Free The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) by Anne Renwick

from his seat. With great bulky arms, he began to wind the spring tight.
    Crank hackneys had sprung up all over London. With no horse to feed or water, a driver strong enough to use his own muscles to power such a conveyance‌—‌hour after hour, day after day‌—‌soon felt the effects of pure profit. So much so that they’d become quite the dandies. Sleeveless shirts under double-breasted leather vests to show off their bulging arms. Form-fitting, black pants to advertise thick, strong thighs built by the constant work of shoving home the hackney’s breaking mechanism.
    Ned tore envious eyes away and glanced up at the gray sky. Crank vehicles and clockwork horses had decreased the quantity of horse droppings in London. Now, if only something could be done about the coal soot and the ever-thickening sulfurous fogs.
    A pea-souper was in the making. Tonight or tomorrow, dirigibles would be grounded. He pulled up his muffler to keep from inhaling the particles that hung in the air. Soon the smog would become unbearable, and the ton would retreat to their country estates. As soon as harvest was complete and the great hulking farm machines were heaved into stone barns for winter storage.
    The hackney door swung open, and Tony leaned forward to call a greeting, making no offer to help Ned climb aboard. Despite the mechanical legs, his body was in top-notch form. Thanks to Tony.
    Tony had been at Ned’s side for five long years now, the closest thing Ned had to a friend. His therapist, the man in charge of keeping his leg muscles from atrophying, knew him far, far better than any nurse, nanny or tutor. How could he not, given that every intimate, minute detail of his health and hygiene had once required Tony’s assistance?
    But not today.
    Ned hauled himself into the hackney and dialed down his legs.
    “Any problems?” Tony tipped his head at the townhouse as the hackney jerked forward.
    “None.”
    From the way Tony’s foot shook, the man was fighting a bad case of nerves, but not Ned. The nerves that brought him forth this day were long past calming. They were all but dead.
    He’d spent yesterday putting his affairs in order, leaving one note for his family, another for Amanda. If the doctor offered, Ned would proceed with the surgery immediately.
    He leaned back and closed his eyes, forcing himself into a model of genteel repose. After some time, an assault on his nose snapped him from his trance. Scents of boiling tripe, melting tallow and slaughterhouse cast offs announced the East End. Twisting through crooked streets, they came to an abrupt stop at a Georgian-terraced house, one which had long since left its good days behind. Soot covered the brick surface. Drunken shutters hung from lower windows. The front door stood ajar.
    A hollow-eyed man stared at them from the street corner as a weary, hunch-backed woman carried a basket of wilted flowers. Others moved about, in and out of uneasy shadows cast by buildings that only managed to remain standing by propping each other up.
    A sinking feeling tugged at Ned’s stomach, but he twisted the knob of his artificial cage legs. He climbed awkwardly from the hackney and clomped across the road, its surface slick with slime.
    Tony pushed the door wide. “It’s empty!”
    “He’s gone?” Ned shoved past him and stepped into the foyer.
    “I was here. Four days ago.” Tony waved his arms about, gesticulating wildly as only an Italian could. “This room was filled when I dropped off the spider.”
    Dr. Millhouse had been called away, but left a note instructing Tony where to secure the neurachnid. The doctor had later sent a note praising the device, expressing his complete confidence in a good surgical outcome and designating the day and time Lord Ned was to arrive.
    They’d been hoodwinked.
    “It was filled with bottles and steel instruments. Medical equipment.” Tony raged on. “An operating table right there. I swear it.”
    Ned laid a hand on Tony’s