by Amanda Quick
“We met soon after I began my work with the young women of the streets,” Adelaide said. “Pierce and his companion, Mr. Harrow, took an interest in my charity house. When I mentioned my plans to raid some brothels in order to engage the attention of the press, Mr. Harrow offered to assist. He invited two members of the Janus Club to help also. Do you know of the club, sir?”
“Pierce established it years ago. The members are all women who prefer to live as men. I assume that the volunteers from the club are the ones who spirit the girls away after you have emptied the house by crying fire?”
“Yes. But how do you know so much about Mr. Pierce?”
“Over the years we have found it mutually advantageous to form an alliance.”
“I suppose I can understand why the two of you would have been obliged to arrive at certain arrangements and understandings regarding the control of the various shady businesses that you each operate. Open war would hardly benefit either of you.”
He discovered to his surprise that he did not care for the disdain in her voice. He thought that he had long ago ceased to be concerned with the opinions of others, but Adelaide Pyne’s obvious disapproval irritated him for some reason.
“Don’t you find your position somewhat hypocritical, Mrs. Pyne?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are a lady who forms associations with crime lords when it suits you. What does that make you?”
He heard the quick intake of her breath and knew that he had finally scored a point. What the devil was the matter with him? He needed her help. Trading barbs was hardly the most intelligent way to go about the task.
“Let us be clear, sir,” she said. “I have formed an alliance with one particular crime lord, Mr. Pierce, not with you or anyone else in that business.”
“I stand corrected,” he said. “One alliance with one crime lord, it is.”
“Speaking of Pierce, you claim that he did not tell you my identity. How, then, did you discover it?”
“Your raids have created quite a sensation, not just in the press but on the streets as well. There were rumors that some of the young prostitutes who have disappeared in the past few months vanished shortly after visiting a certain charity house on Elm Street. I made some inquiries and learned that the establishment, which until recently had been struggling financially, was currently flourishing under a new, anonymous patron known only as The Widow.”
“Your investigation led you directly to me?” She was aghast. “Was it really so simple to discover my identity?”
“You have concealed your connection to the charity house well. But while individuals may hide their identities easily enough, I regret to inform you that it is relatively simple to track the flow of money. That is especially true when it transpires that all of the bills and expenses of a certain charity house are paid for by a specific bank.”
“Good heavens. My bankers gave you my name? Is nothing sacred?”
“In my extensive experience, no, at least not when money is involved. There is an individual employed at your bank who happened to owe me a favor. When he learned that I was seeking the identity of the new patron of a certain charity house he was kind enough to repay his debt to me by giving me your name.”
“I see.” Frost dripped from every word. “Do you always do business in such a manner?”
“Whenever possible. I have all the money I require, Mrs. Pyne. These days I find that a debt owed to me is a far more valuable commodity.”
“So you threaten and intimidate innocent people such as that bank clerk?”
“I thought I made it clear. There were no threats involved. The clerk owed me a favor.”
“It strikes me that a favor owed to a crime lord is little short of a threat or extortion.”
“Were you born this self- righteous, Mrs. Pyne, or did you acquire the trait during your years in America?”
She stiffened. “You know that I lived in America?”
“The bank clerk mentioned it. But I would have guessed it in any event. I can hear the overtones of an accent in your voice. I’ll wager you spent a good deal of time in the West.”
“I do not see what that has to do with this conversation.”
“Neither do I, so let us move on to the more important topic.”
“Which is?” she asked warily.
“How you are going to save me.”
“And just how will I accomplish that? Always assuming I am of a mind to do so.”
“With luck, your ability to work dreamlight will be my salvation.”
“I admit that I am a dreamlight reader,” she said. “But there is a vast difference between being able to perceive the residue of dream energy and being able to manipulate the currents of that sort of ultralight.”
“I am convinced that you can do both,” he said.
“What makes you believe that?”
“My theory was confirmed yesterday morning when I heard about the man who was found unconscious in the alley behind the Avery Street brothel.”
“He’s not dead,” she gasped. “I would have known . . .” She broke off abruptly, evidently aware that she had already said far too much.
“He’s alive, but I’m told that his nerves were shattered by the nightmares he experienced while he was in a most profound sleep. They say that his companions were unable to awaken him for several hours.”
Adelaide’s gloved fingers tightened around the handle of her umbrella. “He tried to seize me when I went downstairs into the alley to get away. Claimed he’d spotted me earlier in the evening and suspected that there was something off about me, as he put it. I recognized him as the enforcer the girls feared the most at that brothel. I was told that he could be quite brutal. But I fail to see how you made the connection to me.”
“The rumors I heard made me think that whoever rendered him unconscious used psychical talent. There was not a mark on him, I’m told. The fact that he is even now babbling about vivid nightmares convinced me that the person responsible for his condition was in all likelihood a dreamlight worker.”
“I see.”
“That particular enforcer has killed men, Mrs. Pyne,” he said evenly. “You were damned lucky to survive the encounter.”
She said nothing.
He was wasting time trying to make her see the recklessness of her ways. Stick to the point, he thought. If the lady wants to take foolish risks, that’s her affair. But for some reason, consigning Adelaide Pyne to her fate was easier said than done.
“If you knew my identity, what made you contact Mr. Pierce?” she asked.
“I desired a proper introduction. He agreed to arrange this meeting.”
“Because the two of you are allies?”
He knew she was not going to like the answer.
“Mr. Pierce also owes me a few favors,” he said.
“Like the poor man who works at my bank.”
“Pierce would never have given you up to me, if that is what concerns you. He agreed only to suggest the meeting to you but he made it clear that whether or not you accepted the invitation would be your decision. Perhaps the more intriguing question is why you consented to come here today.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I had little choice in the matter. It was obvious that if you had gotten as far as making inquiries of Mr. Pierce it would not be long before you found me.”
He did not respond. Her conclusion was right. He would have come looking for her if Pierce had not agreed to set up the meeting.
“What is the precise nature of your problem, sir?” Adelaide asked. “I am well aware that you are not engaged in the brothel business so you have nothing to fear from a social reformer like me.”
“What makes you so certain that I do not operate any brothels?”
She waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. “The girls who come to the charity house bring a river of gossip from the streets. They collect far more information than most people, including their customers and the bro
thel keepers, realize. They are aware of who engages in the business of selling flesh and who does not. There are many rumors about you, sir, but none of them link you to that despicable activity.”
“I will take comfort in knowing that I needn’t worry about an assault from your raiders,” he said politely.
“Do you mock me, sir?”
“No, Mrs. Pyne. I fear for your life. It is evident that you are now going after Luttrell’s whorehouses. He is a ruthless man who lacks any vestige of a conscience. He does not know the meaning of remorse. He is driven by greed and a lust for power.”
“One generally expects those sterling qualities in a crime lord,” she said coolly. “Do you claim to be from a different mold?”
“I thought we had just agreed that I do not make money from brothels.”
He had to work to keep the edge out of his voice. If they were in each other’s company much longer he would soon be looking for some effective way to silence her, at least temporarily. It occurred to him that kissing her would achieve that objective.
“My apologies, sir,” Adelaide said. “I am well aware that your character is vastly different from Luttrell’s. He is truly a monster. I see the damage he causes every time I take a girl out of one of his establishments.”
“You got away with raiding two of his houses but I doubt that you will escape so easily the next time. Take my advice, Mrs. Pyne. Find another hobby.”
“Is that a threat, sir? Are you implying that you will inform Luttrell of my identity if I do not agree to help you?”
Anger crackled through him. There was no logical reason why she should trust him, let alone place any faith in his character. Nevertheless, he did not like knowing that she believed he would stoop to blackmail.
“I am attempting to make you see reason, Mrs. Pyne,” he said. He clung to his patience with an effort of will. “It did not take me long to understand that you are now targeting Luttrell’s brothels. You may be assured that he will soon come to the same conclusion, if he has not already done so. The pattern is clear.”
“How can that be? Three of the five raids were conducted on independent brothels.”
“You practiced your strategy on those first three raids. When you believed that you were ready, you went after your real target. Now that you’ve tasted some success, you are planning to continue raiding Luttrell’s operations.”
“Why would I concentrate on him?”
“Probably because they employ the youngest women and cater to the most jaded clients. When you hit his whorehouses you also embarrass some of the most socially prominent men in London. By making an example of Luttrell and his customers, you hope to frighten other, smaller brothel owners.”
She sighed. “My plan is that obvious?”
He shrugged. “It is to me. There is no reason to think that Luttrell won’t figure it out as well. He is not a stupid man. Furthermore, I am quite certain that he possesses a considerable degree of talent of his own. You would be wise to assume that his intuition is at least as good as mine.”
She was silent for a moment.
“How well do you know Luttrell?” she asked finally.
“We are not friends, if that is what you mean,” he said. “We are competitors. At one time we went to war with each other. The Truce settled certain matters between us but it does not mean that we trust each other. And a truce can always be broken.”
“I have heard of this Truce,” she said. “According to the rumors, you and Luttrell battled for months over the territories that each of you wanted to control. The two of you finally met in Craygate Cemetery and struck a bargain. In effect, you divided much of London’s underworld empire between your two organizations.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Good grief. Have you no shame, sir?”
“I leave the finer feelings to people like you, Mrs. Pyne. In my experience delicate sensibilities get in the way of making money.”
“Is making a profit all that you care about?”
“That and staying sane. Both goals require that I keep you alive, at least until I have convinced you to help me. If you insist on forging ahead with your current pastime of raiding Luttrell’s brothels, I expect your body will soon turn up in the river.”
To his surprise she hesitated.
“I will admit that I have a few concerns about the strategy that I have been employing on the raids,” she said reluctantly.
“Only a few concerns? How often do you think that the Trojan-horse strategy could have been repeated using the same damn horse? Sooner or later, even a fool will catch on, and I can promise you that Luttrell is no fool.”
“The thing is, the fake smoke is so effective. It always empties out a house within minutes and it creates great confusion,” she said.
“But it is also a very obvious tactic. You won’t get away with it again, not if you use it against a Luttrell operation. He’ll have his enforcers waiting for you next time.”
“You sound very sure of that.”
“Very likely because that is what I would do in his place. If I operated a string of brothels, trust me, I’d have enforcers watching the clients like hawks by now.”
She cleared her throat. “You are nothing if not forthright, sir. But I refuse to believe that you would have me murdered in cold blood if I staged a raid against one of your operations. That is not your style.”
He smiled at that. “You know little of my style. But I will promise you that nothing that ever happens between us will be in cold blood, Adelaide Pyne.”
She stilled, evidently struck speechless.
“Fortunately, this is a hypothetical conversation,” he added. “As you pointed out, I’m not in the brothel business.”
“What if I raided one of your gambling clubs or taverns?” she asked icily. “Would my body end up in the river?”
“No. My methods tend to be a good deal more subtle than Luttrell’s.”
“Such as?”
He could be patient, he reminded himself. Patience was a virtue in his profession. The ability to wait for the proper moment to strike, combined with his natural intuition, had won him more victories than he could count. Impulse and strong passions were the greatest sins that could beset a crime lord. He had considered himself to be free of both for years . . . until Adelaide Pyne.
“We digress, Mrs. Pyne,” he said, making a valiant effort not to grind his teeth. “Let’s return to the point of this meeting.”
“This meeting, as you call it, is not going well.”
“That is because you are being difficult.”
“It’s a gift,” she shot back.
“I have no trouble believing that.”
She tapped the tip of her umbrella against the pedestal that held the ugly artifact. “Very well, sir. You said you needed my help on an urgent matter. Why don’t you explain exactly what it is you wish me to do for you? Then, perhaps we can discuss the possibility of a mutually agreeable bargain.”
The word bargain sparked a lightning-bright warning. He was willing to pay her for her services, but the notion of negotiating with her gave him considerable pause. On the other hand, it was not as though he had much choice in the matter. Adelaide Pyne was his only hope.
“I have a rather long and somewhat complicated story to tell you,” he said carefully.
“Perhaps you will be able to cut your tale short when I inform you that I have an artifact in my possession that I believe belongs to you. A family heirloom, I suspect.”
It was his turn to be stunned. Impossible, he thought. She could not possibly have the lamp.
“What are you talking about?” he asked finally.
“I refer to a rather odd antiquity shaped something like a vase. I believe it is about two hundred years old. It is fashioned of some metal that resembles gold. The rim is set with a number of cloudy gray crystals.”
Anticipation flooded through him. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he allowed himself a mea
sure of hope.
“Damn it to hell,” he said very softly. “You found the Burning Lamp.”
“Is that what it is called? Now that you mention it, I suppose it does resemble certain ancient oil lamps. But it is not made of alabaster in the Egyptian manner.”
“How did you know that it belonged to me?”
“I didn’t know it. Not until I met you a few minutes ago. It sounds impossible, but the artifact is infused with a formidable quantity of dreamlight. The patterns of the energy trapped in the lamp are nearly identical to your own. There are dreamprints on the device as well that are clearly from a man of your bloodline.”
He could not believe his good fortune. He had come here today hoping to persuade her to help him search for the lamp. The possibility that she already had it in her possession left him feeling first light-headed and then—predictably enough given his nature—suspicious.
“How long have you had it?” he asked evenly, as though merely curious.
“I was fifteen when I acquired it.”
Something in the very cool way she spoke told him that he was not going to get a complete answer to that question, not yet.
“How did it come into your possession?” he asked.
“I don’t think that matters now,” she said.
One thing at a time, he told himself. He could wait. The first step was to make certain that she possessed the real Burning Lamp.
“You mentioned that the artifact was not particularly attractive,” he said. “I’m surprised you kept it around all these years.”
“It has been a great nuisance, I assure you.”
“Why is that?” He realized that he was still searching for the flaw in what appeared to be an incredible turn of luck.
“It took up valuable space in my luggage during my travels in America, for one thing,” she said. “But the more serious problem is that the energy it gives off is quite disturbing, even to those who do not possess much talent. It is certainly not the sort of ornament that one wants sitting on the mantel. To be honest, I shall be delighted to get rid of it. And so will Mrs. Trevelyan.”
