by Jade Lee
"Right behind you," Fantine answered from her hiding place behind them. "And keep your voice down."
He spun around, scanning the gloom until his gaze found her face, his eyes widening in stunned surprise. She couldn't hide her grin. She knew that when she wore her Rat persona, not even her own mother would recognize her. Fantine had spent long years watching and imitating young boys so that even as she sat in the shadows, her entire slim frame radiated that peculiar mix of bristling arrogance and heartbreaking vulnerability typical of a street boy.
Then Nameless spoke, redirecting her thoughts to Chadwick's costume. "Oi took 'im ever' way Oi could, but 'e still looks loike fat flash t' me."
"That he does," Fantine agreed softly. The man had obviously made some attempt to dress crudely. The outfit fit him poorly. The coat pulled too tightly across his broad chest and the fawn breeches were much too fine, defining his muscular thighs with almost indecent precision. Nameless had done well to disguise the expensive fabric, and Fantine wrinkled her nose as she picked out the telltale odors. Clearly the boy had dragged Chadwick through every fish stall and sewer in London. Unfortunately, it appeared as surface dirt. Nothing had the threadbare look of neglect.
She sighed, thanking Nameless with a wink. "You did fine. Best disappear now before Ballast's men catch you." Then she glanced at Lord Chadwick. "Pay him, please."
The peer paused in the act of tugging irritably at the buttons of his tight coat. "Pay him? For what?"
"For leading you here."
Chadwick caught her eye, grimacing with annoyance at the entire affair, but he did not argue. He pulled a shilling out of his pocket and tossed it at the boy. "There was no need for this nonsense. I could have just met you here instead of finding the boy in Cheapside and having him lead me to you."
She lifted her face toward Chadwick, wishing the moon were not so bright on his still clean blond hair. "If you are too tired, my lord," she taunted, "I can handle the meeting without you."
"Pray do not be ridiculous," he responded curtly.
Fantine stood, then noticed that Nameless had yet to disappear. "Wot be ye still 'ere fer?" she said, lapsing into her street accent.
His young face wrinkled into a look that only a street boy could manage. It was half pathos, half stubborn pout as he held up his hand and glared at the peer. "Oi were promised two shillings."
Fantine did not even flinch at the lie. In truth, Nameless only expected a copper or two, but as he had said, Chadwick was fat flash, and that made him an easy cull.
To his credit, his lordship's frown said he recognized the lie for what it was, but for some reason, he chose not to argue. Instead he pressed a bright guinea into the child's hand. "Get some clothes, boy. It is cold out here."
Fantine gasped in horror at the flash of gold. Good Lord, if she had thought Chadwick would be that generous, she would have stopped the boy at the very beginning. Giving away a shilling was one thing. A guinea was another matter entirely. That one piece of gold marked them as a target for every thick-armed brute in the area. She'd lay odds that even Nameless was thinking about rounding up his friends for a gang attack.
"Off wi' ye," she said with a low growl. "And do not think t' betray me."
The boy disappeared in a blink of an eye, his movements too eager, making Fantine curse softly.
"Sweet Jesus," she muttered, "you have not the sense God gave a rat."
Chadwick glanced sharply at her. "I have enough sense not to try to lose my partner by giving the wrong directions."
"I did not give you the wrong directions," she said, her gaze slipping back to the pub across the alleyway. Ballast waited inside. "You found me right enough."
"Merely because I chanced to find that boy."
Fantine sighed, wondering at his arrogance. "You cannot believe that any boy, even Nameless, could find me if I chose to remain hidden." She turned to look at him, making sure he understood her meaning. "I sent Nameless to you. His job was to bring you to me and to help you with your... attire." She straightened, keeping her gaze steady, silently conveying that she was the one in control. He did what she said.
She saw his eyes narrow as he understood her message. She could tell he was not used to surrendering control to anyone, much less a woman, but she didn't care. This might be fun for him, but it was her livelihood. He would bloody well listen to her.
She waited a bit longer, making doubly sure he understood, and then she shifted her gaze away, back to the pub. "Ballast is in the back," she said softly as she started across the street.
She took no more than a half step before she was suddenly blocked by Chadwick's large frame. He had barely moved, but he quietly prevented her escape. She was trapped in the comer shadows behind him.
"What—"
"Listen carefully, Miss Delarive." His voice cut low through the chill air. "I agreed to work with you because Penworthy wished it. You may know London's sordid underbelly, but I am here to keep Wilberforce alive, not scramble through the sewers for your amusement." He reached out and neatly caught her chin, lifting it up until she gazed directly into his hard blue eyes. "Do not play with me again, Fantine."
She swallowed, unable to answer. He was right. She could have met him at Cheapside and run him through the alleyways herself or even sent him more appropriate clothing. But she had wanted to add that extra measure of humiliation, establishing her superiority from the very beginning.
Except she was not the one truly in control. Even though she was smart and agile with contacts throughout London's dark streets, he was physically stronger, politically powerful, and had his own fair share of wits. She was not sure who would win a contest between them. She was not even sure she would survive one. She was too vulnerable in too many ways.
But neither was she willing to simply concede.
Jerking her chin out of his hand, she drew herself upright, trying as nearly as possible to match his size. "Despite all that Nameless could do, you still reek of French perfume—"
"We passed a bawdy house—"
"Distinctive, rich, French perfume that was no doubt sprinkled all over you by your mistress. It is one way the bawds have of identifying ownership of a man. Your breeches are too fine, your manner too proud. You will be marked within seconds of entering the pub, and my only hope is to pass you off as a mad peer playacting in the docks. Ballast does not play games, yer lordship, and neither do I. It would be best for us both if you turned around now and went home. This is not your world."
Fantine watched him closely, gauging his reaction and his intelligence, but he gave nothing away beyond a slight clench to his jaw. "I have been in alehouses worse than any you can find," he finally said.
"Alone?" she countered. "Or with another?" Then she rushed on before he could answer. "Alone, you make your own rules, you live or die by your own actions. With another there is added safety, but also more risk. What will you do when Ballast takes me into the back room and then you are surrounded by his men? Will you turn and run? Or will you try to be a gentleman hero and protect the woman?"
She watched his eyes, expecting to see the telltale flush of guilt as he admitted to himself that he would run. It did not appear. Instead, she saw a grim determination flatten his gaze, as if he would do anything, including a foolhardy rush against ridiculous odds to try and save her. And why? She did not make the mistake of thinking such idiocy was for her sake. Gentlemen worked on a code of honor, and apparently Chadwick had more than his measure.
"Cut and run, you halfwit," she snapped. "I can take care of myself."
His smile was slow in coming, but no less startling. "You would like that, hmmm?" he asked, his voice humming with the low throb of authority. "Perhaps you intend to betray me to Ballast, tip his hat to me only to rid yourself of an annoyance? Who is the halfwit, Fantine? I would not advise such an act."
Fantine swallowed, unnerved that he could think as deviously as she. "I will not betray you, Chadwick. You are a fish out of water, here. Your own i
gnorance will destroy you." Then she decided to end this debate, knowing she could return to it when she had more command of the situation. She jerked her head toward the pub. "We cannot waste any more time on this. If we wait much longer, Ballast will be too drunk to be of any use."
He shifted slightly, as if allowing the change in topic. "Perhaps we should wait until he is well into his cups."
Fantine shook her head. "Ballast is a mean drunk—suspicious and violent. Our best chance is to approach him when his brainpan is not awash with spirits." She did not add that her guise as a child would not protect her from a drunken Ballast. At such times, he was known to take boys to bed as well as girls.
Chadwick nodded once, as if he understood her silent concerns. That was impossible, of course, but for some silly reason, the gesture reassured her. She began to relax, making the mental shift into the persona of the Rat.
"Ye're me daft flash," she said softly, "who 'ired me to let ye peer at London's sordid underbelly." She repeated that last phrase again, seeking to imitate his wording as a boy would, mocking the man while trying out his large words. "If we be split," she added, looking directly at him to give weight to her words, "run like a craven mort. Oi can 'andle Ballast." Then she let herself smile. "'E ain't near as smart as 'e thinks."
She saw the question in his eyes, but she did not give him a chance to voice it. Instead, she sprang past him, scurrying through the damp street until she could duck into the pub doorway. She knew he would follow, no doubt cursing her all the way, and the thought made her smile grow even wider.
She was still grinning when she shook her damp clothes by the smoky fire. All around her, the patrons cursed as drops of sleet and mud flew about her, some landing with a hiss on the fire. She neatly ducked a fist thrown out to cuff her as she scampered to the opposite comer.
The pub was dark and dingy, filled with a sea of sweaty men and stale ale. Directly in front of her, Gilly the barmaid navigated tables, alternating curses with suggestive winks. Fantine took a moment to admire the way she handled the rough customers.
Then Chadwick burst in.
True to form, he did not slink in as she and all the other customers would. No, he let the wind throw open the door, gusting through his cloak so that it billowed about his large frame as he peered down his aristocratic nose at the clientele. Everyone looked up. Many began to grumble. And Fantine was hard-pressed to stifle a curse.
Then something happened. Chadwick did not strut in like an arrogant lord. Instead, he ogled the people.
"Are ye daft? Git out!" grumbled a thick-shouldered dockworker by the door.
Chadwick grinned. "Ooo, how positively delightful!" he drawled, effecting a dandy's nasal tone. Then he stepped in the door, his gaze unerringly picking out Fantine as she crouched in the shadows. "Come, boy, this is perfectly delicious. Charming. Marvelously dreadful. No need to hide in the comer. Fetch me some... some ale!"
Fantine could only gape. He was perfect! Her having told him to play a daft peer looking for some dockside excitement, he performed the role exquisitely. Which allowed Fantine to play her own part with equal nerve.
She groaned out loud. "Damned queer, 'e is," she muttered to the nearest man. "Wants t' see the local color, 'e says. Pay good money." Then she caught the avaricious gleam in the man's eye and shook her head, her grin cocky. "Ain't no use, wot yer thinkin'. I already cleaned 'im out. 'E's got enough for 'is drink and a diddle wi' Gilly, 'at's all."
She watched as the man narrowed his gaze, quickly evaluating the truth of her statement. Eventually he spat out a curse and turned back to his tankard of ale. Nearby, other men hunkered back down, their interest in the daft lord already gone.
"Boy!" Chadwick called again, his voice slightly roughened, as if he were trying to assume a dockside accent. "Come along now, I am parched. Uh, now, ye bugger!" Then he grinned as if he had just said something brilliant.
Fantine pushed herself up from the corner. "Gilly!" she called to the barmaid. "Entertain 'im fer a mite. I needs to talk wi' Ballast."
The barmaid nodded, her hips already shifting enough to catch Chadwick's eye. Not one to miss so obvious a cue, Chadwick returned the wink and patted his lap lasciviously. Gilly grinned, barely remembering to pass her tray to Rat. "Ballast's in th' back room. Ye can take 'im 'is drink."
The barmaid extended the tray, and Fantine rushed forward to catch it. She barely made it in time, and she held her breath while the ale sloshed, but didn't spill. Lord, but she was slow tonight. Her joints ached, and she had yet to feel her toes after her hour's wait in the bitter cold. Ten years ago, she would have laughed at such minor discomforts, but at twenty-five, she could no longer move like the wind. How long before she would be too slow to outrun her pursuers?
She shuddered at the thought, pushing it away with the ease of long practice. Now was not the time to fight demons she could not conquer. So she straightened, pushing her way through the back door into a small, windowless room.
"Evenin', guv'nor," she said to Ballast, who sat counting his money at a scarred desk on the opposite side of the room. Beside him stood his son, a gangly youth with greasy black hair and eyes that studied everything and everyone. Lounging against the walls were two large brutes, one on either side.
Fantine sauntered forward, her gestures cocky as she kicked the door shut behind her. "'Ave a little rat's piss," she said as she sloshed the tankard down before Ballast, spilling drink over the coins and notes piled there. Then she grinned at Ballast's startled expression. He probably had already known she was in the pub. Ballast simply had not expected her to push her way into his back room without so much as a by-yer-leave.
Continuing her role as a cocksure youth, she perched insolently on the only other piece of furniture there—a rickety chair opposite the desk—then began swinging one foot back and forth as so many children do. Meanwhile, she studied her opponent.
Ballast had gained weight. Thickset and heavy by nature, his flesh now seemed to hang on him while his mouth drooped in a perpetual frown. But his fatty body was all that had gone soft. His narrowed black eyes and his meaty fist appeared just as hard as ever.
"Got a minute t' speak wi' an old, dear friend?" Fantine asked happily, pretending to a confidence she didn't feel.
"Humph!" snorted Ballast, his gaze returning to the pound notes before him.
Fantine was not fooled. She knew his attention was firmly fixed on her. And if she had any doubts, the actions of the other three would have tipped her off. The boy glared at her, his face a mirror image of his father's contempt, except that his gaze still held a lively intelligence that could be dangerous. As for the other two, Fantine's back prickled as they moved silently behind her, one on each side.
"Go' a tad bit o' business fer you, guv," Fantine said as she bounced slightly on the seat with boyish enthusiasm.
Ballast continued counting his coins with dogged determination. "Forty-eight. Nine. Fifty."
Fantine swallowed. Fifty pounds. Oh, the things she could do with such ready blunt. It had been a while since her last job with Penworthy, and her money was stretched painfully thin. Her empty stomach growled loudly.
Suddenly, the man looked up, his gaze intent."'Ave t' do wi' th' nob?"
Fantine blinked. "Wot?"
Ballast grinned as Fantine forced her thoughts into order. The man might be crude and slow, but he had not become a dockside force by being completely stupid. She had to remain sharp if she wanted to keep herself and Chadwick alive.
"Oh," she stammered. "Naw," she answered, her cockiness returning with each word. "'Is queer nibs jes wanted a night peeping at London's soirded underbelly. So naturally Oi thought o' you."
Ballast straightened slightly, clearly not catching the insult. "Oi've th' best drink on the docks."
Fantine had a lively retort ready until she caught the flash of annoyance in the boy's eye. He had understood the insult and was not pleased. She had best watch her tongue.
"'Is nibs is just an... a
n incidental," she said. "Oi've come about a matter fer another lord."
"Moving up, ain't ye, Rat?" That was from the boy, his tone as haughty as any peer's. "Two lords in one day? Comin' t' you? Oi don't believe it."
She turned to look at him, noting that he would grow to be as tall as his father, but at present was more gangly than broad. What was his name? Jack, but everyone called him Sprat. His father doted on him, and he was smart as a whip.
"Oi ain't nowhere's t' go but up," she said, her voice cheeky. "'Sides, it were a friend of 'is queerness. Wants t' buy information."
"On what?" asked the boy, stepping forward, his eyes narrowed. He was much too suspicious, and therefore the most dangerous person in the room.
"'Ey, who's running this meetin' anyway?" she asked, turning back to Ballast. "Ye give 'im all yer brains? Or do ye still 'ave some left t' negotiate wi' me?" She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in as much of a challenge as she dared. "Or should I take me business t' Hurdy?" She named Ballast's primary rival.
True to form, Ballast took the bait. Cuffing his son back, he matched her glare for glare. "You deal wi' me, Rat. Tho' I ain't so sure I should trust ye after th' last time I saw ye, so keep yer tongue honest."
"Aw." Fantine laughed to disguise a tremor of fear. "'At were jes a big misunderstandin'." Actually, it was more than a big misunderstanding. She had downright stolen from Ballast, taken one of his new whores—a girl named Jenny—away from him. That was, in fact, one of the reasons "Rat" had disappeared from this area of town.
Jenny had sharp ears, hearing things that Penworthy found most valuable. In return for the information, Fantine had gotten the girl away from Ballast. She was now working happily as a maid/spy on one of Penworthy's political enemies.
"Wot's past is past," Fantine said, as she folded her arms across her chest. "'Sides, if ye kill me now, ye'll lose a fat lot o' gold. Now, do ye want t' do business, or shall I go out an diddle a little wi' Gilly?"
"You ain't got the balls to diddle a rat, Rat."
True enough, she thought with a grin. Then she leaned back and grasped her crotch in a typically male gesture of arrogance. "I got enough balls to offer ten guineas for the name o' the man who wants t' kill some cove named Wilberforce."
