The Mapmaker's Apprentice (Glass and Steele Book 2)

by C. J. Archer

  "Which means it ain't Chronos himself," Willie said. "Unless he's forgotten meeting us back then."

  "You ain't forgettable," Duke told her with a wry smile.

  She lifted her tankard in salute. "So I been told."

  "It does seem like Abercrombie is behind it," I said. "I don't know how he knew about your watch, or the cellar in that abandoned building, but he certainly wanted to keep you away from the bank today, Matt, and prevent anyone else seeing Mirth too."

  I told them about Abercrombie lurking outside the bank's entrance, and how I'd gotten past him. The more I spoke, the more Matt's expression changed from darkly serious to hopeful, yet no less intense. With his battered face, he looked every bit the formidable Wild West outlaw I'd once believed him to be.

  I paused as our food arrived and resumed when the waiter left. I told them how Mirth suspected DuPont was Chronos; how he didn't think DuPont was French, and how we both suspected that was why Abercrombie tried so hard to prevent us speaking to him.

  "He doesn't know that we're already aware of DuPont," Matt said, cutting through a boiled potato.

  Willie picked up her chop with her fingers and gnawed on the bone. "Willie!" Duke hissed. "You ain't in the cellar now. Use your knife and fork."

  "No one can see," she said, wiping grease off her chin with the back of her hand.

  "So if Abercrombie is behind your kidnappings," I said, "is he connected to the mosaic dig in Bucklersbury Street? If so, that means he's connected to the archaeologist, Mr. Young, and perhaps even McArdle himself."

  "And Daniel’s disappearance." Cyclops's words dropped into the silence like lead weights.

  Willie held her hand up but her mouth was too full to speak.

  Matt filled the pause. "I can't believe Abercrombie would be that foolish. It would be unwise to take us to a place that could connect him to Daniel's disappearance, particularly if he planned on releasing us."

  Willie swallowed. "Those pigs were talking when they took me to the cellar. One of them told the others that he walks down Bucklersbury every day, and that he thought it would be a good place to hide out since construction's stopped and the diggers don't work every day."

  "By diggers he must mean archaeologists," I said.

  "Well ain't you the smart one," Willie said, plucking the bone off Duke's plate and gnawing it too.

  "So we don't have a link between Abercrombie and Daniel's disappearance after all." I sighed. "We're no closer to finding him than we were before."

  "Speaking of finding people, how did you find us?" Matt asked. "I don't believe in coincidences either. You couldn't possibly have been driving down Bucklersbury hoping we'd be there."

  Duke grinned and pointed his knife at Matt. "Wait till you hear this. Go on, India. Tell 'em."

  Matt and Willie gave me their full attention, although Matt's brow furrowed slightly. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. "I combined my magic with that of Mr. Gibbons."

  "Well done, India." Willie gave me a nod, impressed.

  "Not well done." Matt pushed his plate aside and leaned forward too. "What were you thinking using your—"

  "I was thinking about finding you," I snapped. "You've had an ordeal, Matt, and you're tired and worried so I won't quarrel with you. What is done is done, and I'll do it again if I have to, without hesitation. Now, kindly refrain from lecturing me. I don't want to hear it."

  His eyes flashed for the first time that afternoon, as if the tiredness had suddenly vanished. It would seem arguing with me made him more alert. Not that he liked me admonishing him. Far from it, if his severe frown was an indication.

  Duke took a keen interest in his gravy, mopping it up with a slice of bread. Cyclops downed the rest of his ale. Willie, however, seemed unconcerned with Matt's dark mood and asked how the magic worked, so I told her what had transpired in Mr. Gibbons's workshop.

  "Pity Daniel never bought a watch from your father," she said. "One you'd worked on. We could use your method to find him."

  I glanced at Matt. He was still watching me, and I swear I felt his temper simmering in the space between us. I offered him a smile, but he didn't return it.

  We finished our meals and exited the chop house. Willie sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Never thought I'd appreciate London's stinking air, but I sure do now. The air in that cellar was stale, damp, and reeked of rats."

  "Do you want to confront Abercrombie?" Cyclops asked Matt.

  "We don't know for certain it was him," Matt said. "Until we do, I don't want him to know that we're aware of what he's up to."

  "I disagree," I said, but closed my mouth upon Matt's glare. Perhaps now wasn't the time. He must be tired and eager to get home.

  At home, however, there was no opportunity to rest. Matt had to sit through a polite conversation with his aunt's visitors, and I remained with him as a show of support. After the awkward questions about his bruised face were answered—he told them he'd tripped over uneven pavement—he sat quietly and rarely contributed to the conversation.

  Even after the visitors left, we couldn't talk alone. His aunt turned to him as soon as they were gone. "Now, tell me the truth. What happened to your handsome face?"

  "I told you. I tripped."

  "Nonsense. Nobody believes that."

  "Aunt," he said on a sigh. "Not now."

  She sat silently, her fingers knotting in her lap, for all of ten seconds. "How can I present you to my friends looking like that? They'll think you're a pugilist."

  They wouldn't be entirely wrong. "We didn't want to alarm you," I said. "That's why he made up the story about tripping." Matt raised his brows, and a hint of a smile played at his lips. He seemed to be curious as to how I would talk my way out of this. "The truth is, he got into a fight."

  Miss Glass pressed a hand to her throat. "Matthew!"

  Matt glared at me, the smile gone.

  "It wasn't his fault," I said quickly. "There was an obscene man who wouldn't leave Willie alone. Matt was simply defending her honor."

  That seemed to appease her, somewhat. Instead of shocked, she looked appalled. "I wasn't aware she had any honor."

  "Nor was I," Matt said with a hard edge.

  "India, ask Bristow to fetch Picket." Miss Glass touched her forehead. "It's been a long day after a long night."

  "Perhaps Matt can escort you to your room," I said. "He ought to be going that way himself."

  "I'm not," he said, "but I'd be happy to take you, Aunt." He dutifully rose and assisted Miss Glass to her feet.

  "Such a good brother." She touched Matt's blue-black cheek and clicked her tongue. "Poor dear. You oughtn't slay so many dragons."

  I didn't expect to see Matt until dinnertime, or perhaps even the next day, but he returned a few minutes later. "Is she all right?" I asked.

  "Still spouting about dragons."

  "You're her white knight."

  He poured himself a glass of brandy at the sideboard. "I'm no one's damned knight. I can't even save myself."

  "Matt." I halted. This required more than sympathetic words. I rose and joined him at the sideboard. "Not even knights can fight off five men who take them by surprise."

  "I should have been more prepared. I should have expected an ambush."

  "You shouldn't have gone alone."

  He turned to me and leaned his hip against the sideboard. It was a casual stance, yet there was nothing casual about the anger that rolled off him. I'd thought he'd been angry with me for using my magic, but I now knew that wasn't the only reason.

  "Aren't you supposed to be making me feel better?" he asked.

  "I thought I was."

  "By telling me I wasn't prepared enough?"

  "Oh. I hadn't thought of it like that."

  He grunted what I suspected was a grudging laugh, as if he were reluctant to abandon his sour mood. He poured me a brandy, but didn't let go of the glass when he handed it to me. "India," he murmured, "I haven't thanked you for coming to our rescue." />
  "We didn't rescue you. Besides, I thought you didn't like my methods."

  "I don't, but I understand why you did it. I would have done the same thing had our situations been reversed."

  "Thank you, Matt. I appreciate you acknowledging that."

  He let go of the glass, but not before his thumb caressed mine. "I also know a losing battle when I see one. You put me in my place today."

  "Yes. Well." I sipped. The brandy warmed my throat and tingled my nose. "I'm not used to being told what to do. It's been some years since Father lectured me. There was little need, really, since I've always been dutiful."

  "You're dutiful here, too, on the whole."

  "Except when you say something I cannot agree with."

  His mouth twisted in a grimace. "You've found your voice, India, and you're not afraid to wield it."

  I wasn't sure if he was admonishing me or congratulating me. "I hope there'll be few occasions to do so. I don't like it when we quarrel."

  "Nor do I," he said quietly, heavily. "Nor do I." His fingers brushed mine, a light touch that was gone before I could react. He stepped away and downed the rest of his brandy.

  The air in the drawing room felt dense, close, making it hard to breathe. I drank the rest of my brandy in one gulp. Unused to the fiery aftertaste, I coughed.

  Matt smiled. It was so good to see him happier that I smiled back. "It's been quite a day," I said.

  "Is that your polite way of telling me to go to my room to rest?"

  I held up my hands. "I wouldn't dare tell you what to do."

  "Hmmm."

  Bristow entered carrying a salver with an envelope on it. "A letter came for you, sir."

  Matt sliced the envelope open and read. "It's from my lawyer. He found Lord Coyle." He folded the letter and dismissed Bristow. "It's not too late. I think I'll pay the earl a visit now. Care to join me, India?"

  "You want me to come too?"

  "How else will I know if the objects in his collection are magical or not?"

  Chapter 17

  Lord Coyle's Belgravia house was ablaze with light. It streamed from the windows on the first, second and third levels, and the two lanterns by the front door hissed in welcome. The butler was less welcoming. His unprofessional frown upon seeing us on the doorstep made me feel awkward. Matt, however, didn't seem to care.

  "Mr. Glass and Miss Steele to see Lord Coyle," he said in his most officious voice. "Tell him it's about the latest addition to his collection."

  The butler made us wait while he sent a footman to find Coyle. He checked his watch then adjusted the minute hand on the walnut longcase clock, only to move it back again. It ran perfectly on time, by my reckoning, but clearly the butler needed to appear as if he were doing something and not keeping an eye on us.

  A heavyset man with a drooping white mustache that dripped off his chin clomped down the steps, relieving the butler of his duty. "Who're you?" the earl snapped at Matt. "My guests will be arriving shortly, and I don't have time for this."

  "Our apologies, sir. We won't take up much of your time," Matt said. "My name is Matthew Glass and this is—"

  "You related to Rycroft?" Coyle stepped up to Matt then squinted at his face. The lines at the corners of his eyes flattened out as he blinked. Was it the sight of the bruises that unsettled him?

  "He's my uncle," Matt said.

  Coyle's mustache lifted with his hint of a smile. "You're the American heir. Bit of a pugilist, eh?" He chuckled. "Wager Rycroft isn't happy."

  "Since you have guests arriving soon, let's get to the point. I've heard about your collection—"

  "What collection?" Coyle's nose, already quite ruddy, reddened, along with his cheeks.

  "Don't play the fool, sir. I am in no mood for games."

  Coyle spluttered a half-hearted protest, until Matt interrupted.

  "A promising mapmaker is missing, and your man of business has been talking to Onslow, the Mapmakers' Guild's treasurer. The coincidence is highly suspicious."

  His eyes widened even more. Surprised that we knew so much? "What's my business got to do with a missing man?"

  "We have reason to believe that he made a…special map which Onslow sold to you for your collection."

  "If he did, then it's Onslow you need to speak to, not me."

  "So you don't deny purchasing the map?"

  "I haven't purchased a map from anyone," Coyle said smugly.

  "A globe, perhaps?" I suggested.

  Coyle looked at me for the first time. "Who're you?"

  "My assistant, Miss Steele," Matt said. "Answer her question."

  "Don't tell me what to do in my house!"

  The butler, hovering not far away, stepped out of the shadows. Matt tensed.

  "My lord," I said quickly before we were thrown out, "is there somewhere we can discuss this in private? What we have to say isn't for the ears of others."

  "I don't think I like your tone, miss."

  "And I don't like your evasiveness," Matt growled. "Very well, if you don't mind others knowing your business, then I'll fetch Commissioner Munro and you can tell him all about your collection at the police station."

  "Don't be a fool, Glass. This is England, where people like me are treated with respect. It's not the backwater you crawled out of. Munro can't touch me."

  "He can—and he will—if he thinks you have anything to do with the disappearance of his son."

  Coyle recoiled. He passed a broad, stubby hand over his face. "Come with me."

  We followed him into a small room with books lining two of the walls. A single brown leather armchair angled toward the fireplace, and a landscape hung above the mantel, the vibrant green of the rolling hills offering the only color in the masculine room.

  Matt shut the door behind us. "Tell us about your business with Onslow."

  Coyle clasped his hands behind his back and stood by the unlit fireplace. "Your assistant is correct. Onslow sold me a globe. There is nothing untoward about the transaction, and it has nothing to do with your missing mapmaker."

  "How can you be sure?" Matt asked.

  Coyle's Adam's apple bobbed furiously. "Ask Onslow."

  "We will."

  "Who made the globe?" I asked.

  "I don't know, and I don't care," Coyle said.

  "May we see it?" Matt asked.

  "Certainly not."

  "Why not?"

  Coyle's mouth flapped but nothing came out for several beats. "Because my collection is private."

  Matt strode up to Coyle who shrank away from him, as if trying to flatten himself into the mantel. Matt's extra height coupled with the bruises on his face, and his fierce mood, were an alarming combination. "Show us the globe now, sir, or I'll give you a demonstration of how I accrued these bruises."

  "Is that a threat?" Strong words spoken by a much weakened voice.

  "Yes."

  Coyle swallowed. "You're mad."

  "It's a family trait."

  Coyle glanced at me as if I could rescue him. I simply offered a shrug. "Very well, but you must promise not to reveal the artifacts in my collection to anyone."

  "Why not?" Matt asked.

  "Because that is part of its mystery. My collection is famous, in certain circles, because of its uniqueness, but also because of its exclusivity. The fewer people who know what it contains, the more intriguing it becomes."

  Did he mean it wasn't interesting in itself?

  "Just show us the damned collection," Matt snarled.

  Coyle skimmed his hand along a row of books until he reached one with a dark red cover. He pulled on it and the entire panel of bookshelves slid open to reveal a hidden room beyond. I drew in a breath, catching the stale scent of cigars beneath wood smoke.

  Coyle lit a lantern hanging just inside the doorway and held it aloft. "This way."

  I glanced at Matt, and he nodded, clearly thinking as I did—that it could be a trap, and one of us should remain in the library. Since he was the stronger, I th
ought it best that it be him.

  In the end, it didn't matter. The secret room was no bigger than a cupboard, and Matt could see the contents from the doorway. Or some of the contents. The room was crammed with objects. I spotted sculptures of varying sizes and materials, several books, paintings, china plates, stuffed animals, decorative boxes, pieces of furniture, jewelry and even a carved brass mantel clock with a finely etched silver face. The clock didn't hold my attention for long, however. Nor did the large bronze globe resting on the shoulders of a bent old man.

  It was the warmth emanating from the room that took me by surprise. No, not the room—the objects themselves. Magical warmth. I knew the difference now.

  "You bought the guild's globe?" Matt asked, staring at the bronze.

  Coyle sniffed. "Onslow sold it to me. The transaction was above board."

  "When did it come into your possession?" I asked.

  "Last night."

  I edged into the room, careful not to knock the bowl full of coins at my feet. The warmth swamped me, enveloped me like a shroud. I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves. So much magic in such a confined space. It made my skin tingle and dampened unmentionable places. Unable to resist, I rested a hand on the clock. It pulsed. Was it responding to me, even though I'd never tinkered with it?

  "Don't touch that," Coyle swatted my hand away. "You've seen enough. Go on, out. Both of you." He shooed us with his hands, but neither Matt nor I moved.

  "Are those Roman?" Matt asked, nodding at the bowl of coins on the floor.

  Coyle angled himself in front of the bowl. "What of it?"

  "Where did you get them?"

  "An archaeological dig in the north."

  "Who sold them to you?"

  "That is none of your affair."

  "McArdle?"

  Coyle's jaw worked but no words came out. I took it as confirmation.

  Arms spread wide, he ushered us out of the room and closed the false door. Now that I knew it was there I could see the door's outline on the bookshelves and the small scrapes on the wooden floor.

  "Satisfied?" Coyle asked with a thrust of his chin.

  "I'll be speaking to Onslow," Matt said. "If he doesn't confirm your story—"

  "He will." He said it with such assuredness that I knew Onslow would back up his story. Coyle wasn't lying.