Queen’s Gambit
Spring, 1897. London. Margaret Harkness, now in her early forties, must leave England for her health but lacks the funds. A letter arrives from her old friend Professor Bell, her old comrade in the hunt for Jack the Ripper and the real-life inspiration for Sherlock Homes. Bell invites her to join him in Germany on a mysterious mission for the German government involving the loss of state secrets to Anarchists. The resolution of this commission leads to her being stalked through the streets of London by a vengeful man armed with a powerful and nearly silent air rifle who has both Margaret and Queen Victoria in his sights. Margaret finds allies in Inspector James Ethington of Scotland Yard and his fifteen-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, who aspires to follow in Margaret’s cross-dressing footsteps.
The hunt is on, but who is the hunter, and who the hunted as the day approaches for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee when the aged empress will sit in her open carriage at the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral? The entire British Empire holds its breath as the assassin, Margaret, and the Queen herself play for the highest of stakes with the Queen’s Gambit.
Read an except
The smell of gunpowder and oil told James he was nearing the armory, and he found the man cleaning a large-bore rifle within the ammunition cage. This was convenient, as James needed a resupply of cartridges after the previous night’s gunfire. He was only allowed the six spares besides the cartridges in his revolver. Besides, he felt the sudden need to refresh his skills at the firing line.
Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead. “Good morning, Ser- geant Q. Going elephant hunting, are you?”
The beefy man smiled as he inspected the rifle’s barrel for perhaps the tenth time. “Nay, Inspector, though I reckon this piece’d do it. She’s a beauty, ain’t she? Martini-Henry rifle. Military issue, fires a .577/450 cartridge effective out to six hundred yards if the marksman’s capable. I got Special Branch a dozen of these for, well, whenever they might prove useful. Never know. Would you be interested in some training on it?”
“No thank you, Sergeant. I used my Webley for the first time last evening. It certainly lights up the night.”
“I heard about that, Inspector.” Leaning in, he asked, “Hit any- thing?”
“A sausage cart. Dead center.”
“Oh. Well, I expect you’ll be needing some more cartridges then, in case you get attacked by another cart.”
“Indeed I shall, thank you. Can’t be too careful, what with carts loitering all over the place. Anything you can tell me about the brass flask I brought in last night?”
The man smiled like a child eyeing a full Christmas stocking. “One or two things, Inspector. But first, what did the rifle sound like?” “A hollow sound. Like someone blowing into an empty jug, only
very short.”
The sergeant brought the flask up from under the counter, then a
flattened large caliber bullet. “You should be flattered, Inspector. You were nearly the first person in all of England to be killed by an air rifle. A very powerful one, I might add. I’ve never encountered anything like this.”
“You’ve never seen an air rifle?”
“Oh, I’ve seen scores of those. Most of them puny little things used for target practice or shooting rats.” Hoisting the bullet in his right hand he said, “Look at the size of this. It weighs nearly as much as the one from this here Martini. If it had hit your head it would’a left a hole you could stick your thumb into. Whoever made this beauty has my admiration. Not many craftsmen in the world could have done this. Two shots in less than four seconds, if I recall your report correctly?”
“You do.”
“Then it likely has an attached magazine for rapid reloading. Remarkable. If you catch the bugger who fired at you, bring me the rifle to study and I’ll retire a happy man.”
