Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7)

by C. J. Archer

  I eyed the butler. He stood to one side, attempting to be unobtrusive, yet we both knew he would report every word of our conversation to his master. It wasn't going to be easy to convince Harriet. Indeed, how hard did I want to try? She wasn't integral to our plan.

  Yet I wanted her to come with us, and I had an idea on how to go about it. "The thing is," I said, "we're going to see someone about a glover who makes special gloves for ladies with large hands. I thought you'd like to come along and see the gloves for yourself."

  She looked offended and tucked her hands behind her back. Then it was as if the clouds cleared and she understood the true meaning of my words. Yes, I wanted to tell her. I've found someone like you. "You do want to meet him, don't you?" I asked. "There may never be another opportunity."

  "Yes," she whispered, her eyes two huge pools. "Very much." She studied her hands then curled them into fists. "I'd like to meet a new glover." She turned to the butler. "Fetch my coat, please, Owen. I'm going out."

  "Er…my lady…" The poor butler didn't know what to do. "Perhaps you ought to wait for his lordship to return."

  "No. I'm going out, with or without a coat."

  He did not move. His face grew paler by the second, his eyes anxious as they darted past me, perhaps praying his master would suddenly appear and take charge.

  Harriet simply gave a small shake of her head and ushered me out the door. She closed it herself and took my arm. "I don't need a coat anyway." Her senses may be acute, but she didn't feel the cold.

  "Will your butler get into trouble?" I asked.

  "Probably. I don't care. I don't like him."

  We hurried to the coach and climbed in. Mink folded up the step then joined Finley and Doyle on the driver's seat. Harriet eyed Alice warily, even after I introduced them.

  "Alice knows about you," I said.

  Harriet blinked back tears. "You told her?"

  Alice smiled warmly. "Don't be cross with Charlie. She knew I'd understand. My nightmares come to life, you see. A few weeks ago an entire army chased me. If it weren't for Charlie, I'd still think I was a madwoman. I'd also be alone in the world."

  Harriet's hands had been buried in her skirts to hide them, but she now settled them on her lap, hesitantly splaying them to reveal their full size. "An entire army? How frightening."

  I laid my gloved hand over her bare one. "We all have each other now. We're not alone."

  "Charlie, are we truly going to speak to someone like me?" Harriet asked. "Someone who can change shape?"

  I nodded. "The boys told us about him."

  "Have they seen him change?"

  "No, but he has gi-normous hands and feet, according to Finley."

  "Where is Mr. Fitzroy? Shouldn't he be here?"

  "He wasn't at home, but I couldn't let this opportunity slip away. I'm sure the man is harmless. Besides, I thought you might have some questions to ask him, and I suspected you'd want to meet someone like you."

  "Oh yes. Very much."

  The sun retreated behind the buildings and the muted colors of dusk descended. Lamp lighters began their rounds, blowing on cold fingers before lifting their long poles to the lamp casings. We didn't stop out the front of the Smithfield Market, but drove through to the central avenue dividing the market into two halves. The great iron supports holding up the louvered ceiling yawned overhead, and individual butcher's stores occupied both sides. The market was quiet, having closed to the public hours ago. A few butchers lingered, sweeping away dirt and straw by the light of the lamps, or mopping blood from floors and walls. Enormous hooks swung gently in the breeze. Overnight, carcasses would be brought up from the underground railway and hung, ready to sell in the morning.

  The last time I'd been in a butcher's shop, dead bodies had hung from the cold room hooks, put there by a mad doctor employed by General Eastbrooke. I shivered at the memory and pulled the edges of my coat tighter.

  Our carriage slowed and finally stopped. I went to open the door, but Alice stayed my hand.

  "Shouldn't we merely look?" she asked.

  "I can't see him from in here," I said. "It'll be all right. Stay here, if you want."

  She didn't get a chance to answer. Harriet pushed open the door and climbed out without waiting for the step to be lowered. I followed her. The smell of blood and meat seemed to come from the very walls themselves. It wasn't powerful, but it would likely never entirely disappear. Up ahead, two men stood talking. The butcher, dressed in a worn leather apron, handed a parcel wrapped in paper to a large man with rounded shoulders. He bobbed his head courteously to the butcher and took the parcel with hands much larger than a normal man's.

  "Excuse me," Harriet called out, rushing ahead, her neat bustle bobbing with her brisk steps. She didn't care that her hem skimmed the dirty floor.

  "Harriet, wait!" I lifted my skirts and rushed after her. "We need to be cautious."

  She didn't stop. "Excuse me, sir, may we speak with you?"

  The man glanced over his shoulder, took one look at us and our coach, then turned and ran. Damnation! I ran after him, but he was too fast. I'd never catch him.

  "Stop!" Harriet's clear voice echoed along the avenue. "Stop, I say! I want to speak with you. I'm like you! Look at my hands!"

  The man's pace slowed. He once again glanced back at us, then he stopped altogether. He did not approach, but Harriet strode up to him.

  "Wait, Harriet," I said. "We need to exercise caution."

  "I don't think she wants to be cautious," Alice said, breathing heavily as she drew up alongside me. Doyle urged the horses forward in a walk.

  "Stay back," the man shouted, shoving the parcel of meat down his shirt. "Don't come near. What do you want?"

  "I want to talk to you," Harriet said, her voice full of wonder. She held up her hands, to show him their size again. "I want to talk to someone like me."

  Chapter 11

  The man's bristly black whiskers and bushy crop of hair hid much of his face and gave him a fierce countenance. Together with his muscular build and quick, assessing gaze, it wasn't difficult to envisage him as a wild animal. He edged closer, cautious yet curious.

  "Blimey," he murmured. "But you're…"

  "A woman?" Harriet offered.

  "A toff. Ain't never seen a toff one of us."

  "Us?" Her voice quavered with barely contained excitement.

  "Aye."

  "Where do you all live?"

  "Here and there." The man stopped approaching as if he suddenly realized he was too close. He remained vigilant, his gaze darting from us to the coach and back to Harriet. He didn't trust us, but I couldn't blame him—I hadn't trusted anyone searching for me last summer either. "You can't have it," he said. "It's mine. I ain't sharing."

  "Can't have what?" Harriet asked.

  He crossed his arms over the bulge at his chest where he'd tucked the parcel. The butcher had disappeared.

  The horses shifted, rattling the harness. I glanced at Doyle and the boys, sitting rigid on the driver's seat. Finley gripped his knees, his knuckles white, and Mink looked as if he would dive off the coach at the first sign of trouble. The light from the carriage lamps glinted off the metal of a pistol in Doyle's lap.

  "We don't want your meat," I said to the man. "Keep your food."

  Harriet sniffed the air, her nose twitching like a dog's on the scent of a rat. "Lamb?"

  "Mutton," he said. "I paid for these bones. They're mine. Ask the butcher."

  "My friend spoke the truth," Harriet said. "We don't want your meat. We just want to talk."

  "What about?"

  "I have so many questions." She lowered her voice, perhaps so Doyle and the boys couldn't hear. If I'd stood as far away as the man, I wouldn't have heard her, but he seemed to hear perfectly.

  "What's your name?" I asked before Harriet could get her questions in.

  "Gawler, miss."

  Not King, then. "My name is Charlotte," I said, "and this is Alice and Harriet." I didn't want
to use surnames or titles. Those could be easily traced. If I'd learned anything over the last few years, it was best to exercise caution when it came to identities. "Harriet is curious about you," I said. "She knows no other shifters, you see, so when we heard about you—"

  "How'd you hear?"

  "We heard of body shifters living in the area years ago, so made some inquiries."

  "You made inquiries? Are you mad?"

  "About hands," I clarified. "We asked about someone with big hands, not about a shifter."

  My answer mollified him somewhat. He nodded at Harriet. "There are six, including me."

  "And you all roam through the East End?" I asked. "In a group?

  "Not anymore," Gawler said, his top lip lifting in a way that reminded me of a dog snarling. "Our pack broke apart."

  "Why?" Harriet asked.

  "There was a fight. Me and the pack leader." He hunched and tightened his arms around his chest, as if protecting his parcel of mutton bones. "I got tired of him telling us what to do, see. Tired of him making all the decisions, 'specially when he made the wrong one."

  "But he won," I said heavily.

  He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "He won."

  "A fight?" Harriet whispered. "That sounds dangerous."

  He pulled his jacket and shirt aside at the shoulder to reveal three ugly scars. I didn't need to ask to know they were made by a claw. So they'd fought in their animal form.

  Beside me, Alice smothered a gasp.

  Gawler covered the scars. "You're better off in your toff house," he said to Harriet. "It's dangerous out here, for regular humans and for our kind. You stay safe and pretty where you are and don't mix with us. You married to a human?"

  Harriet nodded.

  "Good. Breed it out, I say. One day, there'll be none of us left."

  "Why would you want to do that?" I asked.

  He tapped his scarred shoulder. "If our numbers grow, there'll be more fights. We males can't help it. Fighting is in our nature, but the humans will fear us if they see. They'll lock us away. I been locked away one night for being drunk, and that were enough for me. You put me in a cage forever and I'll die."

  I understood completely. One night in a holding cell was enough for me, too. "Where's the rest of the pack now?" I asked. "With the leader?"

  "He moved out to Bloomsbury." He hawked a glob of saliva onto the floor where the dirt and straw soaked it up. "The others still live in the East End."

  "I don't understand. If he's the leader, why aren't they with him?"

  "We don't live together, miss. We're friends, not mates. Not husband and wife. They see him at his house sometimes, or he visits them, and they run through the streets at night in their other form together."

  "And you?" I asked quietly.

  His top lip lifted again, revealing normal, human teeth. "I run alone."

  "I'll run with you." Harriet spoke in a rush, as if afraid she'd change her mind if she thought it through first. "I'll be in your pack."

  "Harriet," I warned.

  Gawler shook his head. "Stay away from us. This ain't no life for you."

  "But I want to run," she said. "I haven't run anywhere since I was a little girl, but I desperately want to. Sometimes I dream about racing through the fields on our estate, the wind tangling my hair, the earth beneath my feet. I imagine it to be liberating."

  Gawler grunted. "You go and run in your fields where it's safe and no one can see." He nodded at Doyle, sitting on the driver's seat with the pistol in his lap. "It's dangerous for our kind, especially here where there's more witnesses. You stay away from us. From him."

  "The leader?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  "What's his name?"

  "He likes to be called King."

  Alice's hand tightened on my arm.

  "I've known him since I were thirteen," Gawler said. "That's when he came to London. Don't know where from. We did everything together—played, laughed, even kissed the same girls. Running through the streets with King was liberating, like you say, ma'am. We felt like we ruled the East End. He was the king, and I were the prince, I s'pose. Maybe that's why he called himself that." Gawler sounded like he missed him as any man would miss a friend after they were gone. I wondered if he regretted fighting for the leadership.

  "Why was he your leader?" I asked. "Was he stronger than the others?"

  "Aye, but there's more to it than that. A leader's got to be liked. King's liked, all right." He sneered. "Some think he can do anything he wants, and they bow to him like he really is the king sometimes."

  "Can he do anything he wants? Can he be anything he wants?"

  His gaze sharpened. He swallowed. I had my answer—King was the man we needed.

  "He can shift into all sorts of different shapes, can't he?" I pressed when Gawler didn't respond.

  He backed away. "I didn't tell you that. I didn't say nothing."

  "Where can we find him?"

  "I have to go."

  "No!" both Harriet and I cried.

  "Please, Mr. Gawler," she said. "I have so many questions. Are there any women in your pack?"

  "I told you, they ain't my pack no more."

  "But you're still friends."

  He lifted one shoulder.

  "I want to speak to them," she said, striding up to him. She reached for him, but he shrank back and she let her hands drop to her sides. "Please, where can I find them?"

  He glanced toward the exit. "Best you don't come looking. We don't want no attention." He tilted his chin at me. "Most of us don't want no trouble."

  "What about Mr. King?" I asked. "Does he court trouble by shifting into the shape of others?"

  His nostrils flared and he sniffed the air. Drawing in my scent and committing it to memory? "King ain't my concern no more. I don't care if he gets into trouble. I don't want none of it, you hear?"

  "What has he done?"

  He paced backward but kept his gaze on Harriet, matching him step for step. "Please," she begged, her voice shaking. "Please, I want to meet the others."

  "Mr. Gawler," I snapped. "This is important. The royal family may be in danger."

  He stopped. Stared at me. His throat worked but he didn't speak. He could only shake his head, over and over. Then he turned and sprinted away.

  "Wait!" Harriet cried. She did not, however, try to run after him.

  I took her hand and she allowed me to lead her back to the coach. She sat in the cabin, blinking back tears. "I can't believe he would run off like that," she muttered. "What am I to do now?"

  "Nothing," Alice said. "Mr. Gawler spoke of the dangers, and I see his point. You must protect yourself and stay away."

  Harriet hunkered in the corner, a pout on her lips and a hollowness to her eyes. We emerged from the market and rolled along the street. As miserable as Harriet was, I couldn't be unhappy. We had a name and a place now. Gawler had mentioned that King lived in Bloomsbury. Lincoln had been looking in the wrong area, that's why he couldn't find him. And from Gawler's reaction, I knew King was the man we needed.

  We deposited Finley and Mink back at their Clerkenwell home along with the blankets. They both looked rather pale by the light of the coach lamps. They couldn't have heard our conversation with Gawler from where they sat, but they'd seen Doyle's pistol and the scars on Gawler's shoulder. They must have guessed the meeting could have turned dangerous.

  "Will you be all right?" I asked them as I carried an armful of blankets to the boards covering the entrance to their den.

  "Course," Finley said. "Weren't nothing to be scared of."

  Mink lifted the boards with his foot and threw the blankets inside.

  "Mink?" I asked as he reached for the stack in my arms. "What about you?"

  He took the blankets, but I didn't let go. He narrowed his gaze. "Tell Mr. Fitzroy we won't be doing any more spying for you."

  "What?" Finley blurted out. "And miss out on more of this?" He indicated the blankets. "Mink, we can't a
fford not to spy for 'em."

  "You're an idiot, Finley, if you think they care for us. Don't let these blankets fool you."

  "Of course we care," I said. "We don't want to see you put in harm's way. I understand if the meeting tonight scared you."

  "We ain't scared," Finley said, puffing out his chest.

  I held Mink's gaze until he looked away. "I got to think of the young 'uns," he said. "I got to keep them safe."

  "Then come and live with us. We have room. Mr. Fitzroy won't mind."

  "And do more spying for him?"

  "Not if you don't want to. He won't ask you to do anything you're not comfortable doing."

  Mink shook his head. "He'll ask. That type always want something in return."

  "They do not," I said, indignant. I let go of the blankets. "You're wrong about him, Mink, but I understand if you feel overwhelmed and unsure right now. You know where to find us if you change your mind, or if you simply need something. Don't go hungry anymore. It's not necessary."

  His lips flattened, and I could see he understood the benefit of coming to us on occasion. I suspected if it was just him, his pride would stop him accepting something for nothing, but he genuinely seemed to care for the others in his charge. He wouldn't see them starve if there was an alternative.

  I rested a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful."

  He nodded.

  Finley sighed. "Be seeing you soon, Fleet-foot Charlie." He touched the brim of his cap then disappeared through the hole in the wall.

  Mink followed without a backward glance.

  I returned to the coach, pausing at the door to give Mink an opportunity to change his mind, but the boards remained in place, unmoving. With a sigh, I climbed inside and Doyle drove off.

  "You look troubled," Alice said quietly. "Are the boys all right?"

  "Mink's rattled. He feels responsible for them all, and he worries that there'll be trouble now. He thinks Lincoln will ask for more from them, and expose them to danger."

  "You reassured him, didn't you?"

  "Yes, but he won't take my word for it." I sighed again. "It's a lot for young shoulders to bear."

  "You bore it too, once."