Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles)

by Charlotte E. English

  The word “illegal” brought Cas a new stab of discomfort. Was he doing something illegal? True, the government had commandeered the black mercury supply, but there was no law against owning it or selling it. No official prohibition had even been announced. That might merely be because no one expected there to be any opportunity, but still… as long as that remained the case, he wasn’t on the wrong side of the law. He just had to keep it a secret to prevent his supply being taken off him, too, and added to the government stash.

  “How do you know him?”

  “My father is in a similar business,” she said simply.

  Cas nodded. “All right. I’d like to meet him before I agree to anything.”

  “Nothing simpler. Be here tomorrow, at the same time.”

  He agreed, and that concluded all talk of business. Miss Bernat began to speak of other things—her work at the university, her family, nothing that much interested Cas. While she talked, he calmly palmed a couple of small pieces of bread, wrapped them in a napkin and put them in his pocket.

  His companion apparently realised she’d lost his attention, for she dropped the small talk and began to ply him with questions about his aunt, and the autogyro, and the celebrated flight to Inselmond. This was a better approach, but still Cas lacked sufficient information to maintain the conversation for long. She was doing her best to fascinate him, he realised; he’d been favoured with such tricks many times before. But in spite of her best efforts he began to feel bored, and at length he excused himself.

  “Have dinner with me tonight,” she said promptly.

  Cas shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m busy.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow anyway, at noon. Shan’t I?”

  She smiled ruefully. “Enjoy the best of the weather until then, Mr. Goldstein.”

  He allowed her to precede him out of the eatery, and then to walk back to her post at the university without his escort. It wasn’t far, after all. He chose instead to seat himself on a low wall that formed the boundary of a small city garden opposite the eatery, and whistled a favourite ditty of his.

  Min appeared almost immediately. “All right, so you saw me.” She hopped out from behind a convenient bush and flew over to him.

  “You aren’t exactly made for stealth, Min.”

  The pigeon ran her beak through her brilliant green and gold plumage and gave a bird-shrug with half-opened wings. “I did my best. Not so hard around this time of year, Mr. Caspar! I’m grass and sun coloured.”

  He grinned. “Since you did such a good job of tailing me, I’ve brought you a reward.” He extracted the bread he’d stashed in his pocket and unwrapped it for her. Min crowed with delight and fell upon it like some ravenous thing. “BREAD!” she squawked with her beak very full. She swallowed mightily. “Clara never gives me bread.”

  “Because it’s bad for you, and she’s right.”

  Min nodded wisely. “You and I are both far too sensible to worry about what is or isn’t good for you.”

  “Life’s too short,” he agreed. “So Clara sent you after me?”

  “Of course she did. Clara worries all the time about what’s good for you.”

  “Me personally?”

  “Yes, you personally. And just now, lots of things aren’t good for you.”

  He smiled and settled back a little, turning his face up to the sun. Clara’s style of fussing might annoy some, but he liked it. It felt familiar and reassuring. No one else had ever cared so much about his health, or his well-being, or his future.

  And, he had to admit, he was giving her plenty to worry about at the moment.

  “All’s well. You can tell her that.”

  Finished with gobbling bread, Min snorted. “Yes, that will satisfy her. She’ll just say, ‘Then you can stop following Cas around right away, Min, and go back to doing something more interesting!’”

  “Am I so tiresome?” Cas said mournfully.

  “Yes,” the pigeon snapped. Then she relented, and flew up to sit on his shoulder. She ran her beak through his hair in a perfunctory grooming gesture, which he interpreted as an apology. “Stalking around after you is tiresome,” she amended, “but now that you’ve seen me I can just sit on your head and go with you.”

  “To where?”

  “Wherever you’re going.”

  “Hmm. Does it have to be my head? Your claws hurt.”

  “Huh.” Min jumped down and waddled off. “They happen to be particularly fine claws.”

  “They are, yes,” he said soothingly. “But this,”—he pointed—“happens to be a particularly fragile head.”

  “Fine. I’ll settle for the shoulder.”

  “Done. But what I’m doing is top secret, Min. Are you going to tell Clara everything?”

  Min began to bounce. “Top secret!” she yelled. “I like that! I can be stealthy.”

  “As you’ve demonstrated,” he agreed.

  She bit his foot. “Agree to call me Secret Agent Min and I might not tell everything to Clarry.”

  “Secret Agent Min? That’s a bit of a mouthful.”

  “Promise!” she shouted.

  “Compromise? Agent Min.”

  She considered that, her head cocked on one side. “Done,” she decided. “Agent Min and Top Secret Cas. We’ll be a great team.”

  “And call off the other pigeons.”

  “What other pigeons?” she replied in a tone of perfect innocence.

  Cas just looked at her.

  “You,” she said, waving a wing at him, “drive a hard bargain, Goldstein.”

  He grinned. “I suppose I had to inherit something from my father.”

  “At least it wasn’t his looks, eh? That nose is bad enough.”

  Involuntarily, Cas touched his nose. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Min made a snorting sound. “You’ve more of a beak than I do, that’s what’s wrong with it.”

  It was true that he had his father’s long, prominent nose, but so did most of the family. It wasn’t that bad, Cas thought, feeling faintly injured, but Min flew away before he could retaliate. She was kind enough to leave a considerable pile of defecation behind at his feet as she did so.

  Cas stepped over that and wandered on, trusting to Min to catch up soon enough. He’d come to the uncomfortable realisation that he had no idea what to do with the rest of his day. That was an unprecedented occurrence.

  Not only that, but he had nowhere to go, either.

  But for once in his life he had clear, uninterrupted time to think, and he’d never had more need of it. He may have plans to carry him as far as the Eisenstadt Cup Championship, but what about after that? Even with the ban lifted, he couldn’t hope to continue as a driver without his father’s sponsorship. The maintenance of the car alone would be more than he could possibly hope to achieve on his own; and while corporate sponsorships weren’t unheard of, it was by no means common practice either. As disappointed—and furious—as he felt to admit it, he couldn’t hide from the fact that his career was over.

  His father’s expectations were obvious. He’d thrown Cas out into the world with every hope that hardship and uncertainty would swiftly change his son’s mind about his decision not to enter the family company. But Cas had always been clear on that. He had no head for business, no interest in it, no drive; as heir to his father’s position he would be both hopeless and unhappy. He didn’t feel any differently about that, even facing a completely uncertain future.

  Min flew in as he was wandering aimlessly down the street, dodging passersby more by instinct than because he was paying the smallest attention to where he was going. The pigeon made a hard landing on his left shoulder, her claws digging sharply into his skin. In a flash of sudden rage, he hurled her off with an inarticulate cry of pain, and stormed away.

  “All right, I’m sorry!” Min yelled, flapping after him.

  “You’re so heedless, Min!” he snapped. “Don’t you think
that you might hurt, or don’t you care?”

  “Oh, and you’re any better,” the pigeon scoffed. “I know exactly how many sleepless nights my Clara’s suffered because of you.”

  That brought Cas up short, his rage melting away as quickly as it had come. “Sleepless? Really?”

  “Yep. And what do you think you’re doing right now, keeping things from her? She knows you’re in a mess.”

  “I’m trying not to worry her. That’s the whole point!”

  Min expressed her opinion of that by defecating right in front of his nose. “You should tell her. She’s a good ally.”

  “That may be so, but she has enough to worry about.”

  Min swore at him with a few choice words, whirling dizzyingly around his head. “You’re such a dunderhead.”

  “A… what? A dunderhead? Min!”

  But Min had flown away in high dudgeon, and Cas was left to wander the streets alone.

  He did this until late in the evening, in the process seeing far more of his home city than he had in years. He discovered more than one surprising green space, tucked away just off some busy road. Min joined him again late in the afternoon as he was sitting in one such quiet park, his thoughts busy on the insoluble problem of his future. She pecked listlessly at the ground around his feet and chatted a bit, but conversation was subdued and she had nothing to share on the topic of what manner of profession he could aim for.

  Several hours later, when the sun had long disappeared, Cas was winding his slow way back to the house he was sleeping in when he became aware of footsteps some way behind him. The street was all but deserted, most citizens long since in bed, so the sound of another human presence reached his ears with ease.

  He glanced behind him, but he was in a poorly lit neighbourhood and could see nothing of any possible pursuit. He tried to put it out of his mind, and walked on. Just because there was someone else on the street with him at this unlikely hour didn’t mean they had any nefarious intentions towards him.

  The footsteps grew louder, and closer.

  Cas stopped and turned around entirely, searching the darkness. He knew he was being absurd, but something about being alone on a deserted street somewhere past two in the morning made him feel vulnerable. Particularly given recent events…

  Seeing nothing, he was about to walk on when he realised the footsteps had stopped when he himself had come to a halt. Experimentally, he proceeded on his way a few more steps… and the footsteps started up again too.

  Abruptly, his growing nervousness was wiped away by anger. This was no real attempt at pursuit; rather it was a deliberate effort to frighten him. And it was working, damnit!

  “Who’s there?” he called. He hadn’t seen Min for a little while; had something happened to her?

  The footsteps stopped, and silence fell. Cas stood staring, heart thumping, cursing himself for being afraid but unable to help it.

  Nothing happened. Cas’s accelerated heart rate was beginning to slow when a flash of movement caught his eye somewhere ahead of him, the suggestion of a figure illuminated by the solitary lamp that lit this neglected street.

  “Who’s that?” he repeated.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind and spun him around, then a shattering pain blossomed in his midsection as his attacker drove a fist into his stomach. Cas doubled over, retching. “What the—” he sputtered. Recovering himself with an effort, he drew himself upright, fists ready—but his assailant had gone.

  Breathing hard, wincing at the pain in his entrails, Cas waited in silence for any sight or sound of his pursuer. None came. The dark figure had, to all appearances, vanished into the shadows.

  After another few minutes of silence, Cas resumed his journey, picking up his pace. Rationally he knew that there was every chance he was still being observed, if not outright followed, but instinct prompted him to get off the street right away, and he had nowhere to go save the building he’d slept in last night. He made for it at speed; but before he’d covered more than half the remaining distance another sudden blow landed on the back of his head. With a cry of surprise and pain, he stumbled and fell into the road. He rolled onto his back just in time to miss a kick aimed at his side, and for an instant he caught a glimpse of his attacker.

  Whether the figure was male or female was impossible to tell. He or she was swathed in black from head to foot, wearing a long coat, black trousers and boots, hands covered by black gloves, and the face…

  The face was hidden behind the most extraordinary mask Cas had ever seen. It, too, was black, and left no part of the face uncovered. A long, horrific beak protruded from the centre, approximately where the nose must be, and a pair of dark-tinted goggles covered the eyes. The effect was oddly that of an oversized crow, though with none of that bird’s typical ungainliness.

  The masked face leered horribly close to Cas’s own for an instant; then, with a final, sharp kick to his ribs, the sinister figure darted away and vanished. Listening for receding footsteps, Cas heard nothing and saw nothing.

  For a long moment he merely lay in the street, frozen with shock. Tales of the legendary Shadows of Eisenstadt were common, of course, but nobody Cas knew had ever seen one. They were said to be the greatest of thieves and assassins, terrifically expensive to hire, capable of amazing feats of stealth through methods known only to their exclusive fellowship.

  That one of them could be after him utterly staggered Cas. He doubted not that he was meant to know it; he’d seen with his own eyes how easily the Shadow had appeared and disappeared in these shadow-bound streets. He or she hadn’t needed to show themselves.

  Well, if he was meant to be intimidated, it was working. His resolve to hang on to the black mercury weakened by the second as he lay in the street, sharp pains lancing through his head and his stomach and his ribs, breath knocked from him by his headlong tumble. Was this the person who’d ransacked his house, and Lukas’s? What more might the Shadow do, as long as he withheld the mercury?

  Cas thought of his beautiful, soft double bed with longing. Even the dirty old sofa he’d slept on last night seemed welcoming in his mind’s eye. But he didn’t dare go back to that house, not when he was under observation from the likes of a Shadow. How could he possibly relax enough to sleep, knowing that such a threat hung over him?

  Pulling himself painfully to his feet, he began to limp away. He deliberately chose a direction that led away from his modest refuge, and he suppressed all desire to go to Lukas’s or Clara’s houses either. For the time being, he’d have to manage alone.

  Drawing his coat closer around himself, Cas walked with pained care down endless residential streets until he came at last to one of the small parks he’d discovered earlier in the day. Some of the benches were already occupied by sleeping figures wrapped in well-worn blankets, but Cas managed to find an unoccupied one. He spent an uncomfortable hour seated there, too wary to sleep, too much in pain to be comfortable.

  When the clock struck four, he moved on.

  So passed Cas’s second night without fixed abode: battered and bruised, paranoid, afraid, disgusted with himself and in despair, he wandered from street to street, park to park, until at last dawn flickered on the horizon. Then, reassured (rightly or wrongly) by the waning shadows as they fled before the sun, Cas curled up in some overhung doorway and fell asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Clara was beginning to hate the very sight of an autogyro.

  It was two in the morning, and she was tired enough to regret having gone to Hildy’s ball the night before. She longed to be sleeping, but instead she was at Hildy’s hidden workshop once more, helping to pound out their third autogyro. They’d spent all day at Max’s manufactory working on the new gyro design for the government expedition. That they were still managing to produce functional machines seemed little short of a miracle, for Hildy and Til were obviously every bit as tired in mind and body as she was herself.

  Nobody had the energy to talk, so work had progr
essed in near total silence for the past couple of hours. When Clara, lying on her back beneath the newest gyro, nearly dozed off with the tools in her hands, she decided it was time for a break and hauled herself to her feet.

  Wincing as she stretched out her aching back, she said, “Who’s for tea?”

  Til grunted his assent and Hildy gave a tired wave of approval. Clara took herself off to the tiny kitchen without saying anything more.

  She was halfway through pouring three cups of tea when a sudden commotion in the main workshop interrupted the heavy, tired silence. Min’s voice, she quickly realised. The pigeon usually spoke with unnecessary volume, but this time she was shouting in earnest.

  Clara ran out of the kitchen.

  “Min!” she gasped, seeing her pigeon companion flying hectic circles around Hildy’s head. “Calm down! Weren’t you supposed to stay with Cas?”

  Min abandoned Hildy and made for Clara’s head, at alarming speed. “That’s all very well, but you said to come for you if he gets in trouble! Don’t try to deny it, missy!”

  Clara’s heart sank, and sudden fear banished her tiredness. “What kind of trouble?”

  “He’s been meeting strange women!” Min announced in tones of doom.

  There was silence for a moment as everyone digested this. “That doesn’t sound too bad?” Clara ventured at last.

  Min fluffed her feathers impatiently. “It is if they’re offering him dodgy deals! And he’s to meet someone else tomorrow! And he’s blabbing about selling something, and it’s all a big secret, and he’s being followed!” She paused for dramatic effect, and then said: “By crows! I got chased off!”

  Min’s manner was absurd, but Clara sensed that real alarm was behind it. “Slow down, Minnie,” she said soothingly, as Til and Hildy continued to stare in nonplussed amazement. “Tell me in detail, one thing at a time.”

  So Min related everything that she’d seen and heard of Cas’s doings since the night before, and the picture she painted grew more alarming by the minute. Clara didn’t like the sound of Cas’s new friend at all, nor of the deal she’d offered; and she hovered for a moment between resigned despair and extreme irritation at Cas’s being stupid enough to go for it. But when Min talked of the crows, she thought back to the state of Lukas’s house after the break-in and felt considerably frightened. Min had always steered well clear of the city’s crows, and there was obviously more to that than mere aversion. Crows were unscrupulous birds, Min said, and regularly worked for what she termed “the unsavouries.”