The Viper and the Urchin: A Novel of Steampunk Adventure (Bloodless Assassin Mysteries Book 1)

by Celine Jeanjean

The world went dark.

  * * *

  She came to with a start a few seconds later, looking around her in a panic. Someone had released her hair from the crossbow bolt, and both Lady Martha and the Marchioness were protected by a wall of Varanguards. Rory staggered up, feeling lightheaded.

  Over on the beam, Myran stood facing Longinus, a long dagger in one hand, the crossbow locked and reloaded in the other.

  “Longinus,” murmured Rory.

  Someone spoke to her, but she paid no attention. She had to get to Longinus. He couldn’t face Myran alone. He wouldn’t make it. She pulled out her rapier and threw it aside, noticing distractedly as she did that a trail of blood ran down her arm. She lurched to the edge of the box.

  “I’m coming,” she muttered. “Longinus, I’m coming.”

  She vaulted over the edge and into the water. Someone shouted her name before the water closed over her head.

  Rory tried to swim towards Longinus, but she didn’t move forward. She didn’t even resurface. Instead, she sank. She kicked and pulled herself with her good arm, but that didn’t seem to help. A long stream of red leaked from her shoulder. Rory kicked harder, confused. She had swum fully clothed before, but never sunk so quickly. What was happening?

  She remembered the iron in her boots.

  The rapidly reddening surface of the water receded further.

  Chapter 44

  The Viper faces his opponent, drawing out his rapier and matched long dagger.

  He didn’t wait, launching into attack, keeping the tip of the crossbow pointed away from him with his dagger. With his rapier, he fought Myran’s dagger. The world receded, until it was just the two of them and the beam. Footwork careful, precise. Moves faster than wind, clearer than glass. No mistake possible.

  The Viper knows no fear. He has no sister — he only knows of targets and opponents. Opponents that can be killed. Opponents that can be poisoned.

  “Are you silent to keep yourself from stuttering, Longinus?” Myran’s voice was like a rusty saw against a nail.

  He faltered ever so slightly, made a small mistake.

  The crossbow swung to face him. Myran hesitated for a split second and he slashed at her wrist with his dagger.

  The crossbow fell from her hand, hitting the beam and letting loose its bolt towards the water.

  “Well played,” said Myran. “But now I really am in my element.” She grinned wolfishly and drew out her other dagger.

  She attacked with a cry, arms slicing through the air with such speed it looked as though there were four, not two.

  The Viper parries every blow, increasing his own speed to match hers.

  They moved back and forth on the beam with careful, bare feet.

  “Shall I cut you again, little brother?”

  Their blades flew in a blur of motion.

  “Your blood was so pretty, so red. Remember?”

  The Viper knows no fear. The Viper has no past, no memories. There is only the present.

  “Wouldn’t it be a shame if I killed you before you ever learned to say my name? Myran,” she taunted with a grin, despite the sweat that poured from her brow. “Myran.”

  The Viper ignores the taunts, his focus is only on the blades.

  Jab, parry, pushing forward, retreating back.

  “Myran! Say my name, you no good coward, go on! M-m-m-myran, say it!”

  Jab, jab, jab parry, thrust, parry.

  “M-m-myran! M-m-myran!”

  She made a mistake.

  Longinus immediately took the advantage, pushing her on the back foot.

  Never again will you torment me, never again will you invade my dreams.

  He launched into the Double Knotted Passover (a move of his design), putting her off-balance.

  Longinus locked both blades with hers.

  You are nothing, nothing. You are a coward. I am not afraid of you. You are only my sister, you are only —

  “MYRAN!” he roared, and with a violent twist of both wrists, he sent both her blades flying.

  For a heartbeat, she looked at him with fear. And then, from the corner of his eye, Longinus saw a tiny form pulled out of the water.

  Rory.

  Myran kicked out in an arc, sweeping out his feet from under him. He fell back to the beam, letting go of his rapier, only just catching hold of a piece of rigging with his right hand as he fell. He clung to it, his feet dangling in empty space.

  “Good to know I can always count on your weakness, Longinus!”

  Myran dove off the beam, pulling her mask over her nose and mouth.

  Longinus pulled himself up. He could see the point where Myran had broken the water. If he jumped now, he could get her. But he didn’t hesitate for long. He turned away and walked to the other end, towards Rory. He jumped into the water.

  * * *

  Moments later, Longinus pulled himself up onto land.

  “Out of my way!”

  His urgency lending him a force he hadn’t known he possessed, he all but lifted the lad who was fussing around Rory, throwing him to the side. She wasn’t breathing, her little face still beneath her wet rope-like hair. He knelt down and slammed one fist smartly into her sternum. She didn’t react. He hit her sternum again. With a start, she coughed up water and turned to her side. Longinus carefully helped her into the foetal position as she vomited more water.

  That was when he saw her reopened wound. He hadn’t noticed it before, too focused on saving her, but now the smell of blood filled his nostrils. He stood up quickly and stepped away, turning his back to the assembled crowd so they wouldn’t see him go pale. He coughed to disguise a bout of dry retching.

  “Will she be alright?” asked the lad. It was one of the Varanguards. Longinus recognised him vaguely, although he couldn’t remember his name, as with anyone not worthy of his full attention. And this lad, with his ineffectual fussing that could have cost Rory her life, was most certainly not worth anything more than contempt. Longinus focused on his anger and it dispelled the nausea a little.

  “She will be,” he replied caustically. “And no thanks to you, imbecile.”

  “I pulled her out of the water,” protested the lad.

  “And what good is that if the water is still inside the lungs, you dolt?”

  The lad coloured, but behind him Longinus could see Rory sitting up. He only shot her the briefest of glances, not wanting to take his chances with the open wound in front of witnesses. Her skin was pale, her eyes rimmed with red.

  “Rory, are you alright?”

  He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. “Fine,” she replied weakly. “Someone give me something for my shoulder.”

  “Coming through!” came a familiar voice through the crowd. Spectators found themselves forcibly moved aside by Cruikshank. She knelt down next to Rory.

  “You gave us a fright, lovey,” she said.

  Longinus saw that she was tending to Rory’s shoulder — in fact, she was doing more than simply binding it: she wrapped it over and over again with fabric until the blood was all but hidden, although the smell lingered. He felt a surge of gratitude for them both, trying as they were to keep his secret.

  A hush fell on the crowd.

  “It seems my daughter and I owe you both thanks,” said the Marchioness as she arrived.

  Longinus turned to face her, and caught sight of Lady Martha next to her. His breath left him like a wineskin emptying itself of wine. He had been too preoccupied that morning to really notice her, but now…

  Chapter 45

  Rory threw Longinus a glance, but he was merely staring at Lady Martha with such a glazed and idiotic air that, had she not known better, she would have thought he was simple. Lady Martha frowned and gestured again for them to take the two small bottles of liquid in her hand

  “Your antidote,” she repeated. “Please take it.”

  Rory took both bottles, wincing at the pain in her left arm as she moved it. She uncorked one bottle and guzzled the entire cont
ent so fast that she began to choke, but still she continued to drink. She finished, coughing and spluttering, and someone thumped her back.

  “Thanking you, Lady Martha,” she said between coughs. “Is that enough antidote?” She wiped her chin with the back of her hand where a little had trickled out, and then carefully licked her hand.

  The Marchioness laughed.

  “It should be plenty, but just to be safe my man will examine you both. He will also take a look at that wound on your shoulder, although Cruikshank seems to have done a stellar job with it. You have my thanks, Rory, and you, Viper. You will both come to see me tomorrow, but for now I think everyone deserves a rest after the day’s excitement. Until then, it goes without saying that you are both under house arrest.”

  “But we —”

  “Yes, you have done me a great service today,” interrupted the Marchioness, raising a hand. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you are both criminals, a fact I won’t forget simply because you saved my life.”

  “Not just your life, Damsport too,” protested Rory.

  “That’s enough. No more discussions. Rafe, see that they return to Cruikshank’s warehouse.”

  The Old Girl swept off, followed by Lady Martha, who gave Rory a small wink before she left. With the two women gone, Longinus sprang to life like a recently wound clockwork toy, and he downed his own ration of antidote.

  “What was that?” asked Rory.

  “What was what?” replied Longinus, stoppering the now-empty antidote bottle.

  Rory was prevented from answering when Rafe stood next to her.

  “Follow me, please.” He gestured for them all to come with him, and a cluster of Varanguard flanked them, providing them an escort through the crowd.

  When they reached a step, Rafe hovered by Rory, hands at the ready as though she might fall over at any moment.

  “Careful, careful,” he murmured.

  “Stop that,” Rory snapped. She wouldn’t be babied by anybody, least of all Rafe. He started, surprise flashing across his face, quickly replaced with his usual sardonic expression.

  “My apologies, Mistress Magnate.”

  “And stop calling me that.”

  “That’s true, the name is no longer fitting. There is so much more to you than meets the eye. Your ability to drown, for instance, is second to none. Lucky for you I’m equally skilled in pulling people out of the water. When do I get my kiss by the way?”

  “Excuse you?” Rory spluttered. “I ain’t kissing nobody.”

  “Haven’t you read stories? The love interest is always kissed after a daring rescue. Now of course in your case, it was I, the love interest, who rescued you. We’re bending the rules a little bit, but let’s face it: you’re hardly going to save me any time soon, so we have to do the best we can with what we have to work with, don’t we?”

  “Keep on like that and my fist will kiss your face.”

  “Hmm, I think I’ll have to wait for a better offer, then.”

  They had arrived at Cruikshank’s workshop, and Rafe disappeared before Rory could shout after him that there was never going to be a better offer. She was annoyed at herself for being too slow with her comeback, blaming it on her spinning head from the walk back. As soon as she crossed the threshold into Cruikshank’s workshop, all thoughts of Rafe were pushed out by the overwhelming desire to lie down.

  Chapter 46

  The following morning, Longinus was in a state of agitation worse than anything Rory had ever seen. They had just received word that they were to go see the Old Girl at the mansion later that day. Rory watched him pace the workshop as she gently prodded her now-expertly patched shoulder. The Old Girl’s doctor had been nothing short of a miracle worker, and already the pain in her arm was fading to a dull ache.

  “I cannot go to see the Marchioness dressed like this.” Longinus gestured at his combat-weathered silks. “I must go to my tailor, and immediately. Do you hear me?” He shouted at the door, on the other side of which were a gaggle of guards. “Immediately!”

  “That’s the problem with house arrest, Longinus,” replied Rory. “Makes it hard to go out, don’t it.”

  “But Lady Martha will see me like this!” he wailed. “Oh, what will she think? It was fine for me to appear in this state straight after combat, but now? She will see just what an unworthy, what a lowly…” He sighed miserably. “She is an angel from heaven, I could compose odes to the nobility of her brow, the elegance of her neck, the straight perfection of her nose, the sparkle of her conversation, the breathlessness of her wit…” Longinus faltered and frowned. “No, the, er…”

  “You’ve never heard her wit.”

  “I don’t need to hear it to know it is simply…perfect,” he finished lamely. “I need a pen and paper. Cruikshank!”

  From the suspended runway above came the thud of footsteps, and Cruikshank’s door flew open.

  “Will you be quiet down there, I am trying to read!”

  “Then give me a pen and some paper and I will be as silent as a stone, for I shall be enraptured by the Muse — whom I can hear whispering to me now.”

  “The desk.”

  Longinus rummaged amongst the mess of sketches and notes until he pulled out a ream of paper and a pen. A little more searching revealed a grime-covered pot of ink.

  “Aha!”

  He sat down to write, and stood up before having scratched a single word.

  “I need to change my clothes, I cannot write like this. I cannot focus, this is just unbearable!” He opened the door for the umpteenth time to check on the guards outside, and slammed it shut. He began to pace up and down the workshop once again.

  “To think that this celestial being will see me, unworthy as I am, and not even in appropriate clothing! Oh!” He pressed a hand to his chest.

  “Longinus,” said Rory.

  “What?”

  “You know how assassins are supposed to be all dark and silent like?”

  “The word you’re looking for is laconic,” said Cruikshank as she climbed down the ladder, obviously having given up on her book.

  “Yeah, laconic and all that,” said Rory.

  “Your point?” snapped Longinus.

  “Shut up.”

  He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his face a perfect mask of outrage.

  “She’s right, lovey,” said Cruikshank, reaching the ground. “Trust me, I’ve read many a romance novel. Assassins should be dark and mysterious. Men of few words. Women love that.”

  That gave him pause.

  “They do?”

  “Absolutely. You can’t be spouting all that, er, poetry at Lady Martha, you’ll ruin the illusion. She needs to have time to ‘melt’ your sullen exterior first. And your tattered silks add to that illusion. You’re a combat-seasoned assassin, a trained killer. You should look a little rough.”

  Longinus nodded, his eyes staring into the middle distance.

  “Yes, I can see it. The Viper, silent and deadly, sacrificing elegance for the safety of his beloved. Yes!” he snapped his fingers. “Where is that paper, I’ve just had a superb line.”

  He sat down and began to write once more. “Wait.” He turned and faced the two women. “If I don’t talk, how am I supposed to communicate?”

  “Through me,” said Rory with a grin.

  “Absolutely unacceptable. You are coarse, you swear, and worse, you are grammatically incorrect.”

  “Well I’m supposed to be, ain’t I? You’re the laconic assassin, I’m the cheeky urchin. That’s how it works.”

  Rory turned to Cruikshank. “Do you think we’ll get a medal or something?” she asked. “You know, for saving the Old Girl and Damsport? It would go nicely with my collection.” She ran her fingers through the trinkets around her neck, thinking of Lady Martha and her wink. Maybe that had been a way to let her know that the Old Girl’s severity was all for show.

  “I don’t know,” said Cruikshank. “You saved her and her daughter
and the Marchioness is nothing but fair, but then again you should be held accountable for your crimes.”

  “She ain’t going to arrest us, surely? Besides, I ain’t an assassin.”

  Cruikshank sighed. “I really don’t know, lovey. The Marchioness is a difficult one to read.”

  “She’s a difficult woman, full stop,” replied Rory, the memory of the enforced poisoning still fresh in her mind.

  “Best not to say that too loud,” replied Cruikshank.

  * * *

  It was a quick, if tense, trip to the Old Girl’s office. Longinus had assumed a dark, glowering expression. It had taken a little practice, but he now had it just right. Rory was to speak for them both, and she felt strangely excited. So long as it wasn’t to answer a sentence to the galleys, of course.

  The Marchioness and Lady Martha entered by a side door.

  “Ladies. Viper.” The Marchioness sat down at her desk, and Lady Martha stood behind her.

  “Our thanks to you both,” she said with a smile. “You saved my mother and me, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

  “Yes, you have my thanks too,” said the Marchioness. “That was good work. We wouldn’t have been able to stop Myran without your help.”

  “We didn’t help you stop her,” corrected Rory. “We stopped her ourselves.”

  “Some people find insolence endearing. I do not.” The Marchioness’ face was hard. Rory found herself suddenly very ill at ease. “That said, I also understand that youth has to happen. So, keep your tongue in your pocket and we’ll get along fine.”

  Longinus very discreetly shifted his foot and stepped on her toes. Luckily her iron inserts took all of his weight, and she resisted the urge to throw him a dirty look.

  “Before we get to you,” continued the Marchioness, “we have another matter to address.”

  Lady Martha pulled the silken cord next to her. The double doors opened and two guards entered, dragging between them a snivelling Norman.

  “Now, Norman,” began the Old Girl.

  “I didn’t know it was a crossbow! I swear!” He threw himself on his knees, sobbing. “Please, ma’am, don’t send me to the galleys, please. I swear I didn’t mean you any harm, I swear it, please!”