Lady Golden Hand Read online

  Lady Golden Hand

  Nix Whittaker

  Other books by Nix Whittaker

  Glyph Warrior Series

  Hero is a man

  You can run

  Sorrow also sings

  Blind leading

  Wyvern Chronicles

  Blazing Blunderbuss

  The Mechanicals

  The Jade Dragon

  Wyvern’s trim and other stories

  Ruby Beyond Compare

  Model Humans

  Model: Serenity

  Lady Golden Hand

  Wyvern Mysteries

  Nix Whittaker

  Reshwity Publishers

  www.reshwity.wixsite.com/publishing

  © 2019 by Nicola Pike

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical facts, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

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  Chapter One

  The copious blood running along the channels of the cobbled street was likely the reason for alarm amongst the locals. They crowded the entrance to the alley but didn’t wander in despite their curious looks. Rayne paid more attention to her partner than to the blood or the crowds.

  Larkin rubbed his face and asked her, “Is it human?” Rayne was surprised the ex-Bow Street Runner was so squeamish. This was no worse than one of her sister’s experiments. Unlike her sister’s experiments she doubted the scene was about to spew gobs of viscera in a sudden explosion.

  Whoever dumped the body had chopped it up into chunks no bigger than a large rat. The smaller pieces, she assumed, were dragged off by the pragmatic life forms of Brixstane. The pungent smell of the typical Londinium alley over-powered the coppery odour of freshly spilt blood.

  It was early in the morning, so at least there weren’t any flies yet. That didn’t mean the offal hadn’t drawn a crowd. She eyed the bystanders with caution. Two constables kept the bystanders back at the mouth of the alleyway, though they seemed reluctant to wander any closer to the remains. Death was not an unfamiliar sight here, but it wasn’t every day someone took the time to mutilate the body afterward, so Rayne could understand the curiosity and fear.

  Rayne crouched down, shifting her blue wool coat aside so it wouldn’t trail in the tracks of blood. The killer hadn’t bothered to strip the body, and there were shreds of clothes still wrapped around the rough shapes of a human jigsaw puzzle.

  She rested her elbow on her knee as she leaned forward to take a closer look at the evidence. “One human being. Two feet, two hands. No head, though,” Rayne informed Larkin. When he didn’t answer she glanced up at him. His skin sported a shade of mashed peas as he looked determinedly at the crowd with steel in his spine. Rayne hid her smile. Larkin would not appreciate being mocked. The last thing she wanted to do was offend her partner.

  Metal glinted in the blood. Gold. Rayne shifted onto her toes and leaned over. Larkin grunted. Being bent over as she was he wouldn’t see her face, so she didn’t hide her smile. He would start with a lecture soon. He always did when she did something he didn’t agree with. She had her fair share of lectures throughout her life.

  Using her metal prosthetic hand, Rayne fished the ring out of the blood. The muted sensors in her hand made the action bearable. The senses were a result of the technology dragons had shared with the humans. She didn’t know the details, only that it involved small crystals. After growing up with a rudimentary claw, the intricate brass hand was a work of art.

  Wiping the blood away revealed the engraving of a dragon motif on the gold ring. Popular in wedding rings ever since the treaty had been signed and dragons started taking humans as their mates. This ring was delicate and made for a woman.

  Rayne frowned at the clothes surrounding the mutilated flesh. The cloth was well-made, a tight weave and hard wearing. Not something a rich woman would wear. A poorer woman would have cheaper material, a richer woman would go with a more delicate cloth. One section had a torn pocket. A small velvet bag half revealed by the damaged fabric. Perfect for a little memento like a ring. This was the clothing of a man. That was no guarantee of gender, though. That thought had Rayne turning over parts of the body.

  Larkin protested, “My Lady?”

  Ignoring Larkin she found what she was looking for and rose to her feet. She cleaned off her metal hand with a handkerchief pulled from a pocket in her coat. “What is it now, Larkin?”

  “A lady like you shouldna’ be touching the dead.” His accent grew stronger when he worried. He had picked up her own haughty tones over the years they had worked together. Though she didn’t think he was ashamed of his heritage rather he was a good mimic.

  “I’m hardly a lady.” Certainly not after working for the Metropolitan Police Department for two years.

  “Your father is a duke that makes you a lady,” He insisted. To society, it wasn’t enough that she was born to nobility, they had disowned her even when her father hadn’t.

  Rayne paused in cleaning her hand and ran the handkerchief over the ring. The blood had concealed an engraving inside. Holding it up to the light of the dawn that cracked between two buildings, she read out loud, “To my Beloved Eleanor.” Lowering her hand she said more to herself than to Larkin, “Not his then.”

  “It’s a he?” Larkin’s mashed pea complexion had warmed marginally so she was unlikely to have to dodge his morning meal. Rayne studied him a little closer. Today he looked a little less dishevelled than usual as his blue coat was pressed and the elbow darned where it had gone threadbare over the last few years. She doubted he would appreciate a compliment so she stuck to the case in hand.

  “Yes, our victim is male. One of some wealth from his clothes but not a nobleman. A poor man would have pawned the gold ring and the clothes weren’t made for a labourer.” She flicked out another one of her handkerchiefs with her free hand and nestled the ring inside. Slipping it into her pocket for safe keeping. Rayne used the soiled handkerchief to finish cleaning off her mechanical hand.

  Made from brass, her hand was articulated to allow movement but also to hide the gears and workings underneath. It made it difficult to get the blood out of the creases of each segment. Rayne kept flexing the fingers to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

  Larkin asked, “Why aren’t you out doing what other ladies do?” Ah, the lecture. She’d hoped he would forget his earlier objection.

  Rayne focused on the task at hand with more determination than was strictly needed. Larkin was going for an old tried and true tirade. He saw it as his duty to help her go back to her ‘place in society’. Every time he asked she had a new answer for him. She hoped one day he would figure out all the reasons added up as concrete logic for her choices. Especially for why she was here as a constable rather than dancing attendance on other nobles.

  “I have a brain, Larkin and I like to use it. Drinking tepid tea and eating stale cakes is not something I consider worthy of my time — or my mind.”

  Larkin snorted. “There are other ways to use your mind, Ma’am, you could have become a teacher.”

  Rayne held up her now clean metal hand. “I’d scare the little urchins witless with this.” The hand was the main reason she had to forge a new path for herself in the first place. A mutilated woman wasn’t accepted easily into society and certainly not acceptable as a match for the darlings otherwise known as gentlemen. Unfortunately, the main objective of nobles was to make the right match. That future was not in her cards. Instead, she fo
und her own path and one she was pleased to be on. Even if it meant cleaning blood off her hand in a back alley in the greater Londinium area.

  Instead of continuing down this dead-end conversation she changed the subject, “Let’s ask around, and see what everyone knows.” Larkin huffed but moved to interrogate the onlookers.

  Chapter Two

  Rayne approached her workplace from the Whitehall entrance. She preferred the front entrance which was quieter than the one which opened onto Scotland Yard. There were other constables in the office areas and others like Larkin, who were the muscle for the department, who milled around waiting for an assignment. Most had come from Watchmen positions or Bow Street. Now they all were Robert Peeler’s vision and often called Bobbies or Peelers.

  As the only woman who worked there as an investigator, Rayne garnered looks from visitors. Many were speculative but most were downright hostile. When Rayne had first come to work here two years ago she had shamelessly used her connections as the daughter of a duke to bludgeon a position for herself amongst her fellow officers.

  Making her way to Maynes’ office to report back on the case he had assigned them, she ignored the tension from the others. Larkin went off to talk with the other constables. They wouldn’t share titbits about the city while she was around, so her job was to talk with one of the leaders of the Metropolitan police while Larkin gathered gossip from the other constables.

  Rayne backed up when she came around the corner and ran into Fields. A solid man, he towered over her much shorter frame. His own blue uniform was immaculate. Even the brass buttons were polished so she could see her own reflection in them. He had a leather brace for his two guns, which were far from the standard, of a single flintlock. She was also sure he had other weapons hidden from cursory view.

  He narrowed his eyes as he looked down at her. She salved her pride by telling herself he would have to look down on all his officers as he was well over six feet tall and loomed over her mediocre height. “Miss Ancaster? What brings you here? Your office is on the top floor.”

  Fields was technically her boss, though they didn’t interact at all on any given day. He had Maynes deal with her instead or went through Larkin.

  Rayne tried not to hold it against him that he had voted against her placement at the service. But he had been outranked by her godfather, Sir Charles Rowan. Fields showed his displeasure in small ways. Mostly by ignoring her.

  She cleared her throat. “Just reporting in, Sir.”

  “On that dismembered body that was reported? Human?” His voice speculative.

  “Yes, Sir. Male.” She clasped her hands behind her back more to stop fidgeting than to show respect.

  “I was so sure it was a hoax.” Fields waved her off. Rayne didn’t wait to see if he wanted his own update on their case and dashed past him to Maynes’ office.

  Maynes looked up from the small desk perched in the centre of the room. Filing cabinets lined the walls and obscured a single window. There were no personal items in the room. Rayne had once heard Maynes’ state that his life was his work. The evidence was this room which Maynes rarely left.

  Maynes frowned. “Ancaster?”

  She took a deep breath to calm herself after her brush with Fields and said, “I’m reporting in, sir.” When Maynes merely stared at her she added, “The mutilated body found in Brixstane.”

  Enlightenment brightened his eyes. “Oh yes. Was it human?” He filled his pen from the ink well ready to take notes.

  “Yes, male, missing his head and some of the smaller pieces though I assume the rats got those. The head was deliberately taken.” The head would have been too heavy for the rats to scavenge. Whether it was the murderer or some opportunist who wanted a trophy was still unknown. Rayne played with the brass button on the wool coat over her uniform. It was specially made for her as she was the only woman in the force. A little flattery with the tailor had gone a long way to gaining her the uniform.

  “Head? Interesting. Any evidence?” He wiped off the end of his fountain pen when it left a splotch on the page and went back to taking notes.

  “There was a wedding ring.” She described it, including the inscription.

  “So he was married.” He might have been. Most likely a widower if the ring came to him honestly. Or he could be a thief and stole the ring. Or the ring belonged to his long dead mother. It broke her heart to think he could have possibly been on his way to marry his sweetheart. The possibilities were endless. She didn’t correct Maynes as he shouldn’t have made that assumption even if the victim had been wearing the ring instead of having it tucked away in a pocket.

  His pen scratched as it crossed the page. His notes tiny and neat. Her father’s secretary would have been impressed. Most of Maynes’ men couldn’t read or write so Maynes usually kept the case notes. She had offered to write up the notes for her own cases but Maynes had his own way of keeping notes.

  Rayne did wonder if he did not approve of her. He was partners in running the place with her godfather and she didn’t know what influence Sir Rowan had brought to bear on the barrister that Maynes had accepted her. Rayne didn’t like to look too closely on how she had gotten her position here at the metropolitan police force. She was determined to prove she deserved that position though.

  His voice brought her from her thoughts. “Anything else of note?”

  “No, sir.” If Maynes ignored the significance of a woman’s name on a wedding ring held by a man she wouldn’t mention it. It was rare she was given a case of any significance. She most likely only landed this one because everyone thought it was a prank pulled by some bored children.

  Maynes hummed. “We’ll keep it open for the moment but without any name or clue to his identity I doubt there is much you can do to close this case. Good work. Have the Collectors taken his body in?”

  “Yes, what was left of him, sir.” She didn’t envy the Collectors their work. Though it was a promotion over collecting human waste from the streets.

  “Fine, you can leave now.” He didn’t even look up from his notes. Rayne sighed as she left. Though she had fought her way to have a place in this organisation she had never managed to be comfortable with her superiors. She was afraid they would see her for what she was.

  Defective.

  When she returned to her desk she scowled down at her flintlock taken out of its case in her desk drawer and laid precisely on her desk. There was also an assortment of polishing clothes precisely placed to the side. Not one of them had been applied to the flintlock but it was a clear sign Fields thought she had been neglecting her weapon.

  It wasn’t like she carried it. Flintlocks were notorious for their inaccuracy and if Rayne needed her gun to deal with a situation she was in a lot more trouble than a single bullet could solve.

  A glance at Larkin’s desk showed Fields had singled her out for the passive aggressive rebuke. Instead of arguing with her superior she sat down and started on her neglected weapon. While she was at it she could go over her hand with the polishing cloth. She had been neglecting that as well and the buff to get off the blood had only shown how much in need it was of a good clean.

  Chapter Three

  Rayne handed the footman her hat and her single glove. She had tried gloves with her mechanical hand but the material always caught in the articulated segments and restricted her movement and ruined them. Tired of the reproach from her maid she had decided it wasn’t worth it, besides it was a social nicety and she didn’t particularly care what society thought of her mechanical hand.

  Duchess Ancaster, in all her glory, bounced down the stairs. Entirely too energetic for a fifty year old woman. “Perfect, you’re home in time to be ready for the Inverness ball.”

  Lady Inverness was a close friend of the family and always made a point to invite Rayne whenever she hosted an event. Her events were always well attended despite inviting a lower class element, as the high echelons of society saw it. It was likely the only ball Rayne would be invited to
for the whole season.

  Rayne groaned. “Do I have to go?”

  Her mother waved a scolding hand her way. “You sound juvenile, dear. You’ll never entice a young gentleman with that attitude.”

  It wasn’t that her mother was delusional, instead saw her for who she really was. Instead of for the deformity that blinded those in society, who focused on what she didn’t have instead of who she was inside. No one would see her as desirable.

  “Mother, you know I won’t marry.” Rayne waved her mechanical hand indicating the main objection men had to matrimony with her, that no title or money could overcome.

  “Pfft, any man who is intimidated by a little metal doesn’t deserve to be in the family.” Her parents had married for compatibility and that suited them well as it had developed into love. Her mother wanted that for all her children. Unusual in a society that married children off to others to cement deals and to create alliances all in order to shore up their failing funds. Her own investments already overwhelmed most gentlemen’s incomes so she didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

  “You have other children to torture, surely you can find one of them to drag with you tonight.” Rayne tried to deflect her mother’s attention.

  Shamelessly Duchess Ancaster admitted, “Oh, I’ve already dragooned your brother.”

  Talk of her brother brought a look of guilt to her mother’s eyes. Rayne reached out, placing her hand on her arm and said, “It wasn’t your fault.” She knew what her mother thought. It was because of her brother that Rayne had lost her hand. A silly accident but her mother blamed herself as she had only been able to produce one male heir out of the seven children she had borne.

  That meant extra care had been taken with her brother’s health. Including a reckless carriage ride in the middle of winter to get the family to the doctor because her brother had a fever. Unfortunately, the carriage had skidded on ice and rolled in a ditch. Rayne had lost her hand and from then on her future had changed at the ripe old age of nine.