The Underground

by Michelle E Lowe

  The light exposed the building’s disrepair and years of neglect. Clearly, it had been abandoned for some time. The whole place was rotting from the inside out. A strong, moldy stench sat in the air as thick as the sheets of dust that covered everything. No one else was around. If the workshop was a hive, it was a poorly guarded one.

  Pierce stepped toward the door across the way. As he did, it opened. The young thief came out and caught a glimpse of his victim before Pierce grabbed him and threw him to the floor.

  “Oi,” Joaquin whispered. “Shush! We don’t know how many of them are here.”

  Pierce was generally the one who talked sense into someone else who was acting irrational. Not this time. The fear of falling to Robin had turned his vision red.

  “Where is it, knobhead?” Pierce demanded while searching the thief’s pockets. “Where’s the coin?”

  The lad was caught so off guard, he only stuttered, “I . . . I . . . what?”

  Pierce didn’t find his stolen property and punched the youth across the face so hard he briefly wondered if he’d broken the boy’s cheekbone.

  “The coin, you cocker! The one you stole from me. Where is it?”

  The lad cried, but his tears did nothing to soften Pierce’s mood. He was raising his fist again when Taisia grabbed his arm.

  “Stop it! You can’t beat it out of him.”

  He tilted his chin up at her face burning with rage. Seeing her stern and disappointing expression at his barbaric behavior caused his temper to cool.

  She let go of him and knelt beside the terrorized youth. “We only want the necklace. Do you have it on you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Where is it, then?” Pierce demanded, straining to control his violent intentions.

  “I ga-gave it t-to the leaders,” he stammered. “They’re inside the printing room.”

  That was all Pierce needed to hear. He stood, unholstered his gun, and marched toward the door.

  “Whoa, Pierce,” Joaquin said, stepping in front of him. “Relax, eh?”

  “Out of my way,” he growled.

  “Just wait,” Joaquin demanded, slapping a hand on his chest when he tried walking by. “Let’s see what we’re up against first.”

  “Please, Pierce,” Taisia pleaded, rising to her full height. “Listen to your brother.”

  The woman had power over him. If she hadn’t been there, he’d already have pushed Joaquin aside and barged in, which, when he really thought about it, wasn’t such a wise plan.

  To the trembling thief at her feet, Taisia said, “Get out of here.”

  He rolled to his feet and ran out the front door.

  “All right,” Pierce huffed. “Let’s have a look.”

  Joaquin pushed the door open a little. Down the long aisle between tall, cylindrical printing machines, were two men at a desk with lit candles and gas lamps around them.

  “I can’t see much from here,” Joaquin admitted. “Follow me.”

  A caged spiral staircase near the left rear corner led up to a mezzanine. Joaquin and Pierce went upstairs to where an office overlooked the floors below. They crouched behind the railing and peeked between the bars. Outside light came in through tall windows. Two rows of textile printing machines sat on either side of the room—huge, copperplated contraptions that operated by large, rotating gears and spinning belts. Some had tattered linen still wrapped in their long rollers, with incompletely printed patterns on them. The color of their ink had faded ages ago.

  The men down the aisle sat beside the desk, which was actually a leaf table. There was another door behind them. They were drinking from flasks and counting the money stolen from Pierce.

  “Bloody hell,” Pierce grunted, shaking his head. “Look who it is, Joaquin.”

  Joaquin studied them.

  “Luca? Giles?” he said with a grin. “I thought they left England?”

  Pierce didn’t fancy the glee in his tone, as if he was giddy over this serendipitous moment.

  “Oi, focus up, boyo,” Pierce snapped. “This isn’t the time to reconnect with arseholes.”

  “Maybe it is,” Joaquin returned. “I can retrieve the coin without complications.”

  Pierce didn’t particularly care for that plan. Luca and Giles were Joaquin’s mates, as well as his faithful followers. Would he deceive them? What if they wanted Joaquin to rejoin them as their leader? Would he abandon his brother for them as he had on the night he slit Pierce’s throat?

  “Trust me,” Joaquin said.

  Pierce stared him dead in the eye, reminding himself of his decision to give Joaquin his trust. He was already being tested for that choice.

  Pierce leaned his forehead against the railing and sighed deeply. “All right.”

  Joaquin patted him on the shoulder. “Right. Stay here. I’ll handle this.”

  With that, he left, leaving Pierce waiting anxiously.

  * * *

  Joaquin crept back downstairs. Before entering, he gave himself a minute to prepare himself. Even though he was doing this for his brother, he had no intentions of harming his old gang mates. They had run together for many years, and although not completely trustworthy, they had never committed any wrongdoing against him.

  He opened the door and strolled down the aisle.

  “Gentlemen,” he announced loudly.

  Luca and Giles shot to their feet with guns drawn and aimed at him. Joaquin only hoped that trigger-happy fool, Luca, wouldn’t fire. He did not, so Joaquin held up his hands as he continued to approach. It took them a moment to recognize him.

  “Joaquin?” Luca said, thumbing the hammer forward. “Is it you, mate?”

  “Indeed,” he said, stopping and lowering his arms. “Small world.”

  “I should say so,” Giles said. “How did you find us?”

  “I was in the city visiting when I was robbed. I followed the little cocker thief here.”

  “Oh?” Luca looked at the money on the table. “I take it this is yours, then, eh?”

  “Aye, it is. What are you doing here? I thought you fled Britain.”

  “We were going to,” Luca explained, “but after your blasted brother shot my leg, we decided to lay low for a while in Northampton. When I healed up, we traveled on and arrived here. We found this old textile factory, and now we’re starting our own enterprise.”

  Joaquin arched an eyebrow.

  “An enterprise? Of thieves?”

  “Aye. We’re recruiting as we speak. Euan, who thieved you, is one of our best, so far.”

  “I see. Well, I do hope you will give back the money you’ve stolen, including the necklace.”

  “Necklace?” Giles asked. “You mean this?” He pulled the coin with the broken rope from his coat pocket. “It looks old. Can’t be worth nothin’, though.”

  “It means a lot,” Joaquin said, reaching out. “Now, if you would be so kind as to—”

  The door opened and in walked the young thief, Euan, and another lad, both holding Pierce and Taisia hostage. Euan held Pierce with his Oak Leaf revolver to his head, and the other youth had Taisia at knifepoint.

  Joaquin’s stomach bottomed out.

  “What’s this?” Luca demanded.

  “This lot attacked me, sir,” Euan reported, pushing Pierce along. “I managed to get away and grabbed Charles. We found them upstairs.”

  “Pierce?” Luca said in disbelief. “What are you . . . ?” He stopped himself and switched his attention to Joaquin. “What the fuck is this?”

  He needed to think of something quick before it was too late.

  “We’re on our way to Mansfield,” Joaquin lied.

  Luca nearly fell over.

  “Mansfield? Are you going after the loot?”

  “Indeed. I needed to stop in Birmingham first, but yes, that’s where we’re going.”

  “And you and Pierce are working together again?”

  Joaquin eyed his captive brother before turning back.

  “So he thinks.
I’ve convinced him to come with me. My intentions were to use him as bait for any British Guardian lingering about so as to obtain the money without difficulty.”

  Luca seemed unconvinced.

  “And you needed to pop in at Birmingham for what?”

  “This.” Joaquin stepped over to Pierce and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the dragonfly key and held it up. “This unlocks the strongbox.”

  “And this?” Giles said, holding out the coin. “What’s this, then, eh?”

  “It’s his,” Joaquin confessed, pointing at Pierce. “It protects him from the vampire after his blood.”

  “Joaquin, you bastard,” Pierce said indignantly. “Don’t tell ’em that shite.”

  “Too late,” Joaquin said. To Luca, he said, “I wanted him to keep trusting me, so I agreed to get the coin back.”

  “What about her?” Luca asked, referring to Taisia. “Who the hell is she?”

  “She’s my whore,” Joaquin stated off the top of his head.

  “You’re joking? My, my, you bloody well have been scheming. How much for an hour with her?”

  “Oi!” Pierce protested, trying to break away.

  “Shut it, Pierce,” Joaquin snapped. “I’m talking business here.”

  Giles leered at Taisia lustfully.

  “I’ve never had one like her before.”

  Joaquin could almost feel Pierce’s heated anger burning his back. If he didn’t end this soon, his hotheaded little brother would blow the whole thing and get them all killed.

  “Tell you what,” Joaquin said, again holding out his hand and walking toward the long leaf table. “Give me the money and the coin and you can have at her. No charge.”

  Joaquin had a single plan: to get close enough to grab Luca and hold him hostage. He was the one calling the shots, so, if he could nab him, they might stand a chance.

  “All right,” Luca agreed. “We’ll give it all back—if you take care of your brother first.”

  “What?” Pierce said.

  “Aye. In fact, do it right here.” Luca reached for his knife tucked inside its holster. “Slit ’im open.”

  He tossed the blade, and it landed with a clang on the floor near Joaquin’s feet. A nauseating sickness fluttered inside his stomach.

  He looked at the knife and raised his sights to Luca. “I need him, remember? To use as bait.”

  “Yeah, but the cats outta the bag now. Pierce knows what your plan is. What are you going to do with ’im? Tie him up and haul ’im all the way there? He’s too crafty, this one. He needs to be dealt with. Besides, you have us on your side, plus a couple more. We can pitch in and get the loot.”

  Sweat dappled Joaquin’s skin. This would be the third time Luca had prompted him to murder Pierce. If only the bastard would come around that blasted table.

  “Go on, Joaquin. Do it,” Luca instigated. “Kill your brother and be our leader again.”

  Inside his head, Freya’s voice rang like a dreadful bell.

  Hear my voice, Joaquin Landcross, and obey my command: You must kill your brother. Kill Pierce!

  It was the same torturous order that had chimed inside his skull that night in the forest and at the old parish.

  “Kill him,” Luca demanded again.

  The sickness grew and his skin turned into a hot, sweaty suit. He began falling away from himself, losing control of his body.

  You must kill your brother.

  He picked up the knife and slowly faced Pierce. His sight became unfocused as if someone was turning a diopter inside his head. His blurry eyesight always came just before the beast arrived.

  “What’s wrong with his eyes?” Charles asked.

  Taisia’s eyes widened in shock and fear. Pierce merely showed fear. After all, they had danced this jig before.

  “Joaquin, listen to me,” Pierce said, struggling against his captor. “Don’t do this. I’m your brother.”

  “I know,” Joaquin admitted as he approached. “I know exactly who you are.”

  “Joaquin!” Pierce exclaimed.

  Everything faded as though he were going blind. The sickness spread throughout his body as the beast took hold. He’d entered a living nightmare, one he was fully aware of, and yet powerless to fight. His own body was in charge, with no regard to what his mind wanted. Words echoed, sounding distant and incoherent. A humming, like a great energy inside a live wire, soon drowned out the noise. He no longer felt the knife he clutched. The last thing he saw was the tip of the blade touching Pierce’s neck.

  “Stop it! Stop!” Taisia bellowed as loud as she could. “Don’t hurt him, Joaquin!”

  Her voice rang like a piercing siren, dragging his attention back. His blurry vision cleared. He looked over at her. His eyes hurt as though he’d never used them before. The mere sight of her tearful face forced him to pause. Why did he need to kill Pierce? What was the purpose? If he slew Pierce, he’d take away so much: a son from his parents, a future husband to this woman, and a father to Joaquin’s future nieces and nephews to come. And Joaquin would lose the chance to have his brother back in his life. What was the point of this?

  “Do it, Joaquin!” Luca yelled. “Make him bleed!”

  Joaquin shifted the dagger and raised it.

  “No!” Taisia cried. “Please, Joaquin, don’t!”

  The painful scream could be heard for miles as Joaquin jabbed the steel blade into Euan’s shoulder.

  He had little time before Luca and Giles reacted. Joaquin snatched the gun from Euan and charged at Charles. If there weren’t a chance he’d shoot Taisia, he’d have used the firearm. Instead, he grabbed the surprised youth by the hand he was using to hold the knife and pulled him away from Taisia. Pierce clocked Euan across the face with his elbow while he wailed and rushed over to her.

  “Get down,” Pierce said, grabbing her and pulling her behind a printing machine.

  Joaquin turned and fired on Luca and Giles with both his and Pierce’s gun. With no guns of their own, the pair of young thieves took off toward the front entrance. Luca fired, then ran to take cover at the rear of the machine. Bullets ricocheted and sparked like small firecrackers off the copper frame and gears. Giles grabbed a gas lamp and threw it at Joaquin, who ducked. The lamp shattered into the printing machine behind him, bursting into flames. Giles tipped over the left table before running to the door behind him. Pierce, who was still shielding Taisia, raised his head in time to see him flee.

  “Don’t move,” Pierce told her.

  “Where are you going?” Taisia asked.

  Pierce ran for the door, jumping over the toppled table along the way.

  “Take care of her,” he called out to Joaquin as he followed Giles through the open doorway.

  Luca took aim at Pierce while Joaquin opened fire, spoiling his shot. Joaquin’s bullet found its way into Luca’s right shoulder. With a cry, he took a potshot at Joaquin and vanished behind the printer. Holding his guns outstretched, Joaquin approached. The scent of old linen cloth and the fire behind him touched his nose.

  “I don’t want to kill you, Luca,” he said as he rounded the printer. The long gear cogs obscured his view. “Just toss your gun and leave.”

  When he rounded the machine, he saw no one.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Watch out!” Taisia shouted.

  Luca appeared from the other side of the contraption where he had circled around and aimed his weapon, but Joaquin was quicker. He raised his pistols and fired, striking Luca at least four times. Luca hit the printer behind him and slid down it, dead.

  Joaquin lowered his weapons and bowed his head with a poignant sigh.

  “That’s it,” Taisia said, marching over to the body. “I’m getting my own gun.”

  Joaquin checked and saw the fire had latched onto the linen in the machine and was spreading fast. “Bugger.”

  * * *

  Pierce flew past the doorway and instantly found himself as an eight-year-old boy again. Inside another small an
d dimly lit room was a spinning mule. It resembled the mule he had worked with—the very one that had killed those other youngsters right before his eyes. Their haunting screams sent an icy current surging up his spine. It nailed him in place for a moment before the sight of Giles heading for a door unlocked his feet.

  “Oi! Stop, you wanker!”

  Pierce chased him inside what appeared to be a storage room, one without windows. The door shut behind him and he was blind. The sound of thundering footsteps going up stairs got him groping the blackness. The moment he found a stair railing, he heard a crashing of things falling off the steps and Giles hollering in pain. Pierce figured the idiot had fallen over something. Pierce made his way up the spiraling staircase, hoping he wouldn’t fall over whatever Giles had. A door opened above, bringing in light from the outside. It wasn’t much, and it lasted only for a short while, as the door quickly closed, but it gave Pierce enough time to reach the top safely.

  The moment he passed over the threshold, splinters of wood from the doorframe flew everywhere as Giles fired at him.

  “Finally got yourself a revolver, eh?” Pierce remarked, recovering from the close call. “You’re still a lousy marksman.”

  Giles had never been the best behind the gun.

  “Stay away from me, Pierce,” Giles said, backing up with the six-shooter aimed at him.

  Pierce reckoned the reason Giles hadn’t yet fired was because he was out of bullets or was trying to gain a better aim. Regardless, Pierce stepped forward.

  “I only want the coin, lad,” he calmly said. “Toss it to me and I’ll leave you be, eh?”

  “This?” he said, holding up his fist.

  “Yes. Hand it over, all right? No one needs to get hurt.”

  Giles took another step back. “Just leave me alone . . .”

  He tripped backward over the roof edge and dropped from sight.

  “Fuckin’ hell!” Pierce exclaimed, rushing over to the edge.

  Down below, lying in a pool of blood, was Giles. The fool had actually backed himself into Death’s hands. Pierce needed to reach the body quickly. Fortunately, a ledge rounded the building just far out enough to stand on. Pierce clambered over the edge of the rooftop and dropped down upon it, clutching the window’s edge to steady himself. The distance between the ledge and the ground was still too high to jump, but he managed to sit on the ledge and dangle from it for a little while before letting go. He dropped straight down and landed perfectly on his feet. He hurried over to the body. Luckily, the idiot had fallen at the building’s rear alleyway and not the front sidewalk, where everyone could see.