by C. J. Archer
“Unless I do as they ask,” I said, as much to Matt as to Oscar. “Do you see the point I’m trying to make? If the public learned about Amelia and her magic, they’d be frightened. They’d wonder what the rest of us are capable of. They’ll think that magic is dangerous in the wrong hands. And they’d be right to believe that.”
“The Moretons are an exception,” Oscar said. “The rest of us have benign magic that doesn’t do much except create excellent boots or ink or watches.”
“Try telling that to a frightened public,” Matt said.
“I’ll address it in my book,” Oscar shot back.
I sighed. “Think about it, please. Consider abandoning your book altogether, not just pretending to. Its publication could have the opposite effect from what you intend and see magicians persecuted and ostracized even more.”
Oscar had no reply, which was not only surprising it was a relief. I hoped that meant he would think about the implications a little more. He needed to step back from the project and see it from more sides than just his own.
“You can’t print anything we just told you in your paper,” Matt warned him. “The Moreton family’s magic must remain a secret, even after she’s caught. It’s not just the public who need to remain blissfully unaware of what Amelia is capable of, but also persons who might want to use her power for their own nefarious reasons. Groups like the Fenians would like to detonate bombs without a timer. Do you understand, Barratt?”
Oscar sighed. “It disturbs my sensibilities to hide the truth, but I understand. My editor won’t allow me to print anything related to magic these days, anyway. I won’t tell anyone, not even Louisa.” He sighed again. “I will have to tell her about Whittaker setting a thug on me, however.”
“We’d prefer you didn’t,” Matt said.
“Do you know how difficult it has been to keep the truth from her? She still thinks it was a random attack and is insisting I tell the police. She can’t understand why I won’t report it.”
Matt rose and held his hand out to me. “I’ll blame you if she confronts Whittaker,” he told Oscar.
“Ha! That’s rich, coming from you. India has just scolded me for saying she’s capable of forming her own ideas, and yet you think I am responsible for everything Louisa does.”
Matt glared at him. “Tell her what you like, but ask her to inform the club members that you’ve abandoned the book idea. Make sure Whittaker hears but isn’t aware that we’re onto him. I want to find out what he’s up to and why.”
“It’s obvious why he wants the book stopped. He and Coyle both want magic kept secret to protect the value of their collections.”
Neither Matt nor I disabused him of that notion. We simply bade him goodbye and left.
“That went well,” I said as we headed for our carriage parked around the corner on Fleet Street.
Matt eyed me sideways. “Were we in the same meeting?”
“I mean it. I think Oscar is coming around to the idea that his book ought not go ahead.”
“We’ll see.”
We stopped at Scotland Yard for an update from Brockwell, but he could tell us little more than we already knew. All known stores of gunpowder were being watched by his men and all illegal importers reported by Coyle’s spies were being questioned.
“I’ve performed preliminary questioning myself,” he said from where he sat at his desk.
I was happy to see one of our plates before him. A few crumbs were all that remained of his meal. Willie had brought him something from our kitchen after all.
“The problem is, they’re all remaining tight-lipped,” he went on. “I cannot be sure if their supplies are complete or if they’ve sold saltpeter to Amelia or Bunn. They’re refusing to say.”
“Have you offered to have their sentences reduced if they give you information that leads to an arrest?” Matt asked.
“It’s not in my power to make such a promise. Unlike Moreton, some of them know that.” Brockwell clasped his hands over his stomach. “It’s very frustrating. I even considered employing more traditional methods to get them to talk.”
“More traditional methods?” I prompted.
Brockwell stroked his tie and avoided my gaze. “Never mind.” He handed me the plate. “Willie brought me some of your cook’s cake and biscuits. Would you be so kind as to return this plate to Mrs. Potter and thank her for me?”
“Of course,” I said, accepting it. “Isn’t Willie coming past to pick it up?”
“She joined the others in surveillance.”
“Is that wise, considering her kidnapping ordeal?”
“She informed me in no uncertain terms that she has recovered. I gathered from her tone that she would brook no arguments. I acquiesced, of course, since I am not a fool who likes to take his life into his own hands.” He chuckled.
“She was very keen to feed you,” I said. “She’s worried about your wellbeing on such a difficult case as this.”
He scratched his sideburns and fought against a smile, but it won out. “Oh, well, that’s very good of her. She’s got a good heart, although she doesn’t like people knowing it.”
“Only certain people,” I said. “You being one.”
He blushed.
Matt cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need my help. No matter the task, I’ll be happy to do it.”
“In that case, some more cake would be nice.”
Matt gave him a thin smile. I tried not to laugh as we left together.
“Not the sort of help you had in mind?” I asked as we walked back to the front reception.
“No task is beneath me, not even food delivery,” Matt said.
I looped my arm through his. “What are the traditional police methods he’s reluctant to employ on the illegal gunpowder importers?”
“Violence.”
I clutched his arm harder. “Well I’m glad he’s not doing that.”
Further updates arrived the following morning when Willie, Duke and Cyclops returned for breakfast and a rest. Apparently a policeman reported a sighting of Mr. Bunn in the Bloomsbury area but a follow up search hadn’t proved fruitful.
“Someone must be harboring them,” Matt said.
“Another magician,” I added.
He and I looked at one another. We didn’t know of any but we could gather names from Lord Coyle or Oscar. Between them they might know of a magician in the Bloomsbury area.
We prepared to leave for The Weekly Gazette as soon as breakfast was finished, since we were both of the opinion that Oscar was the lesser of two evils. It was Saturday but hopefully he was at the office and not at home.
I was caught by Aunt Letitia before I could escape, however. “You promised to take me shopping, India,” she said, a pout in her voice.
“I’ll take you when I get back,” I assured her.
“When will that be?”
“Hopefully this afternoon.”
She gave me an arched look. “Hopefully?”
I pecked her cheek. “Then we’ll have a nice afternoon tea when we get home.”
Matt pecked her other cheek. “India and I have an important investigation that needs our attention.”
“Can’t you take one of them?” She looked back into the dining room where Cyclops was still eating, but Duke and Willie were chatting quietly over cups of coffee.
“They’re exhausted,” I said. “They’ve been up all night helping the police.”
Her lips formed a tight O. “I thought they’d been to a gambling den. I suppose I should be nice to them, then.”
Matt and I were about to leave when a carriage rolled up and deposited Fabian on the pavement. He beamed when he saw me, but it quickly faded when he realized I was about to leave in our waiting carriage.
“I hoped we could work today, India,” he said, the pout in his voice matching Aunt Letitia’s. “It has been some time since we made the carpet fly and I am eager to continue.”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
He frowned and eyed Matt, who was approaching our carriage to speak to Woodall. “India, are you avoiding our work?”
“Not at all,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. “We have an important investigation that requires both of us.” My heart pinched and I winced a little. It was time to have a talk to him about our spell casting. But not here and now.
Matt signaled me from the carriage. “I must go,” I said to Fabian.
“Wait.” He caught my hand. “I have been thinking about the flying carpet. I think I know a way to make it hold a person in flight.”
“Marvelous,” I said then checked myself. If I was going to tell him we needed to stop our spell casting then it wouldn’t do to show too much excitement for a spell we’d never get to create.
“I reinforce it with my iron,” he said. “I will have to speak my flying spell into the iron supports, of course, or it will never get off the ground.” He gave me a tentative, hopeful look. “Well?”
“Marvelous,” I said again. “But I really must go now. We’ll talk about it when this is all over.”
He paused then bowed deeply over my hand. “As you wish, ma femme incroyable.”
He waved us off from the pavement but there was no smile on his face, only a troubled frown.
“He must feel neglected,” Matt said after I pointed it out to him.
“I’ll spend some time with him after Amelia is caught, but I don’t think he’ll like what I have to say.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to tell him I no longer want to create new spells with him. This experience with Mr. Bunn and Amelia has shown me the extremes some magicians are prepared to go to, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. And then there’s the government and what they’re up to with Whittaker, and of course Coyle is circling.” I pressed a hand to my forehead. “Fabian and I didn’t really think it through when we began. We selfishly forged on without a thought as to who would want these spells and what they’d be used for. I naively thought it was an innocent endeavor.”
Matt put his arm around me and kissed my forehead. “Fabian will be disappointed.”
“I know.”
“But he’ll recover.”
“I know that, too.” I tilted my face up and he kissed me lightly on the lips. “Will you come with me when I tell him? He’s less likely to beg me to reconsider if your looming presence is there.”
“Looming? Could you not have said towering instead? How you do deflate my sense of self-worth, India.”
I patted his chest. “I’m merely righting it. It can get rather inflated at times, what with the way all the women look at you in the street.”
He frowned. “They do?”
I punched him lightly and snuggled into him for the rest of the journey to The Weekly Gazette’s office.
Unfortunately Oscar was not there. We sat in his office and waited, but after eighteen minutes, we considered abandoning the idea and seeking out Lord Coyle instead. It went against every grain of my being to ask his lordship yet another favor, and I certainly didn’t want to see either him or his wife again unless absolutely necessary. Matt agreed and we continued to wait. Five minutes later the office door inched open.
“It’s just you two,” Oscar said on a breath. He opened the door and entered, but not before checking that no one had followed him.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “You seem more on edge today.”
“I received this.” He opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. In typed letters, it read:
Stop writing the book or you will be forced to stop.
I covered my gasp with my hand.
“Is this the first one you’ve received?” Matt asked, turning the paper over to inspect the back.
Oscar nodded. “Ever since the beating I’ve been expecting to encounter someone every time I go out, or every time I arrive home. I even asked a colleague to walk with me the other day, just to have company. And the day before, I caught a cab home. But this is the first letter.”
“No wonder you’re on edge,” I said. “When did it arrive?”
“Late yesterday.” He removed his hat and dragged a hand through his hair. “I have to confront Whittaker. I’m not getting any sleep with these threats hanging over my head.”
“Not yet,” Matt said. “Continue with the original plan and have Louisa tell the collectors club you’ve given up the idea of the book. That’ll stop Whittaker and you’ll no longer have to worry.”
Oscar raked a hand through his hair again.
“Ask her to hold a meeting as soon as possible,” Matt said.
Oscar slumped into the chair with a groan. “I hate this.”
“Then go a step further and stop writing the damned book!”
Oscar sighed.
“Matt does have a point,” I said gently. “You should think about it. In the meantime, we have a task for you. Do you know any magicians in the Bloomsbury area? We assume Amelia Moreton is being harbored by magicians, and there’s been a sighting of her accomplice there.”
Matt plucked the pen from the inkstand and handed it to Oscar then pushed the inkwell closer too. “A list will suffice.”
“I don’t need to write them down. I only know of two, and I’ll come with you to question them.” He stood and picked up his hat, only to pause when he saw us both staring at him. “I’m not staying here all day waiting for Whittaker’s man to use my face as a punching bag again. Besides, I want to help you catch Miss Moreton. She’s ruining the exemplary reputation of all magicians.”
“Exemplary?” Matt muttered. “Have you forgotten Pitt, Hendry—"
“No. But the artless aren’t aware they’re magicians.”
Matt muttered again but it was too low for me to hear. Oscar ignored him altogether as he led the way to the front door, only to pause before going out.
“After you, Glass.”
“Nobody’s going to charge at you,” Matt said, pushing the door open.
“Not with you around, no.”
“I am not your bodyguard.”
An icy wind stung my cheeks and almost dislodged my hat. With one hand holding my hat in place and the other clutching a closed umbrella, I hurried toward our carriage waiting around the corner. Matt moved up alongside me and Oscar fell into step on my right.
We’d almost reached the corner when the gunshot rang out.
Chapter 11
Matt pushed me into the wall and shielded me with his body. His heart thundered in my ear. My own heart beat a wild rhythm against my ribs. Neither quite drowned out the bellowed curse from Oscar, nor the shouts coming from the direction of Fleet Street. I recognized Woodall’s voice.
“Sir! Sir, are you all right?”
Matt drew away and cupped my cheeks. He searched my face as I searched his. We were both unharmed, thank God. Shaken, but not injured. I released a shuddery breath.
“We’re fine,” Matt said, stepping out of my vision to reveal Oscar sitting on the ground.
“Oscar!” I went to his side but he seemed unharmed. “Are you shot?”
“I don’t think so.” He accepted Matt’s offered hand and picked up his hat from the ground. “Has the shooter been caught?”
“He ran off along Fleet,” Woodall said, waving in an easterly direction. “He’ll be long gone by now.”
“Did you get a look at his face?” Matt asked as he strode off toward Fleet Street.
Woodall hurried after him. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t. He wore a cloak and his hat was pulled low. Someone else might have got a better look.”
There were quite a number of men milling about, discussing the alarming event. Hopefully Woodall was right, and someone could identify the shooter.
The sound of the gunshot had brought some of Oscar’s colleagues out of the Gazette’s office. They crowded around Oscar and peppered him with questions. One even had his notepad and pencil ready. Oscar pushed past them as something on the brick wall of a neighboring building caught h
is attention.
“Is that the mark left by the bullet?” I asked.
He poked his finger into the divot. “I think so.”
I looked back to where we had been at the time of the shooting. “His aim wasn’t very good. You were walking on my right. Matt was on this side.” All the blood suddenly rushed from my head to my stomach, making me feel sick and faint at the same time.
Oscar caught my elbow and gently steered me so that my back was to the wall. “Take some deep breaths.” He breathed in and out too, as if his own nerves required steadying. “Good. Your color is beginning to return.”
“Do you need to sit down, madam?” asked one of the journalists.
I gave them all a weak smile. “I’m all right, thank you. It just suddenly occurred to me how close we came to…” I swallowed.
Oscar studied the bullet hole again then looked toward Fleet Street. “The shooter must have been rushed. He probably fired without taking proper aim. Fleet Street’s busy and a passerby would have raised the alarm before he fired if he’d taken his time.”
“Why is someone shooting at you?” one of the reporters asked him.
“The real question is, why is only one person shooting at me? I’m sure my articles have annoyed more than a single person.” Oscar smiled.
His colleague laughed nervously and glanced toward Fleet Street, where Matt was talking to witnesses. A constable had joined him and was taking notes.
It was some time before all the witness statements had been gathered. Oscar spent much of that time trying to avoid giving proper answers to his inquisitive colleagues. He laughed it off and claimed it was an entirely random attack. They might have believed him if not for the old bruises on his face. Clearly someone wanted to harm Oscar.
Matt pointed that fact out once the crowd had dispersed and the constable departed. “We have to part ways, Barratt. You can’t come with us to question the Bloomsbury magicians. I don’t want you near India. It’s not personal but you’re a risk at the moment.”
