Free Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) by Raven Bond Page A

my
past make such an unpleasant intrusion on a beautiful day.”
    “Owen, who was that man?” She
asked the question carefully, with unaccustomed hesitance.
    Owen sighed, and turned to face
her directly.
    “Yes, I used to belong to a
secret service of the British Crown called the Obsidian Order,” he confirmed. “I
really can’t tell you much more than that without risking your life, which I will
not do.”
    Jinhao nodded, and decided to
approach the matter from a different angle.
    “Is what he was saying about the
city and the Austrians true? I thought they disavowed your Magia.”
    Owen lit yet another cigarette,
giving his tense hands something to do.
    “Oh yes, they disavow it. Their
Goddess tells them it is wrong. Except that somehow Alchemy, and what they call
‘Physicks,’ is very much allowed and is assiduously cultivated.” He exhaled a
cloud of obscuring smoke before continuing.
    “As for the Disintegrator, it
does exist. I have seen it at work.” He turned towards Jinhao. “I do not doubt
for a moment that the Austrians would use it.”
    “What shall we do then?”
    Owen gave her his wry grin.
    “We, is it? I shall value your
presence on this. Mind you, it will hardly be the romp that finding the Duke’s
daughter was.”
    “Where do we begin,” she asked.
    Owen closed his eyes until they
were a mere slit in his face, as he sometimes did when thinking hard. Then he tilted
his head at her, a subtle smile quirking his thin lips.
    “How do you feel about playing a
widow?”
     
    Chapter 6
    The British Embassy, Main Street
     
    “This way, My Lord, and eh, Madam.” Phineas Horton,
Third Secretary of the British Embassy, ducked his head as he entered the low
door to the morgue at the bottom of an unremarkable set of stairs .
    The morgue existed for British citizens who had asked that
their remains be returned to the homeland. Given the general uneasiness death
caused the living, its presence in the building was signaled only by a discreet
plaque on a plain door at the top of the stairs.
    In the center of the chilled room, which smelled of carbolic,
formaldehyde and alcohol, stood a single table with a sheet draped over it.
    An older man, with out-sized muttonchops that were as gray as
the rest of his clothing, came striding towards them, wiping his hands on a
towel.
    “Here now,” he said sharply, “What is all this, Horton?”
    Secretary Horton wrung his
hands, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, his role in it, and the place
in which he found himself.
    “Please forgive the intrusion,
Doctor,” he murmured, “but we have a bit of a delicate situation.” He waved a
hand towards Owen and Jinhao.
    “This is Lord Ivers, second
cousin of the niece of Sir Brandon. He just arrived by sky ship this morning.
And this…” the Secretary gestured vaguely in Jinhao’s cloaked direction, but
did not look at her directly. He directed his embarrassed gaze at the floor,
and coughed discreetly.
    “This is Mi-Ling, a distant relative of Sir Brandon.” He
coughed again, and looked at the doctor. “A close, but em, eh, a distant
relationship,” he said rather awkwardly. “They wish to pay their respects.”
    The doctor’s eyebrows briefly
rose, as he caught the implication that Jinhao, or rather Mi-Ling, was the
deceased Sir Brandon’s undeclared mistress. He stepped forward, extending a
hand to Owen.
    “Doctor Marston, Embassy
physician,” he declared. “My sympathies, Milord. A shocking thing that he
should be taken from us so young.” Releasing Owen’s hand, the old doctor gave a
formal bow to Jinhao.
    “You have my deepest condolences
on your loss, Madam.”
    “Thank you,” Jinhao said in a
voice that held just the right amount of quaver, Owen thought with admiration.
He was surprised as he had no idea she could be such an accomplished actor. She
stared at the table, her delicate hand obviously trembling.
    “Is that Brandon?” she
whispered.
    “It is,” Doctor Marston said to
her