Thaddeus walked towards Rémy, taking her by the arm. Between them, he and Collins walked her down the stairs to the dank and dirty cell, not so very different from the worst parts of Abernathy’s labyrinth. The only air down here came from the tiny windows high up in the cell walls, which lay at street level and were therefore always letting in dirt scuffed up by passers-by.
Collins chattered as they walked, but Rémy and Thaddeus did not speak a word. Thaddeus was trying to work out what to do, how to get her out of this mess. It didn’t seem fair that it had come to this, not after he’d believed her dead. Not after he’d been so overjoyed to be proven wrong, about everything.
He had no choice but to slam the cell door and lock it behind her. He stared through the little window in the solid wood, willing her to look at him, as Collins’ voice filled the corridor. Rémy glanced at Thaddeus once, a small smile lighting her eyes.
“Come on, lad,” Collins said, as he lingered. “You’ve got some paperwork to do. And then we should celebrate. My treat, eh? A pint o’ half-and-half on me, how about that?”
Thaddeus forced a smile. “That sounds good, Collins, thank you. I’m just going to get the girl some water. I – I chased her pretty hard, you know.”
Collins nodded. “You always were more decent than people rightly deserved, Thaddeus. Come on, let’s see what we can find. There might be a bit o’ bread, too, if she’s lucky.”
She was gone, of course, by the time they got back. The cell stood empty, not a trace that she’d ever been in it. Not a trace apart from the broken glass of the tiny window, that every copper in the station swore blind was too high for anyone to reach.
They rushed to the circus ground – even the Chief Inspector – but the field was empty.
The circus had vanished. And with it Rémy Brunel.
Epilogue
Three Months Later
It had been a long, tiring day. Thaddeus Rec sighed and, having finally finished his last report – for now – put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. Crime in London seemed to be on the increase, but Scotland Yard was determined to get it under control. They were recruiting more people, good people, and Thaddeus had taken a step up. He was an inspector now. Glove had obviously decided a promotion for Rec was the right way to go, what with the Shah of Persia’s gratitude over the return of his diamond and Queen Victoria’s personal interest in the case.
Thaddeus thought back to those days. How strange they had been, and yet how wonderful at the same time. Not only because of the dastardly plot they had uncovered and stopped under the streets of London – that secret that no one else would ever know – but also because of Rémy Brunel.
Thaddeus knew he would never meet anyone like her again. He wondered where she was at that moment. In a caravan, rumbling through France, no doubt, or on the trapeze, flying through the air. He’d started writing letters to police stations all over France. All he needed was a starting place, a town that she had passed through, perhaps. But there had been nothing useful yet. It was as if Le Cirque de la Lune had left Earth altogether and returned to the night skies. It was a good job he was so busy. His work was important and it kept him occupied. It stopped him thinking about the hole in his heart that had opened the day he realized she had gone away. But at least he knew she was alive, and free. Wherever she was and whoever she was with.
There were worse alternatives, after all.
Pulling himself out of his reverie, Thaddeus sighed and stood up. He was reaching for his coat when there was a knock at the door.
“Come!”
The door creaked open. “Mr Rec?”
Thaddeus spun around, surprised to see J standing in the doorway.
“J!” the inspector exclaimed. “My God – J! I haven’t seen you since the day… well, for months! I thought something terrible had happened to you!”
The boy grinned and moved further into the room. “To me, Mr Rec? Not likely. I got a charmed life, I ‘ave.”
Thaddeus realized that J’s face was dark and weathered, as if he had spent the last three months in foreign climes. “Where on Earth have you been, J? I’ve been looking for you!”
The boy tapped one finger to his nose and raised an eyebrow. “Need to know, Mr Rec. But don’t you worry. Me and Tommy, we had to help Mr Desai wiv somethin’, that’s all. ‘Ad to go a long way to do it, as well. But we’re back now, in ol’ London Town, and very nice it is to see the place, too.”
“For Desai?” Thaddeus repeated, mystified. “It wasn’t – it wasn’t illegal, was it, J?”
J made a scornful sound in his throat. “Not likely. You won’t catch me doing nuffin’ bad no more, Mr Rec. I’m getting h’educated, I am. Me an’ Tommy, though it took ‘im a while to get well enough, it did. The sun ‘elped, though.”
“Sun?”
The boy shook his head. “Never mind, Mr Rec. I just came to see how you was, like. You look good.”
Thaddeus nodded, looking down at his desk. “I am good, J. Mostly.”
They were silent for a moment, and Thaddeus wondered if J was thinking about Rémy, too. He was about to ask the boy a question, when he piped up.
“Well, I got to be going, anyway, Mr Rec.”
“Oh – But you’ve only just got here. Don’t you want some dinner, or something? My treat.”
J grinned and patted his stomach, which was definitely a shade bigger than the last time Thaddeus had seen him. “No fanks, Mr Rec. I’m not wantin’ for food no more. I’ve got to run an errand right now. But maybe another time, eh?”
“Right,” said Thaddeus, faintly disappointed. “Right, of course.”
The boy turned and made to leave. But then he paused for a moment, halfway out of the door.
“‘Ere,” he said. “You ain’t into theatre, are yer?”
“Theatre?” Thaddeus asked, mystified for the second time in ten minutes. “No – no, not really. Not my thing, generally speaking. Why?”
J nodded. “It’s just, there’s this place. Down East. A theatre. They’ve got this new act. Been there the last two, three months, they say.”
“Oh?” Thaddeus reached for his pen, wondering what on Earth J was talking about and why the boy thought he’d be at all interested.
“Yeah,” J went on, his voice studiously nonchalant. “Really different, she is. She – she walks on wire and stuff. You know – high up. Off the stage, like.”
Thaddeus froze, his hand halfway to his pen. He looked up at J, who shrugged, a twinkle in his eye.
“They say it’s like she’s flying, Mr Rec. Like she’s flying, only she don’t need wings, see. She’s that good.”
Thaddeus coughed, and realized he hadn’t been breathing. “What – where is this?”
“It’s called the Albert Saloon, Mr Rec. Down Hoxton way. Bit of a rough place, it is. But it’s a good show, so they say.”
Thaddeus felt a sweat break out on his forehead. He looked for the right words. “Is it – God, J, is it…”
The boy turned away. “I got to go now. Things to do. But I’ll see you soon, yeah? Meanwhile, maybe you should take the night off, like. Enjoy yourself.”
Thaddeus stared at the doorway long after J had left.
* * *
It was different, Rémy thought to herself, performing on a stage instead of in a tent. For one thing, it was smaller and, for another, it had taken a while for her to remember that the audience was only in front of the stage, not all around.
She stood on the plunge board that the Albert Saloon had built especially for her and waited for the music. The act before her was puppets. Well, a kind of puppet, anyway. It was a ventriloquist act, which she didn’t really like, but the man behind it – Mr Jones – was nice enough.
All her new friends were nice enough. She missed the circus, especially C
laudette and Amélie, obviously, and her pony, Dominique, but Rémy loved London now. She loved the permanence of it. She’d thought at first that audiences would get bored of her if she was in one place too long. But she just needed to pull out a few new moves every so often, and they seemed to be happy. And anyway, she wasn’t on every night. Twice a week, that was all. The management wanted to keep her a secret, almost, or at least just for the locals. They were worried that if she became too popular, one of the big West End theatres would offer her more money and fame.
But Rémy didn’t want fame. She was happy being anonymous. She was happy in hiding. After everything, she thought it was for the best, even though there was one person she had to stop herself going to see, every day. But she’d caused so much trouble, and maybe he didn’t… maybe he wouldn’t…
Her music started, and Rémy batted those thoughts away as she adjusted her mask. It was a new addition, made of the most beautiful feathers that Rémy had ever seen. They had been a present from Desai and J, who had brought them back from India. J had taken great pleasure in describing the bird they had come from. Like nothing he’d ever seen before, the boy had said. He hadn’t known that birds such as peacocks had even existed before he went to Desai’s homeland.
Rémy smiled to herself at the memory. Then she counted a beat and slipped out into the air, spinning on her rope. This was a new trick, one that she had learned especially for the stage. She let herself drop sharply, turning over until she was falling headfirst, hearing the crowd gasp as she flew low enough that her hair brushed the floor. Then she twisted up again, winding the rope around her foot until she was upright, one leg thrown out as if she were pirouetting like a ballerina, arms free.
Someone caught her eye. It was a man, in the first row. He wore a long brown coat and a battered top hat, and he was so familiar from her dreams that the world drew to a halt.
Little Bird, he thought, so clearly that it was as if he’d whispered it into her ear. I would know you anywhere. My Rémy. Rémy Brunel.
He looked at her with eyes that were the most beautiful she had ever seen, all the more so for being so completely mismatched.
One blue, like the sky over Paris on a sunny day.
One brown, like good chocolate.
Thaddeus Rec.
About the Author
Sharon Gosling can’t remember ever wanting to be anything but an author. After a few years spent writing for science fiction and fantasy magazines, she began to write audio dramas and tie-in books for TV shows such as Stargate and Battlestar Galactica. In 2010, Sharon published her first novel, under a pen-name.
Sharon often wakes up with ideas for stories she would like to write, and she tries to begin writing at 7 a.m. each day. She lives with her husband in London, and they one day hope to open a second-hand bookshop that also sells cakes.
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Beth Johnson is an orphan and an actress. Now she’s also been recruited as one of the King’s spies. Her missions will take her into some of London’s darkest enclaves, where she must pit her wits against the ruthless traitor Henry Vale.
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