A Soul's Worth

by T. S. Barnett

  “The elder?” Warren voice dropped to a whisper and he took a step closer. “You are Llewan, then. What are you doing out and about?”

  “Even we must eat, Mr. Hayward. I was deemed…healthy enough to be seen in daylight. I make money so that I might bring necessary supplies back home. Contacting the spirit world has been in vogue, so I have been able to support my family.”

  “Family,” Warren echoed with a slightly skeptical frown. “What exactly has your elder been saying about me?”

  “It’s not my place to discuss, Mr. Hayward. He—he regards you fondly.”

  “I’m quite sure,” Warren murmured, and he tilted his head toward the door. “Perhaps I’ll see you again.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Hayward.” Vaughan gave him a small nod and excused himself, shutting Wakefield’s from door behind him.

  With a sigh, Warren returned to the ballroom, where Wakefield was telling anyone who would listen that he’d just had a conversation with Dick Turpin.

  Late in the evening, when only the two of them remained conscious, they spoke quietly in the parlor while they drank their brandy, as a young woman of ambiguous reputation had become so drunk that she curled up on the chaise beside Warren, put her head in his lap, and fell dead asleep. Wakefield laughed at his look of panic and refilled his glass, leaving the bottle between them as he dropped back into his chair.

  “Can you believe that Arville man, pestering you about Cam? What a toady,” Wakefield mumbled, chuckling into his glass.

  “I don’t know why you keep inviting Davies,” Warren answered. “All he does is paw at the women all night. He ought to be ashamed of himself. I’m glad he almost soiled himself at Mr. Vaughan’s performance.”

  Wakefield only shrugged, clearly too drunk to maintain his enthusiasm for the medium’s abilities, and for a while they sat in silence, listening to the tinny music coming through the speakers positioned carefully around Wakefield’s public rooms. Warren could hear the two golems chatting in the next room. He idly wondered what two golems could possibly have to talk about. History books and endless servitude, he supposed. Cam seemed satisfied enough with his lot, at least—he got to go out and meet people, and he helped around the house, but Warren liked to think he didn’t treat him very much like a servant. Beckford would have to be responsible for his own philosophical dilemmas.

  “What do you do when you aren’t here, Hayward?” Wakefield asked, slouching in his chair and letting his arm dangle over the plush arm as he looked over at his companion. “I never see you at any plays, and you certainly don’t entertain yourself with any of the ladies who’ve been throwing themselves at you these past weeks.” He sat up suddenly and stared across the way at Warren, his glassy eyes narrowed. “Are you a eunuch?”

  “Yes, Wakefield, I’m a eunuch,” Warren grumbled as he lowered his glass from his lips. “I’m just busy; that’s all.” He glanced sidelong at Wakefield as he settled back into his chair with a small laugh. For a brief moment, he considered telling him the truth. Wakefield didn’t seem the type to report someone for anything that polite society would call deviant behavior—he skirted the limits of propriety on a near daily basis himself. But no—enough people knew enough damning things about him as it was.

  Warren looked down at the woman in his lap and gently brushed a bit of stray hair out of her eyes, pondering her smudged makeup and slightly parted lips. The skirt of her gown spilled off of the chaise and into a sea of lavender on the floor. It would be so much easier for him if he wanted her. He’d known since the first time a young girl passing through his father’s coaching house had urged him into the stable that he hadn’t any real interest in their delicate features and soft bodies. He had spent too long trying to convince himself that it was right, telling himself that he had better get used to it because his mother was as likely as not to marry him off to a local girl the first chance he got.

  It wasn’t until a young gentleman stayed at the coaching house that he had realized the truth. He had asked Warren to stay with him after he dropped off his supper. The stranger had had his way with him, slipped him a crown for his trouble, and sent him on his way in the dark of night. He knew now that he had been thoroughly taken advantage of by someone much older, but he was grateful for it—he never would have known what it was he was truly aching for until someone had shown him.

  He looked up to find Wakefield staring at him, and then the man thumped his fist on the arm of his chair as though he’d made an important decision.

  “Come along; let’s to billiards. She’ll be fine,” he cut in when Warren began to protest about the unconscious girl in his lap. “Just pick her up and put her down.”

  Warren did as he was told, carefully letting the girl’s head rest against one of the cushions, and he stifled a laugh as Wakefield threw an arm over his shoulder and lifted his empty glass.

  “And more brandy! Beckford!” he called, pulling Warren with him out of the room and down the short corridor.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Warren stumbled out of the autocar just before dawn, he found Ben waiting for him in the parlor, arms folded and eyes hard. He began to wave away what he was certain would be nagging, but Ben said calmly, “You’ve been broken into, Mr. ‘Ayward.”

  “What? Broken into?” Warren pressed his fingers into his temple in irritation, his head beginning to pound as all the fun parts of the night’s alcohol began to wear off. “What do you mean, broken into?”

  “I mean a man was ‘ere,” Ben said, rising and taking Warren’s shoulders in his hands. There was a bit of dried blood on his lip and the early signs of a bruising around his left eye. “A man aimin’ to steal the plans for your incredible automatons.”

  “Plans,” Warren scoffed, fingertips toying with the collar of Ben’s shirt. “He left disappointed, did he?”

  Ben swatted at his hand with a frown. “Love, I know you’re drunk, but this is serious. Try to pay attention. Do you understand what it means that someone broke in?” He bent down to look Warren directly in the face. “He could have seen the workshop. Anyone would be able to tell it’s not a factory in ‘ere. What if someone found out they’re magic?”

  Warren frowned at him. “Did he see the workshop?”

  “No. I stopped ‘im. Tough little blighter,” he added, sucking at his injured lip, “but he didn’t make it very far. But I stopped ‘im, Warren. He knows I was here.”

  “Policemen are supposed to stop crimes,” Warren said with a slight laugh, and Ben sighed.

  “Why don’t we do this in the morning?” Ben turned Warren by the shoulders and led him into the master bedroom, helping him strip away his outer clothes before allowing him to drop in a heap on the bed. He got in beside him and allowed him to nuzzle into his shoulder, but he smacked his hands when they began to drift and told him to hush and go to sleep. With Warren’s slow breath against his skin, Ben sighed softly, running his hand affectionately through the other’s copper hair and leaving a single kiss on his forehead.

  In the morning, Warren paced the bedroom until Ben stirred, and then he took a seat beside him on the bed immediately.

  “Did you say we’d been broken into last night?” he asked, receiving only a sleepy frown in response. “You said a man was here,” he pressed.

  “You’re cheery for someone who had trouble walking this morning,” Ben yawned.

  “I have a good metabolism,” Warren said flatly, his eyes sternly on Ben’s. “Was there someone here or not?”

  “What, you think I got this playing cricket?” Ben gingerly touched the purple splotch on his cheek. “Yes, a man was ‘ere. I managed to get out of ‘im that he thought he’d find the plans for your machines ‘ere. Must’ve worked for some businessman or other, but he wouldn’t say who. Seems you’ve a rival, Mr. ‘Ayward.”

  “A rival,” Warren repeated, chewing on his lower lip. “I’d bet everything it was that bastard Arville,” he muttered. “I’ve seen him at Wakefield’s, trying to get at Be
ckford and giving me an eye. He’s in the automation business as well,” he explained to Ben’s frowning face. “He builds those ghastly things that say ‘Good afternoon’ when they pour your tea all over the table and run on those continuous tracks over everybody’s toes; have you seen them?” He waved a hand without waiting for an answer. “No, I don’t know when you would have. They’re ungainly things, but before Cam, they were all the rage. Doubtless he’s infuriated that I’ve cut into his business.”

  “Love, I think you’re forgetting a key detail,” Ben said softly, reaching out to slide his fingers between Warren’s. “Whoever that man works for, he clearly meant you ill, and now he knows that you’ve another man living in your ‘ouse.”

  Warren stopped short, and he felt a tight panic in his chest. “I...don’t suppose he’d believe that Scotland Yard is so thorough in their duties,” he said as he squeezed Ben’s hand.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Christ,” Warren swore, and he stood to pace around the room a bit more. “There’s no proof,” he said, attempting to convince himself. “Just because you were here, it doesn’t prove anything. Just because you were here in the middle of the night when I wasn’t. That’s no indication that you stay here on a regular basis, or that you have personal business in my house at night.” He sighed, coming to a stop as he pushed the balls of his hands into his eyes. “That won’t matter, will it?”

  “Likely not.”

  “I’m supposed to attend one of the most prestigious galas of the season tonight,” Warren said, muffled by his hands as he drew them slowly down over his face. “How can I go now, knowing that someone is holding this over my head?”

  “You don’t have to go to the party, Warren,” Ben reminded him with a small chuckle that earned him a frown. “Don’t make that sour face at me. Weren’t you just at Wakefield’s until the sun came up? Give yourself a rest. You’ve been to so many dinners that you must’ve met everyone in London twice by now.”

  “Everyone has friends,” he insisted. “Buckley said he was bringing his American friend tonight. An American, Ben. America has at least a few people who could afford and appreciate my golems, wouldn’t you think?”

  “So we’re in this to be wealthy, now, are we?” Ben asked, standing to place himself in front of Warren and put his hands on his shoulders. “D’you really think this is the smartest thing? These aren’t actual automatons you’re sending out into the world, you know. What if someone figures ‘at out?”

  Warren scoffed. “Even if someone did take one apart, you think that they’re ever going to think they’re magic?”

  “They will if they take off its loaf an’ it keeps talkin’ to them without being attached to anything.”

  “The most ambitious person with that sort of thing on their mind couldn’t think of anything more enterprising than breaking into my home and trying to steal the secret recipe, Ben. I’m less worried about being accused of witchcraft by obviously envious rivals than I am of going to prison for sodomy.”

  “But you’re going to go to this party anyway, aren’t you?”

  Warren straightened a bit, and he lifted his chin with a small huff. “It won’t do to hide, will it? I’ll either be reported or I won’t. In the meantime, I must continue as usual, and that means doing business.” He looked up into Ben’s skeptical face. “I am doing business when I go to these things; you understand that, don’t you?”

  “You’re doing business that brings lipstick ‘ome on your collar, are you?” Ben asked with just a hint of contempt. “I never said I’d mind if you enjoy yourself, Warren, but don’t treat me like a fool.”

  “What—lipstick—” Warren touched his rumpled shirt collar as though he expected to find some there. “You know I don’t get into all that,” he frowned, trying to pull his shirt far enough away from his face to inspect it. “But these women at Wakefield’s parties are rather...aggressive.” He sighed. “It’s all business, Ben. Honestly. Please. I have to make some arrangements before the gala.”

  “What sort of arrangements?”

  “Well, I—I made the acquaintance of some...gentlemen.”

  Ben lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Gentlemen.”

  “Well of course they aren’t really gentlemen,” Warren sighed. “But when people are breaking into your house and threatening you, gentlemen aren’t exactly what you need, are they?” He pulled off his wrinkled shirt and tossed it haphazardly on the floor, then began to dig through his closet for some fresh clothes.

  “Who are you getting in with, Warren?”

  He came out of the closet tucking in a clean shirt. “Don’t worry yourself, Constable,” he teased. “These men may have a sordid past, but they’ve been nothing but honest with me. Not a crime to their name in weeks, to my understanding.”

  “Oh, well that makes them pillars of society, innit? Who?”

  “They’re brothers, actually,” Warren began reluctantly while he tied a thin strap around his hair to keep it out of his face. “I doubt you’d know them.” He glanced over to Ben and found himself looking into a frown, so he admitted with a sigh, “Their name is Travers.”

  “Travers?” Ben took a step closer to Warren, turning him by the shoulder while he was tying his tie. “Tell me you don’t mean who I think you mean. Twins?”

  “Yes?”

  “No. Absolutely not, Warren. I don’t care what you think these men have done for you; they’re dangerous. They’ve been in and out of my precinct so many times they may as well list us as a residence. They’re thieves, cutthroats, cheats, and drunks. There isn’t anything they can bring you but trouble.”

  “They helped me,” Warren objected, leaving his tie half done to look up into Ben’s face. “When I was on the Heolstran road, a man tried to rob me, and they stopped him.”

  He paused. “They helped you?”

  “They did. Did you know only the one is like us? The skinny one. They said it wasn’t right to do wrong by fellow witches. I think I can trust them, Ben, and if you wouldn’t want to deal with them, I’d say that makes them an excellent choice, doesn’t it?”

  “An excellent choice for what, precisely?”

  “Bodyguards, of course.” He turned back to the mirror and finished and straightened his tie, then snatched up his coat from over the back of a nearby chair and slid it over his shoulders. He felt the weight of the TXM in his pocket, but thought that it might not be wise to let Ben know quite how close contact he had been in with the dangerous Travers of late.

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Ben said with an empty laugh. “You don’t know these men. Love, if you need bodyguards, isn’t that a bit of a hint that you’re getting into this whole thing too deeply?”

  “It’s just the nature of business, Ben. Even if I was selling vegetables on the side of the street, the man down the road doing the same might set my stall on fire. You can’t help there being ruthless people in the world, but you can account for them and prepare for them.”

  Ben sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Warren give himself one last check in the mirror. He looked like a different person in his tailored coat and top hat—he stood straighter and he held his chin higher. In a way, Ben was glad that Warren was getting recognition for his work and finally getting a bit of the life he’d always seemed to want, but sometimes Ben caught him with a bit of that same sneer his lover used to despise on other people. “Just don’t become one of them, love,” he said softly, and Warren turned to him with a conciliatory smile.

  “You don’t have to worry about me. With two rather menacing ex-cons and an upstanding policeman keeping an eye on me, I’m not likely to get into any trouble.” He leaned forward to kiss him, meaning for it to be a quick goodbye, but Ben tugged him close and held the kiss so long that Warren gave in and let the other man undo all of his hard work dressing himself.

  Ben was never what one would call aggressive or dominant when it came to such things, but he touched and kissed Warren with such
need that the redhead found himself a bit overwrought, which he wasn’t used to in the slightest. He gasped and scratched marks into Ben’s firm stomach, letting his head fall back as he ground into the other man’s lap. It should be like this every time—panting and desperate and just barely too warm.

  As he watched Ben’s chest slowly rise and fall in the rhythm of sleep, he let out a long, slow sigh. This was what it was all for, after all. He slid out of the bed carefully and dressed himself, leaving the door pulled just to on his way out. He gestured to Cam to follow him, and he stepped into the back of the autocar while the golem climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Warren pulled the TXM from his pocket then, and he sent a message.

  Interested in a pay raise? Meet me.

  The Travers didn’t seem to mind the idea of dressing up and playing the part of intimidating bodyguards, and they even expressed slight concern at the news that Warren’s house had been broken into. Warren couldn’t be sure if this was concern for his well-being or their job security, but he appreciated it regardless. Owen was even keener on the idea when he learned that they would have to have suits made. He managed to make only a few inappropriate jokes while the tailor was fitting him for his trousers and jacket.

  “Do you think someone is really going to try something, Hayward?” Simon asked while Owen prodded the tailor for fancier buttons.

  Warren shook his head. “Tonight? Not likely. But as there is undoubtedly someone out there who has it out for me, it can’t hurt for him to know what he’d be dealing with, can it?”

  “I’m glad you think we’re up to the task.”

  “Of course you are. Do you even see yourselves? I can’t imagine why someone would need to be so tall.”

  “At’s just because you’re such a lil’un eh?” Owen spoke up with a laugh. “An’ all of us redheaded as well. Could be our little brother, couldn’ye?”