Free Brotherhood of the Strange (Kingship, Tales from the Aether Book 1) by Michael Richie, Grant Wilson Page B

act, she hadn’t the foggiest idea on how to proceed. The thug was three times her size. Even if were he not, Cordelia still would have been at a loss on how to handle him. Before this evening, fisticuffs had not been a skill she would have ever thought necessary. Nor was her upper-class London attire, requisite to the task. Still, there had to be a way. Clearly she was of superior intellect to a simple ruffian. It would be that intellectual edge that would allow her to best this detestable man. A plan began to form in her mind. A plan that, if successful would allow her to escape without resorting to violence.
    “My pardons, sir,” she began in as weak of a voice as she could conjure. “Would you be so kind as to allow me to play some music? After the events of this evening I feel the need to quiet my nerves.”
    Lowering the newspaper the thug looked suspiciously at her. “I don’t care what you do as long as I can see you.” He motioned to the phonograph on the end table near her, “Play whatever you want.”
    Cordelia rose and crossed not to the phonograph, but to the parlor where Degory had hidden. She had no sooner touched the latch to the door when the man stood and demanded, “Miss, where are you going? Your phonograph is there.”
    “Oh yes I know, sir,” came the quick, planned reply. “I wish not to listen to music but to play some myself. I do so enjoy it, particularly when I am feeling a little overexcited.”
    “I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight.”
    She opened the door. “And where, good sir, would I go? You can see for yourself the room is small and has no other means of exit.”
    His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he entered and scanned the small room. There was little in there but a piano, a hutch, and a glass cabinet filled with a menagerie of clockwork birds. The third story window offered no egress to the streets below. Apparently satisfied the lithe girl could cause him no more trouble in here than in the drawing room, he shrugged and resumed his post by the stairwell door.
    Breathing a sigh of relief, Cordelia took her seat at the piano. Needing something to play she glanced at the open sheet music already in place, Beethoven's “Ode to Joy”. That would suffice, though Cordelia found the choice a little ironic given the present circumstances. Truth be told, she had played this piece so often in her youth she had little need of any scribed reminders to guide her dexterous fingers across the keys. As she played, the thug relaxed, again picking up his newspaper and disappearing behind it. This was exactly what Cordelia had been hoping for. Continuing to play, the final workings of her plan found their place in her mind. Glancing down she looked at the brass and wood box that held the machinery which allowed the old family heirloom to act doubly as a player piano. She had built it herself and even improved upon the design after seeing a beautiful Chase and Baker model on display in the city. Fortunately, the device was fully wound and had a punch roll already mounted. Playing the last notes to Beethoven’s opus, she reached down and flipped the switch that activated the player box. The scroll began to turn and, within seconds, Debussy’s “Clair De Lune” began to emanate from the piano. The keys rose and fell with each sound as though some ghost were occupying the space where Cordelia had just sat. Knowing the piece was only a few minutes long, the young lady began to hurry. The newspaper still occupied the thuggish guard, which was the crux of her plan. Should he tire of reading, and his gaze fall upon her in the next few minutes, all would be for nought. Approaching the cabinet where the mechanical menagerie was kept, Cordelia chose a small brass hummingbird from the two dozen avian devices. She had built all of them, mostly for her own amusement and interest in clockwork technology. Some had been part of her thesis at Oxford, their minute machinations had paved the way for