Peppermint and Pentacles

by Melanie Karsak

  As I passed down the center aisle, the gentleman who was praying looked up at me, his eyes dancing over my red cloak. His gaze met mine, and I saw deep sadness there. He nodded to me then turned back to his prayers.

  Father Rosenberry led me to the back of the church and down the hallway to his office. Once I was inside, he closed the door behind me.

  “I collated a file on each child. Both are orphans. Both went missing from their dorm room,” he said, handing a folder to me.

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No. We’ve bolted up the window, and Pastor Clark has been sleeping there at night. No disturbances since Tom went missing.”

  “Any chance their absent parents came to retrieve them?”

  “None. Lucas, the older boy, lost his parents to fever. And Tom, his junior henchman, came to us from a harlot.”

  “Henchman?”

  “These two boys are thick as thieves and just as naughty. How many times have they been disciplined for fighting, stealing, cursing? At first, we thought they’d simply run off, joined up with some crew. But then other children in the neighborhood started disappearing, and all the other children in the orphanage swear the boys didn’t have a plan to run away. The other children are frightened. That alone tells me something is wrong.”

  I nodded as I flipped through the papers. There were reports on both boys: their education, illnesses, and lists of their offenses, not limited to releasing a box of frogs during a sermon. I grinned as I read that one. Wicked little devils.

  “May I talk to the other children?”

  Pastor Rosenberry nodded. “They will be in their studies. Pastor Clark is with them now. Will anyone else from your agency be looking into the case? A superior, perhaps? This is a dire situation.”

  And one you, Clemeny, being a woman, cannot possibly handle.

  “No. Her Majesty asked for me in particular for this case,” I replied distractedly as if it were nothing.

  “Her…Her Majesty?”

  “Yes. There was a gentleman in the church praying. Who is he?”

  Pastor Rosenberry cleared his throat twice, no doubt choking down his astonishment, then said, “That’s Mister Anderson. His daughter is also missing.”

  “I don’t remember him.”

  “His family moved to this area two years ago.”

  “I see. Are there any new congregation members of note? Or anything else you’ve noticed that seems…off?”

  Pastor Rosenberry shook his head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

  “Very well. May I keep these awhile?” I asked, tapping the papers on the palm of my hand.

  Pastor Rosenberry nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave me a curt nod then sat down at his desk. He still had not shaken the bewildered expression from his face.

  Smirking, I headed back into the church.

  Mister Anderson was at the front lighting a prayer candle. Wordlessly, I joined him. Lifting a taper, I lit a candle, always for my own mother, whomever she was, wherever she was, if she were still alive. One day, maybe, I would learn the truth about where I’d come from. But in the meantime, I needed Mister Anderson to talk.

  “I-I’m sorry, miss, but I noticed your cloak,” Mister Anderson said in a whisper.

  “Shall we step outside?”

  Mister Anderson nodded. He closed his eyes, said one inaudible prayer, made the sign of the cross, then turned and headed outside. I followed along behind him.

  Saint Clement Danes sat on a small island between two sides of the following traffic on the Strand. A mix of buggies and coal or steam-powered vehicles rolled past. I frowned at the infernal machines and the racket they made, causing me to strain to hear as Mister Anderson asked, “Are you the one looking for our children?”

  His question, however muted, was heartbreaking. Tears clung to his lower lids. My regular beat never had me working with tearful fathers or rattled mothers. I suddenly wished I was chasing a wolf down some dark alley or flirting with Lionheart, which was a lot more fun. But even as I thought it, an image of Agent Hunter floated through my mind, popping the picture of Lionheart like a stray bubble.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to refocus. “Pastor Rosenberry said your daughter is missing?”

  He nodded. “Elizabeth,” he said, pressing a locket toward me. “She went missing three days back.”

  Another child not on the list. I took the golden locket from his hand and stared at the painted miniature of a lovely girl with black hair and light eyes. She was as pretty as a china doll. “What happened?” I asked.

  “I put her down for bed, made a cup of tea, then went back to check on her. Her window was open. She was gone. I searched high and low for her. I couldn’t find her anywhere,” he said then burst into tears. “Who would take my child like that? Who would do something like that so close to Christmas?” he said with a rattling sob. “I put in a report to the Bow Street Runners. They said they would be by, but they haven’t come yet.”

  “Where do you live, sir?”

  “Down the Strand, near the Lyceum,” he said, referring to the theatre.

  “Please, write your address here,” I said, pulling out a pad from my satchel and handing it along with a fountain pen to him. “And your wife, sir? She saw nothing?”

  The man shook his head. “I am a widower. It’s just my daughter and me.”

  “I’m very sorry. You said you put your daughter down to sleep. She disappeared at night?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t have even known until morning except for the bird.”

  “I’m sorry, the bird?”

  He nodded. “A colly bird got into the room through the open window. Somehow it got tangled up in a string on Elizabeth’s blanket. It was squawking terribly. If it hadn’t been for that racket, I wouldn’t have known. As it was, I was too late. Please come by, Agent. Elizabeth is the last piece of her mother I have left. She’s everything to me.”

  “I will. This evening. I promise.”

  He nodded.

  I set a reassuring hand on his arm then turned to go.

  A colly bird? Now, that was odd.

  Chapter 5: Snips and Snails

  “Boys. Boys, please take your seats,” Pastor Clark was saying, sounding a bit exasperated, when I arrived at the classroom door. The orphanage and charity school sat just across the street from the church. It was a large, two-story structure. On the first floor was the schoolroom, kitchen, a small parlor, and an office. The upper floor had two rooms for the children—one dormitory for the boys and one for the girls—and housing for Pastor Clark and Pastor Rosenberry. Missus Miller, who lived down the street, also worked at the school. She watched the girls and prepared the meals. She let me in and directed me to the classroom.

  I stood just outside the open classroom door and watched Pastor Clark. For many months, Grand-mère was very sure I should let Pastor Clark woo me, much to my horror. I didn’t mind that he was plump—I imagined that a stout man would be a fine thing to have in bed on a cold winter’s night—and godly, but he perpetually smelled of sardines and always stood too close, like he wanted to shove his tongue down my throat the minute he got the chance. Once or twice, I’d thought about stabbing him.

  I leaned against the doorframe and looked inside. The girls were sitting, waiting attentively. The boys, however, had broken out into a squabble.

  “Boys! Take your seats,” Pastor Clark called once more.

  I cleared my throat loudly.

  At the sound of a newcomer, the boys dispensed with their squabble and sat. All the children turned to stare at me.

  “Miss Louvel,” Pastor Clark exclaimed, seemingly taken aback by my presence. He turned to join me then stumbled over the leg on his podium and tripped.

  I stepped forward to catch him in the sincerest hope that I wouldn’t have to. I thanked God that Pastor Clark was able to right himself in time.

  The class chuckled.

  “Oh! Oh my,” he exclaimed, smoothing down his su
it and patting down his pin-straight bowl-cut hair as he regained his footing. His cheeks burned red. As I looked around the room, I noticed all the boys’ hair was cut in a similar fashion. They looked like a miniature Norman invasion. I’d have to have a word with Grand-mère, see if she could make a not-so-subtle suggestion for a proper barber for the boys. “Miss Louvel, whatever are you doing here?”

  “The agency sent me about the missing boys.”

  The smiles around the room faded.

  “Oh,” Pastor Clark said in surprise. His expression, however, lacked the disdain I’d seen on Pastor Rosenberry’s face. “Shall we go downstairs to the office? Children, take out your readers and—”

  “No. No,” I said with a wave of the hand. “I’d like to talk to the children.”

  “Oh. Yes. Of course,” he said then pulled out a chair for me, setting it in front of the class.

  I smiled at him. Sardine smell aside, Pastor Clark really was a nice chap. I could see why Grand-mère suggested him. But he lacked a certain edge—and well-groomed mutton chops—that I needed in a man. I took a seat.

  “Hello, children. I’m Clemeny. Missus Louvel is my grandmother. Do you all know her?”

  They nodded, relaxing a bit.

  “I understand Lucas and Tom are missing. I’m here to find out what happened. Can any of you tell me what happened the day Lucas disappeared?”

  “It was night, ma’am,” a little boy said.

  “Sorry?”

  “He didn’t disappear in the day. He disappeared at night.”

  “Is that right?” I asked, turning to Pastor Clark who nodded.

  “And Tom? Did he disappear at night too?” I asked.

  The children nodded.

  “Tom went missing from our room,” one of the boys said.

  “And Lucas? From the room as well?” I asked.

  The children wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

  I turned to Pastor Clark who looked confused.

  “Children? Yes, Lucas went missing from his room. He wasn’t in his bed in the morning.”

  I turned back to the children. The girls looked just as confused as Pastor Clark. The boys, however, were shifting nervously. One boy was looking everywhere but at me. “You there,” I said, pointing to him. “What’s your name?”

  The boy froze then turned to me, his eyes wide. “W-William.”

  “Did Lucas go missing from the room?”

  I hadn’t thought it possible, but the child’s eyes grew even larger.

  “The truth, now,” I said, pushing aside my cloak to reveal the handle of the pistol on my side.

  “Miss Louvel,” Pastor Clark whispered.

  Smirking, I gave Pastor Clark a knowing half-wink—a move I had yet to perfect with my right eye—then wished I hadn’t when I saw his cheeks redden.

  “No. No, ma’am. He didn’t,” William said.

  “Then where was he?” I asked.

  “There’s a girl. She lives with some of the other kids down by the river. He went to see her but never came back.”

  Pastor Clark gasped. “Children! Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because Pastor Rosenberry told Lucas not to see that guttersnipe anymore, and you said if Lucas got in trouble one more time, Pastor Rosenberry was going to send him away,” William exclaimed.

  Pastor Clark huffed. “You should have told us. I’m very sorry, Miss Louvel. I didn’t know.”

  “Not to worry. William, is it possible Lucas is still with the other children? Maybe he decided not to come back.”

  William shook his head. “No. Bunny came crying looking for him the next day. I-I think she saw something.”

  “Bunny?”

  “His girl.”

  “Did any of you see anything, maybe the night Tom went missing?”

  “I smelled peppermint,” said a little boy, perhaps no older than five.

  The others giggled.

  I smiled at the child. He was a sweet little thing with blond hair and wide blue eyes, and he was missing his two front teeth. “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “Edward.”

  “Edward, you smelled peppermint the night Tom went missing?”

  “Don’t listen to Edward, ma’am. He likes to make up stories,” one of the older boys said.

  “I do not!” the little boy protested. “I did smell peppermint, really strong like someone had opened up a tin of candies. But there was a bad feeling in the room, so I hid under my covers and closed my eyes. Tom was gone the next day. My bed is right beside Tom’s.”

  “Thank you, Edward. Anyone else notice something amiss?

  “I-I heard something,” a quiet voice called from the back.

  The class turned to a small boy who wore spectacles.

  “You did?” Pastor Clark said in surprise. “Charles, what did you hear?”

  Everyone looked at the boy.

  “Something big and loud on the roof. Footsteps and bells.”

  Pastor Clark leaned toward me. “That’s more than this boy said all week.”

  “Very good. Thank you, Charles.”

  He smiled shyly then sunk down lower in his seat.

  “You will you find them, ma’am, won’t you?” William asked.

  “I promise to do my best.”

  “Like we even want Tom back,” one of the boys grumbled.

  I looked around the crowd to see a little boy with a very black eye.

  “And whose handiwork is that?” I asked the boy, pointing to his eye.

  “Tom’s,” he groused.

  “Yes, well, Tom is a spirited boy, but we’re making progress. With the Lord’s help, he will turn it around,” Pastor Clark assured me.

  “Quite the shiner, but you’ll recover in no time. Take it from me,” I told the boy, tapping my eyepatch.

  The buy huffed a laugh.

  I turned to the girls. “Did you any of you hear or see anything?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “And none of the girls are missing?” I asked Pastor Clark.

  “No. Missus Miller has taken to sleeping in the girl’s dorm at night to ensure their safety. And I am staying with the boys.”

  “And no other disturbances or odd noises? Anything else? Anything peculiar?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “There were the hens, though,” said one little girl with dark hair. “The morning after Tom disappeared, we found three hens in the garden. They appeared out of nowhere.”

  “And they were delicious,” Pastor Clark said, rubbing his round stomach.

  The children laughed with him.

  “A gift, we think, from a parishioner,” Pastor Clark reassured me.

  “Which parishioner?”

  “Oh. Well, we aren’t sure.”

  I nodded.

  “The girl Lucas was courting. You said her name is Bunny? Where can I find her?” I asked, turning back to William.

  The others looked at him.

  He shrugged. “Their crew works the Strand. At night, they have a place near Waterloo Bridge,” he said, his eyes darting from Pastor Clark, who was frowning hard at him, to me.

  “Thank you. Mind if I have a look around before I go?” I asked Pastor Clark then rose before he could protest. “Study hard, children. Christmas is coming. Surely Pastor Clark has something special planned for you. Perhaps some plum pudding?”

  The children looked at Pastor Clark expectantly.

  He smiled. “Maybe. Maybe. God rewards the hardworking, the virtuous. So, let’s get to it once more. Take out your readers.”

  With a nod to Pastor Clark, I exited quickly before it occurred to him to chaperone me around the building. I headed upstairs to the boys’ dormitory. There were twelve small beds, all neatly made, but the room was very stark. I went to the single window and looked out across the rooftops, keeping in mind what Charles said. He’d definitely heard something on the rooftop, and Edward had smelled peppermint. That one still had me puzzled. I climbed out
the window onto the roof of the next building. Then, grabbing the ledge, I hoisted myself up on top of the roof of the charity school. The peak of the school had a good view of the Strand. I could see the roofs of the buildings at King’s College. Would Lionheart be there now?

  A cold wind whipped, blowing my cape around me and stirring up a light whirlwind of snow. I scanned the neighborhood. If the first abduction had happened at the Brown household, the second at the Orphanage, the third near Waterloo Bridge, then down to Mister Anderson’s address near the Lyceum, someone was working the Strand. And whoever was doing the lifting, they were doing it after the sun went down. That sounded very werewolf-like.

  Templar Pack ruled this part of town. Had one of his pack members gone astray? As quickly as the thought occurred to me, I dismissed it. The image of the Templars in their glittering armor outside the airship hangar the night we’d taken out Cyril flashed through my mind. The Templars were loyal. None of them had gone astray in hundreds of years.

  Rogue dog, maybe? Someone trying to encroach on Lionheart’s territory just to piss off the new alpha?

  I wasn’t sure.

  I briefly thought about stopping by King’s College and checking in with Lionheart, but my thoughts went to Bryony Paxton. I liked Professor Paxton. I honestly did. But no matter how much I liked her, it didn’t curb the jealousy I felt. I had no business getting involved with Lionheart, but I liked his attention. It made me feel special. The fact that he had found someone to love—someone who wasn’t me—made me hurt in a way I didn’t understand. I hadn’t found a way to squelch the feeling. Better to leave well enough alone.

  No, I wouldn’t bother Lionheart with this. Whoever was nabbing the children, they would have to tangle with me.

  Chapter 6: What the Dickens?

  I headed down the Strand toward Waterloo Bridge. I was about turn down Arundel Street when I noticed a bit of commotion ahead. The Bow Street Boys appeared to be talking—well, half-talking, half-roughing up—a group of kids. I approached the group, listening to the conversation as I drew near.

  I blew on my fingers once more. I didn’t remember it being this cold at Christmas last year, and it had already snowed much more than usual in London. I pulled a silver flask from my belt, took a quick sip of brandy to warm me, and then approached the crowd.