The Puppeteer: Book II of The Guild of Gatekeepers

by Frances Jones

  I frowned. ‘You’re suggesting shooting a man in public. It sounds risky.’

  ‘It is, and that is why I need your help. I need you to help me slip away afterwards without being seen.’

  ‘How are we to do that?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘I was hoping you would be able to tell me,’ said Tabatha.

  ‘We will need to distract or incapacitate everyone present long enough for you to escape, but that could be several hundred people, not to mention dozens of javelin men,’ I said. ‘And you need to be sure that no one sees your face, if you intend to go back later to claim the body.’

  ‘Yes, I had already considered that…’

  ‘What about the vesana flagrants that Edward Treadway gave us, Tom?’ Eliza broke in. ‘They would be an ideal decoy.’

  ‘What are vesana flagrants?’ asked Tabatha.

  ‘They are shards of metal which release a vapour that overcomes all those nearby with temporary delirium when activated,’ I replied. ‘But I’ve no idea how they are made.’

  I glanced hopefully at Eliza, but she shrugged. ‘I’m just a weaver. You are the alchemist. If anyone can make them, it will be you.’

  ‘Well, let’s see what the Encyclopaedia of Magic says,’ said Tabatha, opening the book in front of her and flicking through its pages. She stopped when she had found what she was looking for and turned it towards me.

  ‘This is a complex process,’ I said as I skimmed through the instructions for the preparation of vesana flagrants, ‘but I think I have all the ingredients in the laboratory, and they can be made fairly quickly.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Tabatha. ‘Let’s get to work!’

  Chapter 14

  I lit the furnace, and Eliza and I set about weighing out the ingredients needed- a selection of powdered metals, chemicals and dried roots. The instructions for making the vesana flagrants were detailed and specific, and I followed them to the letter. Fortunately, their creation didn’t require specific moon phases or ingredients harvested at a particular time in order to be effective, much to my relief.

  As we boiled up powdered mercury and measured out liquid silver, Tabatha peered at the stuffed animal carcasses and array of objects and apparatus in wonder.

  ‘Let’s hope this works better than the potion we made to protect ourselves in the labyrinth,’ said Eliza as she stirred the cauldron of simmering metallic liquid.

  ‘It must,’ Tabatha replied. ‘We can’t afford for anything to go awry.’

  It was late in the afternoon by the time we were finished. Two small shards of silver-grey metal lay on the table, the products of our labour. Tabatha picked them up and turned them over in her hands.

  ‘Well, we have only to communicate the plan to Emerson now,’ said Tabatha. ‘Come, if we leave for the gaol now, we should be back before dark.’

  Eliza glanced at me uneasily.

  ‘I will be fine,’ I said, catching the look in her eye. ‘We need Emerson’s help.’

  Outside, the evening was cool and pleasant, and above the wooden jumble of London’s skyline, the sky was turning rosy with the approaching evening. Newgate gaol was little over a mile from the Gatehouse, beside the gate through which the western road to Hampshire ran. It was a dismal building with a mean, imposing exterior from which the shouts of the prisoners could be heard as we drew closer. At the gate, Tabatha ordered us to wait while she spoke to the gatekeeper in a low voice and passed him a heaving pouch of coins. After a few moments she beckoned us forward, and the gate was opened.

  ‘Let me talk to him first,’ Tabatha whispered as we followed her through.

  The gatekeeper led us across a dingy courtyard to another gate where a guard sat on a stool dosing. The gatekeeper kicked the stool, and the man jolted awake.

  ‘Take them to Prye’s cell,’ said the gatekeeper. ‘Ten minutes only.’

  The guard stood up, muttering under his breath, and led us along a dark corridor lit only by the small lantern he carried with him. He stopped before a thick wooden door with a small metal grille close to the top through which to see into the cell beyond. My pulse raced, and fear and anger surged within me as I thought of the man I must face imminently. I drew a breath and exhaled slowly, forcing myself to remain calm.

  ‘Visitors,’ said the guard gruffly as he unlocked the door with one of the keys hanging from an immense iron ring. The door swung open, scraping against its ancient hinges with a sound that echoed in the emptiness of the cell. My feet felt like leaden weights as the guard stepped aside to allow us to enter. Eliza gripped my arm as we moved inside.

  In a corner, Emerson sat with his arms resting on his knees. He gazed down at the floor, but even in the gloom of the cell I could see that his face was haggard. His hair had grown long during his confinement, and his beard was unkempt.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ said the guard, shutting and locking the door behind us, his footsteps disappearing back down the corridor. The only light by which to see now was from a tiny iron-barred window high up near the ceiling. The faint light of evening slipped through and pooled on the floor before Emerson’s feet.

  ‘Emerson, see who is here,’ said Tabatha in a soft but firm voice.

  He lifted his head slowly as though with a great effort, and if he was at all surprised to see me or Eliza, there was no indication in his expression.

  ‘Tom,’ he said at last.

  ‘I’m not here through choice,’ I said stiffly.

  ‘You’re not going to die tomorrow,’ Tabatha whispered, kneeling down beside him. ‘We’re going to help you.’

  Emerson shook his head. ‘Tabatha, I have made my peace with it. The punishment I am to face is far less than what I deserve.’

  ‘No, Emerson, listen to me! We need your help,’ said Tabatha. ‘Four magicians are dead. Something or someone is hunting them down. George and the rest of the Guild are away at the tournament. We need your help to find out who or what is doing this.’

  Emerson shook his head. ‘I have renounced magic, as well you know.’

  ‘Please, Emerson…’

  ‘You hope to use a killer to catch a killer.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I’m sorry Tabatha, I am no use to you.’

  Rage burned inside me, and my hand balled into a fist. I felt Eliza beside me stiffen and grip my arm tighter. I sensed her fear and remembered her concern for me. At that, I swallowed hard to suppress my anger before I spoke.

  ‘Emerson, you have killed three innocent people. Self-loathing and pity will not help you atone for that. I will not beg for your help; I don’t want to ask for it any more than you want to give it, but four men are dead, and no one knows where or when the killer will strike again. If you will not help out of human decency, at least do so in reparation for what you have done.’

  Emerson looked at me and met my gaze. There was no pride in his eyes, only sadness and emptiness, but he smiled grimly and laughed.

  ‘Tom, I always knew you were a better person than many men of far greater standing. You have the grit and selflessness of a martyr. Few men would set aside their hatred of the man who killed their family for the sake of others. Far fewer would risk their own lives to save him from the noose. I admire you for it, but I am afraid I cannot help. I am weak and consumed by guilt and remorse, as I deserve to be. Everything I thought I knew, everything I trusted in has turned out to be false.’

  ‘All that has changed is your perception of yourself,’ said Tabatha. ‘You were deceived, but that does not render everything you have learnt, everything you know to be true, a lie.’

  ‘The Watchmaker is already dead. Whoever or whatever the killer is, they tried to kill Tom last night,’ said Eliza.

  Emerson looked troubled at that. ‘What do you know of this killer, and how did you come to learn of these deaths?’

  Tabatha quickly recounted all we had told her of Mrs. Thorne’s letter, our journey to Oxford, and the attack upon me in the churchyard the previous evening.

  ‘The Professor believes it is a monster
accidentally or deliberately conjured- not a person -responsible for the killings,’ said Eliza, ‘but whoever attacked Tom was a man, or at least took the form of a man. Personally, I think Professor Noakes could have had a hand in it…’

  Emerson shook his head. ‘I know Bartram Noakes of old. He is a bigot and a bully, but he hasn’t the wit to carry out murders such as these- with or without summoning a monster.’

  I glanced at Eliza. She looked put out at Emerson’s assessment of Professor Noakes’ likely involvement, but she said nothing, and Emerson continued,

  ‘The chanting Tom heard is strange indeed. And the removal of the bodies- for what purpose? I must see the Watchmaker’s workshop- and indeed the place of death of each of these magicians, if I may.’

  ‘Then you will let us help you- and help us?’ asked Tabatha.

  Emerson sighed. ‘Yes, I will. Come, Tabatha, what grand scheme have you concocted to get me out of this predicament?’

  Tabatha handed him the jerkin and water skin she had concealed under her cloak and quickly relayed her plan. Emerson smiled weakly when she was finished.

  ‘Were it any other who was suggesting such a thing, I would think them a fool,’ he said. ‘But, Tabatha, I do believe you may just carry this off.’

  Footsteps sounded down the corridor, and the lantern light crept through the grille in the door. Emerson bundled the jerkin and water skin into the corner behind the door. A moment later the guard had set the key to its lock. The door swung open and he stepped aside.

  ‘Time’s up,’ he said.

  I stepped out of the cell without any further prompting, having no desire to linger there. Eliza and Tabatha followed, bidding Emerson farewell. As we followed the guard back down the corridor to the gate leading to the courtyard, I realised I was trembling.

  ‘How do you feel?’ asked Eliza as we made our way home. Evening was closing in, and the light was fading fast.

  I shrugged and kept my eyes down. ‘We need his help. It doesn’t matter how I feel about it.’

  Lanterns were already shining through the windows of the houses nearby as we climbed the steps to the Gatehouse. A heavy foreboding had settled upon me as the day of Emerson’s execution drew closer.

  ‘I must return to the catacombs and fetch Colonel and Bandit,’ said Tabatha as we stepped inside the gloomy hall. ‘We will ride to Tyburn tomorrow. I will be back before midnight.’

  I shuddered as Tabatha lifted the trapdoor to the labyrinth and disappeared down into the darkness. I marvelled at her courage. Nothing at all, neither human, beast or magic, seemed to alarm her. As I thought about it, I realised I was inclined to agree with Emerson; if anyone could pull off her plan to save him, it would be Tabatha.

  Chapter 15

  I didn’t hear Tabatha return from the catacombs, but she was back when I awoke the next morning, sharpening her knife at the table in the library.

  ‘Good morning. I have brought breakfast,’ she said, nodding towards a linen bundle on the table.

  ‘I don’t think I could eat anything,’ I replied. ‘Where is Eliza?’

  ‘Getting dressed,’ replied Tabatha.

  ‘I’ll see to the horses, then.’

  Outside, the morning was fresh and cloudy. At the end of the lane, people hurried past on foot or piled into carts to catch a glimpse of the execution procession as it passed on its way to Tyburn. I saddled the horses ready and led them to the front of the Gatehouse where Tabatha and Eliza were waiting. Tabatha wore a cloak that reached to her knees, in spite of the time of year, and her hat was pulled low over her face. She jumped into Colonel’s saddle and turned him about.

  ‘Ready?’ she said.

  I nodded, though I felt far from ready. Beside me, Eliza looked anxious.

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ said Tabatha, flicking the reins.

  We had little choice but to follow the flow of traffic as we drew close to the Edgware Road. The road itself was clogged with carts and carriages rolling through on their way to Tyburn and lined with those who chose instead to simply watch the procession pass by. We plodded along for some miles until the wooden posts of a tripod gallows appeared above the heads of the crowd before us.

  ‘That is the notorious Tyburn Tree,’ Eliza whispered.

  Already, a large crowd had gathered around it, and several coaches were drawn up nearby. We stopped under the shade of a spreading elm tree a little distance away and dismounted. Tabatha tucked her hair under her hat and tied a handkerchief around her neck, with which to hide her face and protect her from the fumes of the vesana flagrants when the time came.

  ‘Good luck,’ Eliza whispered.

  Tabatha nodded and strode forward to join the crowd taking their positions around the gallows. I watched as her hand drifted towards the pistol hidden breath her cloak, reassuring herself of its presence.

  ‘Wait with the horses, and be ready to go,’ I said to Eliza. ‘I’m going to find somewhere near to the gallows to wait. I need to keep Tabatha in sight. If anything goes awry, leave at once. Don’t wait for me or Tabatha.’

  ‘Do be careful,’ said Eliza. ‘I’m not leaving without you!’

  The crowd had now swollen to several hundred people. Tabatha took her place on Mother Procter’s Pews, the open gallery in which those who could afford it could pay to view the execution. It offered the best view of the gallows- and a clear shot. I scanned the gallery and the press of people around the gallows. There was little room for escape with the spectators packed in cheek to jowl. Seven prisoners were due to hang that day, and the crowd was larger than usual. I tried to catch Tabatha’s eye, but her gaze was fixed on the gallows as she weighed up in her mind the distance her bullet must travel and the impact the tiniest lull in the breeze might have on its trajectory. I reached into my pocket and closed my hand around the cool metal shard hidden in there. It wouldn’t be long now.

  More people had now joined the crowd milling about the Tybeurn Tree. The javelin men took their positions in front of it, then I heard a shout and the crowd parted down the middle as the carts carrying the condemned, seated upon their own coffins and escorted by the City Marshall and the chaplain of the gaol, made their way through to the gallows. A roar went up among the spectators, and a volley of rotten vegetables flew through the air towards the carts.

  I scanned the faces of the first two prisoners, but neither looked familiar. The third cart rolled past, and there was Emerson, his eyes fixed on the gallows. The crowd paused in their jeering and missile throwing, undoubtedly fearful that a man condemned for witchcraft could still work a spell against them in his final moments.

  The first cart stopped beneath the gallows while the others lined up waiting for their turn to be called forth. The noose was hung around the condemned man’s neck, and the chaplain called upon him to repent and the crowd to prey with him for his immortal soul. I looked away as the driver whipped the horses away, driving the cart from beneath the condemned man’s feet. After a few minutes, the next cart was called forward and the gruesome process repeated.

  Two corpses hung lifelessly from the gallows as Emerson’s cart rolled into position. My palms sweated as my hand closed around the metal shard in my pocket, and my heart was racing. I glanced up at Tabatha. Her face was expressionless, her gaze fixed on the hangman about to put the noose around Emerson’s neck. Without taking her eyes off the gallows, her hand moved to the pistol concealed beneath her cloak. My eyes darted across to Emerson just as the bullet struck his chest. He staggered backwards, blood seeping through his jerkin, then slumped to the ground.

  For several moments my wits seemed to have escaped me as I stared at the still figure, prostrate amidst a pool of blood. For a fleeting moment I wondered if he might really be dead. I heard a gasp ripple through the crowd, then a scream. It jolted me to my senses, and I flung one of the vesana flagrants over the heads of the crowd. It landed at the foot of Mother Procter’s Pews, instantly releasing its vapour. I turned and flung the second shard into the middle of t
he crowd as I ran back to Eliza and the horses with my handkerchief to my face. Panicked screams filled the air, and bodies crashed into one another as people ran blindly this way and that, trying to escape the choking vapour.

  Through the fog I could just make out the vague figures of Eliza and the horses. I stumbled towards them, coughing and spluttering as I reached fresh air at last.

  ‘Tom, thank goodness!’ cried Eliza. ‘I was terrified they wouldn’t work!’

  ‘Me too. Where’s Tabatha?’ I spluttered.

  Anxious seconds passed as we waited to see Tabatha emerge from the fog. Screaming spectators ran this way and that, overcome with delirium, and the shouts of the javelin men and the City Marshall bellowed above them. The vapour was creeping closer, and the horses grew agitated.

  ‘There she is!’ cried Eliza.

  From out of the fog Tabatha sprinted, peeling off her cloak and shaking her hair free from her hat as she ran.

  ‘Go now,’ she said, bundling them into Eliza’s hands. ‘Keep these for me so I’m not recognised. Leave Colonel here and ride straight to St. Olave’s church on Seething Lane. I will meet you there.’

  ‘What about you?’ said Eliza.

  ‘I have to claim Emerson’s body before they discover the ruse,’ Tabatha replied. ‘Go now! The vapour is starting to clear. Wait for me in the churchyard.’

  Without waiting for a reply she seized Colonel’s reins and led him back towards the gallows along the edge of the receding vapour.

  ‘Should we wait for her?’ said Eliza anxiously.

  ‘No, it will look suspicious if we are seen lingering. Let’s go.’

  We mounted the horses and sped off back up the Edgware Road towards the city, the chaos around the gallows becoming gradually more distant. The day had grown warm, and in the fields either side of the road farm workers toiled, oblivious to the commotion only minutes further down the road.

  A few weak rays of sun had found their way through the cloud cover, brightening the sky as the afternoon wore on, but all too soon it was choked out by the smog as we passed into the city limits.