Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

Let There Be Light

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scanned the space in front of him without slowing his

stride, or taking away the hand hovering just over the gun in
his belt. There was a fine line of tension behind his thoughts,
but he wasn’t anticipating a battle. It may have been years
since he’d been down in the Menagerie, but the kinds of
dangers lurking within its walls were generally not the sort
that required skill with a pistol.

As the potential for action remained just the same, he

did not lower his hand. He headed up the steps through the
great arched doorway and ignored both the carved figures of
Galileo and Copernicus above the door and the sentries
standing at attention beneath them.

The guards held the doors for the three following after

him, but Hart turned without waiting toward one of many
available corridors and entered the east wing, though he did
take a moment to note that the rest of the guards here
seemed to have grown just as lax as the two at the door.
Most snapped to attentiveness only when they saw his face;
a few seemed positively terrified when they then quickly
glanced away from his face and got a good look at his rather
famous coat.

It was a plain black coat, cut in the military style,

unbuttoned to reveal the white shirt he wore underneath
and the large, heavy gun tucked into his sword belt as well
as the sword at one hip. The sword curved up just under
where the coat ended, at his knees, revealing a nondescript
scabbard that matched his coat, bare of any insignia. The

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only decoration was the gray wool lining, just visible when he
moved.

The lack of insignia said who he was as much as his

face or the patch slanting over his eye, but Hart didn’t mind
their speculation or their fear if it meant they would now
perform their duties properly. If lives hadn’t potentially been
at stake, he might have even been amused.

Isabel had noticed their inattention as well. She was

behind him with her pad of paper, her pencil scratching as
she took down their names and positions. Captain Rogers
was supposed to be in charge of security in the Menagerie. It
was clear he’d have to be replaced, and Hart—or, rather,
Isabel—would have to start making personal inspections.
Soldiers were here to guard those who could not protect
themselves, not to fall asleep at their posts. He had a feeling
Isabel’s thoughts were the same.

There was no room for incompetency, especially in this

work. He didn’t care how bored the guards got, standing for
hours in front of laboratories, listening to scientific babble
they didn’t understand. This place might have come to be
affectionately or mockingly referred to as Victoria’s Zoo,
always out of Her Majesty’s hearing, but the scientists
chosen to work here, the experiments funded by the Crown,
were of national importance. Anything in these rooms might
someday affect all of Britain. If they couldn’t understand
that, then he’d send them over to give tours of the Tower
Green to remind them of the cost of failure.

His gaze slid over the marks on the walls as he turned

another corner. He knew the way well enough, though it had
been years. It was one of the reasons for his promotion,

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along with his inability to work in the field anymore with
such an infamous face.

Hart finally smiled, wide enough to feel the pull on the

left side of his face. C had been amused at the time as well.
He’d mentioned Hart’s face—his eye—as he’d been handing
him his papers for the promotion. There was no one better
suited to keep an eye on the city, was what he’d said, with a
look at the patch.

Hart had offered a brief smile in return, if for no other

reason than because no one, not even Isabel, ever directly
commented on his injuries, though he’d never made an
attempt to hide the wide spots of smooth scar tissue and the
hints of pale pink that had once been a furious and bloody
red. He wore the eye patch for formal events and polite
company. The vision in his eye had been only slightly
impaired by the accident, but looking at the damaged flesh
around it made some uncomfortable.

The building around them had been built at the start of

the century—after the last one had burned down—but
already showed similar signs of devotion to England’s
causes. Between the rooms where there should have been
blank patches of wall were scribbled equations and scorch
marks, along with the occasional quote and
incomprehensible—if probably rude—graffiti. There was
graffiti over the doors to the safety stations as well.

Those were fairly new, instituted at Hart’s insistence the

moment the Zoo had come under his purview. One wooden
cabinet every hundred feet, with spigots for the running
water they’d painstakingly piped into this building. They
were also filled with buckets, kits of medicine, and
telephones that ran on batteries to call the fire brigade if

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necessary. The stations had already proven themselves
worth the expense with lives and experiments saved. He was
pleased to see them in place, and obviously used.

Isabel scratched another notation. Her pencil was

louder than the footsteps of the two men flanking her, as it
should be. Hart had trained them, though their swords
weren’t sharper than the glint in his secretary’s eyes.

Hart tightened his mouth. He didn’t need a secretary for

this, but then this whole idea was insane. He’d never liked it
when his advice was ignored, and liked it even less when his
hands were tied by orders. This… incredibly foolish, utterly
ridiculous thing he was about to do was the best of his
options. A fact that went beyond irksome, as he should never
have been forced into this situation. There would have been
alternatives had he been consulted before.

He flicked his thumb over the cool black grip of his

pistol before he dropped his hand.

He had a job to do, and wondering what C was up to do

was a waste of time, though he was very aware that this had
been deliberately hidden from him. But it wasn’t his place to
question, and C had yet to steer him wrong, so after a
limited, quiet protest, he’d nodded and made his
suggestions. To complain about that now was just as foolish.

He hurried down another small set of stairs, increasing

his speed not to hasten his arrival, but to dispel the energy
from his anger. The early hour meant that the closed, dim,
gaslit halls were almost abandoned, though there was an
occasional whirring sound from the odd room, then a
muffled boom in the distance as he pushed open another

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door and swept past another set of nervous, jumping soldiers
and out into the morning sunlight.

Noise hit him the moment he emerged, somewhat

distant but ever present. The trains carrying troops and
civilians alike in and out of the city, clearly audible even here
on the outskirts of the academy, the clock tower chiming
away, steamships in the harbor.

The air was a mix of pale blue and gray, the tops of

steam towers and vents just visible over the trees scattered
throughout this part of the grounds. If he turned, he would
see other buildings, hints of the seat of government, domes
more black than white with the dust from the munitions
factories.

There was no fog; that was something. With no fog and

a few thin rays of sunshine today and hopefully tomorrow,
he’d have clear line of sight for the long day ahead. Though
seeing the danger wasn’t going to make him any safer.

His hand twitched back toward his gun again at his first

glimpse of the tower, his thumb gliding over the barely
perceptible marks of craftsmanship and the signature of the
maker etched into the handle. Then he looked up and
allowed himself to view the tower.

It had once been connected to the main building,

probably when it had first been constructed, but stood by
itself now.

That decision had been made to benefit everyone.
There was a path leading to the door at the base. Hart

glanced over at the two guards posted just inside the
doorway, then tilted his head back to count the number of
metal fans on the roof spinning like tops in the slight breeze

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and the lightning rods next to them, as well as the—there
was no other word but perplexing—pipes running up and
down the side of the tower.

What sunlight made it through the city smoke glinted off

the copper, which made him think they were water pipes,
though he didn’t see the need for water up there unless the
stories were true and the man was truly living in his
laboratory year-round now. At the base was a small shed of
iron and wood, housing something that hummed. The sound
grew louder as he approached the door. If they were water
pipes, then that was hiding a boiler, perhaps a pump. But he
wasn’t going to ask.

Hart stopped abruptly at the single step that lead into

the porch. It was the first moment of stillness he had allowed
himself since his briefing late last night. On the door was a
brass sign that said 850. Zieliński. Beneath that, on the door
itself, someone had taken a thick pen to the wood and
written Danger! Go away! in six languages. Someone else
had taken a different pen and scrawled Bastard underneath
Zieliński.

Hart didn’t smile at that, just leaned his head back

enough to notice that tikkun olam was still painted above the
door in the same handwriting as all those go aways, as was
the pax Britannica next to it, written in blue India ink and an
entirely different hand.

He tapped a finger on the butt of his gun, on the name

indelibly etched there, then took his hand away and stepped
forward. The soldiers by the door didn’t attempt to stop him,
another sign that a firmer hand was needed in this
department. For now they were already being replaced by the
two men in his command. Isabel was lingering as well,

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despite not being necessary. She was concerned about his
decision; that was clear. He turned enough to dismiss her,
directing a brief, stern look her way before opening the door.

He stopped dead at the glimpse of the wire just over the

threshold.

A trip wire. A thrice-damned trip wire. Which he had

only seen because he’d bloody well learned to look for them.

With restraint, with a few inward curses at mad

geniuses, he followed the path of the wire until he saw the
bell at one end and then let out a small breath.

An alarm system. Scientists were a paranoid lot with

more codes and secrets than any spy, but an actual trip
wire…

Hart tightened his jaw and stepped silently over the

trap, closing the door behind him. He paused again on the
other side, looking for more traps while he was at it and
taking in the scene.

The room had been divided in two; the small area

directly in front of the door had a counter and stools, with a
few ratty chairs and a small strange humming box taking up
what little space remained. Pipes ran down the walls into a
sink, and there was a potbellied stove nearly within reach.
When he opened the door all the way, there were a few scant
inches between it and the stools at the counter.

There was a fine layer of dust over everything but the

stove, and grease-stained books in stacks on the floor. In
other words, not much had changed. He was grateful he
hadn’t brought a bag—he wouldn’t have known where to set
it.

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Cranking sounds were coming from the other room,

which was open, as someone had torn out the wide doors a
long time ago to move equipment in and out. Hart went past
the staircase that lead to the top of the tower and stopped by
the rough edges of wood and plaster that had once been a
doorway.

This room was larger and obviously more used. A

fireplace on the opposite end of the room was lit and glowing
brightly with a brass case in front of it that seemed to waft
warmed air in his direction. Glass bulbs of uneven sizes
lined the ceiling in rows, darkened for the moment. He’d
never seen so many in one place before, though the window
in one wall gave the room light enough. There was a sofa,
just as old as the chairs in the other room, covered in
plump, mismatched pillows, adding to the general air of
decadence from the heating device by the fireplace, at odds
with the workbenches along the walls.

Rugs were on one side of the room only, the part where

Karol liked to sit in that beastly heat in front of the fire and
read books by people he considered inferior. The rest of the
room was for work, had tools hanging in rows, shelves full of
what looked like junk but which were most likely remnants
of brilliant ideas that had been abandoned.

In the middle of that was an engine. Hart knew enough

to know it was an engine, could see the pistons and the
parts in the center that would probably rotate too fast for
him to see when it was on. He had no idea what was its
purpose or even how it was powered, though there was a box
next to it with wires trailing from it. Behind that, sitting on
the floor and working a wrench, was the man he’d come to
see.

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Working alone—that wasn’t a surprise. Karol had no

patience for anyone slower than him, which meant doctoral
candidates, students, and lab assistants never lasted long.
His reputation for being difficult had only gotten worse in the
past three years, judging from the number of requests for
transfers that had crossed Hart’s desk from the soldiers sent
to guard Lab 850. Karol’s attitude toward his security detail
was as constant as the other part of his reputation.

Acts between men had only been officially

decriminalized for ten years, but Karol had been taking
advantage of the Crown’s willingness to overlook the
misbehavior of its top minds—provided they produced
results—for years before then. It had been yet another
reason his assistants and security details had never lasted.
They might have been hoping for more, but all they’d gotten
was one night.

What should have been behind closed doors never really

was with someone as well-known and resistant to
embarrassment and public pressure as Karol. Hart probably
would have learned who the man had been coaxing into his
bed even had he not worked for the Intelligence Service. As it
was, he had more than enough information.

For the past three years Karol had apparently been

delighting in running off his guards with a combination of
his usual seduce-and-discard routine when they caught his
eye, and outright harassment, calling them all manner of
names whenever they fell short in their duties. Hart had
been prepared to take him to task for it, but seeing the state
of this department’s security, he was inclined to think it was
Karol’s way of filing complaints of his own.

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Hart took another step into the room, enough to see

around the edge of the giant hunk of metal. Despite every
complaint he’d ever made about being cold, Karol was
working in an unbuttoned shirt. His shirttails hung loose,
over the suspenders he’d left to dangle from his waist, over
his light trousers, and the shirt itself may have once been all
white but was now smeared with blackened engine grease.
There was a great deal of almost golden, olive-colored skin
on display, from his flat stomach up to the chest sprinkled
with hair, and the line of his throat as he swallowed and
muttered something to himself. Thick goggles hid most of his
face, at least, though he seemed focused on his work. There
was stubble at his chin that meant he’d been up all night,
and he was too thin again, though Hart could see muscle
flexing as Karol finished tightening whatever he was
tightening.

Hart’s gaze slid to his hair, the brown curls gleaming

with the oil Karol sometimes brushed into it in an attempt to
keep those curls under control.

It had yet to work. Taming that hair would be like

getting Karol to eat or sleep on a regular basis—an
impossible task.

“Another dog sent to fetch me?” Karol remarked without

looking up. He cranked something else with a breathless,
angry exclamation and then set down the wrench. “I’m busy.
Go away.” He ripped off one glove just to reach under the
engine bare-handed. He seemed satisfied with whatever he
felt; he smiled before continuing. “Unless you’re good-
looking. In which case, the bed’s upstairs. I’ll be along.”

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He got to his feet without once looking to see who he

was talking to, and Hart paused, then let his mouth twist
into a smile.

“I’m not here to sleep with you, Zieliński.” His voice

stayed level. That was something. Almost as much of a
victory as the way Karol’s head instantly came up. He froze,
his eyes hidden by goggles and layer of grease, and then he
pulled those down to his neck. He dropped the other glove to
the floor without seeming to notice.

Hart realized he was sweating slightly, no surprise with

the heat in the room. Karol always had bitched about the
faintest chill; that beastly heating device was obviously his
remedy. But there was a glimmer of perspiration on Karol’s
skin too, at his throat. Hart quickly brought his gaze up in
time to catch Karol’s study of him.

It seemed brief, cursory, but he doubted Karol missed

anything, from his scuffed boots to the collection of visible
weapons to the pomade holding his black hair in place, as
Hart refused to wear a hat, when hats were just another
thing to obscure his field of vision. But Karol’s stare stopped
at Hart’s face, at his mouth and his upper lip, where there
had been enough damage to the skin to prevent Hart from
growing a mustache again, at his cheek, marred with more
scars. There were more, spots on his neck currently hidden
by the turned-up collar of his coat, spots on his head where
hair would never grow again, though he brushed the rest of
his hair to disguise those.

Hart let him stare. It had been three years, and this

man more than anyone else had a right to see.

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With that in mind he reached up, not quite holding his

breath as he pulled off the eye patch and stuffed it in a
pocket.

“Hart,” Karol said, nearly whispered it, then flinched

and frowned at the floor. He took a moment before raising
his eyes. By then he appeared calm, albeit with something
boiling just below the surface. “I mean Robert.” He breathed
out. “Sir Robert. You were knighted, weren’t you? Something
you ‘dulce et decorum est, death for queen and country’
service men love.” He lowered his chin, though he would still
have to look up to glare into Hart’s face, and the words
sparked as much as the man’s beloved electricity.

His frown went from affected to real in the second it

took for him to glance around Hart. He had to notice that
Hart had come alone. Karol was smart, even when off
balance. Too smart. But Hart already knew he was going to
win this one, so he inhaled and then leaned against the wall
to let the genius work out why he’d come here.

“You’ve either come to get me or to tell me something I

won’t want to hear. Otherwise any of those other monkeys
with guns outside would have passed on any relevant
information. Or a letter.”

“You don’t read your mail,” Hart responded with the

same appearance of calm, settling into a relaxed and lazy
posture that made Karol narrow his eyes. Hart immediately
crossed his arms for good measure but kept his expression
vaguely amused.

The less he reacted, the more Karol would. It was an

equation he’d learned early, the way he’d learned that Karol
didn’t read his mail because Hart had been asked to read it

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for him often enough. He used to walk in and slide over a
pile of unanswered letters, and then Karol would wave from
his lab and ask him to pick out the ones from his family and
read them aloud if they weren’t too boring. The ones from
other academics requesting help could sit there for months
without being touched.

“If it was ever important, I would.” Karol kicked the

glove out of his way, then stopped again. “So they sent you,”
he added, and his expression changed, went from irritated to
blank as his attention seemed to turn inward. Hart watched,
knowing that look for what it was and resisting the urge to
offer a snide smile when Karol focused back on him
moments later.

It was the look of a prophet or an oracle or of Karol

visualizing an invention he had yet to make real. It also
meant he was thinking, something to make cautious men be
on their guards if they weren’t already.

“What? Has war broken out again? No. It’s not a

national crisis. But it is life or death. It’s the only thing that
would bring you here.” Karol seemed certain of that, but his
expression said he didn’t care for Hart’s slow smile or the
nod Hart gave for an answer. Strange, when Karol usually
enjoyed being correct.

Hart couldn’t help making his smile wider; it was an old

habit, annoying the genius, watching what was under the
surface rise to the top, and Karol’s gaze traveled over him
and his relaxed posture before the other man swore
something to himself in another language and marched over
to him.

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“Why, that sounds almost like you missed me,” Hart

drawled before Karol could manage English. Karol snarled,
tilting his head back to make up for the difference in height
between them.

“Perhaps I’m just surprised to see you alive,” he spat,

the words a shock between them both, so strong that Karol
immediately took a step forward and put out his hand.

Glass shattered, and someone inhaled to scream.

Frightened. Terrified.

Hart shook his head to banish the memory and Karol’s

lips parted, as though the great man wished to call back
what he’d said, but Hart straightened so he wouldn’t have to
hear it and Karol’s hand fell.

“That’s new.” He jerked his head at the engine, one of

the few changes he’d noted.

“Did you expect things to remain static?” Karol pushed

out crossly, not happy with Hart, with the subject change,
what he’d just said. “Time alters everything, for better or
worse.” He jerked his hand in a frustrated gesture, at the
room or Hart, but his eyes came back up to Hart’s face. Hart
waited, but with a blink, Karol turned away.

Another change. The old Karol would have said

something rude, blunt, and yet matter of fact, his words
barely under control, hot and blue and painful. Most people
couldn’t stand them, but in a world filled with lies and liars,
Hart had found them invigorating. Had found Karol
invigorating.

He followed after him as the other man walked into the

smaller room and slipped behind the counter. Karol grabbed
a teakettle from the pile of dirty dishes. He filled it at the

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sink, put it on the stove, and stoked that fire before busying
himself rinsing out the remnants of his last pot of tea from a
plain teapot.

“I thought things might have changed when you left the

service,” Hart pressed, not raising his voice. Karol chose a tin
of tea leaves before he turned around.

“It has changed. There are always changes even when

the eye alone cannot see them.” He explained the basic
scientific principle in a sickly sweet voice as though Hart was
a mentally deficient child and then turned again to grab a
cup. Just one, which, if anything, indicated his own childish
tendencies. Though he looked over again, almost too quickly,
before bending down to the small, humming box.

It turned out to be an ice chest of some kind, cold vapor

escaping as Karol pulled out a small pitcher of cream.

“Don’t they teach you killers anything at that camp up

north that you all deny exists?” There was the faintest trace
of a foreign accent seeping into Karol’s words. He’d been
born in England, but that accent was a gift from his parents,
and the language they’d spoken in his childhood home after
fleeing from their country and the invading Imperial Russian
Army. They had never gone on to America like so many
others, but had stayed and raised their children here. It was
one of the reasons that Karol had always been mostly above
suspicion.

For the accent to be audible meant he was upset, and

when Hart again chose to say nothing, Karol set down the
pitcher of cream with a clatter.

“Why are you here, Hart?” he demanded, and that Hart

could answer.

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“To protect you.” That should have been obvious. To

protect Karol with his life for the next twenty-four hours or
as long as it took. Hart rolled his shoulders, widened his
stance, and lifted his chin when Karol’s eyebrows flew up in
disbelief.

He picked up his cup again, only to bang it right back

down.

“I don’t need it. Haven’t those idiots gotten the message

yet? I don’t need untrained men in my way, underfoot,
prepared to throw themselves….”

“Just me.” Cutting Karol off in the middle of a rant had

also always been a reliable strategy. Karol gave a startled
pause for barely a second.

“You?” His fingers curled around the empty mug, and

then he turned toward the kettle and the whistle that was
just starting to make itself heard. “Just you?” he asked
again, pouring hot water into his teapot, making the air
fragrant. His back was a straight line.

Hart nodded anyway but had to clear his throat. “For

tonight. There will be others tomorrow.”

“Tonight?” The kinds of suggestions that would have

followed that years ago were left unsaid. Hart frowned and
moved to the counter, but Karol was splashing cream into an
empty cup, putting the pitcher away, tapping his fingers on
the counter as his tea steeped. There were a few minutes of
silence; then he poured himself a cup and left the rest of the
tea to get cold.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “I don’t do that work

anymore….” As though leaving the Intelligence Service meant
he was no longer in danger or a part of the plans of others.

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He was a scientist for the Crown, at the Crown’s pay, and
indeed, at Victoria’s beck and call if need be. Even Karol had
others to answer to on occasion.

“You’re still valuable.” It almost wasn’t fair, letting Karol

think he could find a way out, but if there wasn’t a struggle,
then Karol wasn’t interested.

Karol’s head came up again, but there was no hint of an

explosion in his brown eyes, and his silence was…
unsettling. It wasn’t what Hart had been prepared for. Karol
should have immediately asserted just how valuable he was,
in case anyone had ever forgotten.

Hart chided himself. Of course Karol had changed.

Years had passed. It was no reason to let himself be so
obviously thrown. Or curious. There was nothing to be
curious about. In twenty-four hours, he’d be gone.

“Your work is paid for by the Crown,” Hart reminded

Karol, harsher than he’d intended. Not everyone was
devoted; not everyone should be exposed to such risks. Even
when Karol had chosen to take on those risks, Hart had
never felt it right that he should be in such danger. But
Karol had not chosen this, and this whole plan was… It
wasn’t enough to protect him. Hart didn’t flinch, but he
could hear the glass breaking again in his head and put one
hand flat to the counter to stop it. “You don’t have a choice
here.” He was breathing too heavily; Karol would notice. He
controlled himself, then looked over. “But I will keep you
safe.”

Karol opened his mouth, then shut it. He seemed to

have forgotten his breakfast tea, and, damn it all to the river

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Styx and back, he wasn’t speaking despite the flash of fury
in his eyes.

There should have been questions. A protest.

Something. The silence felt stark, too raw. New in a way that
made Hart nervous. Reading reports on the man for three
years hadn’t prepared him for who Karol had become. The
only thing he remembered that still remained, aside from
Karol’s arrogance and his sheer physical beauty, was that
temper.

“There’s more to this, and you aren’t telling me,” Karol

commented at last, his chest heaving. “You always were a
stubborn prick.” There it was, almost like the old days, the
bickering and the flare of wounded pride and the back-and-
forth of constant barbs to keep Hart on his toes and remind
him of the danger standing directly before him.

“I’ll tell you when you’ve calmed down like a good boy.”

He answered the way he always had, offered a taunt in
return and didn’t react when the full cup of tea was thrown
across the small space and smashed against the wall behind
him. “You had better aim than that before, Zieliński. You’re
either getting careless or soft.”

Karol stared at him, shaking with the remnants of anger

or something else, because his eyes came up, went to Hart’s
face. Something trickled down Hart’s cheek as he did, barely
a presence at all through thick scar tissue, but he slowly
brought up his hand.

His fingers caught the drop of liquid, feeling the heat the

way that side of his face no longer could, and Karol made a
noise. He looked stricken, though Hart’s mind wanted to shy
from that word.

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“A trip wire?” Hart asked quietly. It seemed almost

unbelievable.

“Just a bell, Robert,” Karol explained, his voice low.

“Just a bell.” He didn’t apologize, of course. Didn’t even move
until Hart wiped his sleeve over his cheek to make sure it
was dry. Then he turned to the foot of the stairs as though
he was going to leave this mess as it was.

But then, it was Karol. Creation through chaos.
“I’ve been awake all night. I’m going to clean up and go

to bed now,” he said simply, and Hart narrowed his eyes.

“What? No invitation to your bedroom for me?” It was so

very easy to say, to make it sound like it was the last thing
he wanted. His voice was rough, but he could relax his
posture, push Karol a little more.

Karol paused, not quite looking at him. Then his lips

twisted.

“In case you learned nothing about me all those years

ago, I’ll remind you that I am a smart man.” He turned back,
enough to let Hart see his shrug. “I know futility when I see
it, Hart,” he explained further, then headed up the stairs and
disappeared from view. Leaving when he should have stayed
and demanded answers and not given a damn about futility
when there were other tacks he could try.

Hart stayed where he was, only raising his head at the

strange sounds echoing down from upstairs. Clanking and
groaning metal and then, startlingly, rushing water. As
though Karol not only had running water in the tower but
also had a bathtub up there. It would at least explain the
pipes running up the tower; the genius had his hedonistic
side.

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The bathtub would be large, and the water would be

steaming hot. Nothing less would do. Practical to have
running water if he lived here, safe to have it around, but
also extravagant.

Hart looked away at the thought, at the urge to go up

and see for himself, at the idea of Karol naked, his skin
warm from the water, smelling like soap for once and not
engine grease. He pulled out his watch and stared at the
time.

Approximately twenty-three hours to go.

ONSIDERING

their history, surviving a few hours together

should not have been difficult.

Hart spent his first few poking around the lab, noting

the sealed windows, the one door, the loo. He removed the
trip wire, made himself a cup of tea from Karol’s cold dregs,
and then finally settled on the sofa with his feet propped on
a stack of books. He put his hands on his lap and closed his
eyes, but despite his late night and early morning, he didn’t
let himself go to sleep.

The thumping sounds of Karol moving around above

him and then making his way downstairs made him raise his
head. The pale sunlight filtering in through the windows
showed him that Karol had shaved and changed his clothing,
had even managed to mostly button up his shirt and pull on
his suspenders over the shirttails he hadn’t bothered to tuck
into his trousers. His hair had been brushed and fairly
crackled as he moved.

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He stopped at the doorway to the lab, and Hart aimed a

grin at him.

“Of course you’re still here. You have your duty.” It

could have been an attempt at a sneer, but that faint accent
tinged Karol’s words again, giving them a lilt that was almost
a question. Karol started to roll up his shirtsleeves. “England
and the Empire to save. Innocent lives in the balance.” The
way he twisted his wrist at that was bitchy, by Karol’s or
anyone else’s standards. “Why ever you do it.”

He turned away, went back to his little kitchen to

prepare more tea. Hart could just see him if he kept his head
turned. Karol set the water to heat, added more fuel to the
stove, and then took down two cups. Undoubtedly Karol
knew he was being watched. He stretched up to a cabinet to
pull out a tin, displaying himself shamelessly for Hart’s
benefit.

Now, that was the old Karol, knowing damn well the

effect he had on others. On Hart. The loose back side of his
trousers clung to him when he moved that way, the muscles
he’d shaped with hard work in his lab flexing under his thin
shirt. Hart got a glimpse of the skin of Karol’s inner arm,
elbow to wrist bared for him as Karol pushed up one sleeve,
olive-toned flesh warm against white fabric. Karol did not
bother to glance to see if Hart was watching. He only
stretched farther, needlessly, and the patch of skin remained
tantalizingly exposed for a second longer.

The urge to touch had always been worst when Hart

was tired. He could remember those evenings and the pre-
dawn moments when they’d been alone and there hadn’t
been anything—or anyone—around to remind him of why he
should remain on guard.

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“You know why I do it.” He answered minutes too late

and forced himself to sit up, to sharpen his attention on the
mad genius currently taunting him.

Why he did what he did was outside, written in India

ink above Karol’s door. Because there were things greater
than himself, ideas and people worth serving. Because for
the past few years, a tentative peace had existed, and he
intended to keep it that way. He’d even once thought that
Karol had understood that.

Karol looked his way as he turned around. Despite the

distance, Hart could see the tight line of his mouth.

“I’m hungry,” he announced abruptly, twisting away

from the hot stove and the heating water in a line for the
door. Hart was up before he’d taken a step, was at the door
just before he reached it. He only hoped Karol had enough
sense not to fight him on this one.

“I’ll take care of it,” he explained at Karol’s hostile,

offended glare, and then put a hand to the door as he opened
it. Both of his men turned to look at him, and he nodded his
approval before giving the order for one of them to fetch food
from the academy’s commissary. With scientists and their
obsessions, the academy’s kitchens had food available day or
night. Barely edible, reheated stews and gruels were what
you got in the middle of the night, but as fuel it served its
purpose.

Karol’s glare was still waiting for him when he closed

the door. But the kettle was whistling, so Karol left him to
finish making the tea. His movements were precise as he
spooned sugar from the tin into one of the cups. Two

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teaspoons. Then a dollop of cream. When he poured in the
tea, it swirled into a lovely, perfect caramel color.

“You’re going to tell me now, Sir Robert.” The switch to

his given name was as deliberate as the tea. Karol stood on
the opposite side of the counter and slid the cup to him. Hart
stepped forward to take it, then nodded.

“There’s been… an infiltration.” Outrage made the words

escape in a quiet rumble. The Crown’s policies for the past
hundred years had spurred growth and power, had finally
enabled Britain to maintain a fairly stable Europe, a welcome
relief after decades of bloodshed in the Crimea, the trenches
that had lead to nothing but death and more death and a
flood of refugees headed west. But they had also stirred up
envy and made other nations restless for the same
advancements, something they could not allow to happen.

If Russia had lost thousands in the no man’s land that

had once been Anatolia and Serbia and in the campaigns
along the Danube, they had hundreds of thousands more to
lose. Britain did not. The lion was a small country next to
larger nations with large ambitions, and the ownership of the
Menagerie-created technologies had been her saving grace.
The scientists in turn had been well protected and rewarded
for decades.

For a group to have made it in so far into this complex,

so close to their target, was both infuriating and frightening.
When this was over, there was going to be a massive
reorganization, and those guarding the Menagerie would
report directly to him. And they would be his people. If every
lab rat in here had to have a handler, then so be it.

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“Stolen designs are nothing new.” Karol called him back,

his voice oddly soft. Hart realized he was gripping his cup
hard enough to send ripples through the surface of the tea
and relaxed his hands.

“Stolen minds are.” He looked up. “From what

was…gleaned…” He was in danger of breaking his teacup
again and set it aside. “Your paranoia has made them
desperate. You hardly make notes, and when you do, they’re
in your insane code… and also your handwriting. The entire
cryptography hut would have a hard time with your
handwriting.” Humor hadn’t left him, at least. Karol
narrowed his eyes. “Stealing your notes won’t do them any
good, and they know it. They—we—think they are interested
in what you’ve been working on lately. Is that your current
project?” He nodded toward the other room.

“One of them.” Karol was too still, as though not truly

listening.

“The technology itself might be too big to steal, but you

are not.” That got Karol’s eyes to widen, yet there weren’t any
questions erupting from him. Hart leaned forward over the
counter. Karol didn’t pull back, though it was not a wide
counter, and the action did not leave much space between
them.

“There have been two attempts already.” He enunciated

to make sure he was being clear. Two attempts that he knew
about, poorly organized and easily foiled. Then this
discovered plot that he had only just been informed of.
Despite the heavy questioning, there was the sense that yet
more plots were out there. As though the recent small
skirmishes in the Balkans and the ambitions of the
Prussians had raised levels of desperation across Europe.

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The very fact that the Ministry and C had decided on

this course spoke of a similar—if well-hidden—alarm. The
infiltration combined with their target—possibly the most
important asset working at the Zoo, with a history of past
service—meant people with nothing to lose.

“There have been two attempts?” Of course the genius

hadn’t noticed those, any more than he’d noticed the agents
who had been surveilling his lab or what was currently
playing at the Lyceum. “To take me?” He did not seem to
believe it, though he’d already said there was no other
reason serious enough to bring Hart to his door again.

“Take you if they can. Kill you if they cannot. Either one

harms us.” Hart reached down, took a sip of tea to burn
what he had to say next from his tongue before he’d said it.
“A decision was made.” To display Karol for the dogs like a
leopard on a chain. He opened his mouth to add something
else, and Karol slammed his cup on the counter.

Hart looked from the scalding drops of spilled tea to

Karol’s face.

“A decision?” he repeated, his voice tight. Hart took

another sip. It did not seem hot enough.

“A rumor has been floated around that you have finally

had enough of your security and have thrown off most of
your detail. People seem ready to believe that of you.” For a
moment Hart could smile. Karol glowered back at him, but
the smile didn’t last. “Given that you’re supposed to leave
your lab to present something at the academy tomorrow, if
anyone is going to attempt something, they should do it
then.” He could feel his gun at his hip. There was no need to
check it.

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“Your detail will be removed except for one guard.” One

that everyone else could see. The rest would be in street
clothes. Not soldiers, but Hart’s men; soldiers were only good
when the enemy was obvious. As for tonight… The
concession from C for Hart’s visit had been a struggle. Hart
was known enough within the city itself for his presence to
raise flags. But no one else would have been good enough or
had the patience. The other matter, the new rumors this
would spark, would die down in time.

But he inhaled, wet his lips.
“My presence here tonight hardly matters, considering

your reputation.”

Karol’s mouth opened and a go to hell expression

flickered across his features along with something hotter
than any hellfire. Hart didn’t let himself linger on the
subject, though the heat from the stove, the steam from his
tea, made his skin warm.

“In light of your gratitude for what this country has

given you, the Ministry is certain that you will be happy to
help.” The official line, the message he was supposed to pass
on. One aspect of his mission completed, and it was barely
noon. Now to survive the rest.

“The Ministry can go fuck itself,” Karol bit out

immediately, flaring up with utterly righteous indignation.
“And if I didn’t think that was already how you spent your
nights, Hart, I’d say the same to you.”

“Such a lady.” Hart licked his lips again, then took

another sip. Her Majesty’s mouth was nearly as bad. It was a
good thing his old department had spent so much time
portraying her as rigid and out of touch to the rest of the

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world. Not being fully understood was sometimes the best—
the only—weapon a person had.

“Go to your hell, Hart. No one took the time to ask me.”

Karol wasn’t backing down. There was a line between his
eyes that begged to be smoothed out. Or so Hart had always
thought. He had never attempted it. If nothing else, it had
saved him from losing a hand. It did not seem the sort of
thing Karol would tolerate from either a partner or a lover.

He lowered his voice, looked Karol square in the face,

and noticed that Karol was looking back. Color had
darkened his cheeks, and when Hart paused just for a
moment, Karol bit his lip as though to keep back a sharp
word or two. The furrow between his eyes deepened, and
Hart swallowed before setting down his cup and taking a
step from the counter.

“Considering your past work for the Ministry, they did

not feel it necessary.”

Karol had volunteered before, insisted on joining the

service. He’d only gone along on certain missions at first,
local, nonlethal, and then had begun intruding into Hart’s
work on a regular basis. He had retooled Hart’s equipment,
had openly mocked Hart’s lack of scientific knowledge, and
then decried the service’s ability to protect itself, much less
the Queen. One time he had burst into a briefing to rant
about “stupid, thick-fingered bureaucrats” and how only
they would be foolish enough to send an untrained layman
to defuse the weapon they were talking about. Hart had been
the untrained layman in question, but by then he had
known not to protest, although he’d been well aware that the
mission would end up as yet another journey where he
would be on alert for days straight, going without sleep to

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

make sure Karol—unable to defend himself or even hit a
practice target with a single bullet—remained safe.

On that occasion, they had, if he recalled correctly,

wound up in a laboratory disguised as a hunting lodge deep
in the Black Forest, with Karol complaining first about the
rain and then complaining more when he’d been forced to
run through that rain and the dark and the mud in the
middle of the night until he had finally assembled their
wireless to signal for help. They had also defused and broken
the weapon—some sort of bomb packed with pitchblende—
and stolen the plans so more could not be made.

It was a good memory now. Hart had been concerned

with other things at the time—survival, the fear in Karol’s
face when he’d seen the pitchblende, the relief when he’d
said it hadn’t been “fully purified.” Hart had learned early on
to be alarmed when Karol was alarmed, to listen when Karol
told him to listen, though he might not fully understand
why. The same way he’d learned to tolerate the outbursts
because of Karol’s gift for solving problems that no other
could solve. But he was pulled back into the moment by the
awareness entering Karol’s eyes.

“They didn’t?” Karol was close, pushing away his cup to

stare. “We are both to wriggle on the hook together for our
country.” Karol paused, perhaps at his own words, then
glanced away. He stared toward his lab and raised his chin.
He snorted before he turned back. “Dismissing my
protection? You and the other monkeys couldn’t have made
the trap more obvious?”

His voice had lightened, and Hart felt his mouth turning

up. Dark humor in dark times. He’d missed that. It had been

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there alongside the whining, counterpoint to Karol’s
astonishing bravery in going on those missions at all.

“Obvious but irresistible.” To the desperate and those in

need. They’d had to be desperate countries to resort to the
kind of madness seen in the trenches of Prussia and the
Dardanelles, and they were only more desperate now, to
involve the use of chemicals, to use machines like Karol’s for
war.

“Am I?” Karol turned to him to ask that unbelievable

question. Hart nearly assumed it was his accent, but Karol’s
gaze remained level. He was not attempting flirtation. If
anything he was thoughtful, his eyes traveling over the scars
he still had not commented upon before he swallowed. His
tone shifted lightning fast to a viciousness that was at odds
with the way he drank what was left of his tea. “All night
with me?” he wondered sweetly, licking stray droplets from
the corner his mouth. “Poor Hart and his reputation.”

“My job is to protect the Crown and what the Crown

deems needs to be protected. Which includes the people and
those that serve the people. And you.” He didn’t need to
think about it. It was like breathing. He would guard his
Queen and his country and Karol with his life. He had never
had to think about it.

The peril they were both in should have been enough to

cool his cheeks, but Karol’s remarks were matched by the
offer in his eyes, the tempting warmth there, and the burnt
redness to his lips. All night, he had said, relishing the
words. All night.

Karol still wanted him, Hart realized, his mind stunned

though his body wasn’t. His heart pounded, heat making

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him flush beneath his clothing, under the coat, where
fortunately it couldn’t be seen.

“And never yourself, ever.” The questioning lilt had

returned, but Karol was not asking this time. He wasn’t
moving either, but just beneath the surface there was the
sense of rising pressure, energy expanding, and a smart man
would take cover. His eyes were blazing. “If you want to kill
yourself or worse….” The remark about his face took Hart by
surprise though he’d been expecting something more direct
since he’d first entered the tower. After his first startled
reaction to Karol’s intimations, the sudden comment about
his injuries knocked him back another half step. He’d had
gunshot wounds that had been less of a shock, and Karol
was still railing at him. “It’s none of my business, is it, Hart?
Kill yourself, then.”

The door started to swing open with the faintest creak.

Hart turned automatically toward the sound, flung out his
arm, and heard Karol jump as the blade slid out from his
sleeve and over his fist in a straight, sharp extension of his
arm. The man stopped abruptly just over the threshold. Hart
glimpsed the motions as much as the familiar expression of
disbelief that came over Karol’s face when a threat was too
close to ignore.

Hart recognized the boots and raised his eyes to the

intruder’s face without taking the blade away. He kept his
arm up, staring hard at Biggs before he took his other hand
from his pistol, before he let himself relax that much. He
waited another moment before taking the blade from under
the man’s chin. If Biggs had breathed, he might have been
cut.

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To the man’s credit, the tray of food was not shaking in

his hands, and he had at least had the sense to stop. Just
not to knock.

Hart pulled a part of his other sleeve over his free hand

to push the short sword back into position until he heard the
small click that meant it was again locked, and then he
nodded for Biggs to put down the tray and go back outside.
“Knock next time,” he ordered as Biggs left, though he would
be just as ready even with the warning. They couldn’t afford
any more accidents.

His heart was beating too fast as he made certain the

door was closed and then came over to inspect the tray.
There was enough for two. Bowls of stew. Some fruit. Bread.
Cheese.

The action had not been enough to get him too excited

to keep still, and not enough to dispel his anxiety. He
focused on setting out the bowls, using the spoons to sample
from both bowls. There was no strange smell, but he had to
be sure.

For the first time in that long minute, Karol moved,

coming around the counter but stopping several feet away
from him.

“Well, is it poisoned?” His voice was too loud and too

angry. It scraped on Hart’s nerves like glass on stone, and
Hart glanced up. Karol was gesturing at the bowls. “You’ll do
that for me too?” he demanded. “And what am I to do?
Watch?” The histrionics were familiar. It was the words that
were new.

“That has always been our arrangement.” He could

speak easily despite Karol’s shrieking, the fact that he could

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have killed his own man. He had something else to focus on.
There was no strange taste in his mouth, no sense of having
been drugged, but he waited to be sure.

Karol only got louder for being patronized. “Well,

Robert? What now? Are you going to die in my arms?” His
voice cracked before he froze.

Hart looked up.
Shattered, the glass completely shattered, gave him the

barest of warnings, and then the other sounds were louder,
the sounds of sizzling and then screaming, both quickly
overwhelmed by the smells and the pain of looking up and
seeing Karol’s face, being told not to breathe.

For a long moment he couldn’t. Karol was close, so close

to him. He hadn’t noticed him getting nearer. Then the
memory was gone.

“We’ve already done that,” he responded when he could,

but even whispered and soft, it pushed Karol back. He
stumbled without turning, then stood without comment at
the end of the counter.

Hart shoved a bowl and a spoon in Karol’s direction. He

hadn’t truly expected his food to have been drugged. At least
not today, but there had been enough of a possibility that
he’d had to check.

Karol only stood where he was, watching him, and Hart

lifted his head enough to glare at him. His heart would not
stop its damned racing.

“Eat.” he ordered. It wasn’t amusing, though he had

once thought it was, having to force the genius to eat. For all
his sybaritic nature, Karol never seemed to taste or enjoy his
food. It was simply something to keep him going.

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Karol grabbed his spoon and downed half the bowl of

stew. Hart could feel his attention on him but focused on his
own food.

“You still have the Sword-Arm.” Karol, naturally, broke

the silence. The Sword-Arm had been one of Karol’s ideas,
designed specifically for Hart. He tore into a piece of bread
and swallowed it in too-large chunks.

“As long as I keep it oiled, it works.” Hart did not look

up.

“Of course it does. I made it.” Karol swallowed bread

and then more stew. “But there is a small squeak in the
gears. If someone knew you had it, they would know it was
coming and you’d be compromised. I could….” He stopped to
shovel the last of his stew into his mouth. He dumped the
empty bowl back onto the tray and grabbed another piece of
bread.

“Offering to adjust my weapon?” That did bring Hart’s

eyes up, though the edge in his voice was too sharp for
teasing. Karol lifted an eyebrow, then twitched his mouth
into a flat line.

“I’m not in the service anymore, Hart,” he said as

though it was bloody obvious and Hart was a fool. “I’m no
longer part of that department.” And with that, he sprang to
his feet and took his bread into the lab with him.

ART

stayed where he was to finish eating, shoveling stew

into his face as mechanically as anything in the labs in the
main building. He could hear Karol tinkering around in the

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next room as he cleaned up, and took an apple with him as
he finally followed him into the laboratory.

“Why not?” Hart asked, continuing their conversation as

though there hadn’t been a break, since Karol seemed to
enjoy disregarding space and time, three years and half the
length of one city, and Karol turned to look at him as he
crossed to the sofa.

If he’d been in his office, in his home, Hart would have

paced or used his practice dummy to spar in order to expend
his excess energy. As that option wasn’t available and Karol
was watching him, he stopped at the sofa and ran a touch
over his gun, left his hand hooked into the hilt of his sword
for a moment. Karol noticed, naturally, and when he raised
an eyebrow, Hart dropped to sit on the sofa.

He leaned into the mess of shabby pillows and propped

his booted feet on the same stack of books. The room was
still too hot. He left his coat on but reached up to his shirt,
unbuttoning the top three buttons and pulling the fabric
apart.

Karol was too smart to pretend he didn’t follow, but his

gaze went to Hart’s exposed throat, to the open vee of his
legs, and then back to his bared skin for a long moment
before he spun back around to face his workbench. He had a
notebook open but ignored it to crank a small metal device.
Loose papers were everywhere, schematics and what looked
like maps, and Hart resolutely did not mention or think
about his desire to see things straightened or returned to
their proper places.

“It began to bore me,” Karol offered without turning, his

voice rasping.

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It could have been true. If Hart hadn’t shared so many

adventures with him, he might have believed it. But he knew
for a fact that Karol loved new things, new challenges and
mysteries, and the service, the work they had been doing,
had been anything but routine. Karol complained, but he
thrived on learning new systems, then conquering them. His
bed partners had never understood that, hadn’t realized
until too late that the mind that had taken them apart the
night before had no desire to put them back together. It was
a cruel spectacle, even from the outside, but similar to
watching Karol do anything else. He was something to see in
action, fearless where the pursuit of knowledge was
concerned.

Hart had stayed a mystery. Hart had kept himself a

mystery, as he’d known by then it was the one thing
guaranteed to drive Karol insane. It had only seemed fair in
the beginning to repay the man for the sleepless nights, for
having to run around after a whining amateur who had
alternately offended and charmed everyone he came into
contact with, for propositioning him on an almost nightly
basis. To simply say no over and over again when Karol had
asked.

With the distance of time, the rest had seemed almost

inevitable, like one of Karol’s scientific principles that were
always held to be true. Once they had grown used to each
other, once Karol had stopped treating Hart like a mindless
soldier whom he occasionally wished to screw, once Hart had
even come to rely on Karol’s ingenuity in sticky situations—
once that had happened, then Hart’s resistance to anything
else Karol had offered had become too glaring for someone
like Karol to ignore. He had countered—of course he had

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countered—like the scientist he was, by methodically
changing tactics, upping the pressure. By then Karol had
been accompanying him on nearly every mission. By then it
had been as natural as reaching for his pistol to have Karol
at his back and only harder not to keep him there always.

Challenging him like that had been reckless. Hart

should have told himself that he hadn’t been risking as
much as he’d known he would have been and given in,
should have gotten it over with, if only to allow them to
continue working together. Whatever Karol would have seen
in him and learned about him, however Hart would have felt
in the morning—he’d already witnessed the parade of
gullible, beautiful conquests in and out of Karol’s bed—it
couldn’t have possibly felt any better or worse.

Yet he hadn’t. Because of those conquests.
If those had been supposed to make Hart want to give

in, then it had been one of Karol’s rare miscalculations. Hart
wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t stupid enough to expose
himself for the sake of one night. When measuring out the
possible loss and possible gain, it hadn’t even been a
contest.

He had miscalculated too, of course. When he’d simply

been saying no to irk the young, demanding scientist in his
care, he hadn’t thought he would want to say yes so much
that years later he would still burn at the thought, or that
clinging to his refusals would become his only way of
meaning so much to the man. One rather pathetic victory,
when he thought of it now. It didn’t make him any less warm
to acknowledge it. Because Karol had burned too, still
burned. He’d never been able to hide that, what he’d wanted.
It was something.

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He raised his eyes, studied Karol’s bowed shoulders,

and didn’t think he imagined the tension there.

“You never could lie.” Karol wasn’t a spy and had spent

the past three years doing theoretical work and playing with
magnets and being safe. Perhaps that was it and not
boredom. Hart had often thought—hoped—that. Their final
mission together had been nothing but danger from start to
finish. Maybe Karol had grown tired of excitement, could
have finally seen reason and realized that he was too
valuable to be risked, no matter what his reasons. Hart
could not and would not blame the man for that. Not when
he’d spent years trying to convince Karol to stay out of
harm’s way.

Just over two years, actually, if he did the math. One

year less than they’d been apart. He should have felt more
foolish for letting the thoughts consume him. But though
Karol didn’t answer letters, didn’t keep a lover, couldn’t
manage to have one lab assistant stay with him, and had
only one person Hart knew about that he considered a real
friend, those three years remained sharp in his mind.

He was a fool. The thought was well known to him,

made him smile to himself, an unhappy smile. They were not
friends, but they hadn’t been strangers. Perhaps that was
why the lack of contact had still taken him by surprise.

He pulled a small knife from his coat and started to cut

a wedge of his apple. He could have stabbed it.

“Robert Hartley-Battridge and his coat of wonders,”

Karol remarked, and Hart realized Karol had been watching
him. He looked over again, and Karol was by his engine,

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regarding him evenly. “I thought you were content to cut
things to pieces with your words alone.”

There was a multitude of pockets in Hart’s coat,

concealing a multitude of sins along with a small arsenal, a
fact Karol was personally acquainted with. But Hart pushed
aside the memory of Karol in his coat, of being caught so
defenseless, then flashed Karol a grin and popped the bit of
apple into his mouth.

Karol’s words were so slick he might have oiled them.
“If I hadn’t seen you once woo a target to your bed with

no effort at all, I’d think you were nothing more than one of
the automatons the Americans are rumored to be building.”
Karol smiled innocently back at him, then crouched down to
toy with the box on the floor next to his engine.

Hart didn’t respond. He chewed, swallowed, then ate

another slice of apple. Karol was engrossed—or trying to
appear engrossed—in his work, so he put his head against
the back of the couch and let one foot fall to the floor. Karol’s
attention instantly flicked back to him, taking in his posture,
and then he was muttering to himself in a foreign tongue,
poking at his invention. He looked back up a moment later,
seemed startled to find Hart still tracking him.

Hart was staring and knew it. He always had, with the

excuse that he’d needed to keep an eye on a careless and
impatient genius with a tendency to get himself into trouble.
He had even fleetingly thought that Karol had started to seek
out the trouble to ensure Hart’s attention had been on him
at all times. Then he had had the thought that Karol had
merely enjoyed being watched.

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But Karol said nothing about it. He got up, grabbed a

set of pliers and his gloves, and then knelt back down on the
floor. Hart licked juice from his mouth and waited, but Karol
stayed quiet, not displaying himself but not objecting either,
and already his attention was starting to truly narrow back
to his work, as it always had and always would.

It was nearly like old times, Hart cooling his heels while

the mad genius worked. He crunched his apple, and it was
the only sound that wasn’t metal on metal, the springing
echo of wires touching wires. Whatever the result, there were
worse ways to pass the time. He’d always found the sounds
of Karol’s work soothing. Strange, when the construction
itself was often dangerous.

The room was warm. He took his time finishing his

apple, felt his breathing and his heart finally slow. Karol
impatiently rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms, then
slipped on gloves to twist wires together, muttering once or
twice—not that Hart understood a word.

He set the core to the side, wiped his knife on his

trousers and tucked it back away, guessed without looking
at his watch that an hour had passed, perhaps more. Hours
more to go in this house with Karol and then action,
something for him to do. Action enough to end this,
hopefully, until the next time, the next threat, and he would
have to stay ready, make sure others were as well. If he were
no longer here, someone would have to see to Karol’s safety.

“Does not making weapons preclude carrying any?” he

asked, genuinely curious, not that Karol had been good with
weapons.

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

“You know I can’t use them.” Karol wasn’t startled, only

sighed over his project as though he’d expected this
question. He was a difficult man to surprise. Hart’s mouth
quirked in another almost smile despite himself. “And you
will be there,” Karol added, and Hart blinked. He wasn’t sure
what was more startling—that Karol knew Hart would be
there for him tomorrow though he hadn’t said so or Karol
calling Hart a weapon.

It was far too astute, even from someone as brilliant as

Karol. Hart nearly closed his eyes.

“But you want me safe,” Karol went on, but now at least

Hart wasn’t surprised any more at what the man had worked
out. What he knew. “You want me safe,” he repeated softly,
still not looking up, “and I’ve no wish to die. I can wear
something… if you insist.”

Hart coughed.
“I insist,” he said drily. Only Karol could make his face

flame and make him want to smile in the same moment. He
could ignore the rest, the feeling in Karol’s voice that the
man had tried to bury in his offended tone. He could assume
it was worry for tomorrow if he had to think on it. He sat up.
“Do you want to hear the plan now?”

“No. I already know what will happen. How you’ll clean

up the mess someone else has made.” Karol shifted up to
reach for his goggles. Once on, they hid most of his face. He
pushed himself back; then, as though goggles were enough
protection, he flipped a small toggle on the engine.

It started up slowly, roaring to life and instantly creating

a palpable heat as well a racket. Karol looked at it and then
at Hart before flipping the toggle switch back down. It took a

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moment for the engine to fully stop, and then Karol was
taking off his goggles and bending over to peer at the box on
the floor.

It was important, Hart was sure, but not as important

as Karol’s life.

“Really?” He couldn’t help pressing, foolishly, with that

much force across the room from him. “It’s been a long time
since you’ve done this work.”

“Yes. Three years.” Karol knew it too. Said it with more

ease than Hart could have. He shrugged. “But you’re the
same. And I know you, Robert.”

“I thought nothing remained static.” He was breathing

too hard once again, though Karol didn’t know everything
about him. Couldn’t. It was just his way, an experiment, a
random thought tossed out and gauged for a reaction. It was
always like this with him, the air charged so much his hair
should have stood on end. Challenging a genius was a stupid
thing to do, as he bloody well knew. Positively reckless as far
as Hart was concerned, like taking unnecessary chances,
but he didn’t call the words back.

Karol stiffened. His head came up at last. There were

faint lines of grease over his cheekbones to mark where the
goggles had been, and that small line between his eyes. Hart
held still but had the feeling that Karol knew how he
functioned inside and out, that to him there wasn’t any
difference between that engine on the floor and his heart
beating in his chest.

“You will leave me to walk to and from my presentation

alone. You’ll watch me from a distance, and I think it likely
that there will be others, disguised, to watch me too. You

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have been promoted, so they will be your men and women,
and well trained because you would insist. And you’ll have
planned on several, because one person alone wouldn’t
attempt to take a grown man, and so there will be several
would-be kidnappers. They will either coerce me through
some unknown means or use a something to render me
unconscious….” Karol paused almost thoughtfully.

“I don’t know if you are going to put me in a room by

myself after my presentation or make me walk alone.
Whichever it is, if an attempt occurs, you will be there, doing
your duty. I’ve no doubt of that, Hart. You won’t hesitate to
jump into the fire….” His focus returned to Hart’s face, and
he swallowed. “Because someone has ordered you to. Your
devotion to your cause is one factor in you that has not
altered.”

“Some things I do for myself, Karol.” He’d said the name,

and his temper flared up in him, nearly as bright as the glow
in Karol’s eyes at hearing it. Damn it all to hell. But it was
out, and he lifted his chin, raised his voice. “I choose to do
this. To serve. To be here.”

“That’s worth all of you?” It was Karol’s turn to push

him, and no, no, Hart hadn’t come here to be figured out, to
be studied for no result. For any result. Because Karol had
never had Hart. Because Karol was bored. Whatever the
reason.

“You used to think so, when you traipsed along behind

me, kvetching about the experiments waiting on you. I don’t
recall forcing you to go.” He snapped, refusing to be amused
when his use of that word, kvetching, actually made Karol let
out a small laugh.

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“Oh, so you haven’t forgotten everything.” He spoke

snidely though his gaze was warm, and Hart looked away,
looked back, nearly dropped his head again at the
appreciation in Karol’s eyes.

“In fact….” He should have changed the subject, not

tried to make Karol laugh again. “I recall a night in Calais
when you found two stable boys and kept an entire inn
awake with your… enthusiasm.”

Karol’s expression clouded, then cleared.
“Calais?” he repeated with a slowness Hart didn’t

understand. “That’s not how I remember that evening.” As
though he had stable boys every night, as in truth he might.
Hart frowned but didn’t have to ask. “I remember you were
bruised from head to toe after falling—jumping, you
claimed—from a high window and surviving only through the
grace of a hay cart—”

“I knew the cart was there before I jumped,” he objected

instantly, as he had at the time. He had needed a fast exit.
“And I wasn’t bruised from head to toe.” The bruises hadn’t
fully developed until several days later. Karol rolled on as
though he hadn’t said a word.

“And then when you said no to my generous offer to

make you feel better….” He did pause at Hart’s muffled
snort. That “generous offer” had involved Karol appearing in
his room with a bottle of brandy, and Karol swaying into his
space, already well into his cups and probably blind to who
he’d been talking to. “I had to… find something to do with
myself. They did want you to join us, you know, but I had to
explain to them that you were really a eunuch.”

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Hart bit his tongue and left that unchallenged, though

he could have answered. He and everyone else in that inn
had heard them, heard everything they’d done and said. If
Karol had mentioned him while with them, Hart might have
walked away then. Or gone down there to bring him back.

The furious stares from the innkeeper and his wife the

next morning had been no worse than his own glare into his
looking glass as he had shaved, though he had been smiling
when Karol had emerged from his room to demand a cup of
any tea that wasn’t chamomile.

“Huh,” he said instead. Karol was looking, and so he

smiled. The same smile. “Then there was when you told off
some other researcher for being a—what was it? An
‘addlepated, inbred, fossilized, antiquated boob with the
sense of a French cow’?”

His smile actually widened. The good times hadn’t quite

balanced out the peril they’d usually been in, especially in
those early days, but they had been memorable. “It was
enjoyable work at times.” Exciting in those moments when it
hadn’t been exhausting, painful, and deadly.

“But you don’t do that anymore.” Karol was motionless,

with one hand resting over his precious metal box. “You stay
in the city.” Hart hadn’t thought Karol had been that aware
of where he’d been, his current assignment. When he stared,
Karol shrugged and pulled a pencil from his back pocket to
scribble something on a stray piece of paper. It looked like a
calculation. “I thought you would never leave your field
service. I thought you could no more stop than I can stop
this. That you knew no other way to serve.”

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“I suppose needs must.” Hart cut him off, waved

distractedly toward his face, the rather undisguisable
evidence of who he was and where he worked. But when
Karol’s hands stilled, he kept on, rolling a shoulder at the
memory. He would have stayed in the field for as long he’d
been needed, but his change of assignment had not been
entirely unwelcome. At first it had been merely a way to stay
useful as he’d healed, to distract himself from the sickbed,
and then it had become a challenge in its own right. “But I
was…sick of being in the dark, by the end.”

“Sick of the dark.” Karol puffed out a breath that was

not a laugh. Hart looked sharply at him, but Karol’s eyes
were on his work. “And what you do now is different?” It was
impossible to tell if or why Karol was truly curious.

He was talking and doing math that most would have

needed the analytical computing engine in the academy’s
basement to solve. “Others mention you to me frequently.
They tell me—hint—that you monitor the entire city. Uncover
its secrets.”

“You could say that.” His job, technically, was

overseeing the interests of the Crown in regards to the city of
London. He had agents, both open and undisclosed, working
in the major businesses and organizations in the city,
including the Yard. He was to monitor and analyze
information and anticipate any potential threats, though the
decisions to act on them were not solely his to make. “I keep
track of many things.” Of everything. Karol’s eyebrow went
up, and he took a moment to study him.

“No more dark, Robert?” he wondered, his lips

twitching. “That’s good.” Then he glanced up for perhaps one
second. “It seems a job you would enjoy. So many to care for.

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No time for yourself.” As though Karol didn’t need a minder
to help him remember to eat. He pulled out his notebook to
write down whatever his conclusion was. “Perhaps you are
even treated with respect.”

“I do enjoy having people listen to me. It’s a refreshing

change.” Hart crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. He
leaned forward a few inches, put his other foot on the
ground. “Or… are you asking if I’m with someone?”

He grinned when that got him a glare, though he wanted

to move, to get to his feet and pace, or just walk across the
room to Karol and haul him to his feet so he could ask him if
that truly was what he’d meant and why he hadn’t asked
before this.

“Go fuck yourself,” Karol swore at him, tossing down his

notebook. It was stupid to press harder when he only had to
wait and this would all be over. But Karol was doing his
math and had known where he was all this time and hadn’t
bothered to….

Hart clenched his jaw, then worked it as he leaned back

to feign relaxation again. His hands itched with the need to
touch his gun, to feel the length of the barrel and what had
been carved into the steel, Karol’s notion of a joke, or so he
had always thought.

“Did you want to know?” he wondered, too sweet but

also too loud. “You’ve had three years to ask.” Karol’s head
came up. Hart slouched down, knocked over a book when he
propped up his feet once more. He didn’t pick it up. Karol’s
gaze was steady on him, focused. “Since… Austria, I think it
was.”

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He damn well knew it was. It had been the last time he’d

laid eyes on Karol. In the infirmary, a fortnight after being
home, he’d learned Karol had left the service.

“Hart.” Karol said his name again, his nickname, softly,

“Hart,” and nothing else for a several minutes. Then when
Hart looked at him, when Hart took his hand from the Latin
script that decorated the pistol Karol had made for him, he
turned away and replaced his goggles. “You talk about the
past like an old man, and I have work to do. Be quiet or go
away.”

He flipped the toggle before Hart could respond, and

noise filled the room.

ART

eventually grabbed a book from the piles. Most had

been read only once, but Karol was right—dwelling on the
past was a waste of time. He should never have mentioned it.

The book he chose was an odd book for Karol to own,

full of statistics on crime in the city, the same kinds of
reports that crossed Hart’s desk. The worse sections in town,
the best, the economic differences, where the serving class
and the middle class congregated, the refugee communities,
all the divisions within London and the outskirts of the city.

The next book he found was on factories and the dirt

they sent into the air along with the plumes of steam. It was
dry reading but something to focus on besides the man he
was guarding. When Hart looked up after a few chapters, the
sky was darker through the window, and the room was dim.

He would need to get more food. Hart stretched as he

rose, didn’t look to see if Karol was watching this time as he

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

made his way to the other room. He added fuel to the stove
and rolled his shoulders at the sticky heat.

He went to the door to order more food and then bent

down to pull the small, old-fashioned revolver tucked into
his boot. He spun the barrel to make sure everything was in
place, though he always kept it loaded, then nodded and set
it on the counter. Karol would want tea, so he started water
boiling, then put a hand to his remaining gun when the food
arrived—with a knock this time.

Shepherd’s pie. As bland as ever, and again free of any

drugs that he could detect. As satisfied as he could be, he
went back to the door and gave the signal for the guards to
leave for the night. Just a man with his lover sending away
any witnesses. The tower was under surveillance, so he and
Karol were only slightly less protected, but he held his
breath until they were gone, then closed and locked the door.

The Zoo’s rule was no locking the doors during

experiments in case of explosions or fires, but privately Hart
thought it was because the locks were cheap and flimsy and
utterly useless. He hesitated at that, then reset the trip-wire
alarm.

Just a bell, he told himself, and smart of Karol at that.
He had to clear his throat to call out once he was done.
“This is the time of day when normal people eat their

supper so that others don’t find them passed out in their
labs and have to carry them to the sofa.” Karol had passed
out a few times, though Hart had only tried to lead Karol to
the sofa on one occasion. A softhearted and stupid mistake,
with Karol waking up warm and cross, his temper fading as
he’d realized who had him.

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His hands had been at Hart’s chest. His mouth at his

neck. It was the closest they had ever been without danger
involved.

Hart turned away the moment Karol appeared in the

doorway to frown at him for the interruption, then went back
to the counter area that served as a makeshift kitchen and
dining room. He perched on a stool and started eating.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Karol notice the

revolver. He reached out, touched it, then withdrew his hand
and pulled his food closer instead.

“This one? You still carry this too?” The lilt left Hart

uncertain. He continued to eat, and so did Karol, though the
man’s fingers wandered back to the gun, explored it without
picking it up. “What about the other?”

The gun at Hart’s sword belt was heavier, too obvious

for someone like Karol to use, much less conceal. Hart
touched the grip out of reflex, then waved his hand. It had
been another of Karol’s ideas, though Karol hadn’t made it. A
repeat-firing gun, with bullets preloaded into an attachment
that clipped into the grip. There was a switch so Hart could
fire it several times yet only cock it once. They were standard
for certain officers now, though Hart was still carrying the
prototype, and his was the only one marked with Karol’s
name and the language of the ancients.

He shrugged.
“It still works.” Had never failed him, in fact. Though he

didn’t need to use it anywhere but at target practice these
days. He kept loaded attachment clips in his coat. “But I
want you to carry that tomorrow.”

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“I have not once ever hit a target more than a few feet

from me.”

“If they get a few feet from you tomorrow, then it won’t

matter where you hit them as long as you hit them
somewhere and then run like hell.” It was not a scenario
Hart was comfortable contemplating. The fact that Karol had
never listened did not make the thought easier. He grunted
and looked up. “Now eat.”

“Yes, Mama.” Karol wrinkled his nose, then smiled over

his pie and licked gravy from his mouth. Hart let a small huff
of a laugh slip out, then frowned at himself. This was
serious.

“Taking care of yourself is as much a part of this work

as anything else. You have to be ready, not weak from
hunger.”

“I know the speech, Hart. You gave it to me years ago,

when I first, ah, ‘interfered with my objective and put us
both in jeopardy’ with my growling stomach.” The direct
quote started another laugh out of Hart, then made him
frown harder. Karol had said he didn’t want to talk about the
past.

“It’s still valid,” Hart said at last so he wouldn’t add

anything else. Karol nodded, though the reminder to eat
would be forgotten in hours if not minutes, Hart was certain.
Hart leaned forward and looked up from his boring meal.
When he poked his fork at the air, Karol’s eyebrows went up.

“Nothing must stand between you and the job you’ve

been told to do,” he asserted, only to suddenly recall that
he’d heard these words before, those exact words when a
younger C and their old Section Chief, K, had informed him

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that he would be protecting a government asset on a trip to
Stamboul—a scientist who had not lasted two days at the
training facility in the North. Hart’s objections then had been
overruled.

He had stopped objecting aloud after that. But his mood

about his assignment had not improved until they had been
in a palace in Stamboul and Karol had stopped complaining
and snapped to attention over a seemingly harmless switch
in the wall and discovered a secret panel, and behind that a
device recording their voices in wax—which he had then
proceeded to yell obscenities into.

On the return trip, in a tiny train compartment,

exhausted and only slightly singed, Hart had asked why a
scientist like Karol had asked to do this work when he could
have done anything else. Karol had answered him with an
eye roll and then stared out the window.

“My father had a belief—tikkun olam—contribute to the

world. Perfect it. Leave it a better place,” he’d said minutes
later, when Hart had just let himself ease into his seat. Then
Karol had turned to him and offered him a blindingly
beautiful, incredibly cocky smile. “And also I was curious.
How hard can it be if monkeys do it?”

By which he’d meant Hart, and had never taken that

back no matter how many times Hart had saved his life
afterward. Though he had looked ridiculously grateful—if
startled—the first time Hart had shoved him to the ground
and given return fire, and then only alarmingly thoughtful
when Hart had done the same time and time again without
hesitation.

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

And although on missions after that, Karol had

continued to rant about anything and everything from the
weather to the smell of certain officials, he had started to
turn his brilliant mind to improving Hart’s weapons, to
reviewing cases before Hart could ask his opinion. Hart’s
assignments then had generally been urgent in nature,
recently uncovered plans of a dangerous new weapon that
had to be destroyed or stolen, a plot already in motion to
assassinate an important figure, mole hunts and cover-ups.

Cleaning up other people’s messes, as Karol had

referred to it. Hart had preferred to call it eliminating
threats, but Karol had been insistent to Hart and anyone
higher up who would listen that those situations would
never have arisen if others had been doing their jobs with
half of Hart’s skill.

Hart had known better than to take that as a

compliment. He suspected it was simply the way Karol
functioned—see a problem, fix it. See a wrong, right it.

It was why Hart had never forgotten that answer. Tikkun

olam. Not once. He took it to heart now that it was part of his
job to place agents and oversee those missions. He would see
them done well, done right, and hopefully leave the world a
better place. To make it worth the price paid.

He chewed the last of his food, swallowed, then glanced

over.

“Did you file patents on any of these inventions, Karol?”

he asked with a straight face, though he knew the answer,
and Karol knew he did.

“Yes.” Karol didn’t quite keep the defiance out of his

voice. His expression went from amused to vaguely wary. He

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was telling the truth; he had filed for patents on some of his
inventions. But not all of them, not even close to it. It was
Hart’s turn to grin.

“You know I see everything in my city.”
“Your city. And people say I’m arrogant,” Karol scoffed

quietly, then stabbed his fork into what was left of his pie
and shrugged. “Knowledge belongs to everyone,” he admitted
after a few minutes of Hart watching him. He rolled his
shoulders again. Hart felt his grin getting wider.

“Something greater than even Karol Zieliński?” He

pretended to be shocked and got a piece of crust tossed at
him. It hit his coat, but Karol made an irritated face before
Hart could and leaned over to flick the piece away.

With such consideration and restraint, it was almost as

though Karol had matured. A little. But if he wasn’t the man
who called Hart a monkey on their first mission together,
then he wasn’t a sober, respectable man of science either.
Hart looked down without commenting on the crust now on
the floor. But there was enough of that young, first Karol
present that he had questions.

He closed his mouth until he was certain only one

would emerge.

“Why did you express an interest in the Ministry?” he

asked for the second time. “Boredom?” As though there
weren’t anything Karol couldn’t conquer. It was why other
scientists and the Crown both needed him despite his prickly
nature; with enough time, Karol could solve any riddle.

“No one else was remotely qualified.” Karol got up and

slipped around to fuss with the teakettle.

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“We did manage before your arrival,” Hart pointed out

with some pride in his department, and even with the man’s
back turned to him, he knew Karol rolled his eyes. “Though
your work was, of course, invaluable.”

Karol snorted softly, then went about fixing up a new

cup of tea for Hart, sugared and creamed just how he liked
it.

“But it’s… I’m….” Damn. Hart had forgotten that, the

sudden loss of words when Karol would turn to him like this,
no longer bragging but simply listening, making him tea,
softer in a way he rarely was for anyone. He accepted his tea
and took a sip. “It’s good that you’ve found work that suits
you,” he finished at last, though the details of much of
Karol’s work had been kept from him, he knew now. It was
something to bring up later. He could not do his job well if
such things were kept from him, even if he had his
suspicions as to why he’d been left in the dark.

He’d had no idea that engine would be there, which

meant Karol had been asked to look into something by men
possibly higher ranking than even C—or that Karol had
asked that Hart not know, but Hart found he did not want to
imagine that and licked his mouth.

Karol didn’t make himself any tea. “Been keeping a file

on me, Hart?”

“Yes. You’re a dangerous man.” He meant it. Karol

blinked rapidly, looked surprised for a moment and then
doubtful. He still did not seem inclined to boast as he finally
turned to pour himself a cup.

“Me?” he demanded. “You have half the people here

scared witless, and the rest….” Karol came back around the

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counter with his cup in both hands and swept a long look
over Hart, from his boots to his hair.

Hart absolutely refused to be embarrassed or indicate

any kind of shock. Though if he had been the sort of man to
sit and lament about justice, he would have thought that it
had never been fair how one look from Karol could affect
him. He merely swallowed and kept his tone droll.

“Glad I have that effect.” He arched an eyebrow to

express his doubt. His scars weren’t that bad compared to
some of the soldier’s scars from chemical attacks that he’d
seen, but he thought fear more likely than lust. He was a
tall, fit man with an enigmatic reputation, but he wasn’t an
Adonis.

Nonetheless, he ran a hand over the collar of his coat,

and his fingers brushed his left cheek.

“They aren’t as bad as I’d heard.” Karol was watching

him intently and commented the moment he saw the
gesture. Hart immediately frowned and focused on him. In
the hospital he had assumed that either Karol had lost
interest in him because of the damage or had been too
frightened to look on him. But Karol’s eyes moved easily over
his face over and over, learning it anew.

“I’m not ashamed of them.” He managed to keep his

voice clear of his confusion, not to hint at what was trapped
in his chest. But Karol looked at him, and he felt an urge to
move, to bring himself closer to the other man.

“Oh?” Karol turned and spared him that humiliation. He

headed back to his laboratory and blew on the surface of his
tea. His tone was somewhere between a sneer and gentle

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request for an answer. “Do you wear them with pride, as a
symbol of your love of your country?”

A love of his country. Hart stopped, flicked his gaze

safely to the side though Karol was already in the next room.

There wasn’t an answer to that he could give. He gulped

his tea, swallowed too much too quickly, and spent a
moment quietly choking.

He finished the cup and put it down before going into

the other room too. He positioned himself at the edge of the
sofa so the doorway would be in his direct line of sight, and
only then did he look at Karol, who was sipping tea and
making notations.

“Tomorrow.” Hart was obviously changing the subject

and didn’t much care. “I won’t be with you. I’m, as you
pointed out, recognizable.” His mouth felt dry despite the
tea. “There’s an upper balcony in the lecture hall. I’ll be
there. As for the rest, I doubt they’ll snatch you openly or
drug you, since then they’d have to carry you, and that tends
to attract attention.”

Karol actually smiled. As that hadn’t been meant as a

joke, Hart furrowed his brow.

“They’ll lure you off and smuggle you to a house

somewhere in the city or right out of the country.” If they
could do that, they were well connected and most likely had
one or two operatives entrenched in the academy. Which was
infuriating. It was more infuriating to realize his superiors
had been right. This had to work as a trap, to draw out
everyone they possibly could. He clenched his jaw—this
situation should never have been allowed to reach this

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point—but then refocused on Karol and the task at hand.
“As for the lure, you have one obvious weakness and….”

He stopped at Karol’s sudden, caught stare. The light in

the room was fading fast, but he could see the wash of color
through Karol’s face, how his hand hovered over his
notebook.

“Your… conquests,” Hart explained slowly, and

something curious flickered across Karol’s expression. Gears
were turning and clicking behind his eyes, and for a moment
he was quiet enough that Hart could hear the chiming from
the clock tower across the river.

“Oh,” Karol commented at last, carefully closing his

notebook and dropping his pencil. He straightened from his
workbench without taking his eyes from Hart. He’d noticed
something. Hart could tell and felt sweat prickling under his
arms as he wondered what he’d given away. “Those,” Karol
said a moment after that and waved a hand. He sat back
down on the floor. “I don’t recall any of them complaining.”

“No. That comes in the morning when you forget their

names.” Hart’s voice hadn’t betrayed him at least, staying
flat and even. “Have you looked at your door lately?” He tried
a smirk. Karol focused on him for another moment, with one
glove on and one off, then offered him a small shrug.

That focus was like being taken apart. Hart could only

imagine how being under that focus in bed would feel. Had
only imagined it, for years, along with the conclusion that
Karol would inevitably reach once he did, the way he’d
reached one now.

There was a light in his eyes, but it must be for

something else. His work.

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“Hart,” he began, and Hart did not hold his breath,

though he wanted to. Karol’s expression was too thoughtful.
“Do you ever wonder if things remain connected even after
they have been separated? That between them there is and
always will be a connection, even if it cannot be seen with
the naked eye, even if it is only in their smallest particles?”

If true, it meant that no matter what he did, a part of

him would always be here, something terrifying and bright
yet impossible to refute. It felt true, with the pull in his
chest, and he only kept his face blank with effort.

“You know I’m no scientist, Karol.” Or a philosopher or

any kind of wizard. He was just a soldier, or as good as, as
far as the rest of the world was concerned. A spy turned
spymaster. A rag and bone man, sent to do the picking up.

Karol gave a short, dark, unsurprised laugh, bringing a

furious heat to Hart’s face.

“That couldn’t be more obvious. You, Robert, think in

mazes and traps and possible threats. Never in straight
lines.” He grabbed his goggles and hid his face before Hart
could react to what was probably an insult. “You don’t see
the connections that others cannot miss because you’re
looking around them,” he added as he bent over the small
device on the floor and started twisting wires into it. “Which
reminds me, I have work to do.”

T WAS

a dismissal or an assumption that Hart would let the

subject go. Or perhaps just a distraction meant to keep Hart
wondering about connections for hours.

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He did not. There was more dull reading material in

front of him that likely had to do with whatever Karol had
been asked to look into by the Crown, but Hart had no
interest in that any more than he had in pondering bonds
between things he couldn’t see. He sat quietly until it was on
the tip of his tongue to demand how Karol could work in
such darkness, and his tired body started to remind him
that it had been some time since he’d last slept and the dark
was tempting.

Then he shifted, stretching. The tea was not going to

keep him awake much longer.

He looked across the room. Karol seemed entirely

absorbed in his work. Which had nothing to do with
connections, unless he meant the strands of wire strung
from nearly everything in the room that had moving parts.
There were wires going up the walls and wires along the
floor. There was a rubber tube coming from the fireplace
heating machine, which undoubtedly had wires in it too.

He cleared his throat.
“Is this what tomorrow is about?” He meant either the

presentation to the academy or the information others were
after. Karol stopped, then peered blindly at him before
discarding his goggles. He shifted in the next moment,
stretching until his bones cracked.

“You don’t know?” He looked amazed, then tossed his

head. “Of course you don’t. No one thought to tell you. If
they had, we would not be in this fix….” He pushed out his
lips, then twisted his head to crack his neck as well.

“My network said you wouldn’t be demonstrating

anything.” Hart moved on to prevent another discussion on

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how idiotic he was to allow his government to order him
around without knowing all the facts.

“Your network isn’t entirely useless.” Karol fiddled with

the smaller of the small metal boxes on the floor and then
got to his feet. His shirt was untucked once again, if still
buttoned, but when he stretched, Hart had the feeling it was
more out of discomfort at sitting on the floor than an attempt
to display himself. “This is an engine that generates a certain
kind of electricity.”

“I’ve seen those before,” Hart protested. Electricity

generators gave charges to the batteries that kept every
wireless running, and most other devices that had to be
portable or were not able to be hooked up to large
generators, like the one at the water mill outside the royal
residence.

“This one is better.” Karol actually chided him for

thinking anything less, and it was Hart’s turn to roll his
eyes. “It is smaller and more efficient and has withstood
every demand I’ve made on it in the past year. It can provide
power to everything in this tower, with some to spare.”

“But there’s no water or steam—” Hart stopped,

squinted. “The mills on the top of the tower?” he wondered
and was grateful for the dark when Karol beamed a smile at
him. “Why?” It was the least of his questions.

Karol closed up his notebook, put it and his gloves

carefully on his workbench.

“I can’t stand the stench and the noise of the trains.” As

though that explained it all, he put his back to Hart and
straightened his tools. “I thought perhaps something that did
not require so much….”

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“That’s going to power a train?” He shouldn’t have let

himself sound so shocked. Karol turned around just to look
offended.

“This is only the first one. I made it small to fit in here.

And obviously I don’t have enough wind power to push a
train.” He nearly stamped his foot at the apparent insult. “Do
you honestly think I couldn’t make an engine that would run
a train if I wanted to?”

“Of course you could.” Hart leaned back, arranging his

head on a cushion just so, and was amused when his lack of
reaction threw Karol for a moment. “You can do anything,
Karol.”

Karol straightened, watching him through the dark.

“Well,” he said after a moment, then waved at his creation to
hide his pleasure at Hart’s remark.

“To be on a larger scale, it would need safeguards as

well as a steady supply of power.” He waved at the smaller
box. “Something to both measure the power being generated
and to stop it if there’s too much.” He frowned. “Electricity
sometimes seems to have a mind of its own.”

“Poor Karol, can’t control everything,” Hart sympathized,

tongue in cheek, though that was as close to humility as
Karol would likely ever get. “What else could it run?” he
asked before he was snapped at. Karol took an audible
breath, surprised somehow by the question. He stepped to
another part of the workbench.

“The entire city if there were enough of them,” he

admitted, pleased with himself yet breathless, almost
nervous. He stopped with his hand over a panel of switches.

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“The entire…?” Hart blinked, knew his voice got rough.

“That’s astounding, Karol. That’s….” Both beautiful and
frightening. Electricity was often unstable, and the scale he
was thinking of…. “Stations full of rows of these things…?”
He finished his own thought out loud. “Those would be
instant targets if we were ever attacked. From a dirigible they
would be clearly visible.”

Karol huffed a laugh. “I thought that would occur to

you, though I was hoping it would wait.” Hart wasn’t certain
what to address first, that Karol was thinking of wiring all of
London or that Karol had anticipated his reaction. “Perhaps
the wires could be run underground in the train tunnels, but
I haven’t discussed it yet. But it is not my job, Robert. My
task is to create. It is yours to protect.”

“Underground.” Being around Karol for any length of

time meant anything started to sound reasonable.
“Underground,” Hart repeated, which was as good as saying
yes, and they both knew it. The planning for that would be
considerable. He was going to have to consult the service, to
consult Hart to implement such an idea. He wondered if
Karol had discussed that yet, if somehow this was why he
hadn’t wanted Hart to know until now.

Hart wasn’t moving, but neither was Karol. The room

was getting darker and colder because Karol hadn’t added
any wood to his fire in some time and the heater could only
do so much, but Hart had the sense that Karol was waiting.
He tried to make himself sound less stunned and failed.
“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is about that,” he pointed to box on the floor,

the safety mechanism for his generator. “And I suppose
about your city….” As though London belonged to Hart

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because he watched over it. But he didn’t get a chance to
interrupt. “That’s not dangerous, Robert.”

“Bringing fire to the masses?” Hart asked in a low voice,

though Karol wouldn’t get the allusion. He rejected the
ancients as he rejected poetry. “Yes it is,” he explained just
as quietly. It was a steadier, stronger source of power. “It’s
worth killing for and worth dying for.” Karol still wasn’t
moving. “But you knew that.”

“I had no intention of keeping it a secret.” He didn’t see

Karol move, but the glass bulbs above them flared to life.
Hart looked up, blinded and not caring, not for a few
moments, at least. He’d never seen lights so bright, never
seen so many glowing steadily without a single flicker. It was
the sun at night.

He looked over at Karol, just his silhouette as his eyes

adjusted to the new light. He wondered if this could be seen
for kilometers, seen across the river, through the windows.
He thought it likely.

There was no hiding this; Karol was right.
“Nothing and no one left in the dark. Imagine London

like this, Robert.” Karol was pleased, probably at rendering
him speechless; he was watching him closely.

He meant it, Hart suddenly realized. Karol could light

up the city. Because he could, because he felt he should. A
London like that meant a Britain like that. And then
America. The colonies. France and Europe. The world.

“So some things are worth the price?” Karol had to have

been working on this for years. Karol’s mouth fell open at
Hart’s question, and then he threw his head and hands up
to address the bulbs on the ceiling.

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“I give him light, and this he asks me?” He demanded of

them and then shook his head. When he lowered it, he was
scowling.

“Karol, this is….” Beautiful. Hart tried to explain and

was cut off.

“Incredible. Amazing. I know.” He stalked into the other

room, poured himself a cup of cold tea, and didn’t bother
with cream. He marched back in to the lab and drank it in
two gulps, then did something so that only some of the bulbs
remained lit up and the light was bearable, pleasant. “I still
have work to do.”

“Of course,” Hart agreed after a pause, not wanting to

interfere anymore. Not with this. But Karol shoved his empty
cup out of his way and pulled a different device from one of
his shelves and began taking it apart with short, impatient
motions.

Hart already knew he wouldn’t be reading anymore. He

studied Karol for a few moments, frowning when he realized
he didn’t know what to say or what was wrong, though he
could feel the crackle in the air.

He got up, stretching his back and working his arms.

His shoulders were stiff, but the tension wasn’t going to
leave just because he wished it to. He rolled them a few
times and swung a look to the other room; then he looked to
Karol, pausing when Karol’s eyes were already on him.

His hand nearly fell to his pistol, but he swept it quickly

away as he shrugged off his coat. He folded it over one end of
the sofa—within reach—and then let out the smallest sigh as
he straightened. He never bothered with a waistcoat unless
the weather was cold, and the chill in the air after all that

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heat was refreshing. He stretched again before adjusting his
sword and the sword belt, leaving his gun there, though he
allowed his thumb to run over the grip.

“You’re nervous?” Karol had noticed the gesture. It was

a sign of anxiety that Hart had never been able to fully
control when he was verging on exhaustion. He shot a glare
in Karol’s direction, stopped when he saw Karol staring at
him. He wasn’t surprised, wasn’t even embarrassed though
he wasn’t as bold or as beautiful as Karol. Karol had never
hidden his desires, but it felt new somehow to have Karol
seeing him with his coat off.

It had happened before, wasn’t anything to alarm him.

But he held still for the time Karol’s gaze was at his
shoulders and back, then for when it slid to his waist and
backside and then his thighs. Then Karol inhaled, and Hart
turned back to what he’d been doing. He pulled at the
suspenders holding up his trousers where they’d twisted
before sitting back down.

“Nervous?” His hands did not tremble. Hart left them in

his lap, near his gun, as he lay back. He arched an eyebrow.

“About tomorrow….” Karol’s voice seemed hoarse, only

grew worse when Hart dragged one hand through his hair
and let out another sigh. It sent his style all to hell and left
hair in his eyes, but he shook his head to refute the idea.
Karol didn’t seem to believe it. Perhaps because he knew it
was a lie.

“I am only anticipating dangers.” Dangers he should

have been allowed more time to prepare for.

“I won’t bollocks it up, Hart.” He couldn’t determine if

Karol was in a snit or attempting to be reassuring and

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failing. “I never have before. Well,” he mused, and his
sincerity was painfully amusing. “On a few occasions, when I
was new to the work and didn’t know what you expected of
me. Namely to shut my mouth and stay back.”

“I’m not worried that you’ll bollocks it up,” Hart assured

him, letting his eyes close for a moment. Though he had
already anticipated Karol’s disregard for orders in his
commands to his men. “I’m tired, and….” He would never
understand why nearly every conversation between them
ended with him torn between wanting to tell Karol to be quiet
or wanting to kiss him. He sighed and dragged his eyes open.
“I’m not in the mood to fight, all right?”

He should never have come here so unprepared. Though

if there had been a way to prepare, he hadn’t learned it in
two years of steady contact. He moved his head until he was
comfortable, then peered over.

“You didn’t sleep last night. You ought to now, Karol. I’ll

stand guard.”

“Guard.” Karol’s mouth tightened. “When you are ready

to fall asleep at this moment. Or would be, if you could be
assured that I was safe. I….” He pushed his palm against his
workbench and straightened. “You’re anxious and tense.”

That he was, a situation that only worsened when Karol

looked him over and wet his mouth.

Hart knew that look but refused to think that he had

been waiting for it or holding his breath for what he knew
Karol was going to say next.

“I can help you relax, Hart.” The words took the air,

then expanded to fill it, and when Hart inhaled, he breathed
them in. Brown eyes were fixed on him, lit in a way that said

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Karol was well aware that Hart had already waited too long
to answer.

He couldn’t blame his state of exhaustion. He’d known

Karol would offer and had let himself flush with desire before
Karol had opened his lips, had let himself think that they no
longer worked together and thus there was no reason to say
no. He thought it again. If he wished, he never had to see
Karol again. It should have been an easy decision, as easy to
leave Karol as it had been for Karol to leave him.

“Now that’s something I’ve missed hearing in the past

few years,” he remarked with a coolness that came with too
much practice. “Luckily I’ve gotten along fine without it.”

Karol hurled the notebook at him and swore when Hart

caught it and tossed it atop the other books.

“You were always a bastard.” He was panting, shaking

the items on his workbench for a moment. “Stubborn
jackass. Blind even before you got that patch you tried to
hide from me.” Karol’s hands curled at his sides, and Hart
felt his lips part. His breath was coming much too fast. He
stood up, but Karol kept talking. “You are a ridiculous, hard
man, Robert, and for three years I was free of you and how
you always say no with your little smiles.”

Hart moved, though he had no destination. Evasion

pattern number eight, he thought: just keep moving. He got to
the doorway and turned just as he heard Karol following
after him.

“But never explaining. Not you,” Karol shot at him. “I

saw you watch me.” He was watching too, his attention
sharp on Hart’s face. Hart clenched his jaw without denying
it, because he could not, and their eyes met. Karol sucked in

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a breath, swayed in place, but the storm clouds in his
expression didn’t lift.

“Why no, Robert? Why not me? Am I not enough?” Karol

stepped forward. He wasn’t intimidating, wasn’t any kind of
a physical threat, but he made the air thicken and time slow.
His skin was hot, and Hart fell back to keep himself from
putting his hands to Karol’s bare arms. He pressed himself
to the wall. It was the only thing to keep him from being
drawn forward.

No one else made him risk so much. No one else made

him want to. He did not think there had ever truly been a
chance to save himself.

Karol was frowning fiercely, actually waiting for an

answer, as though he could see how close Hart was to giving
him one. Hart inhaled, detected engine grease and hair oil
and sweat. The scents did not clear his mind, but it allowed
him a faint smile. No lilac water or rose perfumes, not with
Karol.

“Is this one of your famous seductions?” He could speak

again, if roughly, and did his best to form one of his little
smiles. “I’ve wondered.” It was a mistake to admit to that
much, especially with his voice so uneven. Karol was upset,
but he would notice. Hart put a hand to his gun as Karol’s
eyes narrowed. Yes, Karol was taking note of reactions, of
heat and pulse and breathing, of how Hart was not moving
away, as though he could see particles and the feeling
humming between them, even with the naked eye.

“I wouldn’t have to seduce you,” Karol announced

finally, breathing hard, and Hart had to suppress a flinch.
“And I wouldn’t want to,” he added softly, as though he had

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seen it just the same. His softness was dangerous. He was
close, staring intently, his breath bitter with cold tea, and
Hart knew his lips had parted.

Karol’s brow furrowed, real bemusement leaving his

words quiet and strained.

“I asked you, Hart,” he said, as though that explained a

damned thing, as though Hart didn’t recall every single
moment between them, every time he’d had to summon a
smile and shake his head. He flicked his gaze away, but only
for a moment, because he was no coward.

Tonight, he thought. If he got through tonight, he would

not see Karol again. Not unless he wished to.

“No,” he growled and ignored the startled rush of air

that left Karol’s mouth, though they were close enough that
he could taste it. “I didn’t want that.” To be one of the others.
He’d never wanted that. Because he was a fool.

But—Lord help him—Karol leaned in to touch him,

callused hands brushing over his shirt at his stomach and
then his shoulders. Hart couldn’t yet feel the calluses, but he
knew they were there. Clean white cotton was keeping him
from feeling them, and he hated it for that.

He opened his mouth, but Karol wasn’t done.
“What did you want, Hart?” There was curiosity despite

the arrogance that allowed him to press his touches to Hart’s
throat. The arrogance was justified, as Hart obviously had
wanted him then, as he still wanted him. It was there, at his
tongue, ready for him to say. Had been there for almost five
years.

“I never could determine that,” Karol continued, the line

between his eyes deepening when Hart shivered and lifted

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his head. “I could not figure you out…,” he added, as though
Hart were missing the point when he had in fact understood
it only too clearly.

“Of course,” Hart whispered, not frowning, only staring

down at Karol and willing his body to care as much as his
heart did. He had nearly forgotten that he was only an
engine for Karol to take apart.

“And what if I did?” he wondered, letting his voice grow

in strength, in volume. His face was burning, but he didn’t
give a damn if anyone could hear them. “What if I let you
have me?” Karol made a noise, a startled, hungry sound at
Hart’s choice of words and curled his fingers into the cotton
of Hart’s shirt. Hart wanted to push forward, lashed himself
with why it would be a mistake. “If you could finally
determine everything about me, Karol, what then?”

It was too much. It wouldn’t take Karol long to parse

that and know what he was really asking. But why not, Hart
thought with a cold desperation, out of ammunition and with
no defense from the bomb ticking away in front of him. Why
not? If he showed this face to the world every day, then what
did it matter if Karol knew the rest?

He dropped a hand to his gun, to a dark joke etched in

steel, then tore it away. His blood pounded in his ears.

“I’m not prepared to be one of a series, Karol.” He did

not flinch from it, though it tore through him to say it, to
hear it. Working with Karol had been to live with a constant,
winding tension but also heat and sparks and this, being
near him. This was so much worse than any building
pressure, worse than three years apart of not feeling this and
thinking he would never feel this again.

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

Karol made another sound, low and needful, and Hart’s

mind wanted to tell him it was pleading, that it was like the
sounds he’d heard above the frantic splashing of water, just
like the sounds that had escaped Karol when he’d been
ripping Hart’s clothes from him and holding him under the
water with shaking strength and shouting something over
and over that Hart hadn’t understood.

“Hart.” Karol pulled back to look into his eyes, but Hart

easily pushed past him. He found himself in front of the sofa
and dropped down. There were books and a notebook
because Karol was a busy, brilliant man. A brilliant man in
danger. It was Hart’s job to protect him, and he would. He
would, quite obviously, protect Karol if it weren’t his job. He
would protect Karol to his last breath. Almost had once.

He closed his eyes.
“Tomorrow is going to be difficult enough.” He spoke

quietly but firmly. “I need to get some sleep. Wake me if you
go to bed so I can be on guard.” He just needed a moment or
two, and he couldn’t leave Karol alone.

“Robert….” Karol hadn’t moved from the door, and Hart

could hardly blame him. He was supposed to either say yes
for once or say no as he’d always done. Not say yes with a
caveat. Not say yes and admit so much that he’d managed to
surprise the genius.

There was something in that, if not precisely a victory.
But it wasn’t the man’s fault that he hadn’t given Hart

the answer he’d longed to hear. It was Hart’s for being
foolish. He breathed in to fill his chest.

“Get me if you hear anything or if anything seems off,

though I only need a few minutes.” He spoke so the silence

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from Karol was not so glaring, gave the orders to slow his
heart. He had reset the bell alarm and knew he’d wake now
at the slightest ring, the way he wouldn’t for the noises of
Karol working.

“Hart.” He did not know that timbre in Karol’s voice, had

never heard it in their two years, but he had no wish to hear
it now.

“Don’t open the door for anyone.” It seemed obvious, but

he said it anyway and settled his hand loosely next to his
pistol. “Good night, Karol,” he wished him softly, firmly, and
tried not to listen for the sound of Karol’s feet on the floor as
he told his mind to rest.

ITH

his experience he could fall into a light sleep almost

anywhere with little delay and then wake instantly. His eyes
came open at the whisper of breath from above, his gun
drawn and trained on the figure in front of him despite the
startling, heavy darkness around him.

He had the sense that it was later, much later than it

should have been, then the realization that Karol had turned
off the lights. He must have stoked the fire as well. There
was a faint glow creeping around the sides of his heating
device, slowly illuminating the room as Hart’s eyes adjusted.

The room was also warmer, or that was Karol, standing

over him in the dark, his legs brushing against the insides of
Hart’s thighs. His silence was as strange as his hesitation,
but then Hart was pointing a gun at him. Hart allowed his
gaze to roam over the firelit shape of Karol’s shoulders, the

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outline of his curls, then pulled his pistol back and stuck it
into his sword belt.

“I was going to take a look at it,” Karol muttered

defensively, moving a hand to his side, and Hart frowned,
fully awake now.

“Were you?” he wondered doubtfully. Karol knew better

than to try to take his weapon without asking first. But
perhaps it was just as possible now as it was that Karol had
stopped working and left the room in darkness to allow Hart
to sleep. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.” It could
have been hours. Karol could have been at risk.

“Going to shoot me for letting you sleep?” Karol tossed

the sweet words at him, then cleared his throat. It was too
dark for Hart to read much of his expression, but he tried
regardless, peering up for hints of bright eyes and warm
skin. There was more of that, gleaming at Karol’s throat, on
display for his pleasure, irresistible whether deliberate or
not. “You needed it.”

“You don’t get to decide that, Karol.” He scrubbed a

hand through his hair to get the lingering dull sensation
from his limbs. If something had happened….

“Don’t I?” Karol interrupted his twisting thoughts. “I

have a stake in this too.” The reminder made Hart stop, pull
his hand down to rub over his eyes, and then nod.

“Yes, of course.” He swallowed. “I need to be alert

tomorrow, and….”

“No,” Karol said flatly, interrupting him again. “That

isn’t the reason at all,” he declared, as though the reason
was in front of Hart’s face. “You know, Hart, sometimes I
hate you.”

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It hit Hart unexpectedly and hard, made his head fall

back though he could also feel the bright, burning pit in his
chest, the consuming hurt behind his eyes when he thought
of Karol with anyone else, Karol without him at his back to
keep him safe.

“Your bravery and your devotion and your damned

selfless need to protect me,” Karol spat at him. “I hate you
for that.”

“I know.” Hart could not see Karol’s eyes, wasn’t certain

he wasn’t grateful for that. He didn’t understand the reason,
but he knew the feeling well enough. He brought his gaze
back to Karol and let his voice stay husky with interrupted
dreams. “I know,” he whispered again, “but you want me.”

“You say that as though I’ve ever hidden that.” Karol

had been waiting for that answer, had his ready, and Hart
had to agree. No, Karol hadn’t once kept that from him, but
his honesty hadn’t been invigorating when it had been
wounding him. It had slipped past every weapon he had
thrown up in its path, like Karol had designed them and had
known their weaknesses.

Because he had and did, down to the coat Hart had

carelessly discarded.

“But you don’t know….” Karol shifted, between Hart’s

legs and pressing closer, and Hart opened his mouth. Karol
was shaking his head and objecting angrily, yet they were
close. “All this time I thought you knew, but you didn’t….”
Karol railed at him, quiet and then loud, then soft once
more. He bent down, put one hand to the back of the sofa.
Hart’s hand came up instantly. His fingers curled around
Karol’s bare wrist, then did nothing else.

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Karol’s pulse was fast and strong under his fingertips,

his skin distressingly soft and thin.

“You didn’t know.” Karol exhaled, his voice rough, and

Hart looked up at the hint of a question. He could see Karol’s
eyes now. Karol could see his. “I have called you a lot of
names, Hart, but never an idiot until now.” Karol threw up
his other hand, gestured furiously at the ceiling. “Obvious to
the whole bloody world, but not to you with all your
networks. Not even in the light I made for you. You….” He
brought his hand down, and his finger only jabbed into
Hart’s chest for a moment before his hand was splaying out
and pushing against him. “Idiot.”

“Karol….” His protest was pitiable. He didn’t

understand, almost never did with Karol, but having already
admitted what he wanted was no promise of safety. Karol
was often uncontrollable, wild and sparkling like the fire
consuming Hart from the inside out. Explosions ricocheted
off each other like bullets, leaving trails through the
shrinking space between them. From him to Karol and back
again.

He moved, drawn forward, and the hand behind him

immediately tore away from the sofa to slide through his hair
and pull his head back. Karol held him still and angled his
mouth up for the taking, close but not close enough. Hart
snaked a hand out, felt the strength in the body arching over
him, and answered the pull. In one move Karol was on top of
him.

Hart merely grunted at the weight, at Karol where he

wanted him for once, if just for a moment.

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Karol’s body was thin but solid. He got one knee onto

the sofa to steady himself, though Hart would never—
never—have let him fall, and put both hands to Hart’s hair.
He gripped it tight to keep Hart’s head back, to keep Hart
underneath him and looking up. The fire was behind him,
lighting him like gold. Hart was in shadow but couldn’t make
himself mind.

“Years, Hart,” Karol panted tightly. “Years.” He said it as

a curse, curled his fingers through Hart’s short hair until it
hurt, then kissed him. Hart only tipped his head back
farther, moaned against firm, sweet lips. It was Karol who
gasped when Hart opened his mouth without a fight, Karol
who had to recover, to inhale to speak. He bit out more
blasphemy against Hart’s cheek and then was back for
another kiss, lips and tongue and teeth devouring him.

Karol thought it beautiful too. That, at least, Hart would

have. Everything else was Karol’s. Everything else in him
made him push up, his heart pounding to match Karol’s
heated blood. He’d been aroused since walking into the
tower. This was more than that, and when he made a sound,
low and pained, Karol released his hair, slid his palms to his
jaw. Almost soothing if not for how that set him afire too, if it
had not been Karol touching him.

He shuddered and allowed it, shuddered anew when he

pushed up the linen of Karol’s shirt and found bare skin.
Stomach. Ribs. Hipbones. He explored, and Karol’s fingers
curled into him once again.

“Why?” Karol demanded, straddling Hart’s legs, pressing

against him in spite of the heavy gun between them. His kiss
did not stop, merely paused, grew stronger for each delay as
though force was building up inside him and not being

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spent, until Hart made another sound that ought to have
shamed him. But there was no pride at the moment, as he’d
known there wouldn’t be if he let Karol touch him. The
sound made Karol push forward, shove Hart’s suspenders
from his shoulders, then undo more buttons on his shirt.

The anger seemed to slide from him the second Hart

turned into his kiss, even while his motions got more urgent.
He could not seem to breathe enough or stop speaking or
kissing, though his mouth grew heavy, open, dragged
questions from him. “Why now, Hart?”

He did not wait for an answer but licked at Hart’s lips,

bent his head to lick at his throat as well, beneath his ear,
with a thoroughness that meant Hart was being studied.

He trembled at the thought, had to reach out with the

heightened awareness of what he was doing, the madness,
and felt Karol’s heart beating furiously under his palm. But
he groaned, shamefully and without pride, for every wet,
rasping stripe along his flesh. How much harder would it be
for Karol to see what the rest of the world saw daily? Perhaps
devastating, but the thought could not stop him.

“Stupid arse.” Karol was angry with him, hated him, and

wanted him, and Hart should have cared but couldn’t. He
was gripping Karol, touching him openly. “You must not
have evolved, Robert, because a monkey can see this.” Karol
shifted, should have been bruising himself as he moved
against the pistol, but he made no move to take it away, and
he had to know Hart wouldn’t either.

He ducked his head again to leave openmouthed kisses

along each side of Hart’s throat, over scars, and his words
were dizzying. Hart could only feel the pressure of his mouth

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over the smooth patches of skin, not specifics, not details,
and closed his eyes.

“Ah, you haven’t changed.” Karol spoke into Hart’s ear,

insane when there was so much evidence to the contrary,
when they had never done this before and everything was
new. Hart turned his head with the barest sense of
preservation, only to drag in a breath at Karol’s hand
sneaking between them, finding the hard, throbbing length
of him.

“Why, Hart?” Karol was words and questions and a

palm cupping him through his trousers, just to drive him
mad as well. He didn’t laugh when Hart tried to arch up, and
for that Hart knew he was watching, and opened his eyes.
“They treat you like this, and like a good dog, you lick their
hands.” He wasn’t delicate and wasn’t measuring to find a
reaction. He pushed with the heel of his hand until Hart was
thrusting against it, his cock aching, and then he leaned
over him, watching, panting hotly above Hart’s mouth. “I do
the same and you bark.”

“Not anymore.” It was all he could muster, his skin

burning at how desperate he must seem, at how little they’d
touched and how eagerly he would spill on himself if Karol
did not stop. He pictured calluses in those moments of
darkness when he blinked, and wet his lips so Karol could
feel the dampness. Karol responded with a hungry kiss and
his name.

“Robert.” Karol wanted an answer that he couldn’t give.

Hart turned his head. He pulled one hand away to grab
Karol’s wrist, brought it to his face, the hand to his mouth,
then turned it over to drag his tongue across Karol’s palm.

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The noise that slipped from Karol’s throat was

gratifyingly surprised, even as it left him shaking.

“Oh, I hate you, Hart,” Karol breathed for him again,

and Hart looked up in time to catch Karol’s eyes falling
closed when Hart tasted him once more. Sweat and tea. Oil.
Coating his tongue as he looked up. “I hate you,” Karol
whispered before pulling his hand away. His mouth landed
back over Hart’s less than a second later, capturing Hart’s
tongue so Hart couldn’t torment him anymore, shoving them
both back against the sofa as though space between them
now could not exist.

He slid his wet hand down the front of Hart’s pants and

squeezed his cock. He swallowed what Hart would have said
to that, licking the taste of his skin from Hart’s tongue.
“Yes,” escaped in a grunt. “Yes,” and then, “Karol,” and it
was as though Karol couldn’t bear to hear the broken words.
He shifted closer, crushing the pistol between them, stealing
Hart’s air, pulling his shirt from him until his shoulders and
part of his chest were bare.

“Robert,” he whispered back, stroking him in strangely

uneven bursts, shaking with too much tension just below
the surface. The tension wasn’t being spent; they’d both
break if they did not move. “Robert. Please.”

“Is this your seduction?” Hart did not know his own

voice as he murmured the words to the air. Karol was
frowning, forehead to his cheek, one hand rising and falling
from Hart’s shoulder to his waist in time to the twists of his
wrist. Then he stopped, tossed his head.

His laugh was sharp.

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“No, Robert, this is me begging for you, as always.

Please.” He wouldn’t stop, not when Hart moved, not when
Hart finally brought his hands up to tangle in silky curls.
“Have you forgotten that in three years?” Karol demanded.
“Please, Robert.” It was worse than humility. Hart’s chest
tightened just the same, his skin hot. “Let me have you,”
Karol entreated him, and Hart swallowed.

It was only left to say yes. As though he had not already.

He pulled back from Karol for the first time in far too long
and shivered when Karol’s hand went still. He needed Karol
to stop saying those things; he liked them entirely too much.

“I believe the bed is upstairs.” His voice was a rasp, but

it was more damning how much Karol’s small laugh made
him stumble when Karol instantly moved, how he tried to get
to his feet and was dragged up. Karol’s lips opened beneath
his ear; his hands curved around his back. Pushing, pulling,
competing irresistible forces.

They reached the doorway, the foot of the stairs, and

then Karol touched him again. Stared at him with one hand
inside his trousers, wrapped around his cock and swallowing
each sound that burst from him. Hart’s fingers found his
curls again, held him there in a way no one could miss.

On the stairs Karol was decision, action tinged with

desperation, pushing Hart to the wall with both hands,
following him in with his body, firm and strong and hard.
Mouths open but no longer kissing, not with such a need for
air. Karol’s hands were too tight, but the pain was good, like
begging, though Hart had already gone too far to take this
back, to deny what he wanted.

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Karol pulled his shirt away, tripped over it up a few

more stairs, and then he was back against him, rough and
angry when he felt Hart’s bared skin. Hart shivered though
he wasn’t cold, was anything but. He turned his head,
groaned so Karol could hear him. One more thrust, and he’d
turn and open his legs here. If it was going to happen, let it
happen soon, with his face to the wall.

For one moment he thought it might, there on the stairs

with Karol’s fingers hard on him and Karol’s thigh nudging
his apart, and then Karol shook his head.

“No,” was the total of his words, though Hart could hear

the strain, and then he was being urged up the stairs again.
Led, as he would not have been for anyone else, by the
sound of his name as no one else said it, turning and then
stumbling again when Karol shoved him to the wall once
more and kissed him recklessly. It was wet and messy, and
then Karol was speaking again, things Hart could not focus
to translate.

He pulled away with a scowl, then turned Hart until he

saw that he was in the doorway to the top chamber, Karol’s
bedroom.

Moonlight from the open window lit the space. He saw

another fireplace, another heating device, a bathtub and a
wash basin next to it. Pipes fitted through the walls that
meant hot, fresh water. A large cabinet. An equally large four
poster bed, curtained for chilly nights.

He shivered and stepped forward, studying the bed

without looking directly at it, not until he stood at the foot of
it. Karol had to have constructed it here piece by piece, the
hedonist.

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Karol had stopped in the doorway. Had gone silent as

well. Hart looked across at him, then reached for his gun. He
set it on the bed with a raised eyebrow, did not allow himself
a chance to grab it back. His sword belt was next, though he
let the sword clatter to the floor.

“You mean it.” Karol reached his conclusion with a

breaking voice and then crossed the room. Hart had a
moment to breathe, to try to hold on to himself, and then he
was being urged back to the bed with quick, clever hands
and a long, fierce kiss.

It was seduction in earnest. Callused hands dispensed

with his boots, his pants, skated over his bare thighs. And
while he was trembling, Karol slid between them, stroking
with one hand.

“Karol.” It was meant as a protest, but his voice was

shockingly weak. He thought it unfair that so many others
had seen Karol arching over them in the same moonlight,
though he had never expected to see it. There was gratitude
mingling with the anger and the need, and he pulled Karol’s
shirt from him with a quiet snarl, then a smirk at the torn
buttonholes and so much bare skin.

Karol hardly seemed to care. He was staring down, and

Hart let him. His body was as good as any other’s. Better, for
the moment, if he could make Karol beg. But he flushed
regardless, then twisted to fall back, and Karol followed that,
still kissing, still stroking, climbing over him to press him to
the mattress and the piles of soft bedding.

He was weakening more and tried to cling to the

bedclothes, to frown or smile or argue, but when he parted
his lips, Karol was there to leave them numb with

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unexpected softness. Hot breath, a wet, wet mouth, and his
name.

“Hart,” Karol murmured, nipping at his chest, his

collarbone. His grip was sure. His skin looked silver and
smooth, too smooth when his mouth passed over more acid
burns. Hart closed his eyes and felt it, ran his palms over
every inch and gasped obediently under Karol’s mouth. Karol
knew what he wanted. Hart had let him learn it, and what
had seemed a simple thing downstairs stung now.

With Karol pushing his legs up, he moaned and

suddenly turned, grabbing blankets until he was on his side.

“I don’t need your seduction, Karol.” He forced it out as

lightly as he could. “Remember?” He stretched himself until
his stomach was over a pillow and bent a knee.

Karol’s frown was a tangible presence for a moment, and

then he was behind him, over him, bare skin burning where
it touched him. He was a fool, an obvious fool. Because Karol
knew what he was doing. When he put his hands to Hart’s
hips, his hold was bruising.

“Hiding from me?” Karol bit out, sliding down over him

and liking it when Hart’s breath left him, when so much of
them was touching. He was hard and made no attempt to
hide it. His hand left Hart’s hip to slide between his legs, and
he laughed when Hart grunted into the mattress. It was a
painful sound to hear, as painful as the grip at his side, not
that Hart fought it.

Karol’s mouth slid over his shoulder, his shoulder blade,

the rest of the scars. Hart had turned, had shielded himself,
but too late, and there were splotches on his back, his neck,
his upper arm.

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“When you hide from me, I hate you more, Robert. I

want to hurt you.” The words were feathers, just brushing
over skin that lost most of its feeling three years ago. His
hands were bruising, strong. The lilt made Hart nod.

“Karol.” But the fact that his cock twitched, that he

allowed it, only made it worse when Karol pressed him to the
bed, when he inched his knee to his chest and Karol pressed
fingers inside of him.

They were slick, warm, seemed too large, as he’d been

alone for months. He gasped, more for the slick feel than any
discomfort. He hadn’t seen, hadn’t heard any preparation.
Karol was too practiced. Karol stroked him, and he was
already shuddering, ached for being so close.

“Damn you, Karol. You said no seduction.” It did him no

good. Karol continued to whisper, to drive him mad from the
inside out and the outside in, both together, measuring,
knowing exactly how much more would make him come.
Karol trembled there too.

“When you are like this, I want you to hurt.” Karol bit at

his earlobe, sucked at the mix of marred and smooth skin at
his throat, and shuddered with him. There was poetry in it.
“And then you do.” Karol’s mouth moved on, hovering over
too many spots of ruined skin. “Then you do, Robert, and I
cannot stand it. Do you understand?”

The question was clear. Hart nodded though he should

not have; he should not have even understood. But—God in
heaven, the Devil below—Karol withdrew his fingers, and he
nodded again, holding his breath at the push of cock into
him.

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“I cannot stand it.” Karol was panting, did not stop until

he could go no farther, and even then his hand came back
around to torment Hart again, bring him back to full
arousal, sliding up and down just as slowly as before. “I
want to make you feel it too.” His words caught in his throat,
a jumble of languages and cursing, and then when Robert
had to move, rolling back against him, demanding more,
Karol turned him to bugger him properly.

“Until you come. Until you are so exhausted you cannot

think of leaving. Until you cannot move.” Karol promised him
and didn’t laugh when Hart nodded again. Karol was
shaking against his back. “Tonight you are mine, Hart.”

“Yes.” The word was torn from him, even with his face

hidden, and he opened his mouth to let out more when
Karol’s teeth found his shoulder, when Karol started to
thrust at last and there was nothing between them, not even
the smallest atom, and he was humming, shaking with the
force of it. “Yes, Karol. Tonight.”

E WOKE

for the second time in the gray space of dawn.

He’d woken for the first time when it had still been dark,
woken on his back with Karol’s mouth soft on his inner thigh
and Karol’s hand across his stomach. The first cry had been
drawn from him before Karol’s lips had ever closed around
his prick. When it had been over, when he’d finally been
allowed release, Karol had been whispering.

“If you were mine.” The husky-voiced words had left him

over and over again until Hart’s hand had tangled in his hair
and brought him up for a kiss. Until Hart had flipped Karol

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onto his back and bent over Karol’s body to finally taste that
too. “If you were mine.”

This time Hart was alone with only the echoing murmur

of Karol’s work downstairs. He made himself move before he
could contemplate the familiar ring to those mad words, how
he had repeated them with his lips hovering over Karol’s
cock. The room was warm, at least, as he walked to the wash
basin.

Karol must have lit a fire during the night; he was a

restless sleeper at the best of times. Hart had vague
memories of Karol wandering to and from the bed but shook
them aside. There was hot water and a razor. He shaved
without letting himself think of a bath, though it would be
hours before he would have time to return home or to bathe,
and his body was full of lingering aches and used muscles.

He did wash when he was done, taking note of the

handprints at his hips, the bite marks at his shoulder, on
his thigh. He touched them all once but then turned to find
his trousers, his boots. He strapped on his sword belt, then
moved, checked, and reloaded his gun, flinching from the
Latin words now, then left the room. His shirt was on the
staircase. He slid into that and buttoned it before he came to
a stop at the bottom. Then he turned and went to the toilet.

When he came out, Karol immediately appeared from

the laboratory. He was wearing a three-piece sack suit that
had likely been too big for him before he’d lost weight. He’d
clearly never been to a tailor either, and the color made him
seem ill. His cravat was a disgrace. Hart reflexively twitched
at how out of place Karol would always look in the clothes of
civilized men without someone to dress him, then swept past
him before their eyes could meet. He needed his coat.

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“Hart,” Karol said. Then, “There’s tea.”
Hart nodded as he checked his pockets, slipping the

coat on only to check the pockets once more. Being caught
without it was like being defenseless, and it had only
happened to him once before, on a mission near what he
now thought of as the end, though he hadn’t known that
then. They had been discovered before he and Karol had
even arrived at the desolate northern fortress, because of
course they hadn’t had the proper intelligence. He’d realized
just in time, sent Karol away, left himself for bait, and had
ended up being stripped to his pants and left in yet another
wet, dark dungeon, warmed only with the thought that Karol
had gotten away.

Until he’d heard the explosions. After the very stone

foundations had been rattled with the force of those, the
door opening and Karol being on the other side hadn’t been a
surprise. It had been more of a shock to see Hart’s coat
hanging off Karol’s skinny frame, to immediately wonder
what Karol had risked to retrieve it. Then the gaslights had
died, and Hart had said out loud that he was sick of the
damned dark. Karol had huffed a laugh. It was all that had
passed between them as they’d stumbled through the black
toward any sort of light. Hart had been weak, though not
weak enough to justify Karol’s arms around him to hold him
up.

The whole point of staying, of enduring it, had been to

get Karol to safety. The moment they had gotten outside,
he’d demanded to know why the bloody hell Karol hadn’t run
like he’d been told to.

Karol had turned, and the spreading firelight around the

blazing, once impenetrable fortress must have shown him

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how Hart had spent his hours of captivity. The blood hadn’t
yet dried, if he recalled. Their attempt to get him to say
where he’d hidden Karol hadn’t been sophisticated—lackeys
with big fists rarely were—but Karol had looked at him and
curled his hands into the depths of the wool.

“Was that your assignment?” Karol had charged him, as

if he no longer cared about giving away their position. “If you
were mine, Hart, and not Victoria’s, I would treat you better.
If you were mine, I would not allow this.”

“If you were mine, I would have made you go!” Hart had

yelled in return, equally furious, then had straightened and
thrust Karol behind him at the sound of approaching
footsteps.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Karol had answered and handed

him the knife from his coat before Hart could ask for it, and
then a packet of what must have been gunpowder, as it had
had a fuse in one end. “You can’t be trusted to save
yourself.”

“And you cannot be trusted,” Hart had snarled without

turning. After that, Karol had stayed quiet.

Hart glanced over before he turned all the way around.

Karol was at the counter, not eating a piece of fruit and not
drinking his tea. Hart paused at the doorway, then came
forward to get a cup. He had never thanked Karol for the
rescue and wouldn’t.

“Did you get any sleep?” he asked instead, though he

doubted it. Karol shrugged.

“I had work to do.” He pulled the small pistol Hart had

given him from the pocket of his suit and Hart blinked at the
wires protruding from the end and the metal pieces that had

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been screwed and soldered to the butt, what could have been
part of a fork at the end of the barrel.

“I thought you no longer made weapons.” He felt stupid,

but then, it was Karol before him.

“I no longer work for the service,” Karol corrected him,

then himself. “Directly. And this will—should not—kill. I
charged it.” He reached into his other pocket and laid a
handful of ammunition on the counter. Whatever that pistol
now discharged, it wasn’t bullets. If it was electricity,
someone was in for a surprise if they tried to take him. Hart
almost smiled, but Karol put the gun away and looked up
into his eyes.

“I thought, if you were going to try to kill yourself for

Queen and country again today”—he swallowed, lowered his
voice—“for me, then this was the least I could do. Like our
old missions. They weren’t all bad. I always thought we made
a good team….” His smile faded when Hart frowned, and
then he was scowling when Hart threw down a question
between them.

“Then why did you?” He asked for the first time, though

he knew better. It was for the best that Karol had left; if the
danger hadn’t gone away, it had at least lessened. “Why did
you leave the service, Karol?” A fool could tell what he was
asking by the break in his voice. Karol was not a fool.

Karol’s gaze flicked to the left side of his face, then

away, and Hart shoved away his cup of tea, leaving a mess
that for once he didn’t feel like cleaning up. Karol made a
noise but stopped when Hart lifted his chin.

“Why? Say it.” He felt ill, asking to hear what he’d long

suspected. Karol’s eyes narrowed.

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“Fine. What… what happened in Austria was enough for

me.” For all that he seemed angry, he was shaking. Minute
tremors, like he felt a vibration Hart couldn’t, as though it
was traveling down a line as thin as a wire. A trip wire.

He’d known it. And people thought Karol was a bastard

incapable of feeling. He felt at least one thing besides desire.

“Guilt,” Hart declared succinctly, hating just the sound

of the word, hating Karol for leaving him for something so
stupid.

“Look at you!” It burst from Karol and his shaking was

suddenly more obvious. “To protect me!” The insult made
Hart swear, move forward. Karol put a hand up, and Hart
had a moment to realize it wasn’t guilt but fury bringing a
flush to Karol’s cheeks, making his glare deadly. “It was
almost your life, to protect what you had been told to
protect!”

“Go to hell, Karol.” It came from him, just as loud as

Karol’s accusations, but rougher, angrier. Hart shook his
head. “You don’t get to take that from me. You have no idea
what that meant to me.”

“You were told to protect me,” Karol repeated. “Me and

my work. But it could have been my design, that limpet
torpedo in the wall, the booby trap of acid. I had been asked
and had refused. There’s no value in such inventions, but I
could have….”

Glass shattering. There must have been the clicking of

gears, but the part of his mind that recognized that had him
already in motion. He shoved Karol out of the way and only
then twisted his own body, gasping a warning just as the
glass demijohn of acid splintered and the poison sprayed out.

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He smelled it first, just acid and then acid eating flesh.

Then he was on the floor, screaming.

“So you knew how to neutralize it,” he ground out,

knowing the vibrations between them were in his voice until
he flattened it. “You saved me.” Panic, absolute terror on
Karol’s face—he’d seen that even through the pain. And then
a vase of flowers overturned on him, and Karol burning his
hands—only minor burns, Hart had learned later, only minor
burns—to drag him away. He’d been lucky, they’d said, the
castle had had running water. Karol had dumped him in a
bathtub, poured water over him for minutes, hours, days,
called to him through his delirium.

They had yet to ban chemical weapons, Hart thought

vaguely and looked up when Karol raised his voice.

“After you pushed me away,” Karol reminded him,

“followed your orders. Saved your asset. God save the
Queen….”

“Idiot,” Hart hissed, and Karol shut his mouth, too

much in his bright eyes. “I would and will do my duty, Karol,
but this wasn’t for them.” He touched his face. He’d never
been especially handsome, and he’d accepted the possibility
of death a long time ago. His life was his to give, to whatever
cause he chose. He’d chosen Karol since that train ride back
from Stamboul.

“I don’t regret it.” He spoke as boldly as Karol ever had,

watched Karol’s eyes go wide as though he’d honestly
surprised the genius. What had Karol supposed, that with
Hart in his bed, he was the only one tormented by their
connection? He took his hand from his face, left it at his side
as he made it irrefutable. “I would do it again.”

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“Don’t say that.” Karol’s voice was hoarse as he jumped

forward. “Please. I….”

The knock on the door made him freeze in place, swear

in his father’s tongue, but he held still as Hart put a hand to
his gun and answered. It was Isabel. Hart recognized the
knock, but he made her wait once he’d opened the door,
disengaging the wire before allowing her in.

She swept a look over Karol, and Karol’s not especially

quiet growling increased in volume. When she turned to
Hart, her gaze politely skipping over his eye, he reached for
his eye patch. He coughed as he settled it into place,
smoothed down his hair as best he could.

He focused as always on the matter at hand, on

problems that would arise later.

“You remember the plan, Karol? Be careful, no matter

how pretty the lure.”

“I should be careful? No, you be careful,” Karol shot

back before Hart could get the taste of those words from his
mouth.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Karol’s

expression was briefly visionary, beautiful. Then he lifted an
eyebrow to look superior.

“If I were them, Hart, that would be how I’d distract me,”

he announced. “I’d threaten you.” He paused to consider his
own words, make an adjustment. “Or claim to have
threatened you. If you were hidden, that could work just as
well.”

“What?”

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“Don’t be slow, Robert.” Karol rolled his eyes. “Not

everyone interests me,” he explained in a tone that meant he
didn’t think he should have to, in the tone that he’d used a
few times before, that he did not think the lure would be a
honey trap. “But you, Hart.” He didn’t finish, just glanced at
Isabel, who looked at Hart, then away with a carefully blank
face that meant Karol was correct.

“Me.” He couldn’t seem to summon a smile. Or breathe.
“Everyone knows it, Robert.” Karol clasped his hands

together, then fiddled with his ugly cravat. “There have been
rumors for years.” Of course Hart had heard them, but there
were always rumors about Karol, and he had thought…. He
must have looked startled, because Karol made an impatient
noise, then a sad one. He went back to his tea.

“You make mistakes around me Hart. You miscalculate

and don’t seem to notice. Those idiots you work with don’t
seem to notice either.” Isabel was in the room. He quite
obviously did not care. “But you always do. I make you take
chances you shouldn’t take. Or so I thought. Now I think you
would take them whether I knew or not.”

“Karol….”
“If you aren’t going to change, and neither your bosses

nor any of these armed apes is qualified to watch your back,
then….”

“And you are?” Hart interrupted before Isabel decided to

kill Karol. Before Hart killed him so he wouldn’t have to hear
his heart being dissected and reassembled like this. Karol
snorted.

“I’m one of the few people smarter than you. You should

appreciate my talents.” He looked up as Hart turned his

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

head to stare at him; then he shrugged. “I cleaned and oiled
your gun while you were sleeping.”

That had almost been a compliment. The rest was just

as warming, ridiculously and deliberately charming for all
that it was a sacrifice. Damn it.

“You shouldn’t have to do this.” He waved a hand at his

gun, the weapon Karol shouldn’t have had to touch again,
but he meant everything, the whole damnable situation. All
Karol wanted was to make things better. He shouldn’t have
to face this alone. And he should regard it seriously. “You left
the service. You wanted to be safe. This is….” He always
tried to reason and always knew it would do no good.

For this, for him, Karol would not see reason. But he

had to say it. “You could die.”

“Then you’ll know how it feels,” Karol tossed out without

looking from his tea, not until he finished the cup. Hart
sucked in a breath, stepped closer even if Isabel was witness.
“To know that about you and to have to go along anyway. To
watch,” Karol whispered, looking up at last. “I don’t care if
I’m safe.”

It was like a vacuum when he could not breathe. Like

the lights coming on, and there was too much to see.

“I had to watch again and again. You do not understand

what that will make a man do, Robert. Or how it feels.”

“Don’t I?” As ever, he felt the flare of anger, such heat

around Karol he should have combusted. He turned to
Isabel, dismissed her with a gesture. “I’ll be out in a
moment.” She left without a word, doubtless to hover outside
the door. She was well trained. With her and others like her
under his command, they would not fail.

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

Hart left her there and stepped forward. Two years

together and three apart, and the ache within him had never
eased.

“Do you think I don’t live with that already?” His chest

burned. He ignored it. “But I’d rather know you were alive
than—”

“Do not say it. If you say that out loud, Robert, I might

kill you myself.” Karol was breathing hard and raised his
head to let Hart see the ferocity behind his words.

Hart lifted his chin, assessed the threat, moved on.
“You make mistakes around me too, Karol,” he pointed

out, and then stood there, staring into Karol’s stunned face.
“I couldn’t have that. I can’t have that. I will not put you at
risk.”

He only had a moment, a moment of Karol’s face telling

him everything Karol was feeling, and then Karol’s mind was
turning again, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t see that you get a choice, Robert.” The bastard.
“Karol.”
“Hart.” Karol made a face but did not change his stance.

“You always were a stubborn prick.” It was as good as saying
aloud that there was no solution but to live with it, for as
long as they could.

“I don’t want you to go out there alone,” Hart admitted,

felt his face heat though it was nothing to anything he’d said
in the past minutes, or in that bed upstairs. Karol scowled,
his brow furrowing, and Hart moved, took the chance given
him. He smoothed the line out with his finger, and Karol only
continued to frown at him.

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

It was something, so he took another opportunity to

claim a small thing as his and found himself directly in front
of Karol, with his hands on his cravat. He untied it, pulled it
straight—pulled Karol to him. Karol was warm despite the
pallor his suit gave him, and he didn’t protest when Hart
began to retie his cravat or remarked that he needed a
handler.

“If not a keeper,” he finished, releasing Karol. He didn’t

look at Karol as he let his mouth curve. It was a waste of
breath, but he said it anyway. “Try to remember to shoot,
and run this time.” He even kept his voice remarkably dry,
but he went silent when Karol put a hand to the left side of
his face, then slid it up to remove his eye patch.

“I can take care of myself.” Karol raised both eyebrows

without yet looking at him. “You try to remember that.” He
handed the patch back to him, smiled slightly as Hart took it
and stuffed it into his coat. His smile faded when he finally
met Hart’s gaze.

After a moment, a minute, Isabel knocked quietly on the

door.

Hart nodded. He had to go, to oversee preparations in

the lecture hall, remind his men of their instructions. He had
to leave Karol to walk out alone. It would kill him, as always.
There were so many little deaths between them, and only
more to come.

“I….” Twenty-four hours. The clock tower across the

river was chiming. He had this to see to, and more tomorrow,
to make sure this did not happen again. “I have to go now.”
During the day, during nearly every moment of waking, he
was Victoria’s. He was service. But….

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

“There is always work to be done, Robert.” Karol

breathed impatiently, with a shrug and a roll of his eyes, as
though he knew and Hart was being foolish again for wasting
time. Hart bit back the rest of what he could have said, the
admonishments, the fears, and flicked his thumb over the
butt of his pistol as he stepped back.

“I’ll see you in an hour, Karol.” He made it both a threat

and a vow. Karol’s expression was briefly expectant,
prophetic, and then he wet his mouth.

“I’ll see you tonight, Robert,” he corrected him, leaning

forward as though he wanted to tempt Hart and drive him
mad, which he likely did. Hart glared at him before turning
away, fought the pull trying to yank him back, the burn in
him that had not lessened and would not, no matter the
nights they spent together. The burn Karol felt too.

When he opened the door and let the surprisingly bright

morning sunlight in, Karol winced, looking paler in such
golden light. Then he raised his voice to bitch, and Hart
couldn’t hide his smirk.

“It’s called daylight, Zieliński,” he remarked drily,

“Sunshine. You should try it someday. You might enjoy it.”

“I will the moment you appear in public without your

coat,” Karol retorted loudly, letting Isabel and the guards
outside hear. Hart grinned at him so he could watch Karol
squint suspiciously.

“I look forward to the day,” Hart answered with mock-

gallantry and ignored the teacup that hit the doorjamb a
moment later. Karol was going to need a new set of cups at
this rate. He turned before he could allow himself to linger

Let There Be Light | R. Cooper

anymore, not with so much at stake, and closed the door
behind him.

He walked over the path, up the stairs, and back

through the Menagerie, through halls that would not remain
darkly gaslit for much longer if Karol had his way. He moved
quickly with his shoulders up, a tension and awareness
keeping him sharp, and left his hand at his side as he swept
his gaze over the guards, who were not asleep at their posts
today. If the stakes had not been so high, he might have
smiled.

His fingers moved over his gun, to the grip first and

then down along the heavy, thick barrel that would gleam
even in this scarce light. It would be brighter soon, and
though his mind should have been dwelling on an ancient
phrase more familiar, his thoughts, like his hand, lingered
instead on the inscription written in the Latin that Karol so
detested.

Cor aut mors, he recalled, heart or death. Not a jest at

all.

He had been blind. But the proper phrase finally came

to his tongue as he walked, and he did smile.

“Fiat lux,” he said, ignoring Isabel’s puzzled exhalation.

Let there be light.

About the Author

OOPER

has been making up stories since she was a wee

R. Cooper. She has a weakness for strong-minded characters
doing unspeakably hot things to each other and thinks dirty
martinis are for the weak (or perhaps just thinks olive juice
is gross). If she listed all of her turn-ons, it would take up
this whole bio, but they include smart people, tailored suits
with serious ties, shoulder holsters, funny people, sacrifices
made for love, power struggles, the walking wounded,
bravery, and good old-fashioned shameless sluts.
She also likes ice cream. Strawberry.
Visit R. at http://r-cooper.livejournal.com/. You can contact
her at RisCoops@gmail.com.

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

4760 Preston Road

Suite 244-149

Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the

authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Reese Dante http://www.reesedante.com

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is

illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon

conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No

part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To

request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite

244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America

September 2010

eBook Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-604-0

Document Outline

Let There Be Light
About the Author
Copyright

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