“Hands up,” Darius demanded.
Pierce did as ordered, which set his muscles ablaze. “Easy now, Darius, er, Lieutenant, erm, Knight-ship, or whatever you are nowadays. There’s a whole lot of truth you need to hear.”
“Shut your mouth,” Darius snarled, approaching fast.
He pushed the end of the rifle against Pierce’s wounded chest, causing him to hiss. His back hit the engine, pinning him in place. Fearful of the gun, Pierce grabbed the barrel in one hand and held out the other in a halting gesture.
“Just shut your mouth, Landcross,” Darius warned again. “Say another word and I’ll end you.”
It wasn’t like Darius to act so savagely. He must’ve been sorely pissed off.
“We gave you a chance. We granted you your freedom and sent you on your way. Then you turn around and try harming our Queen?”
Wonderful, Pierce thought grimly. Something else to blame me for.
Despite the rifle pushed against him, Pierce said, “That is neither here nor there. I never—”
Darius yanked the rifle away and struck Pierce across the head with the butt of it, sending him face down on the floor. It was truly the hardest hit to the head Pierce had ever received.
Just as the world flickered out completely, he heard Darius say, “There will be no escape for you this time. You will hang for what you’ve done.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Witness
Archie and Clover arrived at Blackbird’s townhouse only to learn from his neighbor, Mrs. Paris, that a young man, claiming to be a friend, had barged into her home earlier, asking her to watch the boys.
“He seemed very anxious to leave,” Mrs. Paris explained. “He even manhandled my butler.”
The siblings quickly realized it must have been Landcross, and that he had most likely left for the Circle Theater where Blackbird and his wife had gone.
“Do you think the witch sent him another vision?” Clover asked inside their hackney carriage.
“It appears so,” Archie said grimly.
Once they reached the theater, there was plenty of confusion to sort through. People stood about outside, talking about a shooting. Archie and Clover questioned a couple about what had happened.
“It was awful,” a woman bleated. “Utterly awful. Someone attacked the Queen!”
“The Queen was here?” a shocked Archie asked.
“Indeed. None of us knew until after the attack. Rumor has it that people were killed.”
A cold dread filled Archie’s stomach. After searching around, they eventually found Blackbird and Mrs. Reine.
“Two men tried to shoot the Queen,” Blackbird explained. “I went to stop it when Pierce showed up.”
“Then he did see a vision,” Clover said.
“There’s more,” Blackbird continued gravely. “Frederica Katz is dead.”
Clover gasped in disbelief. Archie stood stunned, his body going numb upon hearing the devastating news. “She . . . she’s dead? How?”
“She was shot by some madman in the crowd,” Blackbird continued. “I saw the whole thing. He killed her to draw Pierce to him.”
“Volker,” Clover guessed.
“Pierce chased him out of the theater. And—” Blackbird stopped and sucked in a breath. “Darius Javan took off after Pierce.”
Archie cocked an eyebrow. “He was here, too?”
“What about Kolt?” Clover interrupted. “Have you seen him?”
Blackbird and Mrs. Reine shook their heads.
“What about the Queen?” Archie asked anxiously. “Is she all right?”
“She’s pretty banged up,” Mrs. Reine answered. “A woman came. She uttered something to her and then left.”
Archie didn’t like the sound of that.
“More of the Queen’s guards had arrived, as well as a physician,” Mrs. Reine continued explaining. “He examined her and she was taken away to Buckingham.”
“Clover,” Archie said. “We must leave for the palace.”
“I need to find Kolt,” she argued.
“You can search for him later. Queen Victoria is family.”
Clover bit her lower lip as if trying to restrain herself from protesting. “You’re right,” she yielded. “Let us be away. Mr. Blackbird?”
“Yes?”
“If you see Kolt, will you tell him where I am?”
“I will,” he promised.
The siblings got into their carriage and headed for the palace.
“What do you think happened to Pierce?” Clover wondered.
“If he’s smart, he’ll be fleeing London even as we speak,” he said even though his gut feeling told him otherwise.
* * *
Pierce’s head hurt so badly, the pain blotted out his aches everywhere else. The blow he’d received had cut the side of his forehead. He kept his head tilted sideways to prevent blood from sliding into his left eye. If his hands weren’t tied behind him, he’d have wiped it away. While unconscious, Darius had found some rope to secure him. When Pierce eventually came around, Darius warned him to stay quiet. Given that the world spun as if the entire planet had gone topsy-turvy, and he would rather do without another knock to the noggin, Pierce obeyed.
They rode in silence, side by side, all the way to St. James’s Walk, where Clerkenwell Prison stood.
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” chuckled a gruff fellow named Luke Boothman, who wore a slightly dirty guardsman uniform. “If it ain’t ol’ Pierce Landcross in the flesh. We all heard about your little train stunt.”
At this point, Pierce almost wished he had robbed the damn train just so he wouldn’t get agitated when someone accused him of the crime. He gritted his teeth to keep from saying a word, just as Darius had ordered.
“He is also charged with treason for an assassination attempt against the Queen,” Darius added with malice.
Since arriving at the prison, his lordship had kept a firm grip on Pierce’s sore arm where the rod had struck it. As he spoke, Darius’s grasp tightened, making Pierce suck in a painful breath as Darius’s fingers dug into the tender muscle.
“You’re joking,” Luke gasped. “Is that why he’s all beat up?”
“No,” Pierce answered for Darius. “Volker Jäger did this. Remember seeing him, Darius? The one who shot Frederica?”
Darius shook him once and demanded, “Be quiet.”
“He’s a mouthy cunt, ain’t he?” Luke commented.
“I need to put him in the prison’s most segregated cell,” Darius insisted. “The hardest to escape from.”
“Every cell here is pretty difficult to get out of.”
“I’m sure, Boothman, but Landcross has a history of escaping.”
“I know.” The hardy sod chortled. “I’ve read the books.” He tipped his cap up. “We have somewhere we can put ’im.”
The prison guards cut the rope from around Pierce’s wrists and replaced them with shackles that they then clamped in front of him. The guards also put Pierce in ankle irons, which made the walk through the prison even more disheartening.
To get to this secluded cell, they cut through a three-story high cellblock with tall spiraling staircases leading up to each floor and then entered a small room locked behind a thick iron door. A square-shaped hole was located dead in the center of the room.
“Mind your step,” Luke warned, leading the way with a lantern down the hole. “These steps can be slick.”
The temperature dropped the farther down they went. The stone stairs—probably the originals from when the damn place was built—were damp and threatened to steal away Pierce’s balance. Water dripped like tears from the ceiling.
After a long, depressing descent into the first circle of hell, they finally reached the bottom. Luke unlocked another heavy door and a gust of frigid air whisked out. Pierce closed his eyes. He felt all sense of hope blow away with the icy breeze.
Once through, Luke made a sharp turn left. Pierce followed suit with Darius beh
ind him. The archway tunnel was illuminated by old candlelit lanterns hanging on rusted hooks on the wall between each cell. It gave the place a true medieval appearance. Luke’s gas lantern brightened their way. There were eight cells, but only two of the iron doors were closed, while the vacant compartments stood open.
“These cells are mighty secure,” Luke explained, stopping by an open door at the end. He patted Pierce hard a few times on the back with a hefty hand. “He won’t be breakin’ out of here.”
“Even so, I want to take no chances. I am leaving to inform the palace about the capture and to find out about the state of the Queen. I’ll return with armed military assistance.”
“Gonna see Her Majesty, eh?” Pierce spoke up.
Darius turned to him. His deadly look suggested he wanted to rip Pierce’s tongue out for speaking.
“While you’re checking in on her,” Pierce continued, “ask her what happened. You’ll find out that I wasn’t trying to kill her.”
It was the first real chance he’d gotten to proclaim his innocence—at least about that. There was still the matter of the railway hold up. Pierce reckoned, though, that once Darius spoke to Victoria, she’d clear up this mess. Perhaps it would prompt Darius to listen to Pierce’s side of things. It was his only shot at freedom.
Darius took a domineering step toward him. Pierce held his ground even though he was starting to feel woozy from being hit in the head. Standing for so long was becoming a challenge.
The Persian stared at him a long moment, then unsheathed his knife. Pierce couldn’t help but take a step back. Darius had held the same sterling silver knife on him at the old farmhouse near Indigo Peachtree’s place.
Darius handed the shiny blade over to Luke with instructions. “If there’s any trouble while I’m gone, Boothman, use this. If anyone comes even asking about Landcross, be ready to jab this into them.”
“Why?” Luke asked, taking the gleaming weapon and admiring it.
“Landcross is in league with a vampire.”
The guard flicked his sights up to Pierce. “Is he now? We’ll just have to be extra vigilant while guarding you, won’t we, boy?”
Pierce narrowed his eyes. He just bloody well hated being called “boy”.
“And send for a physician to tend to his wounds,” Darius added. “He needs to be conscious for his trial.”
“We can chain ’im to the wall,” Luke threw in. “Just for added security.”
“That won’t be necessary. I shall return in a couple of hours. Watch him, old friend, for the last time I left him in a prison, he got away.”
“He ain’t going to escape. Not from here.”
Luke grabbed Pierce by the arm and led him into the cell. When the door slammed shut behind Pierce, it made him jump. The lock clicked and just like that, he became an inmate of the Clerkenwell House of Detention.
* * *
Lord Javan didn’t care for the idea of letting Landcross out of his sight as he had done the last time he escaped. However, he had little choice. He needed more trained soldiers, and he sorely wanted to find out about the Queen’s condition.
He found it fortunate that he had managed to track Landcross at all. Javan had chased the fugitive even as Landcross pursued the actress’s murderer somewhere near the Thames. There, Javan lost them both. It wasn’t until he heard the loud crash inside the factory that he was able to locate Landcross.
Once Javan returned to the prison, he planned to interrogate the prisoner about what exactly had happened at the train factory and who the murderer was, as well as question him about those other men who had attacked the Queen. He needed to know why. Landcross had a motive for robbing the train, but why would he go after the Queen? Perhaps Landcross’s mind wasn’t all there, as in the case of John William Bean, who had tried shooting Her Majesty with a pistol loaded with paper and tobacco.
When he reached Buckingham Palace, he learned the Queen had already been brought in.
“A coma?” he gasped when a servant informed him outside the royal bedchamber.
“Yes, my lord,” the servant stated. “The physician confirmed it. She took a nasty hit to the head during the attack, it seems.”
Javan entered the bedroom where Prince Albert sat in a chair beside the bed where his wife lay with a bandage around her head.
“My prince,” he called softly when he reached the foot of the bed.
Prince Albert turned slowly to him and straightened his spine, lifting his chin off his folded hands, where it rested. “Lord Javan.” His eyes were red and glossy. “I heard you saved my wife’s life from the assassins and that you nearly died in doing so.”
“I could have done more,” Javan admitted gravely.
He truly meant it, too. He had not taken her concern seriously enough and consequently, hadn’t been at his best in order to react more quickly when the attack occurred.
“The same goes for me, I’m afraid,” the prince sighed. “I could have gone with her, helped protect her. She is alive, though. Because of you, she’s alive.”
The prince looked to his comatose spouse and reached over to touch her hand, which was lying beside her. Javan was a hard man when he needed to be. He was a soldier at heart, which required that he be as strong as steel when the situation called for it. However, seeing the mournful prince so fragile tightened his chest with sympathy. He pictured his own wife lying in bed, unconscious and wounded.
“Landcross has been captured, Your Grace,” he reported. “He is being held in the Clerkenwell House of Detention.”
The prince stood at the news. “He’s actually been caught?”
“Yes, My Prince. He was at the theater when the attack occurred. He shall not escape this time.”
The prince’s face hardened. “No. He will not, for he will be tried immediately. I will arrange it myself. And when he is found guilty, he will be put to death swiftly.”
“Forgive me, My Lord, but do you not mean if he is found guilty. He is claiming innocence of any wrongdoing. He says the Queen can verify it.”
“My wife isn’t in a state to verify anything, Lord Javan. And after what the witness claimed, I am more than convinced of Landcross’s guilt.”
“Witness?”
“A woman arrived at the palace when Victoria was brought in and gave a statement about what she saw at the theater. She is in the kitchen at this very moment, if you wish to question her.”
Javan did, indeed. He went downstairs to the kitchen where a strikingly beautiful woman with red hair sat at a table, drinking tea and speaking to the servants. “And then Lord Javan and his men strolled into town completely naked!”
The servants roared with laughter until Javan stepped in.
She smiled broadly at him. “Speak of the devil and the devil appears.”
“Leave,” he ordered the cooks and maids.
None of them argued as they quickly filed out of the room.
When they were alone, he asked, “You know me, my lady?”
“I know of you, yes. I saw you at the theater.”
Javan suddenly recalled seeing her with the Queen just before he chased Landcross.
“And may I ask your name?”
“I am Miss Bates. Freya Bates. Would you care to discuss this over a cup of tea? The servants kindly brewed a new batch. Though, I wish it was chamomile.”
Javan approached the other side of the table. There was something suspicious about her. She exuded a certain danger he had come across more than once in his lifetime. He folded his hands on the table and stared into her violet eyes. He also noticed a strange scent in the air. He could have sworn he smelled it once before in Newgate Prison after finding Landcross locked inside a cell. Things around him swayed and he felt a little nauseated as the brief dizzy spell passed through him.
When everything stilled, he couldn’t help but focus directly on her. “What did you see at the theater?”
She sipped her tea and set the cup down. “I was watching the play in the
next box over from the Queen’s.”
“Were you alone?”
“No. I was seated with an elderly couple who introduced themselves as Alex and Satilla Pots. With us was a younger couple who spoke little to anyone.”
Javan thought it strange that a beautiful woman such as Bates had gone unaccompanied to the theater.
“We heard the shots and saw the struggle. Mr. Pots announced it was the Queen, and that’s when the younger gentleman rushed out to help. I went with him.”
“That was brave of you.”
“She is our Queen, and it is our duty as her citizens to protect her. When I stepped out of the box seat, I saw him.”
“Who?”
“Pierce Landcross, of course. At first, I did not recognize him in his disguise.”
“You saw him shooting?”
“The guards outside were already dead by the time the young man and I reached the next box. I saw . . . ” Her eyes became mirrors and the lights of the kitchen were reflected in the tears forming in them. “I have never seen anyone gunned down before. Two other guards came out and were shot by the attackers. Landcross then shouted in French ‘To liberty and justice!’”
“He yelled it out in French?” Javan didn’t remember hearing anything of the sort.
“Indeed. I assume he was portraying himself as a French Revolutionary.”
Landcross had spoken to him with a French accent when Javan hung from the box seat.
“Why do you assume that?” Javan demanded.
“Why would he want the Queen dead?” she surmised. “He must have gotten into trouble in France and made a deal with someone to start a war between the two nations. There are a lot of dangerous people out there who are caught up in the revolutionary wave that is spreading even as we speak.”
Her detailed statement sounded a bit rehearsed, and yet Javan gave it serious thought as if her words had some sort of power over him.
Landcross could’ve arrived in England from anywhere. There was a possibility he had fallen into some sort of trouble that required he hold up a locomotive or kill a monarch. Anything was possible with someone like Pierce Landcross.
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