The Bones of Ruin

by Sarah Raughley

  Based on Rin’s intelligence, the Oil Rivers envoys that had arrived at Plymouth one month ago had just returned to their residence at Marlborough House, escorted by the Colonial Office. They would have retired for the night, so they weren’t coming back out. But tongues tended to loosen in private. Iris needed a way inside without being seen. She was right to ask the rest for help, telling them that the envoys were holding one of the tarot cards as part of the tournament’s second round, even though she knew there was no such thing at Marlborough House. And though she hated lying to them, if she’d come clean with the truth, they might have tried to stop her from going. Pushed her to prioritize the second round while one of her important leads slipped away.

  Maybe they wouldn’t have said that. Maybe she was being too hasty in judgment, too reckless. But the thought of getting a clear hint to her past had overloaded her senses and taken precedence over everything else. Her nerves were buzzing.

  She forgave herself by insisting it surely wouldn’t take up too much time. She just needed to get into Marlborough House, learn what the envoys knew, and get out without being caught and arrested for breaking and entering. Max had a solution she hadn’t expected.

  They arrived at the house quickly. Max’s birdcall was the same Cherice had used that day in the alley, an unsuspicious but loud signal that drew some attention from those still out on the street, but not enough to endanger the plan.

  They’d found a couple of branches on the same tree: Max and Jinn, Iris and Jacob. Hawkins and Cherice were in the tree closest to the house. Cherice responded to Max with a second birdcall.

  Marlborough House was two stories of red bricks, rusticated cornerstones, and long rectangular windows. It belonged to the Crown and their guests, which meant there were likely as many guards inside as outside. But Hawkins and Cherice weren’t just checking for guards.

  “That means they’re coming back soon,” Jacob whispered to Iris.

  “You guys really have this down,” Iris told him, and the gentle smile he gave her in return made her seize up in guilt.

  “We’ve been together for so long. This is how we’ve survived. I came here when I was so small. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for them—Cherice, Max, and, a-and Hawkins.”

  Try as he might, he couldn’t hide his blush even in the darkness. She was too close to him not to see it.

  “Hawkins is quite the interesting man,” Iris said, and watched as Jacob nodded stiffly.

  “He’s impossible,” Jacob suddenly said in an impatient tone.

  Jacob looked like she did when insulting Jinn to Granny. The revelation made her blush along with him for more than one reason. Longtime friendships did breed closeness…

  She shook her head. Now was not the time to think of such things.

  “By the way, Iris,” Jacob said, clearly wanting to move on, “I told Hawkins and Cherice this while we waited for you inside the club. But during this round, and if possible the next, we need to stay clear of Belgium’s boars: Gram and Jacques.”

  Iris twitched at the sound of their names. “That was my plan anyway.” She tried not to think about the scene they’d made in the first round. “What did you hear about them?”

  “After beating Frasier at the tennis club, we took the opportunity to get some more information out of him.” Jacob scratched his skin through the black hair curling around his ears. “The two men were assassins who worked for Belgium’s king. I don’t know what happened to Jacques to turn a priest into an assassin.”

  “Who knows,” replied Iris, shaking her head.

  “Gram is especially dangerous.” His fingers dug into the bark of the trunk as they waited for Hawkins and Cherice to return. “Frasier was told the information by his Patron, who has contacts with workhouses across England. Gram grew up in one of them with five of his brothers.”

  “Five brothers…” Those workhouses had such terrible conditions that they became a central point of England’s public discourse surrounding morality and the innocence of childhood. Well, there was nothing innocent about Gram now.

  “They pounded horse hooves into glue. But because of famine, they had no choice but to…” Jacob stopped and searched for the right words. “To eat the rest of the horse’s rotted flesh. Right off the bone.”

  Iris’s stomach heaved. Her hand flew to her mouth as she remembered Gram quivering in sheer ecstasy as he bathed in blood at the zoo.

  “Gram got a taste for it. After a few years, his brothers began disappearing one by one…”

  A sense of dread swelled in Iris’s chest, but she didn’t have time to think about it, and Jacob clearly didn’t want to continue. After a few minutes, both Cherice and Hawkins returned with their brass binoculars. They all hopped down from their branches. Max flicked his head in the opposite direction, and without a word, they strode quickly away from the area, ending up in a nearby alley. There, Cherice and Hawkins told them what they saw.

  “They’re on the second floor, seventh window on the northern facade,” Hawkins said. “The envoys, I mean,” he clarified for Iris. He crumpled the leaf he’d pulled out of his hair. “Unfortunately, they’re not asleep yet. But the good news is that no other teams are in the area.”

  Because she’d made the whole thing up. Iris hid a wince before biting her cheek and snapping herself out of her guilt. Hers was an important mission too.

  Max nodded. “Hawkins, did you get eyes on the room they were in?”

  “It’s a very big room, suitably fit for a royal,” he confirmed. “And, I might add, there’s a very luxurious bathroom inside, in which exists one of the cleanest toilets I’ve ever had the pleasure of setting my eyes upon. The door was open slightly.”

  Cherice knocked her knuckles upon his golden head. “What is it with you and toilets?”

  “It’s what happens when you’ve never had the luxury of a clean one.” Hawkins flicked her on the forehead. These were people who really had grown up together. “At any rate, now that I’ve seen the bathroom, I can confirm it’ll do just fine to hide in.”

  “So what now?” Jinn asked, close to Iris’s side.

  “We have to search the room for the card, don’t we?” Hawkins said. “Preferably after they finally sleep.”

  Iris nodded. But she didn’t want them to sleep. She wanted them to talk.

  “How do we get inside?” Iris said.

  Max patted Hawkins on the shoulder. “This guy will get you inside. From here.”

  “From here?” Iris gaped at the young thieves grinning mischievously at her.

  “And you can take all of us?” Jinn asked.

  “There’s not so much space in the bathroom,” answered Hawkins. “It’ll fit two people at the most. I’ll take Iris with me. She’s the one who found out about this place. And she looks itching to go,” he added, winking at her. Iris must have looked as impatient as she felt.

  Jinn stepped in front of Iris as if to shield her. “I won’t agree to that!”

  Iris knew he meant well, but she let out a quiet, frustrated sigh nonetheless.

  “Too bad. There’s only room for two.” Lifting his arms, Hawkins flexed his fingers.

  Jacob stepped in between Hawkins and Jinn, holding his hand up to stay Jinn, who looked ready to fight him. Then Jacob turned to Hawkins and lightly laid his hand upon the other boy’s cheek, thumb brushing his neck and fingers sliding across his ear, golden hairs slipping over them. Iris felt a shy flutter in her stomach from the tender scene.

  “Don’t aggravate things,” he begged softly. Their intimacy was so quietly palpable.

  Hawkins sighed, shutting his eyes but still wearing that devilish grin. “Fine, fine.”

  “It’ll be okay, Jinn,” said Max. “Hawkins is a cheeky bastard, but he’s trustworthy. And Iris can handle herself, you know that.”

  He winked at her, which didn’t go unnoticed by an annoyed Cherice.

  At the end of the day, Iris appreciated both of them—the concern and the confidence.
Like always. “Let’s give it a go,” she told Hawkins, walking up to him.

  It happened too quickly for Iris to even figure out what was going on. Hawkins fell back, but not before grabbing her arm and pulling her with him. As she tumbled forward, her wide eyes managed to see a black void open up behind him, but before she had a chance to fear it swallowing her whole, she’d landed on the hard, white wooden floor of the envoys’ bathroom.

  “What was that?” called a deep voice coming from the other side of the door. Not in English.

  “Quickly,” Hawkins hissed. “Behind the curtains.”

  He meant the gray flower-patterned curtains covering the bathroom window, long enough to drag on the floor. It was a small space. As Hawkins grabbed her elbow and yanked her to her feet, Iris eyed the marble sink, the light fixtures hanging low from the ceiling, the ceramic tub—and yes, the beautiful, gleaming white toilet. Her head was still spinning as Hawkins pulled her behind the curtains just as the door opened.

  Iris held her breath as boots clicked on the wooden floor. The swish of the bathtub curtains. A frustrated sigh.

  “Segun? Is there anything there?” came another man’s voice from the sitting room.

  “No,” said Segun, and Iris was relieved when the footsteps retreated and the door closed behind them.

  As Hawkins opened the curtains, she let out the breath she was holding. “That,” she started, “that was…” She couldn’t find the words for what had just happened.

  “It’s called Sliding,” said Hawkins quite proudly before his expression softened, his voice turning sentimental. “That’s what Cherice’s brother called it. Imaginative man.”

  “Chadwick, you mean?”

  Hawkins nodded. “Creator of the Fanciful Freaks. But he was also someone who…” He stopped. “Who meant very much to me.” He looked at Iris a little nervously, a little defiantly; a vulnerability that came from the expectation of a crude reaction. And when that reaction didn’t come, he gazed out the window. Iris wondered about Jacob but didn’t dare bring up the subject. It was clearly complicated.

  “Even as a child,” Hawkins said, “I was always quick-witted enough to know when to run and hide. Chadwick teased me about it. These abilities of mine just ended up making it all that much easier.”

  “I feel dizzy.” Iris’s stomach gave a horrible flop. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Be proud: you’re dealing with this better than he ever did.” Hawkins smirked. “Chadwick used to throw up on the spot, the poor lamb.”

  “And nobody saw us?” she whispered.

  “In the alley? I don’t think so. Not here either. And if we’re to keep it that way…” Hawkins put his finger to his lips.

  Earthen tones were splashed across the golden-brown wallpaper, giving the bathroom a rustic feel. To her right was a cabinet filled with folded towels, and to her left, a white washing pot underneath a small, square mirror fixed to the wall. Hawkins and Iris tiptoed past the sink and approached the door.

  “Can you hear anything?” Hawkins whispered.

  Iris laid her ear against the wood. It sounded as if they were having some kind of meeting. She could hear the clinking of cups upon plates.

  “We can search for the card here in the meantime until they finally go to bed,” said Hawkins, and Iris gave an awkward nod.

  “Y-you go ahead and search. I’ll listen for when they finally go to sleep.”

  Iris continued to listen as Hawkins quietly searched for a card that wasn’t there. It was a good thing he couldn’t understand what they were saying. She just hoped to get this over with as soon as possible.

  But the conversation they were having was not one that interested her. From their discussions, they clearly weren’t impressed by their stay, and why should they be? The queen hadn’t budged on any of their demands.

  They had done their research; their schedule mirrored that of King Cetshwayo two years before. The British were operating on protocol with no real commitment to strengthening diplomatic relations. The envoys didn’t care much for the ceremonial and entirely useless tour of England’s military and factory facilities, even though they were clearly meant to be. Also apparently, their translator consistently gave off a faint smell of pickles, which bothered the other envoy, named Adedayo. Perhaps he had a sensitive nose.

  Iris waited patiently, listening to them drink and speak about the goings-on of their families, their homes. The local community near the mining site was split in their approval of it. For some, it gave jobs and income. But for others, rumors of what they were mining took precedence over economics.

  Okuta funfun. The white stone. Its very existence had given some people a sense of foreboding, such that many called to leave the site and the stone untouched.

  “I still cannot trust them,” said Segun. “We need to find out what they’re doing with our stone. It’s ours. We should do with it as we wish.”

  Chair legs slid against a wooden floor. “The white stone has curious properties,” Adedayo said. “How does such a small area in a land rich in palm oil suddenly bear a stone one has never seen before?”

  “A stone that didn’t exist before the Day of Darkness.”

  Iris sucked in a breath. Rin had mentioned it before.

  “According to our spies, the Fon long noticed too. The Maasai in the east have begun to suspect. Too many strange happenings started after the eclipse almost sixty years ago. And Britain continues to take the stone for themselves to study here.”

  “As they take everything,” said Segun.

  A prolonged pause. “If they unlock its secrets, how will they use it?”

  The Day of Darkness. The creation of the white stone. But what had created it? What would produce white crystal in a land rich with oil?

  “Segun. After going back home, we should dispatch spies to the Crystal Palace.”

  “The Crystal Palace? Why?”

  The Day of Darkness. Something terrible must have happened on that day.

  “I have a contact at a newspaper here: the African Times. A young reporter from Abeokuta believes that the Crown is hiding something there. Something underground. The Colonial Office refused when I asked to put it on our schedule for this trip. It’s suspicious.”

  It was then that Rin’s voice began echoing in Iris’s mind.

  You were brought to the Dahomey merely weeks after the Day of Darkness…

  When Iris closed her eyes and saw Anne’s dead face, she wasn’t able to stifle her scream. Alarmed shouts rose from the living room.

  “What are doing?” Hawkins hissed, but just as he reached Iris, the door opened.

  One was slight, young, and very dashing, and the other a fair amount thicker and likely older, though both had finely coiffed beards and full heads of black hair. But far from the caricatures drawn in those Punch magazine cartoons, these men looked handsome and princely in their blue caps and sweeping brown robes. They also looked very, very angry.

  “Who are you?” the slighter one demanded. Segun, by the sound of it.

  “Time to go,” Hawkins whispered, and grabbed her hand once more. Segun was fast, but Hawkins was faster. Before Segun could grab him, Hawkins had successfully Slid through his black door of nothingness, bringing them back to the alleyway.

  MADAME BELLEROSE STRIKES

  ADAM ARRIVED AT MADAME’S RESIDENCE for breakfast as she’d requested the night before. Servants were hurriedly preparing for her party tonight even at this early hour. Even with the marble kitchen table filled with a sumptuous breakfast, they were already bringing in ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

  Pierre had taken his coat, leaving Adam in his brown vest, dark blue tie, and white dress shirt. As Madame gestured for him to sit at the opposite end of the long table, he wondered if Iris had received his message. There was an explosion at the Gossima parlor last night. He knew she couldn’t die, but he hated the idea of her being harmed. The supernatural being he’d been preparing to meet again after all these year
s probably wouldn’t have cared.

  But the girl he did meet—Iris? No. She didn’t deserve that. It was one of the reasons he still wished she could have simply stayed in his residence and regained her memories slowly, even if it took longer without the heat of battle stirring her blood, passion, and memories.

  “How’s your breakfast?” asked Madame Bellerose after a time, sipping her water from a white glass. “I hope it’s to your liking.”

  “As it always is,” Adam answered dispassionately, cutting into his sausages. “By the way, did you kill Cordiero yesterday?”

  “That rude old man?” Madame laughed. “Whatever would have given you that idea?”

  Adam swallowed his food before continuing. Eton had taught him the proper skills. “Well, he was poisoned,” he said. “You’ve poisoned quite a bit in the past.” He looked at his own food. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this food were poisoned, in fact.”

  “My Adam, you’re too pretty to kill.” Madame lifted her glass as if to toast to his face.

  “He also insulted you the other day.”

  “That he did.” Madame sipped. “Men and their ways.”

  This tiresome banter was all a feint on his part. Adam had had Cordiero killed for his own reasons. But sometimes games like this were necessary. Bellerose didn’t seem fazed by his false accusation, but sowing the seed of doubt about his own involvement made things easier for him.

  “Well, we once agreed that there would be seven members of the Committee at all times. We should at least start the process of looking for a replacement among the members of the club,” said Madame. “Rumors have already spread that he was a part of the Committee, and now the scramble has begun. The poor man’s body isn’t even cold yet.” She laughed. “I was quite disappointed with the results of the first round. Two of my men killed. Dreadful! I’ve been trying to poach some others. For example, Van der Ven’s—”