Page 98 of Hawk & Sparrow

“The Gladwell Machine,” Vesper whispered. “You helped design it.”

“No.” Ada turned on her, voice sharp. “I didn’t help, I designed it all. It should never have been called the Gladwell Machine, that was never what I called it in my original blueprints.” Her gaze dropped. “In my sketchbook, she was always the Illuminator.”

Vesper stared at her friend. “How did Francis Gladwell get his hands on your work? Did he steal it?”

Ada shook her head. “He didn’t steal it,” she said bitterly. “I gave it to him. I had to.”

Vesper frowned. “But why—?”

“Oh, don’t be naïve, Vesper.” At once, the savage bite had returned to Ada’s voice. “You’ve lived in Basalton for just as long as I have. You work in a male-dominated industry. You know exactly how things work in this city.” She stood and began to pace. “I knew that no investor would ever take the work of a woman seriously, and I knew that I’d have to file a patent under my father’s name, or worse, a husband’s, and then they’d own the rights to it.” She made a face. “I needed someone I could use, and Francis—Frank—was a near-perfect candidate.” She ticked her index finger. “When I met him, he was just some unwanted bastard getting a stipend from his embarrassed father, but I saw potential for more. He was a virtual stranger to high society, which meant he could be molded.” Her eyes danced. “And I molded him. I came up with Francis Gladwell’s illustrious pedigree, and I was the one who made sure the right things were said about him to the right people. I even named him—he owed it all to me. We made a deal: I would quietly help him rise in high society, and in exchange, he would act as my proxy, presenting the idea of the Illuminator to the public and identifying potential investors for it. I even gave myself a bit of extra security—I never fully explained how the machine worked, and Frank was nowhere near smart enough to create a duplicate.” Ada sighed. “It was a foolproof plan.”

“Until it wasn’t,” Vesper murmured. Vesper thought about the crude sketches she and Maximilian had seen in Francis’s hotel room. She’d dismissed them as early drafts, but now she understood. “He tried to make his own machine, didn’t he?”

Ada closed her eyes. For several seconds, she said nothing, then: “It was worse than that. The day before the exhibition, Francis asked for a meeting, said he needed to talk. He told me that there’d been a change in plans, that he’d gone to the Department of Trademark and patented the Illuminator, but under his own name.” Ada opened her eyes, and a single tear slicked her cheek. “He told me that he already had an investor lined up, and that I was no longer needed.”

“That was Belver.” Another piece of the puzzle clicked together in her mind. “He and Francis were going to go into business together.”

“Charles proved tricky too,” said Ada. She sounded bitter again. “He wasn’t willing to relinquish his part of the machine’s ownership even after Francis died. Fortunately, I was able to deal with him quite easily.”

“You shot him,” Vesper said. “When I saw you in the farmer’s market, that’s why you were there. How did you do it?”

Ada shrugged. “It was easy enough, hiding the pistol in my parasol. I had no idea that there would be a protest happening, or that some of Belver’s former employees would be there, but it all worked out quite nicely for me.”

Vesper swallowed. “So, you murdered two men in cold blood.”

“I did what I had to.” Ada’s tone became neutral, businesslike. “I took the bits and scraps this world gave me, and I made something. Francis Gladwell was going to take it all away, my only chance. Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t do the same, in my position?”

Vesper stiffened. She knew what she wanted her answer to be. She wanted to say no immediately, to believe that she was somehow morally superior, incorruptible, entirely above doing anything as awful as what Ada had done. That was easier, but it wasn’t the truth. If Basalton had taught her anything, it was that no one was immune to the lure of power. Anyone could start a fire; all they needed was the right kindling.

“I don’t know.”

For the first time, Ada looked truly sad. “May you never find out.” Without warning, she closed the gap between them. Up close, her eyes were steely. “You must understand. This is what intelligent women have to do to survive in this city. We aren’t free in it, so we have to make our own way, not by waiting for what we deserve, but by taking it, the same way men do. Do you know what I was planning to do with the money from the Illuminator?” She looked off into the distance. “I was going to leave Basalton, start somewhere new where I wouldn’t have to marry an old man I didn’t even like simply because my father demanded it. I was going to have the only thing I’ve ever really wanted: freedom.”

Vesper stared at Ada for several seconds without speaking. Slowly, the truth dawned on her. Ada Bickerton might have done bad things, terrible things. She might have been monstrous, but she wasn’t the real villain. This city, this society that fettered brilliant creatures until they turned rabid, was the real villain. This world had failed Ada, and countless girls and women just like her.

“I’m sorry, Ada.”

Ada turned to her, a new gleam in her eyes. “Sorry?”

“I’m sorry for the way you’ve been wronged. I truly am.” Vesper shook her head. “But what you’ve done? I can’t let you get away with that. I can’t just stand by.”

Ada looked at her for a long time without saying anything. Vesper expected that she might get angry, that she might rage at her, or even cry. Instead, Ada only sighed.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she whispered. “And I’m also sorry for what I’m going to have to do now.”

The hairs on the back of Vesper’s neck stood on end.

The girl hadn’t moved, but one of her hands had slipped into her dress’s pocket. She looked up at Vesper, and her normal smile had been replaced with a much cooler one.

“Two times,” she murmured. “I have had my freedom threatened two times. Once by my father, when he threatened to take away my inheritance, and once by Francis Gladwell, when he stole the only thing that might have allowed me to live without an inheritance.” She shook her head. “I won’t have my freedom threatened a third time, Vesper. Not by you, not by anyone.” She withdrew her hand from her pocket slowly, and Vesper stilled as she caught the silver gleam of a small revolver in the moonlight. Ada pointed directly at her as she advanced, and Vesper mirrored the movement by taking a step backward onto the edge of the frozen lake.

“Ada.” Vesper tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Think about this. Think about what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I am thinking,” said Ada. She was calm, her tone light. “My plan didn’t work with Francis, but there’s no reason that the Illuminator can’t be reintroduced in a few months’ time with a new inventor puppet. People’s memories are short, especially when it involves things they don’t really understand. All I have to do is wait awhile, then I’ll find another willing proxy to present my idea. It’s a foolproof plan. So long as I make sure I don’t leave any loose ends.” Her expression changed, almost apologetic. “No offense.”

She moved forward, and Vesper took another step onto the ice. In the moonlight, she couldn’t see well, and she had no idea how thick or thin the ice underfoot was. Ada took another step forward onto the ice, and a crack splintered across the surface. “Ada, we need to—”

“Don’t worry,” the young woman said sweetly. She hadn’t lowered her arm. “I’ll make sure to tell everyone exactly what happened: that a young ambitious reporter working undercover got tangled up in an investigation with a notorious gang, and lost her life in the process. They’ll remember you as a hero.” She tilted her head. “Someday, perhaps I’ll name one of my inventions after you, to honor your memory.”