“Is something wrong?” he said.
The guard stood behind him, indifferent-looking, holding up the lantern. I dragged in a breath, shaking my head.
“I just—I thought I heard something,” I said, shrugging off his hand. “But it’s nothing. Just—it’s a bit unsettling, this dark.”
“Makes some folk jumpy,” the guard said. “Myself, I don’t mind it. But some people give themselves a spook down here. Come along, we’re nearly out of it.”
Hal said nothing, simply frowned at me a moment longer before turning to follow the guard on the stairs. I walked behind, my feet echoing impossibly loud on the stone steps. I kept listening for the sound of hooves, but I did not hear them again—and when we had reached the top landing and opened the door to the station, I felt half-relieved and half-foolish over my own earlier fear.
“Mr. Bishop,” said a familiar voice, and Inspector Cross appeared, striding toward us across the station, genial smile on his face. “Come to see our prisoner?”
“You’ve made a mistake, Cross,” Hal said. He had pulled his pipe from his pocket and was now pushing tobacco into it. “And a rather terrible one—you must let that man go from here.”
Inspector Cross pushed his hands into his pockets, smile broadening indulgently. “Oh, I’m certain that you are convinced of that. Can you persuade me? Or a judge—for indeed that is the question.”
Hal jammed his pipe between his teeth and struck a match, lighting the tobacco. He was scowling furiously, but when he spoke, his tone was carefully calm. “You know that I cannot—I have no proofs,” he said. “Yet no more can you persuade me, with your gossip and suppositions. You are wagering a man’s life on your belief that you are right—would it not be safer to let him go?”
“And what does he have to fear in our jail?” Inspector Cross said. He waved a hand in the general direction of the door we had just exited. “He is well-guarded. The bars keep things out as well as keeping him in.”
“Not all things,” Hal said grimly. “At least grant me this—put a man to watch him. Let him have a light.”
Inspector Cross stroked his mustache, glancing over at the door. “Very well,” he said at last. “If the man is so frightened, then let him have a lamp. We will see that no harm comes to him, Mr. Bishop.”
“I wish that I had your certainty on that point,” Hal said. He glanced backward at the door once more. “If he dies, I shall see that an inquiry is made. You have had my warning.”
“An inquiry,” Inspector Cross said slowly. “For holding a suspect in custody? Well—stranger things have happened.”
He turned and went back to his office, vanishing behind a door, and we left the station, with half-a-dozen pairs of eyes staring behind us as we walked. The crisp breeze was a relief from the stagnant air of the dungeons, even with the smell of smoke and river-water, and I breathed it in deeply. I thought of Andrew, trapped in the depths of the jail, and felt my stomach twist sympathetically.
“He’ll be all right now, won’t he?” I said, pushing my hands into my pockets. “He has—whatever it was that you gave him. The charm. And Mr. Bonham is coming.”
“Not quickly enough,” Hal said. His pipe was billowing smoke in the air, and he was walking with his shoulders hunched forward. “Not nearly enough. He had the look of a man who has despaired—he is not in a state of mind to save himself, and I cannot save him where he is.”
“But then—we can’t leave him there,” I said. “We can’t let him die.”
“No,” Hal said, quickening his pace. “And we shan’t. I shall make an appeal to the one person who may be capable of persuading Alistair Cross.”
I hurried to catch up with him, the wind cutting through my coat as I walked. “What do you mean? Where are we going?”
“To see Sir Hector, of course,” Hal said. “He can post the bond for his son if he chooses.”
“If he chooses,” I said doubtfully. “But he has no especial fondness for his son. Why should he choose it?”
“Because I have an inkling that his own life may be in danger,” Hal said, blowing out a puff of smoke. “And nothing could motivate a man like Sir Hector more greatly than his own interest.”
And with that, he strode off down the muddy streets, while I followed close behind, hoping that we could persuade Sir Hector of the danger his family was in—and that he was sensible enough to care.
CHAPTER NINE
We made our way to the Marsh residence through the muddy streets, and when we arrived we were greeted by a rather harried-looking maid, who stood aside to let us through, took our coats, and then vanished into the depths of the house, leaving us standing in the entry-way rather bewildered. From above, I could hear someone shouting—a quite agitated shouting—and I felt a sinking sense that Sir Hector would be in no mood to listen to us at all.
After we had been standing there a moment, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and I tuned to see Rose making her way toward us, pale and frightened-looking, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying.
“Oh, Mr. Bishop,” she said, approaching Hal with her hands outstretched. She took both of his hands in hers and gave him a weak smile. “I am so glad you’ve come. Is there word on Andrew? Has Mr. Bonham come?”
“Not yet,” Hal said, awkwardly extricating himself from her grasp. “I have sent for him, but I have not had a reply. As for Andrew—well. That is why we are here. I must speak with your father.”
A heavy crash sounded from upstairs and all three of us looked up at the sound. Rose sighed, shaking her head.
“Father—he is in no mood to be approached today,” she said, gazing toward the stairs with a pained expression. “He is—he is in one of his tempers, as Andrew would say.”
Her voice shook slightly when she said her brother’s name, and I felt a stab of sympathy for her. There was another shout from upstairs, and the slamming of a door, and another set of footsteps on the stairs. Alec Wright appeared, his expression dark, his hands thrust into his pockets, and his jaw set firmly.
“Alec,” Rose said uncertainly, turning to him. “Is it—have you resolved it?”
“Resolved it!” Alec gave a short bark of laughter. “Yes, I’ve resolved it—I’ve resolved never to darken his door again. I’ll be off now.”
Rose caught his sleeve, giving him a pleading look. “Don’t—he needs you here. What will happen to—what about the factory? Who will run it if you go?”
“Damn the factory,” Alec said sharply. Rose flinched, and he sighed, his expression softening. “I can’t—I can’t be spoken to in that way any longer. How am I to work if I am constantly hounded by accusations I cannot refute?”
“What accusations?” Hal said, taking down his pipe and tamping down the tobacco. “Does he still believe that you have gone through his desk?”
Alec stared at him blankly a moment, as though realizing for the first time that we were present. “Yes—that, and other things. Now he believes I have been stealing from him.”
“Hm.” Hal struck a match, lighting his pipe, and stuck back between his teeth. He puffed at it thoughtfully for a moment. “Perhaps I could speak to him. There must be some reason for these accusations.”
Alec’s face reddened. “Absurd! I have worked for him this long—I have no need to steal anything from him . . .”
Hal waved a hand. “I accused you of nothing. I said only that something must have put this idea in his mind. Perhaps if I spoke to him, I could understand it.”
Alec blinked, running a hand through his hair. “If you could understand it, it would be more than anyone else has done.”
Hal gave a short nod, and turned to Rose. “There is also the matter of your brother. He is in a desperate situation, and your father is the only man with the means to remedy it. I must speak with him.”
She glanced between Hal and Alec for a moment, until the latter gave a small nod. He ran a hand through his hair once more.
“I won’t stay for it,
” he said, finally. “I’ll go down to the inn. But see what you can do with him.”
“Very well,” Rose said quietly. “Only—do come back, Alec. He can’t do without you.”
“I know,” Alec said, turning back to the door. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
He went and took up his coat, going out the front door and into the busy street. Rose watched after him a moment, then turned to Hal.
“Well,” she said. “If we are going to see Father, we had better get on with it. He tires himself out with these fits—I shouldn’t be surprised if he wants a rest.”
She led us up the stairs and to her father’s study, pushing open the heavy door. Sir Hector sat at his desk, head bowed, turning his charm over in his hands. He looked as though he had aged even since the inquest—his hair duller, his features more sunken and gaunt. He looked up as we entered, and the sharp steel grey of his gaze took us in.
“Magicians,” he muttered, looking back down at his charm. “Come to give me more trouble? Well, you can go—I’ve more trouble than I know what to do with.”
“Perhaps you can settle some of this trouble,” Hal said. “Your son sits in the police dungeons at present—his situation is quite desperate. But he would be freed tomorrow if you would post a bond.”
Sir Hector snorted, without looking up from his coin. “Let him rot. My thieving son is dead, and his murderer may suffer—though he is also my son. I have just put another thief from my house.”
Hal pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I have heard. You believe yourself surrounded by thieves and liars—why? What has happened?”
Sir Hector did look up then, a sharp and angry glare in his eyes. “I need not justify myself to you—no! You must justify yourself to me. You arrive—one of my sons is dead, the other rots in jail. For what? For what? And now, my secretary has stolen my papers—private papers. He had no need of them. All of this since you arrived. Justify that to me!”
Hal let out a puff of smoke. “I will not tell you it is coincidence—I do not believe in them. Doubtless something has been set in motion—whether I have set it so or am merely part of the machinery, I do not yet know. There is a net tightening around you and yours—and I am offering you the thread to begin unraveling it. That is what you must know from me.”
“Thread?” Sir Hector frowned. “What thread? What do you mean?”
“I was summoned here by your son because he feared for his own life,” Hal said. “And shortly after I arrived, your other son was killed. Now Andrew is in greater fear of his life than ever—and I may find what threatens him, but not if he is killed before I can do so.”
“Well, what would you have me do?” Sir Hector looked down at his coin once more, running a thumb over it. “What can I do?”
“Andrew’s life is in danger,” Hal said. “What little help I can offer him, I have already given. But he would be safer in your home than in the police dungeons.”
“Would he?” Sir Hector mused, clutching the coin in a fist. “Would he? His fear began here—why should he wish to return? No. He is no longer welcome here.”
“Then you will not post his bond?” Hal frowned around his pipe. “I believe you will live to regret that decision.”
“Is that a threat?” Sir Hector’s head jerked up and he glared at Hal, a wild look in his eyes. “Are you also threatening me?”
“Not a threat,” Hal said calmly. “Merely a warning. Your family is in danger, and I may protect them better if they are all in the same place. Consider that.”
“You have done very little to protect my family to this point,” Sir Hector said. He waved a hand. “Get out. I am tired.”
Hal stood a moment longer, frowning at the old man as he turned his coin over and over in his hands. Then he nodded to me, and we went from the room into the passage, where Rose stood, white-faced.
“Then he will not help Andrew?” she said. Hal shook his head, and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God. What shall we do?”
“Take comfort,” Hal said. “Mr. Bonham will be here shortly—perhaps he can talk some sense into your father. And I have given Andrew some protection, at least.”
Rose drew herself up, taking a deep breath. “Yes—yes, I can count on Mr. Bonham. Father does listen to him. And Alec—once Father has rested, he will forget all about that scene with him. Alec can persuade him, when Father is not in one of his tempers.”
“Just what does your father suppose that Alec has done?” I said. “What is he supposed to have stolen?”
“The most ridiculous thing,” Rose said. “A box of letters that Father kept from his days in Canada—why he should want that, I can’t fathom. But they have come up missing, and Father does not know what he did with them, so naturally he blames Alec.”
“Hm.” Hal rocked back on his heels, blowing a puff of smoke at the ceiling. “How curious. Well—I think we have done all that we can here. Tend to your father—we shall see to your brother.”
She nodded gratefully, slipping into the study, and we made our way downstairs, collecting our coats and stepping back out into the sooty air of the street. Hal kept his hands in his pockets, puffing vigorously at his pipe, his head bent over his feet in deep thought.
“What do we do now?” I said. “If Andrew’s father won’t help him—what can we do?”
“We wait upon Mr. Bonham,” he said, without looking at me. “And pray to God that he keeps that pin about his person. In the meantime—I should like to speak to Mr. Wright.”
He quickened his pace, and I hurried to keep up with him, as we wound our way over the muddy cobbles and back to the inn. We stepped into the dimly lit pub, and I followed Hal over to a set of chairs clustered about the fireplace. Alec Wright sat in one, slumped and melancholy, his dark hair disheveled and his coat rumpled. A pint sat untouched beside him. Hal cleared his throat and Alec jumped, jerking his head around to face us.
“Oh! Mr. Bishop,” he said, sitting up straight and running a hand through his hair. “Do sit down.”
Hal took a seat in the chair opposite, and I sat down on the wide hearth of the fireplace, letting the warmth of it chase the chill from my bones. Hal regarded Alec somberly, tenting his fingers beneath his chin. Alec held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, glancing into the fireplace.
“Well—what happened?” he said. “Is—will he help Andrew or not?”
“He was in no frame of mind to help anyone,” Hal said. “He was in a very agitated state. I understand that you were the cause of it.”
Alec gave a short bark of laughter. “Insofar as anything is ever the cause of it. He gets an idea in his head, and can’t be shaken of it. I suppose my mistake was to try to reason with him. I ought to have known better.”
Hal sat silently for a moment, turning his gaze to the fireplace. “Do you know anything of these papers? The ones that were found to be missing?”
Alec scrubbed a hand over his face. “What, the letters? No. I’ve never seen such a thing. And even if I had, what would I want with them?”
“What indeed,” Hal mused. He turned back to Alec. “Never mind. I believe he is past the worst of his temper—and Mr. Bonham is on his way.”
Alec sat up, face white. “Mr. Bonham! But I never wrote to him—Sir Hector was so angry . . .”
Hal waved a hand dismissively. “I have telegraphed to him. You need not trouble yourself on that point.”
Alec sank back into his chair, letting out a breath. “Good. Mr. Bonham can speak sense to him—if no one else can. But I hope it is not too late for Andrew.”
Hal said nothing for a moment, staring at the fireplace and frowning around his pipe. “Did you know anything of Andrew’s meeting with the other magician?” he said, at last.
“No.” Alec furrowed his brow, looking troubled. “He went down to the pub a while ago, and seemed troubled when he came back, but he said nothing about meeting anyone. Frankly I wouldn’t suspect him of knowing enough of ma
gic to cast a curse. He certainly never made any effort to understand the work at the factory.”
“Hm.” Hal tented his fingers under his chin. “And the work at the factory—you do know something of that, I presume.”
“Oh, yes,” Alec said. “Though I’m not a magician—no training for it—I do have some understanding of its theory. Enough to help Sir Hector—and Simon—to run the place.”
“The aether-engines—what do you know about them?” Hal said, without looking away from the fireplace. “What do you know of the spell they use?”
Alec rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I should think you would know more about that than I would—didn’t your father help to write the spell?”
“Yes,” Hal said, his voice carefully neutral. “He did. And that is the curious thing—since I have come to Birmingham, I have felt no trace of that spell. I worked with my father on it—I ought to recognize it. And yet, when I stand outside the factory, I do not recognize the spell at all.”
“Ah, well.” Alec shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “There are several different spells at work in this city—perhaps it’s merely buried beneath one of them.”
“Perhaps. But I am capable of focusing on a spell when I wish to—and that one I could not find.” Hal sat back, taking down his pipe and filling it with tobacco. He gestured to me. “Jem has an even stronger sense of magic—though he did not work on the aether-spell—and he also has been unable to find it.”
“I’m afraid you’re out of my depth,” Alec said, standing abruptly. “I don’t write spells—only ensure that the engines come out with the proper markings on them. I had better get back—I hate to leave Rose alone with Sir Hector.”
Hal gave him a sharp look, but said nothing, merely waving his hand dismissively. Alec took up his coat and fairly fled from the pub, leaving his pint behind him, untouched. Hal lit his pipe and stuck it back between his teeth, turning a brooding gaze upon the fireplace. I took up the seat that Alec had vacated, watching him silently for a moment.
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