The Last Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

  "Get back here!" Gus shouted. Two sets of footsteps pounded behind me now, but I'd outstripped them by a considerable margin.

  I was almost free.

  "Halt or I'll shoot."

  I glanced toward the voice to see a beautiful woman aiming a small pistol at me. My heart and feet stopped dead.

  I was not free.

  CHAPTER 4

  "Remove the book," the woman commanded. "We don't want him using it as a weapon."

  Gus went to snatch the book from my hand, but I refused to give it up. It was a silly thing to worry about, while a gun was pointed at my head, but the thought of permanently losing the book weighed heavily on my heart. With a click of his tongue and an almighty wrench, Gus freed it from my clutches. He tucked it under his arm, where I worried his sweaty pits would stain the cover.

  "Bring him into the parlor." The woman turned her back on me. The hand that held the muff pistol dipped into the folds of her lustrous black skirts and came out empty.

  Seth and Gus glanced at one another, their brows raised. "Shouldn't we take him back to the tower room, my lady?" Gus asked.

  "He will be fine with me." The woman's gliding steps reminded me of a sleek, unhurried cat. Perhaps it was the tight corset that slowed her movements. Having worn the undergarment before my banishment, I knew how restrictive they could be, and going by the woman's tiny waist, she must have her laces tied very tightly indeed. It was so small it was a wonder she could hold up the top half of her body, particularly considering she possessed ripe melons rather than raspberries, as Stringer would say.

  "Fetch luncheon for him," she ordered the men. "He may eat while you both guard the exit."

  Gus shoved me in the back. I grunted and shot him a glare. He shrugged an apology, which surprised me. Seth returned up the stairs with my book.

  Gus and I followed the woman into a small room off the entrance hall. I tried not to gawp at the pale blue and gold wallpaper, thick rug, and spindly-legged furniture that didn't look sturdy enough to hold a man the size of Gus. It was fortunate that he remained near the door.

  The woman sat on the sofa and indicated I should sit on one of the cream wingback chairs. I hesitated then sprawled like I imagined a boy would. I'd never had the opportunity to sit on such a luxurious piece of furniture while pretending to be a boy, so I hoped I did it right. Usually sitting took place on floors or low walls, not chairs.

  The room was lovely with so many elegant things on the mantel, the walls, and on top of and inside the glass cabinet, but my attention was fully captured by the woman. She perched gracefully on the edge of the sofa, giving her prominent bustle space behind her. Her midnight black hair was arranged in an elaborate style at the back of her head, unhindered by the little hat perched on top. I couldn't determine her age. There was no gray in her hair, no lines marring her smooth, pale skin, and yet her bearing was that of a middle-aged woman, sure of her appeal and without the arrogance of a pretty, pampered girl.

  She oozed authority, from the tips of her manicured fingernails to her tilted chin. Coupled with the striking aristocratic bones of her face, her confident air would have intimidated most men; yet her appearance was softened by full lips that curved into a warm smile as she regarded me.

  "Do you know who I am?"

  "Fat Gut called you 'my lady,'" I said.

  "Oi," Gus growled from the doorway. "I ain't fat." He sucked in his stomach and puffed out his chest.

  "So I'm guessing you're Lady Harcourt," I finished. I almost added "Fitzroy's lover" just to see what her reaction would be, but held back. I didn't want to be beaten up by yet another member of the aristocracy.

  "I am," she said in a lilting voice that held none of the harsh command of earlier. "Your name is Charlie, is it not?"

  "T'is, my lady."

  "Have they been treating you well?" she asked.

  "I'm being held against my will. As if that ain't bad enough, a mad toff beat me black and blue yesterday."

  The hint of a smile vanished altogether and she folded her gloved hands one over the other on her lap. "I heard that Lord Gillingham was too heavy handed. It is regrettable."

  I snorted. "I'll say it is."

  "Have your wounds been tended to?"

  "Yes."

  "Has Lincoln—Mr. Fitzroy—harmed you in any way?"

  "He almost killed me when he kidnapped me." At her surprised look, I added, "I stopped breathing."

  Her slender eyebrows lowered. "I dare say he knew what he was doing. He's not in the habit of hurting children, and I'm sure whatever methods he employed were necessary."

  She said it as if it were perfectly normal for a man to kidnap a child and render him unconscious in the process. I was beginning to think I'd stepped into another world where such behavior was acceptable. Perhaps it was in the upper classes. Or perhaps Lady Harcourt was as mad and dangerous as Fitzroy and Lord Gillingham. I wasn't yet sure what to make of her.

  "Do you have comforts in your room?" she asked.

  I shrugged one shoulder.

  "Ask Lincoln for whatever you desire and he'll do his best to give it to you." Lincoln, not Mr. Fitzroy. Interesting. She blinked wide brown eyes at me. "Tell me about yourself, Charlie."

  She was a better interrogator than Fitzroy, I'd give her that. She'd tried to disarm me by asking after my comfort, and offering friendly smiles, then asked an innocuously broad question about myself, rather than one specific to the necromancy incident.

  A naive child would have fallen under her spell, but I was no longer naive or a child. "I'm thirteen. I live in Clerkenwell, with Stringer and his gang. I steal to eat and keep warm in winter. I'm good at thieving, that's why they call me Fleet-foot Charlie. I've been told I'm too skinny, but seems to me everyone in the gang is skinny. I thought my hair was dark brown until I washed it yesterday and saw it in the mirror. Turns out it's light brown. My nose has a dint on the tip, which I hate but had forgotten about until yesterday, and my eyes are blue. There ain't no more to tell."

  The curve of her lips widened a little more. "What shade of blue?"

  "Just blue."

  "May I see?"

  "No."

  "I'd call your hair honey colored, not light brown." She gave a low, throaty chuckle. "We women enjoy these little distinctions."

  "I don't care. It's brown."

  "Why do you cover your face?"

  "I'm ugly."

  "Why not allow me to judge?"

  I glared at her but it was difficult to know if she noticed through my hair. Fortunately, she didn't ask Gus to pin me down while she pulled the hair off my face.

  Seth arrived and deposited the tray with my luncheon on the table next to me. He backed away and joined Gus near the door. I eyed the plate of salad greens, tomato and a wing of poultry.

  "You speak well," Lady Harcourt went on. "You've had an education?"

  "No," I lied.

  "But you can read."

  I shook my head. "I was stealing the book, not reading it. I thought it might be worth something."

  "I see." She indicated the tray of food. "Don't let me keep you."

  "I just ate breakfast." Actually breakfast had been the cold supper from the previous night, but it was more than I usually ate in two days. "I'm not hungry."

  Her smile turned a little sad, but I couldn't think why. If she felt sorry for me, it was an odd time to show sympathy for my plight. She'd made sure I wasn't going to leave. If I darted for the window now, would she pull out her pistol again?

  "Do you have any questions for me, Charlie?"

  I knew everything I needed to know already—these people wanted me because I'd made a dead man walk. The sort of people who knew that yet showed no fear around me weren't ordinary, moral people. There was something as diabolical about them as there was about me.

  "Only one question," I said. "Where is Mr. Fitzroy?"

  Her rapid blinks were the only sign that my question had taken her by surprise. "He'll be back later this afterno
on." It wasn't a direct answer, but I didn't ask again.

  The clock on the mantel chimed one and Lady Harcourt stood. "I have an appointment. Seth, please inform Mr. Fitzroy that I'm sorry to have missed him. If he could spare a few moments to visit me, I would be most grateful."

  So it seemed she didn't live at Lichfield Towers, although she treated Seth and Gus as her servants and they did her bidding without question.

  "Good day, Charlie," Lady Harcourt said. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

  She walked off and I saw my chance slipping away from me. I'd taken too long to act. I blamed her lovely, mesmerizing presence. "Wait!" I leapt up and ran after her.

  Seth and Gus stepped between us, protecting her, but she didn't seem as worried by my approach as them. "What is it, Charlie? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

  "I…I'd like to kiss your hand, m'lady." It seemed like such a ridiculous thing to request that I blushed. I hoped it made me look innocent and endearing.

  It must have worked because she ordered the men to move aside. She extended her gloved hand and I stepped forward, close enough that I brushed against her full skirts. I took the hand and pecked it. The lace of her glove felt scratchy against my lips and her exotic floral scent filled my nostrils. I breathed deeply, committing the smell to memory. I didn't know the names of the different scents that made up her perfume, but I vowed that one day I would learn them.

  "Thank you, m'lady," I said, stepping back. "You are very kind and lovely. I wish you only good things."

  She laughed softly. "You are quite the flatterer. Be sure to use such sweet words on your lady love."

  I dipped my head in a bow, my hands at my back, and watched as she left. Both Gus and Seth's gazes followed her, even though they didn't escort her, and I used their distraction to quickly tuck the little pistol into the waistband of my trousers. I adjusted my shirt to hide it and prayed Lady Harcourt didn't notice it missing from her skirt pocket until she was far from Lichfield Towers.

  "Upstairs again with you, Half Pint," Gus said cheerfully.

  I walked ahead of them out of the parlor. As we passed the front door, I heard the wheels of a carriage roll away and breathed a sigh.

  "You like our Lady Harcourt, eh?" Gus chuckled as we headed up the stairs. "She ain't for the likes of you. Not even if you were ten years older."

  "Is she married?" I didn't know why I wanted to know more about the woman. It wasn't like I would see her again. But I found her intriguing. I supposed it was because I'd never met anyone like her before, and it was unlikely I ever would again.

  "Widowed," Seth said. "Her husband was Lord Harcourt, from a very ancient and noble line. He was much older than her, and some say she married him for his money and title."

  "But you don't?"

  "There's never been a whiff of scandal associated with her."

  "Why would there be?" Gus said. "She knew which side her bread were buttered on. She'd be a fool to give it all up for a bit of prigging."

  Seth rolled his eyes. "Don't be so vulgar, particularly when speaking about Lady Harcourt. She's a true lady, in every sense of the word."

  "Except by birth."

  "She wasn't noble born?" I asked.

  "Nah," Gus said. "School master's daughter. Caught the eye of old Lord Harcourt and got him to the church quick, before his grown children knew what was happening."

  "They never said a word against her, though," Seth protested.

  "That we know."

  "By all accounts, they liked her instantly. One can see why."

  "'One can see why,'" Gus mimicked. "One is in love with her, isn't one?"

  I saw Seth punch Gus in the shoulder out of the corner of my eye. "You can't know what his family thought of her," I said.

  Seth squared his shoulders. "I can and I do. My mother moves in the same circles as the Harcourts." He sighed. "Or used to."

  Gus groaned. "Seth's been dying for you to ask about him. Likes to make sure even the prisoners know he's from toff stock."

  "There have been other prisoners besides me?"

  "Nah. Matter of speech. You're our first."

  "That explains why you're not very good jailors," I muttered.

  I expected a thump on my arm for my insolence, but Gus only snorted a laugh. Seth didn't seem to have heard me. Although I was curious about his background, and why his circumstances had become so reduced that he'd wound up working as a thug for Fitzroy, I decided not to ask. It was better not to get too friendly with my captors, since I might have to hurt them.

  I entered the tower room with a loud sigh, although I was pleased to see A Study In Scarlet on the dressing table near the other books. It wouldn't hurt to while away the afternoon reading it. I couldn't use the pistol and attempt an escape with both Seth and Gus in the room. The barrel was single shot. I would have to wait until there was only one of them.

  "Don't think about running off this time," Gus warned. "Death ain't going to be happy when he hears of it."

  I shrugged. "I don't care."

  "You should. He's dangerous when he's in a rage."

  "I'm sure he is, but it's not me he'll be angry with. As a prisoner, my duty is to escape. As my jailors, it's your duty to keep me in here. Which one of us failed?"

  Gus swallowed. "What d'you think he'll do to us?" he said to Seth.

  Seth gave him a smug smile and patted his shoulder. "He won't do anything to me. I was holding the tray and didn't have my hands free. You were the one supposedly on guard."

  "That ain't fair."

  "Life isn't fair. If it were, I'd be spending my evenings deflowering virgins instead of cleaning up the sick of a gutter snipe."

  "Ha! You couldn't deflower a flower."

  "That doesn't make sense. And I'll have you know, the ladies fell over themselves to get to me when I used to attend balls."

  "You had money and a good name, then," Gus said, striding for the door. "Course they're going to throw themselves at you. Weren't nothing to do with that ugly face of yours."

  Seth looked offended, and I couldn't blame him. He wasn't ugly in the least. He trailed after Gus. "I'll have you know I had an indecent encounter with a lady three nights ago. And no, I didn't pay her a penny. She gave herself freely to me."

  "Gave you the French disease for free, more like." Gus's chuckles faded as he closed the door.

  Finally I was alone again. I settled on the bed with the book and removed the pistol from the waistband at my back. I checked the barrel to see if it was loaded—it was—then slid it beneath the pillow beside me. I tried not to think about it and concentrated on the book instead, but it wasn't easy. I'd never shot anyone before.

  Despite the apprehension curdling in the pit of my stomach, the afternoon didn't drag. The book was riveting, and I found myself reading as quickly as possible.

  The clicking of the key in the lock startled me. How much time had passed? I took note of my page then closed the book and slipped my hand beneath the pillow. The metal of the pistol felt cool in my fingers. My pulse quickened.

  Death walked in. His assessing gaze took in the book and my relaxed repose. "You met Lady Harcourt." He did not mention my attempted escape.

  "She's very nice."

  Behind him, Seth and Gus crowded in the doorway.

  "I'm hungry," I said.

  "I'll fetch you something from the kitchen." Seth trotted off.

  "My chamber pot needs emptying," I told Gus.

  He screwed up his nose. "Should've offered to get the food." He slid the pan out from beneath the bed and left the room in much less of a hurry than Gus. I was alone with Fitzroy. With Death.

  He moved toward the bed, his long, easy strides bringing him close to me much faster than I anticipated. With my heart in my throat, I pulled the pistol out from under the pillow, aimed at his shoulder and fired.

  Next thing I knew, he was sitting on top of my thighs, pinning my wrists to the headboard. I bucked but couldn't dislodge him. I went to butt my fo
rehead into his nose, but he dodged the blow. I hawked up a glob of saliva, but before I could spit it into his face, he'd shifted his weight, lifted me, and threw me face down onto the mattress. He resettled his weight on my legs and pressed a hand into my back. He took the pistol off me. Just like that, I was rendered immobile and defenseless. It had been far too easy for him.

  "Lady Harcourt will be pleased to have this returned," he drawled.

  A grunt was all I could manage.

  Footsteps pounded along the corridor and stopped at the door. Gus and Seth's faces peeped around the corner and, seeing their leader in control, they entered the room.

  "We heard a gunshot," Gus said, his eyes huge.

  "Sir!" Seth cried. "You're bleeding!"

  I'd shot him? He'd not shown any signs of pain or even a little discomfort, nor were his movements hindered. He'd attacked me so fast that I'd not seen him coming. I tried to look back at him to see how badly he was hurt, but the angle was too awkward and he pressed his knee into my lower back, locking me in position.

  I sucked air through my teeth as the bruises inflicted by Lord Gillingham flared with pain.

  "You should tend to it," Seth went on.

  "It's nothing." Fitzroy let me go and climbed off the bed. A patch of blood bloomed on his shoulder, but it was hardly a significant amount. "Go." He spoke to the men but didn't take his gaze off me. His eyes were like two pools of black ice.

  Gus and Seth exchanged glances then left the room again. They shut the door.

  I scooted back up the bed, as far away from him as possible. When it came, his retaliation would be swift and brutal. I braced myself.

  "Your hands shook."

  I blinked slowly. "Wh-what d'you mean?"

  He balanced the weapon on the flat of his palm. "You didn't hesitate and your gaze was focused, but your hands shook. If they'd been steady the bullet would have hit my throat."

  I hadn't been aiming for his throat, but his shoulder. My aim had been better than he thought, but not good enough. The bullet must be lodged somewhere in the wall. "You moved. If I didn't hesitate, how did you know I was going to shoot?"