“Ye’ve answered yer own question, haven’t ye?”
“How so, M—Sev?”
“Those honest folk are only claimin’ t’be honest. The criminals are up front and honest about bein’ dishonest.”
“Hm. I don’t know if that’s reassurin’, but it makes some kind o’backwards sense,” Michelle said.
“I’m not sure I agree with that,” Silas responded. He shrugged. “But really what choice do we have?”
“I’ll tell ye somethin’ else,” Sev said, pointing at Michelle and her siblings. “So far the only people who’ve proved trustworthy ain’t been adults. Maybe the people we’re talkin’ to are a bit too old, too unwillin’ t’see the possibility o’change.”
Silas groaned. “Are you truly suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
Sev tilted his head and lifted his shoulder in a kind of half shrug. “It worked back home.”
“What?” Michelle asked.
“Children, orphans, street kids, urchins,” Sev explained. “That’s the army we raised t’free London and our queen. There were a handful of adults loyal t’the cause, but it were kids that won the day.”
“We talked about this, Sev. I thought we were both in agreement that Hephaestus made a mistake by endangering all those children.”
“Aye. We did. But maybe now we’re seein’ what forced Heph t’make that choice in the first place. Maybe he wasn’t left with any other.” Philson moaned, and Nicholas walked over to check on his friend. “And make no mistake, those street kids and orphans are already in danger on these streets. Just like they was in Blackside.” Sev fixed Silas with a serious gaze. “Remember all the awful things ye seen on the streets? The newsboys? The kids offerin’ t’do the worst things fer a bit o’coin?”
Michelle nodded. “He’s right, Silas. For us, every day is a struggle. We’re beaten, abused. Black kids turn up dead every day and nobody bats an eye. Girls especially are taken advantage of, if y’take my meanin’?” They all did. “They’s the ones wish they was dead.”
“You can’t be serious?” Nicholas turned from checking on Philson. “Children?”
Tab stood by looking bleary-eyed and tired, but she perked up as soon as she heard Nicholas’s impertinent tone. “What? Ya think we can’t take care o’ourselves?” She dropped into a wide stance she learned from Rat and prepared to prove to Nicholas that she was more than capable. “Try me.”
“That’s quite all right, young lady. I don’t wish to engage you in fisticuffs. It’s obvious to me that you are a force to be reckoned with.”
“Ya scared?” She balled her hands into fists and sneered at Nicholas. Sev and Silas distracted her with a laugh.
“I think he might be, Tab,” Sev answered.
Michelle grabbed her younger sister by the shoulder. “Settle down, child. He ain’t our enemy.”
Silas sighed, a hint of a smile still on his face. “Well, it’s obvious we can count on Tabitha should we find ourselves in a dustup.”
“Ya got that right, Si,” Tab said, planting her hands on her hips.
“That goes for the rest of us too,” Walt added. “And I think if half the stories about the Battle at Buckingham and the Revolution leadin’ up to it are true, ya couldn’t ask for a better bunch o’soldiers.”
“There is truth to that, Walt,” Silas said. “But I’m loath to start thinking of children as soldiers.”
“Times is tough all around, Si. A lot o’kids is already soldiers, and all they’re winnin’ is the chance t’keep breathin’. I think fightin’ for their freedom would be a much worthier goal.” Walt spoke softly but his words carried a heavy weight. No one made a sound while they considered those words, but Sev could tell from the look on Silas’s face that he’d made up his mind, and Sev didn’t need to guess what his decision would be. Before anyone could say anything else, Rat and Teddy roared back into the warehouse. The automatic doors barely opened in time. Rat dismounted before the carriage stopped completely and opened the door for their guest.
The older black man winced as he jumped out of the hansom. “Where is ’e? Where’s the patient?” he asked in a gruff voice, foregoing any social formalities or introductions, obviously well aware of the graveness of the situation. He wore a coat over his dressing gown, and the boots beneath weren’t laced. Teddy and Walt showed him to Philson and the old man grunted. He flopped a bag on the stand next to Philson’s table and wrenched it open, dipping his head with its crown of fluffy white hair down to inspect what Sev assumed were medical supplies. “This ain’t good. It ain’t good at’all. Somebody fetch me some hot water and clean towels or bandages. Git to it!” Teddy, Walt, and Michelle scrambled about, gathering those things and a few others the old man shouted for as he focused his complete attention on Philson.
“He’s used t’this,” Tab whispered to Rat. “He always comes out t’help those that everyone else overlooks. I’ve seen folks dyin’ in the street, white folks steppin’ over ’em, an’ Doc Freeman shows up t’save ’em. Or at least give it his best.” Rat nodded but said nothing. “I’ve seen ’im save white folk too,” she added.
The old man swore and spun on Nicholas, pointing a blood-covered hand toward him. “You!” he barked. “Git over here and hold this.” He passed the bloody handles of some kind of clipping mechanism to Nicholas, who paled but obeyed. The hour following that order stretched uncomfortably and tense. Freeman grumbled almost constantly to himself as he worked, calling out periodically for a tool or assistance. He assigned Teddy to mop the sweat from his wrinkled, worried brow.
Sev and Silas tried to offer help, but the crowd around the table stood shoulder to shoulder, and they found staying out of the way to be the best use of their time. That was until the old man turned his head slightly and shouted, “You two, yes. This man is goin’ t’need an-ti-bi-otics.” He pronounced the word very carefully as if Sev or Silas might be simple. “You understand that?”
“Yes,” Sev croaked, cleared his throat, and repeated himself more confidently.
“Good. Y’cain’t just walk int’ a hospital or a general store and git ’em.”
“There’s a vet round the corner. Halfway between here and the docks,” Teddy suggested.
“Old Bill Hutchins, the horse doctor. Yuh, that’s a bright idea, son. You boys go to him, tell him Mike Freeman needs antibiotics. He’ll take care o’ya, and he’s smart enough not t’ask any questions.”
“All right,” Sev said. He and Silas stood for a moment longer.
“Don’t just stand there, boys. Git!”
Silas and Sev jumped, shaking off their daze. Without another word they unhitched the horses from the carriage, because they were quicker than winding the gearcycles, and rode for the vet’s office.
The horses’ hooves thundered along the cobblestones. Sev and Silas pulled their mounts up when they saw the sign hanging in front of the graying wooden façade, Hutchins Horse Clinic: Small Animals Treated Also. The building sat squeezed between those on either side. Hutchins’s stood two stories tall, and Sev could tell that it wasn’t just an office but the man’s residence as well. That was good for them. Sev tied off his horse and strode up to the door, knocking forcefully.
“Sev,” Silas hissed. Sev turned to see Silas’s gaze darting up and down the street.
“Bugger this,” Sev said and knelt before the door. He slipped the lockpicks he kept stored in his wristbands out and fiddled with the lock. Before he could pick it, the door flew back and revealed an older man in trousers and undershirt, attempting to pull up his bracers. His salt-and-pepper hair fell over one eye, and he shoved it back to slip on a pair of spectacles.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Have you any idea what time it is? Explain yourself, sirs!” He looked down at Sev, who had wisely stowed his lockpicks the moment the door started to move.
“Forgive us, Mr. Hutchins.” Sev dusted off his pants. “I tripped comin’ up yer stairs and fell against yer door. My apologies
.” Sev heard Silas sniff derisively behind him, but he didn’t dare acknowledge it, lest his lie be too apparent.
“Yes. Well. No harm done.” Hutchins’s hair had fallen again, and he swept it back. “This is still a most irregular hour for visitors.”
“Indeed it is, sir. Indeed it is. I assure ye we wouldn’t be botherin’ ye if it weren’t of utmost importance and a bit of an emergency,” Sev explained.
Hutchins started, and his gaze darted to Sev and Silas’s horses. “What’s the emergency? It can’t be those girls. They look perfectly healthy.”
“No, sir,” Silas said. “There’s no problem with our horses.”
“What, then?”
“We were sent to you by Mr. Mike Freeman. He has need of some medicine,” Sev answered.
“Oh Lord. What has Freeman gotten himself into this time? Some orphan or another has been harmed or one of his more overexuberant abolitionist friends gotten into a fight?”
“Not exactly.”
“But something like it,” Hutchins guessed.
“Aye, somethin’ like it,” Sev said with a nod. “We’ve been sent for antibiotics.”
“Hurry in, hurry in.” Hutchins stepped out and held the door open, ushering Sev and Silas inside. He forced them to tell him everything, and based on the description of the wound, offered them a few more types of medicine and a topical salve. They happily paid him and thanked him profusely, but he tutted and shook his head. “No time for that. If your friend is in as poor a shape as you describe, you don’t have time for polite thanks. On your way, boys.”
They didn’t argue with the vet, just departed quickly, remounting their steeds and racing back to Philson and their friends.
16
PHILSON CLUNG to life, though he remained asleep over the next few days. Nicholas administered to him according to Doc Freeman’s instructions while the rest of their group forged ahead with their plans. Silas entrusted the recruitment to their younger compatriots, Rat, Teddy, and Tabitha. Walt and Michele were tasked with gathering supplies and speaking with local businesses. It fell to Sev and Silas to meet with Midnight’s men.
Sev found a few moments alone in what he now thought of as his secret lair beneath the basement of the warehouse. He’d discovered a few more spells that might prove useful to them should they find themselves in battle. They walked the darkened streets of the bowery toward their meeting, Sev in his customary hat and military-style leather coat, Silas disguised as Kettlebent. Sev felt he should reveal his exploration of Fairgate’s journal, of the magic he’d been working in the basement once more.
Silas’s mechanically altered voice interrupted Sev’s thoughts. “I’m still concerned with trusting these men. How do we know they won’t betray us?”
“We don’t, I suppose,” Sev answered. “If they aren’t willin’ t’help us, there is somethin’ I can do.”
“We’re not killing anyone, if we can avoid it.”
“Not that.” Sev snorted. “But thanks fer the vote o’confidence.”
“Sorry.”
Don’t apologize yet, ye haven’t heard what I’m goin’ t’suggest. Ye might prefer killin’ ’em, Sev thought. Could he really come out and tell Silas about the grimoire now?
“Sev?”
Sev decided against it. “Hmm? Oh, pardon, Si. I went somewhere else fer a moment.”
“Well, you’d best get your mind on the task at hand.”
“Aye, no need t’worry.” Sev knew the longer he kept the grimoire from Silas, the worse it would be when he finally told him, but now wasn’t the right time either. He groaned internally, wanting nothing more than to clear the air between them. But he had to focus on their mission.
They had to meet with Midnight’s men, and Sev’s mind wandered to the memory-altering spell he’d discovered earlier in the day. Fairgate had recorded an account of the first time he’d used it on a fishmonger and not only wiped the man’s memory of Fairgate but also his memory of how to breathe. The poor bugger had smothered standing at his fish stall in the market. Sev tried the spell on a mouse he’d found in the basement, and he was pretty sure he’d only erased an hour worth of memories from the little creature. He’d seen a number of things in his mind from the mouse’s perspective before it all faded to a gray cloud. Sev wondered if he’d be able to work the spell without revealing himself to Silas. He shuddered at the thought and decided he’d deal with it when and if the time came.
“This is it,” Silas declared, stopping in front of a surprisingly well-kept and well-lit wooden structure. The wood was gray and faded much like its neighbors, but something about the warm light cast by the gas lamps gave it a homier feel than the surrounding buildings. A large inviting bay window sat in the wall next to the door, and a sign above read Linsey and Brooks Consultants. This certainly wasn’t what Sev had expected.
“Do you think this is the right place?” Silas regarded the slip of paper Sev had passed along from Midnight. “This is the address but….”
Sev looked around and clucked his tongue. He pointed up, watched Silas’s gaze travel the side of the building to the broken clock mounted on the corner. The hands had uncoincidentally stopped at midnight. “What do you think that means?”
“Subtle,” Silas said sarcastically. “This must be it unless Victorica has a villain named Noon or Midday, maybe.”
“Ha. Ha.” Sev rolled his eyes and knocked on the door.
“When did Midnight give you these names?” Silas sounded suspicious.
“After we ran into him at Stafford House.” And when he gave me Fairgate’s Grimoire, Sev thought but didn’t say. A few moments passed. “Silas,” Sev began, intending to reveal his thoughts before they heard footsteps within.
Silas looked over questioningly as the door opened, revealing a dark-skinned girl in a maid’s uniform. She bowed slightly. “Sirs? How may I help you?”
Sev looked at Silas, who remained silent. “We’ve been sent by Jack,” Sev responded.
“Ah,” the girl said. “Please, sirs, follow me.” She turned and led them deeper into the building. Sev and Silas followed her through hallways and pleasantly appointed rooms. She paused at a wall, traced her fingers beneath the chair rail above the wainscoting, and triggered a mechanism. The wall slid away, revealing a hidden chamber.
“This is more like it,” Silas mumbled close to Sev’s ear as they followed the girl into the bowels of the building. They descended a spiral stairway that opened into a wine cellar. Judging by the dust and cobwebs, the cellar was little used, though a trail of bare flagstone snaked through the chamber.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Silas asked.
“Patience, sirs,” the maid answered. She walked to the back wall and lifted one of the bottles. After a loud metallic click, the wine rack and the wall behind it opened inward. “Through here, sirs.” The maid motioned them in. “Follow the hallway.”
Sev peered down the portal apprehensively. One lantern hung on the wall about halfway down, nothing beyond it visible. He regarded the young maid, who gave him a smile, curtsied, and left them. The hidden door swung shut behind her, sealing Sev and Silas in.
“I don’t like this,” Silas said.
Sev didn’t like it either, but he refused to say so. “There’s nothin’ t’worry about.” He took his first few tentative steps down the hall.
“I can’t even imagine what these two ruffians will be like,” Silas said. “Probably more ape than man.”
“Possibly,” Sev allowed. He imagined the dangerous monsters that would hide behind this silly façade. If Midnight considered them his best men in the colonies, they had to be a special kind of evil.
As they passed the lantern, the end of the hall came into focus, and Sev saw a rough wooden door. In his mind he could picture the filthy hovel beyond, the pair of hooligans waiting for them. Sev and Silas stopped at the end. They regarded each other with worried expressions. Silas gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Sev raised his fist to knock.
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“Come in,” a voice said before he could. Sev shouldered open the door and gasped at the sight before him.
The chamber was the exact opposite of what he’d expected, all rich wallpaper, dark and polished wood with velvet drapes and warm gas lighting. It looked more like Midnight’s Black Chapel than a dirty, secret room in a Victorican criminal’s hideout. Fine furniture and paintings decorated the space. The warm light glinted off fine china and crystal. A large fireplace at the opposite end of the fancy chamber burned bright and warm. High-backed chairs and side tables stood in a semicircle around it.
“Over here, fellows,” the same voice said. The silhouette of a hand beckoned them closer. Sev was surprised the hand was average and not some kind of ham-sized monster. Sev and Silas walked into the light thrown by the fire. Sev could barely believe his eyes. The infamous and feared Linsey and Brooks were dandies, more foppish and ridiculous than Midnight when Sev had met him the first time. The pair lounged languidly in their fancy chairs. They wore absurdly fine clothes made from the most expensive materials, and they both wore makeup. Their hair was impeccably coiffed.
The one with curly blond hair stood, draped head to toe in crimson. “Seven and Kettlebent, so pleased to meet you.” He offered a delicate gloved hand. “I’m Francis ‘Bruiser’ Linsey and this is my partner, Cameron ‘The Killer’ Brooks.”
The Killer stood, his ginger hair greased back from his pale and freckled forehead, his clothes a mere shade paler than his skin. He offered his hand as well. “Dear boys,” he crooned. Sev took Linsey’s hand while Silas took Brooks’s, then they switched.
“Good t’meet ye, fellas,” Sev said. “Midnight said ye were his best men in the colonies.”
“Old Jacky always was a flatterer,” Bruiser said with a chuckle, and the Killer joined him.
“We hear much the same of you, Seven.” The Killer walked around Sev, apparently sizing him up. “Where’s the infamous little Ratty? We thought for sure he’d be joining you, not this tall drink of water.” The Killer reached out to touch Kettlebent, but Silas slapped his hand away before he could. “Saucy,” the Killer sang.
The 7th of Victorica Page 16
