by C. J. Archer
The driver somehow managed to turn his vehicle around amid the traffic, earning a few raised fists and angry shouts from other drivers. The horse sped along as fast as it could, passing around the slower moving coaches. The waist-height door protected my skirts from the worst of the dirt flicked up by the hooves, but some landed on my jacket. I didn't dare dust myself off; I didn't want to lose the omnibus ahead. We'd caught up to it, and as soon as it pulled to the curb to collect a passenger, my hansom stopped directly behind it.
"Wait for this lady," called my driver as I alighted.
The conductor held out his hand to me as I approached. "Good afternoon, miss."
"Thank you and good afternoon," I said, scanning the faces of the gentlemen in the omnibus. Mirth sat near the middle. "Excuse me, may I sit here?" I asked the fellow beside him. The omnibus lurched forward and he had to steady me as he slid down the seat to make room.
I plopped down next to Mirth, out of breath from the exercise and the airless confines of the omnibus cabin. From excited anticipation, too. I couldn't believe I was about to speak to the man who may be able to fix Matt's watch.
Mirth, however, didn't notice my excitement. He was dozing, his chin resting on his chest, his hands clasped over his stomach. I cleared my throat, and when that didn't work, nudged him sharply with my elbow.
He awoke and took in his surroundings with dreary eyes.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Mirth," I said.
He blinked at me. "Do I know you?"
"My name is India Steele. I'm the daughter of Elliot Steele, a watchmaker lately of St. Martin's Lane."
"Elliot Steele? I know him. Good fellow. I was sorry to hear of his passing." He touched the brim of his hat. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Steele. Remarkable that you would recognize me. Have we met?"
"We have now." I grinned. I couldn't help it. I felt so elated. "I'd heard you were in a hospice," I said. "Are you still living there?"
The wrinkles on his forehead arrowed toward the bridge of his nose in a frown. I'd had an hour in the bank to consider what to say if I spoke to Mirth, but hadn't thought how odd my questions would sound. "No," he said cautiously. "I moved. Why?"
What if he didn't want to answer me? What if he wanted to remain anonymous forever? It was a strong possibility yet I had to take a risk and tell him what I really needed to know. Time was not on my side, and evasive questions would only earn evasive answers.
The fellow beside me got off, leaving Mirth and I as the only passengers on the right side of the omnibus. Even so, I bent my head to his ear and thanked heaven he wasn't deaf. "Mr. Mirth, I have a friend who is in possession of a magical watch that was given to him by an elderly gentleman known as Chronos, five years ago, in America."
Mirth's lips parted in a soft gasp. He glanced at the other passengers and lifted a hand to catch the conductor's attention. "Stop," he said.
"We just stopped," the conductor grumbled as he thumped on the cabin wall.
"Mr. Mirth, please," I begged as the omnibus lurched. "I need your help."
"Shush, Miss Steele. We're going for a quiet walk."
Oh. Right. I assisted him down to the pavement. We were on Cheapside, not having got very far thanks to the stream of traffic that the omnibus now tried to dig its way through. I glanced back the way we'd come, half afraid to see Abercrombie. But he'd gone in the other direction. Besides, with so many people milling about, we ought to be safe.
Mr. Mirth set off, his limp making progress slow. I strolled alongside him. Anyone would think we were father and daughter, out shopping. He was a small man with a worn face and tired but clear eyes that now seemed even clearer as he kept vigilant.
"Are you looking for Abercrombie?" I asked.
"You saw him?"
I nodded. "He wanted to stop me speaking to you."
"Is that so? I think you need to start at the beginning."
I told him about Matt's watch, about it failing, and his need to find the watchmaker known as Chronos. The mention of magic didn't cause so much as an eyelash to flicker—until I spoke about combining the doctor and watchmaker's magic to keep Matt alive.
"And it worked?" he said in an awed whisper.
I nodded. "Since you were known to be overseas at the same time as Chronos, it was suggested that we seek you out. Well?" I pressed, unable to wait any longer. "Did you put a spell on Matt's watch along with Dr. Parsons?"
He shook his head and my heart fell through my stomach to my toes. Tears pricked my eyes. All this effort, all this waiting…for nothing.
"I've never been to America, Miss Steele. I'm not your employer's Chronos."
"Then why not just say so in the omnibus?" Frustration made my voice harsh, but I didn't apologize. I was too heart sore to feel guilty. "I've wasted my time."
"I may not be Chronos, but I might know who he is."
All the air left my lungs. "Go on."
"Before you get your hopes up, let me begin by saying I am not a magician. I'm just a simple watchmaker who has long known about magicians and admired their work. Do you know that magicians create unique and exquisite creations? That their work is the finest in the world, unsurpassed by those who lack magic?"
I nodded.
"Then you'll know they can be easy to spot if you know what to look for and the magician isn't very adept at hiding themselves. Some magicians aren't aware of their excellence until too late—until they create something so marvelous that the world has already sat up and taken notice. At least, the world of watches and clocks, in this case. There's a horologist, here in London, who creates wonderful pieces. I believe he must be a magician. He may be the man you're looking for."
"He lives here in London now?"
"He certainly was the last time I met him. I first saw his work many years ago, then again quite recently. No one but a magician could create something so beautiful, so accurate. That first time, I knew so little about magicians and never broached the subject with him. The second time, I managed to corner him in the showroom where he worked, but only for a few minutes before he got away. He was sprightly for his age, and this damn gammy leg is a hindrance," he added, tapping his thigh.
"Where can I find him? What's his name?"
"DuPont. He's hiding out in Clerkenwell, in a rather insignificant little factory."
I sighed heavily. "I already know about him. We haven't spoken to him because he ran off when he saw us. He doesn't want to speak to us."
"Oh. That's a shame."
We walked on, my gait matching his slow one. I felt as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of me. My insides were hollow, and my head numb. All this waiting and effort for nothing.
"That must be why Abercrombie wanted to stop you from speaking to me," Mr. Mirth said.
"Pardon?"
"Abercrombie didn't want me to meet you because I guessed that DuPont was a magician and he knew I could point you in his direction."
"I suppose."
"Miss Steele, you don't quite understand. I'm the only one who would have helped you. That's why he wanted me to leave the hospice and go somewhere more private," he added before I could press him. "He came to collect me one day and took me to new accommodation. Not a word of an explanation. It was very odd. No one has visited me since the move, and now I know why. Abercrombie kept my new location secret."
"Very odd, indeed. I suppose you're right." We passed a watch and clock shop, so I tugged on the veil to insure it was in place. "What do you mean you're the only one who would help me?"
"I'm not afraid of magicians like the rest of them," Mirth said. "I'm quite willing to discuss them and their work. As I said, I spoke to DuPont quite recently."
"Did you ask him if he was a magician?"
"I did, but he didn't admit it—for fear of recriminations, perhaps. But I knew." He huffed a soft laugh. "DuPont."
"Pardon?"
"I don't think that's his real name, and I don't think he's French at all."
I rounded on him. "What do y
ou mean?" The main reason we hadn't fully believed that DuPont was Chronos was because Chronos was English, not French, and Worthey had said DuPont came from France.
"His accent isn't quite right. I've traveled to France, Miss Steele, and DuPont's vowels are too round, like an English gentleman's. Whatever nationality he is, it's not French."
"Could he be English?"
"It's possible."
Mirth fell silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. I, however, felt more aware of my surroundings than ever. I was discussing magic with a stranger, something that would worry Matt if he were here. I kept vigilant for Abercrombie, but saw no sign of him among the Cheapside shoppers and shopkeepers' apprentices shouting about their "fine" goods from doorways. I took Mirth's arm and steered him around a hawker whose cart blocked most of the pavement.
"It's not just that I'm the only one who could have told you that DuPont is a magician and not French, Miss Steele," he said, his excitement making his words tumble together. "It's that I'm the only one who would help. That's why Abercrombie has tried to stop us from meeting."
"Why are you so willing? No one else from the guild is."
"Of all the watchmakers left in this city who know about magic, I'd wager I'm the only one who has nothing to fear. I have nothing to fear because I have nothing to lose. I have no shop and no profession anymore. No family either." His gaze focused on the crowd ahead and he resumed his slow, limping pace. "I'm not afraid of magic because I see it as something wonderful, beautiful. I'm intrigued by magic, and a little in awe. Perhaps if I were like Abercrombie, with a shop and reputation to maintain, I'd be frightened of a magical watchmaker taking that away from me. Combining different types of magic…that isn't something I've contemplated until now, however. I didn't know it was possible."
"It seems as if few magicians are experimenting with it."
"And rightly so."
"What do you mean?"
He stopped at a flower seller crying, "All a-growing, all a-blooming!" She held out her basket for us to see her wares. "I got daisies, violets, pinks, all of 'em quality."
He bought a small bouquet of mixed flowers, paid the girl, and handed it to me. "Combining magic sounds dangerous, Miss Steele," he said, after the flower seller walked off. "Particularly when a man who ought to be dead is brought back to life. None of us have a right to undo God's will. Not even a magician."
"Shooting a living being is not God's will either, Mr. Mirth. It's a violent act committed by one who cares nothing for life. I have no qualms in bringing back a good man who doesn't deserve to die because he tried to make the world a better place. No qualms at all."
"I see I've upset you. I apologize. I do hope we can still be friends."
I tried to smile but it felt strained. "Of course. I'm glad we spoke, Mr. Mirth. Can I walk you to your new residence?"
"It's not far from here, and I have some marketing to do first." He touched the brim of his hat. "I wish your friend luck. But be careful, Miss Steele. Don't let your endeavor to save your friend's life endanger yours."
I watched him limp away until the crowd swallowed him up, then I caught a hansom back to Park Street. I asked the driver to wait for me as I checked with Bristow if Matt had returned. He hadn't, but Bryce had come back alone after Matt failed to reappear. I felt sick.
He'd walked into the blackmailer's trap. Both he and Willie.
Matt was clever, however, and aware of the dangers. He wouldn't have simply wandered into Lemon Street without a plan and possibly a weapon. Nor would Willie. Knowing that didn't make me feel any better.
Bryce drove me to Clerkenwell, and I found Duke lounging against a wall opposite Worthey's factory, his hat brim pulled low. When I apprised him of the situation, he was eager to abandon his post and come with me. We collected Cyclops from the guild hall, although the police almost wouldn't let him go. It seemed there'd been a break-in overnight, and the staff were being questioned.
"What did the thieves take?" I asked as we drove away.
"Nothing," he said.
"Then why are the police there at all?"
"Because the footman thinks there're strange goings-on. A window was broken. He reckons the thieves were disturbed and scarpered, but I disagree. The glass was on the outside of the window, in the courtyard."
"So?" Duke shrugged.
"So, if it were a break-in, the glass would fall inside."
"True enough."
"Are they sure nothing was taken?" I asked.
Cyclops lifted one shoulder. "Maybe they'll find something later."
We drove to Lemon Street in Bethnal Green in silence. The dread that had been with me all day now squeezed my heart; it must have been affecting the men too. The sight of the cumbersome four-wheeler in Bethnal Green drew suspicious stares from the hollow-eyed locals. Despite being marked for clearance, the area still teemed with residents with nowhere else to go. Scrawny, shoeless children dressed in patched-up clothes hid behind curtains of greasy hair, their eyes filled with a mixture of wariness and wonder. Hopelessness clung to the shadowy stoops where grim-faced women with bent backs dared us to leave the safety of our vehicle and enter their domain. I clutched my reticule tighter.
"Stay in here," Duke told me as Bryce pulled to a stop. "Is this Lemon Street?" he called out the window.
A child pointed to a red brick archway, too narrow for the carriage to drive through. Beyond, I could only see a stunted lane surrounded on three sides by crumbling tenements. Washing hung motionless from lines strung between the upper windows. No breeze or sunlight penetrated the street to dry even the thinnest linen.
"Ready?" Duke asked Cyclops.
Cyclops nodded. "Bring a weapon with you?"
Duke revealed a knife strapped to his forearm and another to his leg. "You?"
Cyclops made fists. "Let's go."
They passed beneath the archway, a small collection of children trailing behind before a woman barked at them to come back. I craned my neck but could no longer see Cyclops and Duke.
The horses shifted. "We shouldn't stay here long," Bryce called down to me.
I checked my watch. Two minutes passed. Three. The warm silver throbbed, or perhaps that was the blood pounding through my veins. It seemed an interminably long time for them to be absent, but another check of my watch proved that it had only been five minutes.
Finally, they emerged. Alone. My stomach plunged, even though I'd not truly expected to see Matt or Willie with them.
"Well?" I asked as they approached.
"Nothing," Duke bit off. "Everyone's closed up tighter than a vicar's—" He glanced at me. "They ain't talking."
"We should have brought money," Cyclops said.
"I have money." Why hadn't I thought of it before? I'd taken ten pounds to bribe the bank clerk, but only used two.
Cyclops held out his hand through the window, but I shook my head and opened the door. "I can't sit here and wait again."
The men exchanged glances. "Matt wouldn't like it," Duke said.
"He's not here," I reminded them. "If we're not back in ten minutes, fetch the police," I told Bryce.
I marched through to Lemon Street, flanked by Duke and Cyclops. Their presence was a comfort, until I noticed the group of five men lounging on the pile of crates and barrels near a door that had probably once been red but was now a faded, dirty pink. The men watched us from beneath heavy eyelids that lifted ever so slightly upon spying me. Ragged, filthy beards twitched with their smirks. The tongue of one darted out, lizard-like, to lick his lips.
I had two guards to their five. Despite my confidence in Duke and Cyclops, I wasn't entirely sure if those odds were in my favor. "They look like they know everything that goes on here," I said.
"They look like trouble," Duke said. "We already spoke to them. They said neither Willie nor Matt were here."
"We know that's false."
"Give me the money," Cyclops said. "Let's see what a few coins can get out of them."
&nb
sp; I almost argued with him then thought better of it. There was no point me going with him. It might make matters worse. He put out both hands and I tipped everything I had onto them. That way the thugs could see there was nothing more to give.
Cyclops approached the men alone. Duke stuck to me like toffee to teeth, his hands lightly clasped in front of him. The position meant he could quickly grab the dagger up his sleeve if necessary. Cyclops spoke to the men and passed around the money. The coins disappeared into pockets so fast I never saw it happen. The man who'd licked his lips answered Cyclops then shook his head. They all shook their heads.
Cyclops lashed out and grabbed the man in front by his shirt, hauling him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground. "Tell me!"
The friends sprang to their feet. Duke moved and I glanced down to see the knife in his hand. "Be ready to run back to the carriage," he told me.
I picked up my skirts. "Cyclops!" I shouted. "Let the man go."
"He knows, India," he called back. "I know he does. They all do."
Yes, but clearly no one wanted to tell and we couldn't fight them all. "Come away, Cyclops."
"We need a gun," Duke muttered. To Cyclops, he said, "We'll come back later."
Cyclops dropped the man, giving him a shove for good measure so that his friends had to catch him before he tumbled back into the crates. Amid jeers and threats, Cyclops simply walked back to us, his face set like stone. I'd never seen him look so fearsome.
"They seen 'em, all right," he said, rejoining us without stopping. He continued toward the archway. I picked up my skirts and followed with Duke. "They said they saw some men capture them and take them away. First Willie, early this morning, then Matt, some time later."
"Capture them?" I echoed as we reached the carriage just in time. Bryce was about to whip one of the children sneaking up to the horses. "Without a fight?"
"There was a fight, all right." Cyclops opened the carriage door and Duke assisted me up. The men climbed in behind me after Cyclops gave Bryce instructions to return to Park Street.
"And?" I prompted. "What happened?"
"They were overpowered and taken away."
"By whom?"
