“Oh, map!” he said, nodding in an exaggerated fashion. “A map of what?” he asked loudly and slowly.
“Under city.”
“Say that again?” he asked.
Oh, for crying out loud . . .
“Is something the matter here?” A short, older woman with shockingly white hair approached the man in the tweed suit.
“Uh, no. She’s just looking for a map,” he replied.
“Under city,” repeated Michiko.
“Well, let’s help her find it, then,” replied the woman, placing a friendly hand on Michiko’s shoulder and guiding her to the center of the room.
The reading room was the sort of uniquely Western space that made Michiko uncomfortable. Too tall, too wide, too round. The dome above her overwhelmed her, and she had to make an effort to keep her gaze planted straight ahead.
“Sorry for my colleague’s behavior. He didn’t want to be here today, after everything. If one landmark gets it, then maybe this one is next, is the worry. But, I say you carry on no matter what. You don’t hold yourself prisoner to some voice in the sky. That’s the British way.”
Michiko understood half of what the friendly woman said, but nodded as if it all made sense to her.
“Makes for a quiet afternoon, though.” The woman put on a pair of thin cotton gloves and pulled open a large wooden drawer. She carefully thumbed through some pages and finally pulled out a big square parchment page with two round wooden sticks attached on two ends. These she held on to as she carried the map to the table and Michiko sat in front of it.
“This half shows a map of all the sewers. And this half shows the underground train systems, including the ones no longer in use.”
Michiko nodded. She knew what “sewer” meant. And “underground” and “train” made sense to her as well. She examined the parchment closely. There were lines crisscrossing London, and she recognized many of the stops. Then she noticed a line that ran parallel to Tower Bridge. “What that?” she asked the woman, who put on a pair of tiny spectacles that had been hanging around her neck on a silver chain and leaned over the map.
“Ah, that would be Tower Subway. They tried a train there for a couple months, but shut it down and left it open for foot traffic. They closed it completely a couple of years ago.”
Michiko understood the gist of this. But she was still astounded by the proximity of the tunnel to the Tower of London. She had a thought. Scanning the map, she found the British Museum. Sure enough, there was another line at the spot, with a train station marked. And, of course, they had found the first dead body near the Embankment station . . .
It was all coming together. Her hunch was right. She just knew it.
“Need anything else?” asked the librarian.
Michiko nodded. “Paper. Ink.”
She had to copy it all. And quickly.
40
What Nellie Did . . .
BACK AGAIN, THOUGHT Nellie staring at the Medical and Scientific Institute. She wasn’t entirely certain if she’d find Mr. Staunch and Mr. Proper on the premises, but she didn’t think they’d be grave-robbing in the middle of the day. If she ran such a business, she was certain she’d rob at night and try to sell her . . . wares . . . in the day. And considering the two men’s association with Dr. Mantis, she thought it likely they sold their wares . . . here.
Of course, there was the matter of the recently destroyed St. Paul’s and the fact that in the aftermath most people had shut themselves in their homes. Still. It was worth a shot.
“Have Mr. Staunch and Mr. Proper arrived yet?” she asked, smiling brightly at the woman behind the main desk.
“Who’s asking?” the woman replied, giving Nellie a look of deep suspicion from over the rims of her glasses. She looked exhausted, overworked. She was packing up a small suitcase, as if she was getting ready to head out soon. And not remotely interested in helping Nellie out.
“My name’s Nellie Harrison. I work with the Great Raheem. There was a bit of confusion about a recent delivery we made.”
The woman nodded. Nellie loved name-dropping the Great Raheem. Especially when it got her stuff.
“In the theater, downstairs,” the woman said, and pointed toward a staircase in the far corner of the large, empty, white foyer.
A theater? They had theaters in the Medical and Scientific Institute?
Nellie walked lightly down the steps into a narrow low-ceilinged hall that led in only one direction. She followed it until she came upon a set of ornamented oak doors that looked to have been trimmed slightly to fit the space. Because of their awkward shape, they weren’t nearly as intimidating to Nellie as they maybe had been intended to be. Besides, if there was any place where Nellie was comfortable, it was in a theater.
She opened the door.
What she saw wasn’t the kind of theater she’d been expecting.
She was standing in a large dark room structured like an ancient Greek amphitheater. Seats in shadow rose up before her on three sides. It was hard to see how high up they went, as they vanished into the darkness. Not that it mattered much. Nellie’s attention wasn’t remotely focused on audience capacity. Who cared how many rows of seats the theater contained when a dead body, its pale white torso sliced open and its purple innards exposed, was lying on a table on the “stage,” the round empty center of the room that was lit with a bright white spotlight. Two figures stood, one at the head of the body, the other at the foot. Both were completely oblivious to her presence.
“Quality,” said the familiar voice of the man at the head. “See, you ’appy now?”
Apparently she’d found Mr. Staunch, all right. And, at the feet, judging by the domed head reflecting the bright light, was Dr. Mantis.
Time to back up slowly toward the exit, then . . .
“Oi! Mr. Staunch,” came a voice from up in the dark audience.
Oh dear.
“Mr. Proper, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“I see that, Mr. Staunch, but there’s that girl again.”
“Girl?”
“Right. Standing by the door. The Magician’s girl.”
She had her hand on the doorknob just as Dr. Mantis and Mr. Staunch turned to look at her.
“Hi,” she said, instantly flashing her smile.
“The one with the pretty eyes,” said Dr. Mantis softly, almost to himself, but Nellie heard him. Not the eyes thing again . . .
“What you doin’ ’ere?” asked Mr. Staunch, taking a step toward her. Nellie marveled that he could be wearing his round sunglasses in a dark theater and still manage to see, though, she supposed, the spot on the eviscerated body was as bright as daylight.
“Just checkin’ up on the delivery. Wanted to make sure all was . . .” She stopped talking. No one was falling for it. She wasn’t even falling for it. The two men moved toward her, and she thought that keeping her back to the door was starting to become just plain silly. She turned around and opened it a crack, but it slammed shut. Nellie looked up. A hand attached to a long pale arm hidden behind a dirty white lab coat was holding the door firmly in place.
She turned back around . . . only to find herself looking into Dr. Mantis’s beady eyes again. She had no glitter this time to aid in her escape. Note to self: Never leave home without glitter.
Mr. Staunch stood just behind him, and Mr. Proper joined him at his side.
“You know ’er?” asked Mr. Staunch.
“We’ve met. She was asking about the Society of Heroes,” replied Dr. Mantis in that hushed voice of his. He seemed determined to defeat her in some kind of staring contest, and she was terrified at what “winning” might look like. Or . . . not look like . . . Please don’t take my eyes, please.
“Was she, now? Now, why would you be askin’ about such a thing?” asked Mr. Staunch, leaning in. Up close, the smell of death on his person was far more pronounced. Yes, that’s certainly what that smells like, she concluded. There was something else, too. A strange sort of humming nois
e, faint, almost undetectable. But definitely present. And familiar.
“I have my reasons,” replied Nellie, distracted by the internal debate she was currently moderating. To knee in the groin or not to knee in the groin, that was the question. Would it be better to talk her way out of this or to get violent?
“Beautiful eyes,” said Dr. Mantis.
Knee in the groin it is.
Dr. Mantis dropped like a stone.
“What the hell do you think you’re doin’!” cried Mr. Staunch, his hands at her collarbone, pushing her hard against the door. He pressed his body close against hers so that her knee couldn’t go anywhere this time. The humming got louder as he did it, and she could feel his sweat dripping from his nose onto her chin. Dr. Mantis was doubled up in pain, but unfortunately, Messrs. Staunch and Proper weren’t. One knee, three groins . . . Bad math there, Nellie.
“This one’s trouble,” said Mr. Proper quietly.
“Indeed,” said Dr. Mantis, recovering himself.
“Shall we deal with ’er?” asked Mr. Staunch.
“Deal with her, yes. But save the good bits.”
“She’s got an awful lot of good bits,” pointed out Mr. Proper.
“Save them all, damn it!” It was the first time Nellie had heard Dr. Mantis raise his voice. Clearly Messrs. Staunch and Proper found it a rare occurrence as well.
“Maybe it’d make more sense if you just showed us what you wanted. We could do it right ’ere, right now.”
“No. She has to leave as she came in: whole. Take her to the cemetery. I’ll come to you after dinner and show you which bits I want. Till then, keep her fresh.” Dr. Mantis made his way back to the table the corpse was resting on.
The two nodded sharply in unison.
“Look, I’m sorry I kneed you, that wasn’t nice. But I’m really harmless . . . not sure why we need to go through all this bother. Come on, now. I’ll tell you what. You let me go, and I’ll give you each a kiss.” The thought turned her stomach as soon as she said it, but a moment of gross kissing was better than a lifetime of dead.
“I’ll tell you what,” replied Mr. Proper. “No.”
Mr. Staunch peeled her off the door, and Mr. Proper grabbed her around the waist. Nellie kicked out her legs, but Mr. Staunch deftly grabbed them. She twisted and turned; she was in a hot panic. No thoughts seemed reasonable; everything was crazy instinct. Fight or flight. Or, in this case, both. Adrenaline surged through her, and she figured if she made enough of a fuss, there’d be a bit of a problem in their trying to get her out of the building without drawing attention. For that matter, she’d scream, too.
Like this.
“And the little girl saw the body on the table and let out a horrified scream. Then she fainted, dead to the world.” She watched Dr. Mantis loom over her, in his hand a damp white cloth. She twisted her head around, but he caught her at the back of her skull, gripping the cloth in one hand. “Dead to the world,” he repeated softly as he placed the wet white cloth over her nose and mouth.
41
What Cora Did . . .
THE POST OFFICE seemed to be the only crowded place left in London. Cora hoped that tapping her foot might be a not-too-subtle hint that she had been waiting for quite some time now. Not complaining, not making a fuss, certainly not like the other customers in the place, all panic and frenzy, dropping books of stamps as they rushed out of the door and holding their hands over their heads like they were caught in a rainstorm. Yeah, as if that would protect a person from someone blowing up the city.
Finally, the round woman who’d disappeared into the back and, for all intents and purposes, it seemed, into another dimension, returned and beckoned Cora to join her behind her desk and take a seat.
“Right, love, got the records right here. What was the address again?”
For the fifth time, Cora repeated Lord White’s address, and the woman gave her a pleasant smile, licked her forefinger, and began turning the pages. One at a time. As if her book of records was on par with Shakespeare’s First Folio and required the same kind of delicate respect.
Do take as much time as you want, no rush or anything . . .
“Sorry about the wait,” said the woman as she turned the third page. “It’s a bit chaotic here, as you can see. Ever since the threat, people want to contact their loved ones . . . and it don’t help that everyone’s in a panic, not thinking straight.”
“You don’t seem particularly panicked yourself, though.” A little panic wouldn’t go amiss right about now.
“Gotta set a good example. But . . .” The woman stopped flipping and leaned in toward Cora. “But I’m right scared. Still, as a government employee, I gotta believe that they’ve got everything in hand.”
Cora thought back to the image of the Members of the House yelling and throwing things at one another, and decided that this was one of those moments in which honesty wasn’t the best policy. “I’m sure they do,” she said, and placed a comforting hand on the woman’s. The woman smiled appreciatively and returned to flipping through the book.
“Ah! There we go. Two delivery times.”
“Who placed the first delivery?”
The woman shook her head. “Don’t know. Signature’s hard to read. Let me call Lucy over. She was on duty that day. She might remember. Lucy!”
A thin, plain-looking girl, her face completely drained of color, ran over with wide, frightened eyes. “Yes, Winnie? Is everything okay?”
“It’s all fine, Lucy. Do you remember when this order was placed?” Winnie pointed to the page.
Lucy leaned over and had a look. She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I remember this one. It was a Chinese man. He didn’t speak a word of English, just handed me a note with the address on it and the package. And the money, of course. I think . . . I think I might still have the note.”
Lucy disappeared into the back of the room, pushing her way through a thick, new crowd of customers who buzzed with fearful energy. She returned a moment later with a neatly folded piece of paper. She passed it over to Cora, who unfolded it. The note was plain, with little more than Lord White’s address written on it, but the symbol embossed at the top was familiar.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cora said.
“Not kidding, that’s the paper. I like to collect interesting stationery,” explained Lucy.
Cora rose. “Thank you both very much. Here.” She passed back the piece of paper to Lucy and quickly left the post office for the empty street. It was quite a relief to be outside in deserted London once more, and Cora hailed a cab easily. Even though there was no one to use their services, London cabbies were evidently a devoted lot.
What a waste of time this trip had been. She should have just gone with Nellie in the first place. Now she had spent time looking into something she already suspected was the case, only to discover that her suspicions were accurate. From now on, Cora, trust your instincts.
She arrived at the Medical and Scientific Institute ten minutes later and stared at the dark, looming, Gothic building before her. It was pitch-black from soot, and clearly no one had ever attempted to give it a cleaning. Nonetheless, she could see the large carving of a slender bird with a long neck perched in an oval at the top. The same symbol as the one embossed on the note.
She entered the building and approached a woman who was making her way toward the doors Cora had just passed through.
“I’m looking for a girl. Blond. She probably arrived around three-quarters of an hour ago,” said Cora, stopping the woman.
She was met with a foul look. “Yes, I saw her.”
“She was looking for Mr. Staunch and Mr. Proper.”
“She was.”
“Is she still here?”
“No. She left with those two maybe twenty minutes ago.”
“She did?”
“They were down in the theater together. She must have fainted seeing the body on the table. They had to carry her out.”
Th
at didn’t sound remotely like Nellie.
“Where did they take her?” she asked.
“They hailed a cab and drove off.” The woman removed her glasses.
“All three of them?”
“Yes.” Cora thought hard for a moment. “Is there anything I can help you with exactly?” asked the woman, an edge to her voice.
“Give me a moment to think,” replied Cora, matching her tone. There was no doubt in Cora’s mind that Nellie had been kidnapped. And it was hard for her to problem-solve when she was starting to panic. Calm down. Calm down. She could only think of one thing: “Where do Mr. Staunch and Mr. Proper get their . . . goods?”
There was a moment in which the woman was clearly deciding between pretending she had no idea what Cora was talking about and just answering the question. Finally, she let out a sigh and said, “Graveyards, obviously.”
“Obviously. Do they have a particular . . . haunt?” The choice of the word had been unintentional, but was actually rather appropriate.
The woman thought some more. Then she smiled slightly and sighed again. “The Hammersmith Cemetery.”
“Thank you.” Cora practically ran out of the building. She didn’t know what was going on exactly, but she knew that time was of the essence.
42
Graves and Eyes
NELLIE COULDN’T ESCAPE her nightmare. The walls were high and black; she couldn’t move; she couldn’t speak. Wake up, Nellie, wake up. No. Yes. She was awake . . . she was . . . she flipped herself onto her back, onto her hands, which were tied tightly behind her. She saw sky. Sky up high, far away, farther away than usual. And getting darker, fading into night. She wanted to scream out, but something was in her mouth—shoved into her mouth and tied tightly at the nape of her neck. Her feet and knees were bound together as well. Help me. Someone help me. Help me before he comes and kills me.
The Friday Society Page 24
