The Mech Who Loved Me(53)

"Hello?" she called. "Is there anybody here?"

The small store smelled musty. Books lined the walls in mahogany shelves that groaned under their weight. Maps of the globe splayed over the bare inches of actual wall that remained, highlighting exotic countries with names like Afghanistan, and Nepal, and Bhutan. Little baskets of herbs sat on every flat surface, some bundled up into little sacks, and others spilling from the baskets. Incense burned, and the smoke hovered just below the stained ceiling like some watchful cloud. 

Movement drew her attention to the back. A handsome gentleman appeared, wiping his hands on a clean rag, his mustache neatly trimmed in an almost militaristic style, and his boots polished within an inch of their life. He was a big man with proud bearing, but she couldn't help thinking beside Kincaid, he seemed... small. "Ah, what prosperous day brings such a lovely young flower into my midst?"

He was talking to her. "Good afternoon," she replied, taking a moment to gather herself. "My name is Miss Ava McLaren, and this is my-"

"Fiancé," Kincaid interrupted, taking her hand and resting it on the crook of his arm with a painted-on smile. "Liam Kincaid."

Ava didn't quite look at him, though her lips twitched. Fiancé? What the devil was he about?

The stranger eyed them both for a second, and then gave her a broad smile. "Of course. You're a lucky man, Mr. Kincaid. I'm Major Tom Winthrop, formerly of the East India Company."

The pair of them shook hands, and Winthrop's gaze dropped to Kincaid's mech hand, though he didn't say anything. A company man, one who'd left London during the prince consort's reign, no doubt, when mechs were deemed less than human, and akin to the dirt beneath a blue blood's heel.

Ava bristled in Kincaid's defense, but kept all trace of it out of her voice. "You've travelled through the Orient?"

Winthrop's smile widened, and he showed them the maps pinned to his walls. "Widely. I spent a great deal of time investigating opportunities for the Company in Lhasa, until things turned a little... well, frankly, it was a bit of a hotspot of political interest with the Emirate of Afghanistan sniffing at the door, and the bloody Russo's looking on hungrily, not to mention the White Court of China. After I left the Company, I guided an exhibition for the Duke of Vickers, which searched for the hidden city of Shambhala."

"Shambhala?"

"A hidden land," Winthrop breathed, and she realized he was a natural storyteller, light gleaming in his eyes as if he could see such a thing himself, spread before him. "They say there is a hidden beyul-or valley-hidden high in the Kunlun Mountains, ruled by a mysterious people who are not entirely human. The Land of the Living Gods." Winthrop smiled down at her, his voice taking on a lilting quality. "The people there are almost immortal, and age very slowly, almost not at all, it seems. And they have pale, pale skins, though they worship the sun-chariot."

"Pale skins?" And immortal?

Winthrop's smile widened, his mustache twitching. "They say it's the birthplace of the craving virus."

How fascinating. "I thought the birthplace of the craving virus was in the lands of the White Court?"

"Technically, Tibet has been claimed by them, yes." Winthrop waved a dismissive hand, leaning toward her. "Hundreds of years ago a traveler allegedly found Shambhala and returned to the White Court with the craving. The rulers of the White Court insisted he share this 'gift' of immortality with them, and then they cut off his head so they alone became gods. Only a member of the Imperial family can be given the gift."

"Sounds rather like the aristocratic Echelon," she replied, "and the Blood Rites. Why is it nobles always seek to control such a thing?"

"Power," Winthrop said, ghosting through the bookcases and luring her back into the shadowy bookshelves. "Money. Might. The craving virus makes one faster and stronger, and almost impervious to death. What ruler doesn't want to be semi-immortal?"



       
         
       
        

"All very interesting," Kincaid drawled, "but we're here searching for a mysterious book, aren't we, Ava darling? Or do you want to hear tales of a mythic city, and the origins of the craving virus?"

Nothing interested her quite as much as esoteric information. And a hidden city, which might be the birthplace of the craving virus? There was an almost fairy-tale quality to such a story. "You're right. Darling." She turned to the major with an almost apologetic smile. "I'm researching a herbal remedy I've heard about. One of the ingredients comes from the Himalayas, and we were directed here. A pharmacist in Marylebone said you were the leading expert on matters of that part of the world."