by Lynn Viehl
He came to the bed and loomed over me. “He’s Aramanthan, Charmian, and more dangerous than you can imagine.”
“What a coincidence, he says the exact same thing about you.” All this drama was making me tired again. “Oh, do sit down. I’m getting a crick in my neck.”
“Are you.” He lifted me into his arms, blankets and all, and carried me over to the chair to sit with me on his lap. “Better?”
It was, not that I’d admit it. “I’m supposed to stay in the damn bed.”
“I can have you moved to Morehaven tomorrow,” he murmured as he adjusted my blanket. “My personal physick can supervise your recovery, and you’ll be protected there.”
“From everyone but you.” I rested my cheek against his shoulder. “Did you call on Lady Bestly today?”
“I did. Some sooty little wench came to the door and said Eugenia was too ill to receive.” He threaded his fingers through mine. “The ton has already begun questioning her reasons for delaying Bestly’s mourning. It is only a matter of time before the truth comes out.”
Another reason I was glad to be a commoner; the nobs always turned death into the social event of the season. “What is the protocol for a lady widow to mourn a husband who turned into a mad hairy killer just before he dropped dead?”
“Eugenia will be pitied by some, certainly, but the Hill must preserve its purity and dignity.” His tone hardened. “In the eyes of the ton she will cease to exist. The invitations will stop immediately, and no one will ever call on her again. In public she will be given the cut direct.”
Rina had endured much worse than that, and she’d survived. “That’s not so bad.”
“If it were only that, perhaps she could retire from society and live a quiet life,” Dredmore agreed. “Bestly’s actions will irrevocably taint her, however, and the ton has many ways of evicting those they considered undesirable from their proximity. She will be unable to replace her servants, and tradesmen will be directed to refuse her household orders. She will begin to receive anonymous suggestions that she leave Rumsen, polite at first, and then they will grow more direct. There will be no suitors to ask for her hand, of course, so in three months’ time her husband’s estate will revert to the Crown.”
I hadn’t thought of the inheritance laws. Because the Bestlys were childless, there was no male heir, and under Torian law wives and daughters could not inherit. In the early days of settlement, disease and warring with the natives had killed many Torian men before they could father any children, and their families had pressed New Parliament into changing the old English entailment laws. If she remarried within three months of her husband’s death, Lady Bestly’s new husband could petition the court to take possession of the estate, and if there were no liens against it he would inherit everything.
But Dredmore had said there would be no suitors, and that meant no remarriage. “What happens to her if they take it all away?”
“She will be served official notice to vacate the house within seven days. As neither she nor Bestly have any living family to provide for her, she will have nowhere to go. After a week if she is found at the house, she will be removed by the police and jailed for trespassing on Crown property.” He glanced down at me. “If that happens, even you might pity her.”
“I wouldn’t put money on that.” But I already did. “Anyway, if the worst happens, you’ll look after her.”
“I have already offered to help her leave Rumsen and settle elsewhere,” he told me. “She has flatly refused my assistance. If we cannot clear her husband’s name, I fear she will elect to take the avenue of last resort.”
Disgraced gents usually put a bullet in their brains, but the ladies were a bit more genteel about it. “She’ll walk off a cliff.” Even if Lady Bestly survived the drop, which most didn’t, the weight of water-laden skirts would drag her under the icy waters of the bay. “If it comes to that, you can use your mind-magic on her. Persuade her to believe cliffs are indecent. Shouldn’t take much.”
“Such compassion for Eugenia.” He seemed bemused. “She had none for you when inflicting your suffering.”
“Others did.” I smiled a little, remembering. “There was this old gent who liked to feed the pigeons in the park. He bought me tea and a sticky bun every time he came. Some days that was all I had to eat. My friend Bridget and I met when she caught me rummaging through the remnants in the bins behind the mill. The weather had turned cold and I had nothing but the clothes on my back. She could have called a beater, but instead she brought out a brand-new wool blanket. To this day I still keep it on my bed.”
He caressed my cheek. “Perhaps I shall toss Eugenia off a cliff.”
“That’s not why I told you, Lucien.” I tried to think of how to put it. “If I were to take pleasure in Lady Bestly’s misfortunes, I should be ashamed of myself. It would be the same as spitting on the people who were kind to me when she was not.”
“Then it is a noble thing you do here.” He studied my face. “You claim everything you do as a disenchanter is simply business, but I suspect more often than not you are as ruled by a soft heart as that hard head. It also makes me wonder how I shall ever repay my debt to you.”
I pretended to think. “Well, you are very rich.”
The door to my room flung open with a bang and something dark and snarling barreled inside. Dredmore grabbed me up and leapt across the bed, setting me on my feet and shoving me behind him. When I darted round him I saw it was one of the Wolfmen from the morgue, his body still gaping open and the mech inside whirring and grinding. He began to advance on us, his jagged teeth snapping, and as he drew closer the hair on his body receded, revealing more of his ruined flesh.
“Climb out the window,” Dredmore said to me, never taking his eyes from the beast. “Now, Charmian.”
The magic spell making him a beast might not work in my presence, but my power had no effect on the mech inside him. Nothing would stop him, unless—
I picked up the curtain closer and pushed it in Dredmore’s hand. “The sphere in the center of his chest. You must destroy it.”
The Wolfman hurled himself at us, and Dredmore brought up the curtain closer just in time. I cringed as I heard the sickening sound of tearing flesh and shattering mech as the Wolfman impaled himself on the rod. The body thrashed wildly for several moments and then sagged, jerking and twitching. The sound of the ticking came to a halt, and the Wolfman hung motionless.
“Miss Kittredge, I thought we had an understanding.” Sister Bailey marched in, halted, and stared at the Wolfman. “You are . . . to stay . . . in bed.”
“I was in bed, Sister.” I tried not to look at the body. “Um, is the morgue still receiving?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You are not well enough to be released,” Sister Bailey said several hours later as she replaced the last bandage and began buttoning the nurse’s uniform she’d found for me to wear home. “Mr. Brecourt will be absolutely furious in the morning when he finds you gone.”
“I’m sorry about that, and I wish I could stay.” I looked over at Sister James, who was gingerly collecting the last of the bloody parts that had exploded from the Wolfman’s chest. “But if I did, this could happen again, and other patients might be hurt.”
“That some mage would use a dead man for such wickedness—and in a hospital. It’s absolutely revolting.” She eyed the stains the Wolfman’s oily blood had left on the floor. “Until the police capture this villain, Miss Kittredge, I fear you will not be safe anywhere. Where will you go?”
I heard the sound of angry voices arguing in the hall. “I believe that matter is still being discussed, Sister.” As she came round to straighten my collar I met her worried gaze. “Would you believe me if I told you this was not the worst thing to happen to me?”
“Yes, I would.” She surveyed me before nodding. “There, now you look respectable. You should leave the bandages on until morning, and if there is any fever or festering you must see a physick at once.
”
She helped me into the wheeled chair and after covering me with a blanket pushed me out into the hall. As soon as I emerged Dredmore and Doyle stopped quarreling and turned to me.
“Gentlemen.” I smiled. “Have you come to a decision?”
“I am moving you to Morehaven,” Dredmore said, at the same time Doyle announced, “You’ll be taken into protective custody.”
As my protectors glared at each other I looked up at Sister Bailey. “Does the hospital have a carri for patients who need transportation?”
“I took the liberty of sending word to your grandmother, Miss Kittredge, and she is providing a carri for you.” She pushed me past the men toward the reception lobby.
Dredmore caught up with us first. “I will not permit you to go home, Charmian. You will be alone and entirely vulnerable to another attack there. Furthermore, you don’t have a grandmother.”
“I am not going home, Lucien, and you don’t know everything about me.” I nodded to the beaters we passed—Doyle had stationed more than a dozen on the ward—and took a moment to check what coin I had left in my reticule. As Tommy came trotting up beside my chair I said, “Inspector, it would be wise to post some men here tonight to keep watch. I trust Dredmore has advised you of how they might best incapacitate these Wolfmen.”
“Be sensible, Kit,” Doyle said, stepping out to block our path. “You can’t just walk out of here after being attacked twice by these beasts.”
“Three times, if you count the second one in the alley. But you’re wrong, I can walk. Slowly.” I reached back to touch Sister’s hand. “Thank you for everything, Sister Bailey.”
“You are welcome, Miss Kittredge.” She helped me to my feet and pressed my hands in hers. “Our best wishes for a speedy recovery, my dear.”
I did my best not to limp as I walked out of the hospital and down the steps to where a carri waited at the curb. The sight of Wrecker at the wheel made me sigh with relief.
“I do know everything about you, Charmian.” Now Dredmore got in front of me. “I have made it my business to know. So I can tell you now that you are not spending the night in a house of ill repute.”
“You’re right—I’m not spending the night at Morehaven.” I glanced back at Doyle, who had actually taken out a pair of manacles. “You can’t arrest me, either, Tommy. Good night, gentlemen.”
Wrecker lumbered down to help me into the carri, and when Dredmore came after me he stepped in his way. “Have you magical knees, milord?”
“What?” Dredmore stared at him. “No.”
“Then don’t make me smash them. It hurts, quite a bit.” He tipped his hat and climbed back up behind the wheel.
As Wrecker pulled away from the curb I waved at both men and then sat back. “That was brilliant, mate, but you really shouldn’t threaten to kneecap a deathmage.”
“I can put him on his ass faster than he can spell me dead,” he said, unperturbed. “Milady gave me a message for you. She said if you’re not coming to the Nest then you’re, ah . . .” He cleared his throat. “Some things I don’t care to repeat to a lady like you.”
“Worse than a mule-headed cow?”
He nodded. “If you don’t come back with me she’s also prepared to wash her hands of you, dance naked at your funeral, piss on your grave, and so forth. I don’t think you need to worry, though. When she were yelling all that at me her right eye weren’t batting. Only does when she means it. So where will you go?”
I suspected only one place in the city would provide me with completely safe haven, but I was reluctant to name it. Instead I gave him a nearby address, which he recognized, given the way he eyed me. “It’s not what you think. It’s more like . . . a passage.”
“If you say so, Miss Kit.”
We arrived a few minutes later, and once Wrecker helped me out of the carri he studied the darkened windows. “You sure about this, miss? It still looks like a butcher’s shop to me, that and it’s locked up tight.”
“The proprietor has me come once a month at night to check his shipments for rotting spells.” I went over to the display window and felt along the bottom side of the ledge until I found the niche and tugged out the key hidden inside. “I can manage it from here. Tell Rina not to worry, and I’ll see her soon. Thanks, Wreck.”
I let myself inside, locking the door behind me and waiting until Wrecker drove off. Then I walked to the back of the shop and into the butcher’s cold storage.
Blocks of ice packed in sawdust formed the floor and kept cold the carcasses suspended from the ceiling. I tried not to look at them—they reminded me too much of what I’d seen in the hospital’s morgue—as I stepped carefully round them to make my way to the back corner.
The huge barrel appeared too heavy to move, but was actually made of very thin wood that had been filled with cheesecloth, so it took only a bit of a push to shift it aside so I could get at the little hatch behind it.
I used the key for the second time on the hatch’s lock and bent down to step into the room beyond where a massive coil of tubes snaked about a narrow ladder. I had to tuck up my skirts before I climbed down two levels into the old sewers.
Few citizens remembered when the city had been wholly dependent on an underground warren of tunnels to divert the population’s waste; Rumsen’s tube network had long ago rendered obsolete the old sewer system. Most of it had been sealed off or converted to housing tube junctions and jam dumps, and over time it had acquired an atmosphere of decrepit menace. In the course of my business I’d been obliged to pay several visits belowground, and while I knew enough to avoid falling down an old cesspit or becoming lost in the labyrinthine branch tunnels, I’d never grown accustomed to knowing I was walking beneath the unseen weight of countless tons of building stone, paved street, and every soul in the city.
The smell always made my stomach clench at first, but as before when I’d worked underground I knew I’d get used to it. I tried not to notice the whitish, blunted things growing in the corners, or how my footsteps set off the sounds of scrabbling and scampering in the shadows. What held off the bulk of my unease was assurance that I knew my presence would be quickly detected by the master of this domain, and so I waited in the dark until a bobbing lantern light approached me.
“Miss Kit.” The stooped old man held up his light to have a better look at me. “What are ye doing here? ’ Tis the middle of the night.”
“Hello, Mr. Hedgeworth.” I wrapped the blanket a little tighter round me. “I’ve come to collect on your debt, if I may.”
I’d once done some work for the old scrammer, and instead of collecting payment—Hedger had no use for money—I’d taken a promise of his help in the future in exchange.
“Strange time to be doing that, but fair enough.” Hedger grinned. “What’ll it be, then? I’ve everything but coin and respectability.”
“I need a place to stay for a day or more,” I said. “Someone is trying to kill me.”
• • •
After hearing my somewhat tailored explanation, Hedger insisted I come to his personal sanctuary.
“Not at all what ye’re used to, I expect, Kit,” he said as he led me deeper into the tunnels. “Still, I can keep watch while ye sleep, and even when I’m gone ye’ll be all right. An army couldn’t get at me place.”
Hedger’s home lay behind a massive junction station filled with more tubes than I could count. As I ducked and edged my way through, he pointed out the different traps he’d set for unwelcome visitors.
“Ye’ll not want to bump that connection; that lets loose scalding steam from a bathhouse boiler. And that panel there gives way under any weight and ye’ll end up in me old privy. Keep to the center of the walkway, that’s right. Oh, no.” He caught my arm before I touched an innocent-looking banister. “That’s fashioned of paper, not wood. Ye’ll fall right over the side.”
I glanced over the phony railing at what appeared to be a black bottomless pit. “Mr. Hedgeworth, exactly what sort o
f unexpected visitors were you expecting?”
“The sort who’ll take everything a man cares for,” he said grimly. “Never again, says I.”
Guilt knotted my tongue, for what Hedger didn’t know was that Harry had been responsible for his misfortunes. I had learned of it before I’d defeated Zarath, and managed to persuade my grandfather to apologize, but I couldn’t do the same now. Nor could I tell him I was Harry’s granddaughter, or he might give me a hard push over the fake banister instead of the much-needed sanctuary.
Finally we arrived at an odd door patched together out of bits of planking and old shingles. He picked out one knotted loop from a tangle of many and tugged it, lifting the interior bar latch.
I stepped inside and smelled wood smoke, tea, and—
“Apples?”
“Couple of crates got jammed in the market tubes,” Hedger said. “Kept what got bruised and been pressing them into cider.”
As Hedger moved about lighting his lamps things began to glitter, and I saw the plastered wall nearest to me had been artfully inlaid with thousands of pieces of colored glass, gleaming metal, and broken pottery, all polished and fitted together like some giant’s puzzle.
I turned round to admire his handiwork, which the lamps revealed covering every inch of all the walls. “It’s beautiful. Like Aladdin’s cave.”
He blushed. “Always been a magpie for shiny things. All the years down in the mines, I expect. Sleeping chamber’s back here.”
I followed him to a smaller adjoining chamber made up with sparse but comfortable-looking furnishings that resembled the door he’d built out of scraps. “I don’t want to turn you out of your own bed, Hedger.”
He waved a hand. “Nod off in my chair by the steam venting most days. Besides, ye’ll sleep nights when I’m out minding the tubes.”
Hedger insisted on making up the bed with clean sheets, something I protested until he showed me the enormous pile in his closet that he’d collected from hotel tubes (regularly overloading by the maids, he claimed, resulted in frequent jams and tons of linen scram). He also provided some wool-wrapped hot bricks from his hearth to warm the cold sheets. After I spread out my hospital blanket as a coverlet and refused his offer of warm cider, I sent him off to work.
