Black Iron

by Franklin Veaux

  “You’re really serious about this,” Alÿs said.

  “Yep.” Donnie’s face, dark before, was now positively grim. “We’ll take the new number two apprentice an’ some o’ the other apprentices. Muddy, you want t’ go pay a visit t’ the men who are tryin’ t’ kill you?”

  “I don’t have anything better to do tonight,” Thaddeus said.

  “I’m going too,” Alÿs said.

  “No y’ain’t.” Donnie’s voice held a note of steely finality.

  Alÿs stamped her foot. “Yes, I am!”

  “No, y’ain’t,” Donnie repeated. “This ain’t yer fight.”

  “Because I’m a girl?”

  “Ha! My sister’s a girl an’ she’s goin’, ain’t that right, Claire? It’s because yer French royalty. This ain’t the place for you.”

  “Then where is the place for me?”

  “Queen’s yer friend, right?” Donnie said. “Someone needs t’ let ’er know what’s goin’ on. Who else but you?” He handed her an apprentice’s cap. “Try not t’ lose this one.”

  “They’ll arrest me if I go back to the Palace,” Alÿs said.

  Donnie shrugged. “Mebbe. So don’t get caught.” He looked at Thaddeus, who was halfway to the front door. “Where you goin’, Muddy?”

  “To find a friend,” Thaddeus said. “If I’m not back here when you leave, I’ll catch up with you.”

  24

  Winston Clark, His Honor the Judge of the Police Court of Greater London in service to Her Majesty the Queen, was not having a good evening.

  He turned the piece of paper on his desk over and over again, as if willing it to say something else on repeat examination. When it failed to do so, he scowled at it. He turned it over one last time, and when it again failed to change its meaning, he directed his scowl at the police officer standing in front of his desk.

  “Commander Starbunket—”

  “Skarbunket, Your Honor.”

  “Skarbunket. Well, that’s hardly an improvement, is it? Commander Skarbunket, do you know what you’re asking me for?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Skarbunket shifted his weight, hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, Mayferry snickered. “I am asking for a warrant, Your Honor, to allow myself as representative of the London Metropolitan Police, together with such members of the Force I may deem appropriate, to search the premises located at 112 Hammersmith Street, said premises being an establishment known as Bodger & Bodger Iron Fittings, Your Honor, for the personages of, or any indication of the personages of, (a) The Lady Alÿs de Valois of the French royal family, and / or (b) a man who calls himself Thaddeus Mudstone Ahmed Alexander Pinkerton, such indications of their personages in question including but not limited to a pair of distinctive shoes made and / or sold by Brundel and Sons of Pemmerton Street, said shoes described in detail in Attachment A, and / or any evidence of the presence of a particularly aggressive animate, possibly badly damaged, described in detail in Attachment B, Your Honor.”

  “Remarkable,” Judge Clark said. “You’ve got it verbatim.” He straightened his wig, which itched something fierce, and squinted at the paper in front of him.

  “He does that, Your Honor,” Mayferry said.

  Judge Clark sighed. He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, the police commander was still standing there, wearing that earnest, guileless look he had come to associate with officers of the law who were Up To Something.

  On any normal night, he wouldn’t be here. On any normal night, he would, at this hour, be abed, snuggling in close to the warm and ample bosom of Mrs. Clark, perhaps playing a rousing game of Judge and Jury with her. With luck, there might be strenuous cross-examination, and if things went very well, maybe even a hung jury.

  Instead, he was behind the desk of the night judge in a small office off the main floor of the headquarters of the London Metropolitan Police. Someone well above him had expected something big this evening, involving lots of requests for warrants and investigations, and he’d experienced the sinking sense that Judge and Jury would have to wait for another night. So here he was, commanded to make himself available all night long by order of the office of the Lord Chancellor himself.

  The evening was quiet. Whatever the Powers That Be had expected to happen was conspicuous in its failure to have happened. Judge Clark had been sitting in his office all evening long, far from the close and warm embrace of Mrs. Clark, forced to content himself with nothing beyond the more ordinary sort of judge and jury.

  Less than the ordinary stream, in point of fact, given that there was an excess of judicial types handling a paucity of cases. Despite the entire police force being tied up in Highpole, London’s criminal classes appeared to have declared an unofficial criminal holiday of sorts. The holding cells were nearly empty. All of London, it seemed, wanted to see what would happen.

  Commander Skarbunket could have popped into any office. There were half a dozen judges in the offices that lined the south wall of the police building, three times as many as would ordinarily be here at this hour, and with that embarrassment of choices, he had walked into this office. And now, Judge Clark was fearing for his job.

  “You do realize what you’re doing, Commander Skarbunket?” he said. “Not that I would cast aspersions on your choices, career-limiting though they may be.”

  “I’m applying for a search warrant, Your Honor.”

  “At Bodger & Bodger.”

  “Exactly so, Your Honor.”

  Judge Clark peered at the warrant. “Claire and Donnie Bodger have certain…connections, Commander Skarbunket.”

  “So I’ve heard, Your Honor.”

  “Are you aware, Commander, that Admiral Mellon is a big fan of theirs? He invited them to his birthday party last year. Every British ship of the line carries a Bodger & Bodger autoloading device fitted to each of its cannon, did you know that?”

  “Really?” Skarbunket said. He looked at Mayferry. “I can’t say I was aware—”

  “Brigadier General Sir Lawrence Flatiron personally insisted they attend the wedding of his daughter. He is quite fond of the Bodger & Bodger Automatic Rotating Heavy Gun. He seems to think it might finally bring an end to the deplorable situation in Afghanistan, you see.”

  “Is that so? How interesting, Your Honor. I had no idea—”

  “The point I am trying to make here, Commander,” Judge Clark said, “is you are proposing to search the shop of some very well-connected and influential people for—for—” He blinked once more at the paper, as if trying by force of will to make the letters written on it change shape. “For a member of the French royalty, whom you suspect to be involved in a murder…”

  “Two murders, Your Honor,” Commander Skarbunket corrected. “And one case of assault that may yet become a murder.”

  “Ah, right, yes, of course, that’s much better. Two murders. And one assault. Yes, yes, it says that here.” He shook his head. The heavy wig stayed in one place as his head rotated beneath it, creating an effect that suggested his head was being attacked by a great, strangely shaped parasite consisting entirely of white curls. “You wish to search Bodger & Bodger Iron Fittings for a missing member of the French royal family, who you believe to be implicated in at least two murders, with, er…” He squinted. “With a knife. This is rather an unusual thing for members of the French royalty to be involved with, don’t you think?”

  “Not really, Your Honor,” Skarbunket said. “In fact, I might say that it’s a very common thing for French royalty to be involved with—oof!” Mayferry elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “It’s the knife I find unusual—oof!” He glared at Mayferry, who had just elbowed him again.

  “And the reason you believe this is, as I understand, relates to a hat and a pair of shoes?” Judge Clark put his hand over his forehead. He’d heard stories about Commander Skarbunket, with his r
eputation for brilliant results achieved through distressingly lateral means.

  “I’m not sure which would be worse, Commander,” he said, “if you find your missing princess or if you don’t. Humor the man who’s being asked to put his name on your search warrant. If you find the missing French princess in the custody of the politically influential artisans, what do you propose to do then?”

  Commander Skarbunket gave the judge his best guileless, I’m-not-up-to-anything grin. “We would very much like to bring the Lady Alÿs in for questioning, Your Honor,” he said. “Purely police procedure, you understand.”

  “Ah. I was afraid you might say something like that.” He scratched his head, setting the wig to bouncing. “And should she express reluctance to this idea?”

  “Well, Your Honor,” Skarbunket said, “I don’t really think—”

  “So I gather,” Judge Clark said dryly.

  “Begging your pardon,” Mayferry said, “I hardly think that’s—”

  Judge Clark raised his hands. “Relax, Officer.” He rearranged the papers on his desk. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t grant the warrant. Though if it were anyone but you, Commander Skarbunket, I might not be so inclined. Your reputation precedes you.” He picked up his fountain pen and twiddled it between his fingers. “I want you to understand, Commander, that if you should come up empty-handed, the consequences for your career will likely be severe.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor—”

  “I’m not finished. The consequences for my career will likely be severe as well. Perhaps not as terminally so, but severe nonetheless.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. I will—”

  “I’m still not finished. The Bodgers have powerful friends. My name is on this warrant. If you make them angry, and any of that anger spills over onto me, I will make it my life’s mission to see to it that it is transferred where it properly belongs, by which I mean onto you. And I am a very patient man, Commander, very patient indeed. In light of that, Commander, do you still want me to sign this warrant?”

  Skarbunket inhaled. “Your Honor, I believe—”

  “I don’t care what you believe, Commander. Only what you can prove. Now tell me, Commander, considering the hellfire I will rain down on your head if you’re wrong, do you still think I should put my name on this warrant?”

  “I do, Your Honor,” Skarbunket said. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? I’ve always wanted to try a more pastoral career.”

  “You may get your wish, Commander.” The judge scribbled on the paper in front of him. “Tread lightly. I hear Claire tends to answer the door armed if she isn’t expecting guests. And she’s the gentle one.” He passed the papers over the desk to Skarbunket. “Out of curiosity, Commander Skarbunket, what do you propose to do if they say no?”

  “Use my charm,” Skarbunket said. He paused. “Wait a minute, Your Honor. How do you know about my reputation?”

  “Get out of my office,” Judge Clark said. “And God help us both.”

  On the way out, Skarbunket nudged Mayferry. “Are Bristol, Levy, and Tumbanker still about? Let’s get them and go pay the Bodgers another visit. By the way, what was all that about with the elbowing of the ribs?”

  “Nothing, sir,” Mayferry said. “Just concerned that you might be about to have one of your moments, sir.”

  “Moments, Mayferry? I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Of course not, sir. It must have been a tic, sir. I’ll talk to the doctor about it. Will we be stopping to collect your sidearm, sir?”

  “Tell me, Mayferry, if the Bodgers turn out to be reluctant to speak to us, do you really think it will make any difference?”

  “No, sir, I don’t reckon it will,” Mayferry said.

  “My thought as well, Mister Mayferry” Skarbunket said.

  As they walked through the hallway, Bristol fell into step beside them. “Did you get him to sign off on it, boss?” he said.

  “I did. It seems we might be in danger of being stricken off Admiral Mellon’s party list, though.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were on it, sir.”

  “No? Seems the Bodgers are. Where are Levy and Tumbanker?”

  “Outside with the carriage, sir. If we’re going to do something that will get us off Admiral Mellon’s party list, we might as well be warm and dry while we’re about it.”

  “Ah, good,” Skarbunket said. “Remind me to put you in for a promotion if we get through tonight.”

  “Kind of you to offer, sir, but I don’t want your job,” Bristol said. The three men passed beneath the silent stone statue of the underdressed Lady Justice and out into the chilly rain.

  As promised, Levy and Tumbanker were waiting with a carriage out front. Levy sat in the driver’s seat, soaked through. Tumbanker opened the door as they approached.

  “Great night to make powerful enemies, huh?” Skarbunket said to Tumbanker as they climbed into the carriage.

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. I’m still new to making political enemies,” Tumbanker said.

  “Don’t worry, Mister Tumbanker, I’m quite confident you’ll take to it like a duck to water. You have the gift.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Tumbanker said.

  A short while later, they were pulling up in front of Bodger & Bodger Iron Fittings. All the windows were dark save for a solitary spark of dim yellow light from a single lonely square of glass near the door.

  “No time like the present,” Skarbunket said. He hopped down from the carriage, his boots squishing in the mud. “Any of you who don’t want to risk your careers, speak now.”

  “Um, sir?” Levy said. “Since you’re asking and all, I think I’d rather not risk my career tonight, if it’s all the same.”

  “So noted. Go knock on the door,” Skarbunket said. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I said you can speak now. I didn’t say it would make a difference. Life lesson, Mister Levy.”

  Levy hopped down in the mud beside Skarbunket. He rapped on the door. Nothing happened.

  “Mister Mayferry, care to show him how it’s done?” Skarbunket said.

  “Of course, sir.” Mayferry strode up to the door and hammered on it with his fist. “Open up! London Metropolitan Police! We have a warrant!” he thundered. He turned to Skarbunket. “You do have the warrant, right, sir?”

  Skarbunket waved his hand. Mayferry hammered on the door again. “Open up in the name of the police!”

  Rain poured down around them. The metal sign reading “Bodger & Bodger Iron Fittings” swung, squeaking in the breeze. Inside the building, nothing stirred.

  “What this situation requires,” Bristol said, “is more insistence.” He slogged up to the door and kicked it several times with his boot. “Open up at once in the name of the London Metropolitan Police!”

  The door opened a crack. Bristol looked in, then down. “Who are you, boy?” he said.

  The boy looked up at him skeptically. “I’m Will Hughes, sir. I’m an apprentice for Mister Blakesley on Pentuttle Street, sir. Are you really a policeman?”

  “Yes. We are all policemen. We are looking for Claire and Donnie Bodger.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. They aren’t here.” The boy moved to close the door.

  Bristol stuck his foot in the rapidly closing gap. “Now see here,” he said. “We have a warrant to search these premises.”

  “A what, sir?” Will said.

  “A warrant. It means we can search this place and you can’t stop us.”

  “Oh.” Will considered this for a moment. “What does it look like?”

  “What does what look like?”

  “The warrant, sir.”

  Skarbunket passed the paper to Bristol, who handed it to Will. The boy looked at it. “This is just a piece of paper,” he said.

  “Yes,” Bristol said. “It’s a warrant. Read it!�
�

  “I don’t know how to read, sir.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Bristol put his shoulder to the door and pushed. Will yelped and scrambled out of the way.

  The five officers pressed their way into the workshop. The blinds were drawn on all but one of the windows, and the arc lamps were off. A lonely oil lamp jet provided a small yellow glow beside a cot that had been set up between two workbenches. Vague dark shapes lurked in the gloom.

  “Where is everybody?” Bristol said.

  “I told you, sir. They’re not here. Donnie, he, he told me I could spend the night. I have to go back home to Mister Blakesley tomorrow.”

  “But where are they?” Bristol demanded.

  The boy remained silent, eyes downcast.

  “I said, where are they?” he repeated.

  Will took off his cap and twisted it silently in his hands.

  Skarbunket got down on one knee beside the boy. “Do you like apprenticing for Mister Blakesley?”

  “I suppose so, sir,” Will said.

  “What are you learning how to be?”

  “A smith, sir.”

  “A smith.” Skarbunket nodded. “I guess our jobs are still safe then, eh, men? That’s a pity. Speaking of which, Mayferry, remind me to put you in for a promotion.”

  “I don’t want your job either, sir,” Mayferry said.

  “Huh. I can’t even give it away,” Skarbunket said. “Now, Will, is it? Will, I really need to talk to Claire and Donnie. And to Thaddeus Mudstone, if he’s around. Is he with them?”

  Will nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Ah. And what about the Lady Alÿs? Is she with them?”

  “The noble lady?”

  “Yes, the noble lady.”

  He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Commander Skarbunket raised his eyebrows. “They always doubt me,” he said. “Why do they always doubt me? No matter. Now, Will, it is very important that I talk to Claire and Donnie. Can you tell me where they are?”