The Icarus Plot

by Jenny Schwartz

Life had a fine line in irony. A year ago he could have given her that. His life had been all about adventure. He understood that need to grow and be all you could be in the freedom of travel. But now…He looked at the child he held, and the little face looked back steadily, warily. Now, he had responsibilities.

  His cousin Henry had neglected the earldom’s responsibilities for his own insane games. Andrew couldn’t continue that neglect because it was the innocent who suffered. Even after business affairs were brought under some sort of control, he couldn’t deny the desperate need for compassion in Westminster. He’d have to take his seat in the House of Lords. The trap of conscience had closed around him.

  “Damn and blast,” he said under his breath.

  A tiny hand patted his cheek, then the child laid its head against his shoulder.

  The small action of comfort and trust pierced him. He cuddled the child.

  “Sammy will be safe with you,” Ivana said.

  “Yes.” He hesitated, then decided to speak his mind. “But you’re not responsible for the women you set out to help. They’re not family. They’re not children.”

  “Some of them are,” she said sharply.

  Bleakly, he accepted her point. On the streets, children were forced by brutal circumstances to act as adults. “Still, living your own life, a good life, is not abandoning them.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “No, being true to yourself is never bad. You should follow your heart. You don’t want to wake up in ten years’ time and find yourself bitter, exhausted and unable to care for anyone. That’s abandoning them and yourself—and everyone who loves you.”

  Her footsteps echoed louder, proclaiming her annoyance, as her pace increased. “You’re turning your back on exploring to be an earl.”

  “I know.”

  She sighed sharply, aggrieved. “I know that’s different.”

  He pushed his luck. “And if you’re feeling guilty that you’re alive to enjoy life while your friend Alice isn’t, you should know she wouldn’t want you to feel that way.”

  She tugged her shawl tighter. “I’m done talking.”

  Ivana mightn’t want to talk any further with Andrew, but when they reached the toy shop, she went straight to the telephone to talk to someone who scared her even more. “Mrs Hazel, I need to find a man.”

  The telephone exploded with a crackling burst of laughter.

  Fine. In hindsight, those weren’t the words she should have opened with. Ivana looked through the doorway from her shop to her kitchen and saw that Sammy and Kelly were taking charge of the unnamed child. Kelly had his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he poured three glasses of milk, while Sammy dived into the biscuit barrel.

  She had told Sammy, “Explanations later. I need to telephone Mrs Hazel. Try to find out the child’s name.”

  Andrew watched her as Mrs Hazel’s loud laughter finally spluttered to a halt.

  “Mrs Hazel, there’s a man stealing children.”

  “There’s a few of those, ducky.” The brothel keeper had seen it all, done it all.

  “Not like this man,” Ivana said. “He wears a metal mask and his hand is metal, too. A glove, maybe, but it has talons.”

  “Him? Aye, I’ve heard rumours.”

  Hope tightened the muscles of Ivana’s throat. Her voice emerged strained. “Do you know where I might find him? He took a child I care about, Sammy’s little friend, Janey.” Mrs Hazel knew Sammy. All the people roundabout did.

  “I heard he was looking for her, asking questions everywhere.”

  But the old witch hadn’t volunteered any answers. Ivana looked at how anxiously Sammy watched her, and how he and Kelly had been waiting for her return. “You owe me,” she told Mrs Hazel.

  “Girlie, I paid for those devices.”

  “Not enough.” Ivana made her voice deep, so her determination would carry over the telephone. “You know it. I know it. But I’ll give you five pounds for information that leads me to the Metal Man.”

  The silence between them hissed and crackled with the static of the wires.

  “I hear you went courting with a nob.”

  Ivana waited.

  “Ten pounds. The nob won’t miss the blunt.”

  “I’m paying,” Ivana said. “And I’m paying you five pounds.”

  Mrs Hazel laughed. “Girlie, when you opened your toy shop, I thought we’d eat you alive. But you’ve got guts. You’ll find your man down Pox Quarters, at the old Bedlam.” She hung up.

  Ivana replaced the receiver on its hook and rubbed her sweating palms down the lank cotton skirt.

  “Does the old witch know where Janey is?” Sammy demanded.

  “She’s given me the direction of the Metal Man.”

  Chapter 6

  “I swear to heaven, Sammy, if you don’t promise to stay safe here, I’ll tie you to a chair.” Ivana was out of patience. “You must not follow us.”

  She’d changed quickly into her own clothes, grateful for their warmth and for the many pockets sewn into them to hold every self-protection device she could carry. “Do I have your word?”

  “Miss, this is scouting. I can do that better than you. Just tell me where Mrs Hazel said.”

  Andrew intervened. “The longer you argue with us, Sammy, the longer Janey is imprisoned by the Metal Man.”

  The boy glared at him, then folded his arms and subsided. “All right. You’ve got me word. But if you’re not back by morning, I’ll ask Mrs Hazel where you went.”

  “Thank you, Sammy.” Ivana looked over at the child they’d rescued. Jimmy, he’d whispered his name was. Now, Jimmy was asleep at the table, full of milk and biscuits and the knowledge that he was safe. “Put Jimmy to bed.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “And bolt the door behind us.”

  It was past midnight and she was tired. As soon as they were out of range of Sammy’s ears, she spoke. “Mrs Hazel said that the Metal Man resides at the abandoned lunatic asylum in Pox Quarters.”

  “Appropriate,” Andrew said. “How far is it from here?”

  “A long walk.”

  “I could telephone my staff, but by the time I organise a carriage…”

  She nodded. Time was their enemy. “How concerned are you about comfort and dignity?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then follow me.” She led the way around the corner of her shop and into her backyard. She unlocked the shed and wheeled out one of Anthea’s creations. It was a tricycle, but one adapted so that pedal power was captured and augmented by a kinetic energy system. “If you pedal, I’ll sit on the tray.” It meant she’d be facing backwards and the ride wouldn’t be smooth, but the time saved would be worth it, even if they had to abandon the tricycle when they approached the old Bedlam—and anything abandoned on London’s streets was soon stolen.

  They set off through the quiet streets, their progress marked by the steady rhythm of Andrew’s pedalling, the hum of the kinetic energy system and the hiss of the rubber wheels over the wet roads. It had rained while they were in the toy shop and there was a smell in the air of storms ahead.

  “At least it’s not raining, now,” she said, finishing her thought aloud.

  She was back to back with Andrew. The breadth of his chest and shoulders blocked the wind from her. She was so much warmer than if she’d been travelling alone. “You know this isn’t your problem. It’s very good of you to involve yourself.”

  “It’s my problem.”

  She twisted to look at him, but saw only a part profile. She turned back to watching the street recede behind them. “How can it be?”

  “A little girl in the hands of a monster is every man’s problem. I wish I could believe it’s something to call the police into, but unfortunately I can see your point. If we called them in, the Metal Man would hear their boots and run or do something rash. If there’s a chance the girl is alive, we have to risk doing this ourselves.”

  “I’m glad I’m not doing this
alone,” she admitted.

  The tricycle’s steady speed increased. “That’s another reason I’m committed. I couldn’t allow you to tackle the monster alone, and I know you would.”

  Before she could protest, he continued.

  “You’re like Sammy. You’re loyal to your friends. I hadn’t considered his loyalty when I made my plans to do right by my cousin’s illegitimate son. You could say I’m doing this for him. But when this is done, successfully or not, what do I do with Sammy? Should I put him in the situation of abandoning his friends to accept what I’m offering him?”

  She could tell by the musing note in his voice that he didn’t need an answer. That was good because he’d surprised her. She hadn’t seen the choice facing Sammy as starkly as Andrew did. Loyalty against self-interest. She’d simply urged Sammy to take his opportunity. Andrew saw what it would cost the boy.

  Friendship versus his future. But Sammy would have to live with his decision.

  She hadn’t grown up in the slums, but they still trapped her. Now that she’d lived among London’s working poor, she couldn’t leave them to slip back into the easy life her birth had won her.

  How much heavier would Sammy’s load of guilt be if he accepted Andrew’s offer of a new life?

  Andrew put aside his thoughts for Sammy’s future as Ivana scooted off the tray of the tricycle. He dismounted himself and watched her give the contraption a fond pat. “Maybe it’ll still be here when we return. It’s hidden in the shadows.” He could sense the eyes watching them, glimpse movement that vanished when he concentrated on it. The rats—and they were human ones—were all around.

  She just shook her head, blinking a little at the rain that had started and was gathering in force. It wet her lashes, sticking them in a spiky frame around her beautiful eyes. “But it’s worth it to find Janey. The old asylum is around the corner. I don’t remember much about it. A brick building, two stories high. It’ll have a cellar and maybe attics or room, at any rate, under the roof.”

  “Lots of hiding places.”

  “Yes.”

  “How can there be an empty building in such a crowded area?” Pox Quarters had been a revelation in its squalor. Worse even than Hookbone Alley. People lay along the edge of the narrow streets, out of their minds on cheap gin. The reek of it sickened him. Somewhere a baby cried in a thin, weary complaint. Men shouted and a woman laughed in a high, hysterical shriek.

  “People around here believe the old Bedlam is haunted. There are tales of the former residents—and their treatment.”

  He decided he didn’t want to know how the poor, mad souls had been treated. People here couldn’t afford to be squeamish. If it sickened them, then it was truly evil.

  They walked quietly around a corner, aiming to enter the asylum from a side door or window. It was a gamble. The Metal Man could be watching that entrance, or he could be long gone.

  Andrew had his pistol ready.

  There were no street lights here. The lamplighters worked only on the respectable and semi-respectable streets. Here was darkness and all the things that lived in it. He wished the rain would stop, the clouds clear and the weather at least allow them moonlight. In the darkness, who could tell the hunter from the hunted?

  He spun, ignoring Ivana’s gasp, and punched the man who’d crept up on them. The air rushed out of the man’s lungs as he doubled over. His mate darted forward, knife gleaming. Andrew kicked out, connected with the man’s shoulder, and the knife clattered into the gutter. He showed the two thieves his pistol.

  “Hey, now.” The one he’d disarmed back away, hands up in surrender.

  “Take your mate and go,” Andrew said in a low voice. “We’ve business here and we don’t want your trouble.”

  “It’s Mrs Hazel’s business,” Ivana contributed.

  The man who’d been clutching his stomach slid his knife back into his belt. “Misunderstanding.”

  “Fine,” Ivana said. “Now that you understand. Get lost.”

  The men vanished.

  Ivana looked at him. “Do you think the Metal Man could have heard?”

  Andrew shrugged. Good luck or bad luck. There was no knowing which favoured them. “If we’re going in, the sooner the better. Before this rain washes us away or those two change their minds.”

  The side door was bolted. The handle turned, but the door wouldn’t move. Ivana touched Andrew’s shoulder and pointed to the third window along. Someone had removed its bars. Probably to use as weapons.

  “It’s too narrow,” he said.

  “Not for me.” She could wriggle through. “Boost me up, please.”

  His mouth compressed in a tense line. He wanted to argue, that much was clear. “When you’re in, the first thing you do is unbolt the side door.”

  She nodded. The open door meant an ally and an escape route. She devoutly hoped the latter wouldn’t be needed.

  Wriggling through the window was as difficult and unpleasant as she’d feared it would be. Even worse, entering head-first presented its own unexpected challenge. How far above the floor was the window? Landing on her head wouldn’t be good. Burglars had a more challenging job than she’d realised.

  “Thank goodness.” Her straining fingers skimmed a dusty floor. With renewed enthusiasm she propelled herself forward.

  Her landing was noisy. She didn’t hit her head, but she did hit her shoulder, twist a finger, bump her hip and her booted feet thudded as her knees bounced.

  A herd of elephants would have been quieter.

  She scrambled up and gripped the electrifyer. Her ears strained. Nothing. She paced forward cautiously, keeping the dim light from the window behind her and heading for the darkest space that was an open doorway.

  The corridor was so dark anything could have hidden in it. She wished she could risk a light. Instead, she kept her free hand on one wall and felt her way along till she reached the side door. For the first time in her life, a nerve tonic held some appeal. Her nerves were stretched to breaking point.

  By touch she found the bolt on the side door, grasped it firmly and pulled.

  A moment later, Andrew was inside, urging her aside and closing the door himself. His whisper was nearly soundless. “It’s been oiled.”

  That was why the old door had moved so easily. It also suggested that this was the entrance the Metal Man used. Or one of them.

  Andrew opened a shutter on the dark lantern he carried. He must have lit it outside. The simple oil lamp was used by nightwatchmen. The shutters let them narrow and focus the light.

  The beam of light seemed startlingly bright after the darkness. But it failed to illuminate any monsters. There was only dirt, neglect and the weighted sorrow of the old building’s former purpose.

  The main staircase was damaged beyond repair. The locals mightn’t want to live in the haunted asylum, but they’d eagerly torn out its wood to burn in their fires.

  Andrew directed the light upwards and the huge and dangerous gaps in the wooden floor above were evident. Nonetheless, there was enough flooring left that when they discovered the steep, skinny metal staircase that the servants would have used, he started up it. “You stay and keep watch.”

  She swallowed her protest.

  The gaps in the floorboards made his progress across the floor above extremely risky. He would have to use the light—and the same gaps in the floorboards would reveal his presence to anyone below. She had to guard the staircase he’d use to descend.

  Now was so not the time to discover she was scared of the dark. She put her back to the cold metal of the staircase and faced the darkness, straining her ears for noises. As Andrew’s footsteps creaked into the distance, she pressed back into the deepest shadows.

  The night wind that carried the fog off the river wove through the old Bedlam. It moaned against the fretted stone walls and kissed her skin like a corpse’s breath.

  She shuddered at her imagination and kept watch. Darkness played funny tricks with one’s sight. Shapes flick
ered at the edge of her vision, vanishing when she turned to look at them.

  “Nothing upstairs.” Andrew returned. “If it weren’t for the oiled side door, I’d think your Mrs Hazel was having us on.”

  “But as it is…”

  “We have to find the cellar,” he finished grimly.

  Chapter 7

  Entrance to the cellar was via the floor of the storeroom beside the kitchen. It took some searching though to find it.

  Andrew lifted the trapdoor. When he had it open a bare inch, they both froze. Warm golden light flooded from the cellar.

  Ivana had been braced for cold dampness and unspeakable horrors. Instead she smelled pipe tobacco and comfortable dinner smells.

  Ssshh. Andrew mimed the reminder with a finger to his lips. Then he opened the trapdoor fully.

  They waited, listening, before inching forward to peer in.

  All Ivana could see was a solid iron ladder and—incongruously—the arm of a green velvet armchair. She frowned. The quality of the light was, itself, an anomaly. Oil lamps were more orange. Gas lighting fuzzier. This was electric light. Somewhere in the cellar, a generator ran. Since she couldn’t hear it, that suggested the cellar was far vaster than normal.

  Had the old Bedlam included dungeons? What an awful torture house it must have been—and the Metal Man made it his headquarters. The implications were ominous.

  Andrew started down the ladder.

  At any other time, she’d have protested his tendency to take command, but these weren’t normal circumstances and he’d demonstrated his fighting skills on the street toughs outside. No, common sense confirmed Andrew had to go first. She turned to look around the small store room. It was up to her to guard their backs.

  She unwound the fine metal mesh that she’d wrapped three times around her waist in place of a belt. It could function as a whip or an un-cuttable cord. She looped it through the handle of the trapdoor, then tied the other end to the metal legs of the shelving that had once—the wooden shelves were long gone—been fastened to the store room’s walls. It was the best she could do to ensure their retreat. The trapdoor would stay open even if a monster waited beside it.