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impassive, his gaze focused on the woman whose index finger chased down one tightly printed column after another. Her lips moved, too quick to read.
    “Is this wise?” Mason’s voice was a hoarse whisper as he leaned in to Frost. His mouth edged too close to skin, to the curve of his ear and the warmed scent of Frost’s flesh. He swallowed, hating to think what energies Theodora would see if she turned around. He swallowed. “Sir.”
    Frost’s chest lifted. In the long moment of silence, Mason didn’t know if the fierce thud of a heart was his or Frost’s.
    However, when Frost finally spoke, his tone was carefully neutral. “If Menelaus is here...then how many automata, how many kardax would that give Pandarus? How many has he already drafted in?” He frowned. “We now know he can use us for all manner of things.”
    “The Crown of Towers.”
    “The Crown of Towers,” Frost agreed.
    “Lord Dunstone, the Bishop of Oxford, what a strange little man.” Theodora gasped and bit her lip. She looked to Frost, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he met her indiscretion with a smile.
    “The door is closed. It’s just us. You deserve a touch of freedom as you play.”
    “He’s here, in the city, you know.” She flipped up a sheet of paper and ducked under it. “Such a circuitous route, via the Continent and Ireland, all simply to come here. The Great Western train out of Oxford would have had him here in so few hours. Or by ’ship, faster still.” The rustle of more newspaper followed. “He does have someone with him. A female. A nurse, but not his nurse, perhaps the nature of their relationship is something about which a lady should not speak.”
    Frost stilled. Yes, there was the harder edge to Theodora’s mind now, the darkness that could take her evident. “One puzzle solved, Theodora. There are more.”
    “What next, what next?” She hummed to herself as she moved between the rows of newspapers, the slip of her gown over the deep rug softening the crackle of the paper. “Agamemnon, you should consider divesting yourself of your interests in Australia.”
    “Theodora.” Her name came out on a long sigh. Amused, long-suffering, but his expression, hidden from her by the papers, was anything but. Lines creased at the corner of his eyes. His hands formed obvious fists in his pockets. “Your puzzle is local.”
    “What do we have that’s local...?” Theodora’s humming streamed into little snatches of song, her voice pure and true. “Moves within moves.” She tapped her fingers against numerous sheets, the rough little raps dropping and rising as she picked out different sections. “The police, so defensive, Liverpool Corporation needing to protect its interests and prevent the moral indignation of the rate payers. Here and here and here.” She flicked the newspapers, the sound quick and sharp. “Accidental deaths. So many burnings. Fires with no obvious cause. And the gangs, the Cornermen, the Steel Street Gang, the Regents.”
    Theodora dropped to silence. Only her deepened breathing came from within the lines of newspapers. Mason’s stomach knotted, his instincts flaring. She was quiet and still. Theodora was never quiet and certainly never still.
    “The slice of the knife, deep and quick, so quick they don’t have the chance to cry out. Simply choking, raw gasps, the bubble of blood. But not these special ones. Not them—”
    “Theodora.” Frost hauled her from the mire of papers. He gripped her upper arms, but she showed no sign of pain, or that his actions were improper. “Remember what we talked about.”
    White light burned in her eyes, and her lips had pulled into a sneer. “Best you can do, thyreos? ” The use of Frost’s Martian title edged her closer to losing all of herself. She shrugged against his hold, a brief struggle, but Mason had witnessed the strength of the kardax. And that wasn’t it. Something of Theodora remained. “And our interminable talks, where