Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7)

by C. J. Archer

  "Mink," he finally gasped out, still doubled over. "He's gone."

  I groaned.

  "Gone where?" Lincoln asked.

  "Don't know." Finley straightened but his fingers pinched his side. He must have run most of the way from Clerkenwell. "He went out for a walk last night and never came back. Then today we heard about a lad being kidnapped in Whitechapel."

  "Kidnapped!" I pressed a hand to my throat where bile burned. My blood ran cold. "No, no, no. This is all my fault. First Harriet and now Mink. If it wasn't for me, they'd both still be tucked into their beds. Lincoln…what have I done?"

  Chapter 13

  Lincoln's hand rested on the back of my neck, gentle yet reassuringly solid. "It's not your fault," he said. "And we don't know if anything bad has happened to either of them. Street children get kidnapped in Whitechapel more frequently than you'd think. The child may not have been Mink. He may have simply gone out for a longer walk than usual."

  "He ain't never been gone this long," Finley countered.

  Lincoln narrowed his gaze at the lad, but Finley wasn't intimidated.

  "Well, he ain't," he repeated.

  "I know," I said heavily. Finley wouldn't look so worried or have run all the way to fetch us if this was a normal occurrence.

  "Harriet also went out voluntarily," Lincoln said.

  "I don't like this at all," I said. "We have to find them both."

  He nodded. "We'll leave immediately. Wear your trousers."

  I hurried off, relieved that I didn't have to ask to go with them—because I would go, whether he wanted me to or not.

  Lincoln, Seth, Gus and I did not take our own coach but caught a hackney cab that deposited us out the front of the Smithfield meat market. The market was at its busiest—and loudest. Butchers' apprentices shouted over the top of one another in the long avenue, vying for attention. Carcasses hung from the hooks today like macabre garlands, and one stall even had over a dozen whole pigs arranged on the floor with their heads resting on front trotters. They looked as if they'd leap up at any moment to frolic among the straw.

  We asked the butcher Gawler had spoken to the day before if he'd seen him. He hadn't and didn't know where Gawler lived, but he knew he drank at the Jolly Joker in Shoreditch.

  We walked there. The tavern keeper was just opening the doors to let in the early drinkers who waited outside like flies around meat. After money changed hands, he told us we would find Gawler in Myring Place.

  I expected Lincoln to try to put me in a cab and send me home, but he didn't. We headed to Myring Place in the Old Nichol district, a small court set amid one of the areas I'd learned to avoid when surviving on the streets. The half dozen or so dwellings surrounding the open yard were in varying stages of decay, the outbuildings little more than lean-tos that must leak terribly. Windows were shut, but even if they were open, no air or light would have entered the buildings, as not a breath of wind or beam of sunshine entered the yard. Children huddled around a brazier near a broken costermonger's cart that looked in danger of being sacrificed to the fire next. They watched us through wary eyes, their faces bearing the pallor and scars of illness and misery.

  Lincoln handed out coins and the children's eyes lit up. "We're looking for a man named Gawler," he said. "We were told he lives around here."

  Some of the children hesitated and exchanged glances, but one pointed at the second house. "In there."

  "Is he home?"

  The lad nodded.

  Lincoln handed them all another coin each then approached the house. He didn't knock, but pushed open the door. I covered my nose and mouth to block out the smell of meat. A narrow flight of stairs led up to the next level. Cobwebs clustered in the ceiling's corners and something scuttled in the shadows.

  Lincoln put his finger to his lips and climbed the stairs quietly, slowly. He signaled for Gus to remain by the door and for me and Seth to follow. The staircase was only wide enough for one, so I went up last.

  The door to the court closed, plunging us into semi-darkness. We headed up the stairs as silently as we could, but it wasn't silent enough.

  There was no warning. One moment there was nothing at the top of the stairs, and the next, a dark shape hurtled toward us and slammed into Lincoln. If Seth hadn't been right behind him, Lincoln would have tumbled down the stairs under the force of the impact.

  He grunted, but the only other sound came from the punch he landed on the other man. It was definitely a man, not a beast, albeit one with superior speed and a strength that allowed him to land a sickening blow into Lincoln's stomach. Lincoln doubled over, coughing, just as Gus pushed me into the wall and stormed past.

  He and Seth tackled the man and Lincoln pinned him to the staircase. A low, fierce snarl curdled my blood. I'd heard stray dogs snarl like that right before attacking.

  "Stop!" I cried. "Stop at once, Mr. Gawler!"

  My voice seemed to startle him, and he stilled. "You?" He squinted past the men at me. "Bloody hell."

  "These are my friends. We're not here to harm you. Lincoln, let him up."

  Gawler threw up his arms, dislodging Seth and Gus, but not Lincoln. He slowly stepped back of his own accord and held out his hand. Gawler hesitated then took it and stood.

  "Do you always greet guests by assaulting them?" I asked.

  "Guests don't usually enter without knocking," he said, rolling his shoulders forward. "I don't get many guests anyway. Not until last night."

  "Was that my friend Harriet the shape shifter? Was she here?"

  "Aye. Bloody toffs. I knew this would happen. Ain't get no peace with you lot, demanding this and that. Clear off! Go on. I don't want nothing to do with any of you."

  "Mr. Gawler," I said, "please. If you know where she is, you have to say something. She's not used to places like this. She could find herself in a great deal of trouble."

  "Aye, she could, if she didn't make it to King's in one piece. Pretty thing like that would fetch a good price around here. If I were a different sort—"

  "You sent her to King's?" Lincoln cut in.

  Gawler shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? She wanted to speak to him and the other pack members, so I sent her. It weren't me she wanted, it was them. They're welcome to her, I say. She's got too many questions for my liking."

  "But she wanted to speak to women," I said. "So why not introduce her to one of the females?"

  "They all went to King's last night," Gawler said. "When I told her they were meeting there, she decided to go. Said she wanted to meet the leader too, and ask to be in his pack." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "They always want to meet King, see. They can't help themselves. It's in their nature to want to run with the leader, and it's in his nature to take 'em."

  I put up my finger. "Let's be clear. By take them, you mean…couple with them?"

  "Aye, but she's a toff so he won't. King's got principles, I give him that." He snorted. "Principles and manners. Guess that's why they all like him. Even me," he added, quieter.

  "What about a lad?" I asked, indicating Mink's height with my hand. "He was with me last night, too. Did he come here?"

  "No."

  If Mink hadn't come here, where was he? What had happened to him? Why had he and Harriet both gone missing at the same time?

  I headed down the stairs, but when Lincoln didn't follow I stopped.

  "How does King change into the form of others, but not you?" he asked Gawler.

  "I don't know. No one does." Gawler backed up a step. "You got to go. I ain't going to talk about King with you. You want answers, you speak to him yourself."

  "He impersonated the prince consort," Lincoln told him.

  Gawler huffed out a humorless laugh. "So he finally managed it."

  "Managed what?"

  "To shift into the prince's form." Gawler looked at Lincoln like he was a fool. "Ain't that what you just said he did?"

  "Why did he do it? What's he up to?"

  "How'd I know? He don't tell me nothing no more.
Doubt he tells any of the pack, neither. He don't confide in no one, these days."

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "He got secrets, and he keeps 'em close to his chest."

  "What kind of secrets?" If he couldn't tell me what the secrets were, perhaps he could tell me that much.

  "The kind that sees him move out of here and into a nice place in Bloomsbury."

  "You don't know where he got his money from?"

  "No, it ain't my business no more."

  "But you must hear the gossip from the others."

  "They're just guessing, like me. Now go away before one of the pack sees you here and tells King. I don't want no trouble."

  We headed back into the yard. The children were still there, warming themselves by their meager fire, their intent gazes watching us until we exited their domain altogether.

  No one bothered us as we walked briskly along the greasy streets. Even ruffians knew to leave three tall, well built men alone. Once outside the slums, we caught a cab to Bloomsbury, getting out around the corner from King's place. The air wasn't all that much cleaner than in the Old Nichol, with soot clogging the sky and settling onto skin and hair like black snowflakes. But the buildings were in better condition and larger, the streets wider and cleaner. People huddled into warm coats as they hurried past, not threadbare jackets, and no one eyed us with desperation and wariness here.

  "If the pack is there, we can't just burst in," Lincoln said as we turned into Rugby Street. "We'll wait and watch. After they leave, we'll go in and retrieve Harriet."

  "But what if she's in danger?" I asked.

  "I doubt she is. Gawler seemed to think King would treat her with respect, in deference to her station, and I believe him. He had no reason to like King and paint him in a good light to us."

  "True," I hedged. "I hope Mink's in there, too. Perhaps he followed the trail here, as Harriet did, out of curiosity." But I doubted it. Mink wouldn't do that. He was much too careful to wander about alone in search of a mysterious shifter.

  We stood on the corner of Rugby Street, and Lincoln pointed out King's place. "He rents rooms on the third floor. According to the landlady, Widow Griggson, King is a nice gentleman who keeps to himself. He often goes out at night, but he's quiet when he returns. When his friends come over, they're respectful and cause no problems."

  "You had quite a conversation with her," Seth said.

  "She thinks he's a writer using a pen name, and that's where he got his money."

  "Quite the conversation," I said. "I'm impressed."

  "She was lonely and I was nice."

  Seth and Gus exchanged smirks behind Lincoln's back.

  "There." Lincoln nodded at the window where a man appeared in profile, smiling. "That's King."

  A slender man with an unremarkable face and a receding hairline laughed at something someone said then disappeared from view. We waited several minutes. A light rain began to fall, enough to make the roads slick but not run with water. A moment later, Harriet stood in front of the window. My heart leapt in relief.

  "There she is!" I said. "She looks well."

  Harriet glanced up at the sky and wrinkled her nose. She spoke to someone behind her then King and another woman appeared too. They also looked to the sky. The woman shrugged and crossed her arms. Harriet looked uncertain. King laughed again and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. He seemed to be appealing to her, and her arms lowered. She glanced at the sky, nodded and moved out of sight.

  "They're discussing the weather," Lincoln said. "But I don't know why."

  "Why does any Londoner discuss the weather?" Gus said with a shrug. "Because it's rotten."

  "We're too visible here all together," Lincoln said. "We need to split up." He eyed me and I suspected he was considering whether I ought to be there at all.

  "Why not go in and simply talk to them?" I asked. "We can ask Harriet if she wishes to stay."

  "Aye," Gus said.

  Seth shook his head. "And ask King if he goes out pretending to be the prince consort? We won't get a straight answer. I think we need to bide our time and watch him, catch him in the act, perhaps. Harriet seems fine, and there's no rush to return her to Gillingham."

  "True." I glanced at the window where Harriet now stood with her back to us. She seemed perfectly at ease. "Very well, let's watch for a while."

  We separated and moved along the street. I huddled into a doorway several houses away, but the owner came out and asked me to move. I found another doorway, deeper and more protected, but the cold still managed to penetrate all my layers of clothing and seep into my bones some two hours later. I was thoroughly wet and my teeth chattered so loudly that I didn't hear Lincoln approach.

  "All right?" he asked, giving me a warm pie.

  I cradled it in my hands. "Where did you get this?"

  "A pie shop around the corner. Hungry?"

  "Starving." I bit into the pie and sighed. How had I ever coped without the comforts of pies and warmth in my years on the street? I'd been hungrier and colder than I was now, yet I had trouble remembering how I felt in those days of famine and misery. Perhaps I'd blocked it out. I certainly didn't have the nightmares anymore.

  "Go home," Lincoln said gently. "There's no reason for you to stay."

  "I want to."

  "I suspect we'll be here until the rain eases. Harriet doesn't want to come out while it's wet and King is indulging her."

  "What do they want to come out for?"

  He leaned one shoulder against the wall. "You won't go, will you?"

  I shook my head.

  He watched me a moment then pushed off from the wall. "It's going to be a long day."

  He returned to his position at the far end of the street, where he settled beneath a tree sprouting through the pavement. Seth and Gus stood at the other end of the street, barely visible in recessed doorways.

  The day did indeed drag. The rain didn't ease but continued to fall in relentless monotony. Not too heavy; just enough to be maddening. And it was cold. So very cold. I blew on my gloved hands, tucked them under my armpits, and between my thighs. Nothing warmed them. I'd lost all feeling in my toes and ears around midday, and my nose constantly dripped.

  There was no respite from the weather, but the occasional movement in King's room alleviated my boredom. The occupants merely talked and drank tea. Sometimes I saw Harriet, or one of the others, but rarely King himself. The faces of those I did see looked frustrated and bored. I knew how they felt. At least they were warm and dry.

  As dusk finally settled over the street, and the lamplighter made his way past me, the curtains of King's rooms closed. Damn. Now what should we do?

  I went to find Lincoln and was met by Seth and Gus as I headed up Rugby Street.

  "Are my lips blue?" Seth asked. "I think they're frozen."

  "I can't tell in this light," I said.

  "I'm going to have a nice hot bath when I get home," Gus said dreamily. "Hot enough to sting."

  "Get in line." Seth squinted up at the sky. "When did it stop raining?"

  "Just now," I said.

  We met up with Lincoln and I was about to ask him what to do next when the door to King's house opened. He came out, followed by Harriet, another two women and two men.

  We fell back into the shadows. I held my breath, not daring to move or make a sound. Thank goodness we were downwind from them, or they might have smelled our presence. We all remained perfectly still as the party approached.

  "It's too early," said one of the women, stepping quickly to keep up with King's long strides.

  He patted Harriet's hand, tucked into the crook of his arm. "Lady Gillingham cannot wait any longer. She must get home."

  Oh, thank God. She was unharmed and in no danger if he intended for her to return home. Indeed, they looked like a couple strolling to the theater. They passed beneath a lamp and I was relieved to see a look of happy excitement on her face, not fear.

  But what did King mean that Harriet “c
annot wait?” What couldn't she wait for?

  They disappeared around the corner. We followed some distance behind, but when we turned the corner, they were gone.

  "Where—?"

  Lincoln cut Gus off with a raise of his hand. He signaled for us to follow behind him as he continued on. I had a bad feeling about this. There was a small lane up ahead to our left, but it was a dead end. We'd passed it on our way to Rugby Street earlier and had dismissed it as a potential exit point due to tall buildings on three sides. The only thing it was good for was storing things and hiding. It wouldn't have surprised me to find stray animals and the homeless hiding out in there.

  But now I realized it could be used for another purpose—to change one's shape in private.

  We approached the lane, but were still some distance away when six large creatures dashed out. Three looked like wolves, two were more bear-like, while the sixth was like no animal I'd ever seen. It was covered in fur, like the others, but had a wide, flat nose rather than a canine one. It, and one of the wolves, skidded to a halt upon seeing us while the others continued on. The wolf sniffed the air and made to approach us, but the other yelped and the wolf turned away. Both ran off on all fours after their mates.

  Lincoln sprinted after them but only got as far as the corner. He came back, shaking his head. "They're too fast."

  Seth and Gus stared at the corner. Then they turned as one to Lincoln.

  "That was them, weren't it?" Gus asked. "Lady G, King and his friends."

  Lincoln nodded. "I suspect so."

  "Bloody hell," Seth murmured. "I don't know what I was expecting, but not…that. They weren't all the same."

  "No," Lincoln said. "They weren't. I recognized Harriet, and I suspect the odd one out was King. As pack leader, he ordered her to follow."

  I tried to reconcile the pretty, delicate Harriet with the beast I'd just seen running off through the dark streets of London, but I couldn't. I wondered how she'd react next time I saw her. Embarrassed? Liberated? Perhaps she'd refuse to see me.

  "They were waiting for the rain to stop and darkness to fall, so they could go for a run," Seth said.