was a very good chance at least one crewman would die. That was worth something, too. “I’m a smuggler, not your bloody nanny.”
    “Expenses plus five percent.”
    “That barely pays for beer.”
    “I’m not a charity for drunken pirates.”
    “And I’m the one with the ship.”
    Nick knew Striker would follow his lead, but he still wanted some assurance the other man was in favor of the scheme. Striker raised his eyebrows, as if to ask what Nick was waiting for. His second in command had the kind of grudge against his old master only years of disrespect—followed by a taste of real freedom—can produce.
    It was up to Nick to balance a hatred of the Steam Council with the good of the crew—and it was that ability to keep a level head that made him captain. “Seven.”
    “Done.” The Schoolmaster looked pleased, making Nick think he should have gone for eight.
    “Not so fast,” Nick said. “I still want to hear exactly what you want before we shake on it. I want to know where exactly we’re supposed to go.”
    The man let out a sigh. “When you drop off the package on the Isle of Skye, you will pick up cargo—one man and a number of crates. You’ll land near Exeter. Your, uh, guest and most of the goods can be left there. Others will take on the task of distribution. But as discussed, some of the cargo must reach London safely, and I know you have the means to achieve that.”
    “That’s a hundred and fifty miles,” muttered Striker. “That’s a stretch even for our means and ways.”
    “How much time do we have?” Nick asked.
    “As little as possible. There are things which cannot progress until your task is complete.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Nothing that affects your role—that much I can promise.” The Schoolmaster cast a glance over his shoulder. “The next piece of business is getting the package to your ship.”
    “Can the package walk?” Striker asked.
    “He’s been heavily sedated. Feel free to use the vehicle. I’ll collect it after.”
    Nick gave Striker a nod. They’d come over fields from where the ship was tethered, but a carriage could follow the road partway there. The big man in his metal-encrusted coat disappeared. Not long after, Nick heard the rumble and hiss of an engine. It wasn’t a horse-drawn vehicle then, but one of those Steamers that seemed to be everywhere in London—and which Striker delighted in stealing for recreation.
Interesting. If he has a Steamer, my new boss has money. How did he get mixed up with rebels and Whitechapel widows?
    “Is there anything else you need to discuss?” the Schoolmaster asked.
    Nick’s body tensed before he even thought to answer. He held up a hand, silencing the man. Then he made a subtle gesture to either side.
Visitors
. They must have been hiding well if Striker hadn’t found them along with the