The Bellingham Bloodbath (20 page)

“ 'E
said ya gotta put this on.” The skinny little black-haired urchin we had hired to watch the Easterbrooke flat shook a long, dark cloak and cap at me. “ 'E don't want ya ta be seen when I take ya to 'im.”

“He said that, did he?” I scowled as I plucked the wrinkled, threadbare cloak out of his hand. “And where did you get this?”

“Me da,” he answered. “And I gotta get it back to 'im afore 'e 'eads out ta get guttered. So I 'ope ya don't plan on keepin' it all bloomin' night.”

A strong pungency of sour ale and infrequent hygiene assaulted my nose as I settled it on my shoulders. “Perish the thought,” I muttered.

I accepted the cap from the boy, taking care not to inspect it too closely before slipping it on my head. I had only just arrived from Buckingham and he had me smelling like one of the bilge rats that lurked about the shores of the Thames. If Edwina Easterbrooke or one of her neighbors had peeked out their window they would surely have summoned a bobby posthaste, and I wouldn't have blamed them. “So where exactly
is
Mr. Pendragon?”

“I already told ya—'e went off with me mate. Tol' me ta stay 'ere and bring ya to 'im when ya showed up.” He was staring at me with a critical eye and I had the distinct impression I was failing his assessment. “Wants ya ta be dark as the night. Don't want no one ta see ya comin'.”

“So you have said.”

My young accomplice shook his head. “It ain't right. Yer bloomin' face is shinin' like the bleedin' moon.”

“Well, I suppose that's because I haven't had the time to collect the detritus covering your face,” I shot back.

“You got a funny way a talkin'.” He snickered.

“Why don't you just take me to Mr. Pendragon and let me worry about the glow of my face,” I said, struggling to maintain some civility.

“Not till we get it right. 'Ere—” He reached over and splashed a fistful of mud onto my cheeks. I jerked back, but it didn't stop him from quickly transferring a portion to my nose, forehead, and chin. “Quit yer squirmin'.” He scowled before stepping back with a huge grin. “There now. You're good as the night. Should be worth a tuppence at least.”

“Get me to Mr. Pendragon or you will get nothing!” I groused.

“We 'ave ta take the Tube part a the way unless ya wanna snag a ride on the back of a carriage?”

“How about we get a ride
in
one. Assuming we can get someone to pick us up now that you have slathered me in muck.”

“Ya look good! 'E'll be right pleased ta see ya like that.”

“Just get us a ruddy cab already,” I grumbled.

The boy was successful almost at once, hailing a cab as it came bounding out of the park. I tugged the cap down over my face before stepping out of the shadows, keeping my chin low as I climbed into the seat.

“Take us ta Wappin',” the boy ordered. “And don't bugger about, either.”

“Piss off,” the driver called back.

“So we're headed to Wapping?” I asked as we got under way.

“ 'At's what I said.” He looked at me with a sly smile, brash and jaded. I had been so less sure of myself at this boy's age but no less determined.

It was a relief when the cab finally came to a halt a few minutes later just around the corner from Wapping High Street. The boy was very particular about where we should be dropped off: along the brick ramparts walling off the Thames, just behind a row of warehouses lined up like silent black monoliths.

I handed cash to the driver, who didn't even bother to take a second look at the mud caked on my face, and then waited with my young escort until the carriage had disappeared from sight. Only then did he whisper, “Let's go.”

He pulled his jacket around himself and hunched his shoulders against the wind that had kicked up near the water, starting down the High Street in the opposite direction from where the cab had just disappeared. We walked along the Thames for about a block and a half before abruptly cutting back behind a massive warehouse that hulked in the reflected moonlight. In spite of the extra light, I couldn't make out a sign or scrawled name anywhere along the length of the building. It had few distinguishing features at all as it stretched off far beyond my ability to discern it. Lanky weeds licked its sides and I could see some measure of disrepair: bits of crumbling mortar, curls of dark rotting paint that had drifted down from the eaves, and occasional shards of broken glass twinkling in the glow of the moon. It appeared that the warehouse had long ago outlived its usefulness.

Just as I began to gird myself for the possibility that this ruddy little scoundrel might be about to toss me, a dark form came flying down from somewhere overhead, landing nimbly in the shadows just to my left.

“That you, mate?” my companion hissed.

“ 'Oo else?” The sandy-haired boy stepped into a swath of light. While probably a year older and almost a handful of inches taller, he was every bit as slight. “ 'Bout bloody time ya got back,” he said.

“It were 'is fault—”

“We're here now!” I snapped. “Now where's Mr. Pendragon?”

“Up there.” The older boy, clearly the leader of this duo, gestured toward the roof. “I'll take ya up, but it'll cost ya another crown.”

“I do not need to be taken up,” I informed him, aware that neither of these boys could conceive that I had once been as they were. “Just show me where he is and the both of you can be off.”

The taller boy tilted his head and smiled at me before raising a hand and pointing toward the roof. “ 'Bout there.”

I stared up the thirty or so feet and realized I had seen no steps, ladders, or even trash bins upon which I could leverage myself. There was only the Cheshire grin of the rascal confirming that I was indeed being tossed.

“ 'Cause I like ya, I'll take ya up fer 'alf a crown,” he added, well pleased with himself.

“Fine!” I gritted my teeth, angry at having been bested by these two.

“And ya owe me a crown fer gettin' ya 'ere,” the smaller boy piped in.

I paid them both, grudgingly and without the dexterity Colin would have used, and in less time than it took to extract the coins from my pocket the older boy moved into the darkness across from where we were standing and seized a thin, flimsy ladder that had been hidden in the scrubby undergrowth. It took the full depth and breadth of my character to keep from throttling him, and I suppose a modicum of begrudging respect.

“Up ya go, now.” The cunning lad smirked at me.

I grabbed hold of the rickety frame and carefully worked my way to the top. The older boy held the bottom of it, but the fact of its fragility worked considerably against him, allowing it to sway and wobble with every step I took. It was a relief when my fingers finally grasped the lip of the flat roof and I was able to boost myself the rest of the way up.

The first thing I spotted was Colin squatting a short distance away peering through a roof access door. I leaned over and waved at the two boys to let them know I had made it safely, but neither seemed much interested. I figured I would have to pay them for a better response.

I glanced back at Colin and was startled to find him staring in my direction. I had thought my arrival appropriately furtive but had apparently overestimated myself. He gestured down with his open palm and I knew he meant for me to stay low. Keeping my legs bent and my hands on the roof, I moved rather like an ape who has yet to master walking upright.

“What's all over your face?” Colin asked the moment I reached him.

“Mud,” I grumbled. “Courtesy of your urchins.”

He chuckled. “They're good lads. And how'd you do with the corporal?”

“I got it.”

“Excellent!” He cuffed me before turning and glancing back through the doorway he'd been holding open with the toe of a boot.

“What are we doing here?”

“We're allowing the Nesbitt-Normand case to solve itself.” He grinned. “A carriage driven by Edwina Easterbrooke's houseman and bearing both Miss Easterbrooke and a package the diameter of an oversized hatbox left the Easterbrooke flat little more than an hour ago. It made its way inside this warehouse, where it has been waiting patiently ever since.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Not what.” He looked back at me with a smirk. “Who.”

“It's just as you said then—they mean to get rid of their hostage.”

“Precisely. Now listen closely, because we're only going to get one chance at this. There is a catwalk running along the perimeter of the ceiling just a few steps below us. I'm going to wedge this old whore of a door open just enough for us to get inside. We need to witness everything that happens here tonight.”

I nodded as he set to work easing the door open one millimeter at a time. It was painstaking work, with the door giving grudgingly, but at least it wasn't screeching under his duress. I looked at the hinges, amazed at their continued silence, and was surprised to find them glistening as though after a recent rain. “Did you put oil on those?” I whispered, wondering where he would have found any.

“No. Piss.”

“What?!”

“The acid makes a passable lubricant for rust.” He shrugged. “And I had to go anyway.” He worked the door to just about the halfway point before quietly sidling inside. “Not a word,” he mouthed under his breath.

I shook my head as I stepped in behind him, making sure not to brush against the door or its frame. We left it like that, gaping like a toothless rummy, and I knew it would stay that way until someone else came along and recoaxed those hinges back to life—one way or another.

Colin pulled me down beside him and I caught my first glimpse at the catwalk itself. It was wrought iron and not even four feet high, which meant we would have to move about on our hands and knees. A notion my joints were already loathing.

I gazed down and saw a single carriage on the warehouse floor amid a sea of stacked crates and boxes. Rows of skylights glowed with the moon's frosty brilliance, bathing the great space below in diffused light. A small lantern flickered near the carriage, seemingly serving no other purpose than to further banish the darkness. I couldn't see anyone nor could I detect any movement within the carriage itself, as its curtains were drawn, without even the faintest sliver of light peeking from within.

Colin beckoned me with a wave and we began to make our way through the silent darkness high above the warehouse floor. My knees objected almost at once, but I determined to pay them no heed as I worked to keep Colin from disappearing from sight.

A sudden clatter on our left startled me, but Colin took advantage of it to move quicker. I had to redouble my efforts to keep up with him and was relieved when he finally slowed and came to a halt. He pointed a short distance ahead to a metal ladder attached to the wall that descended to the floor. Given the steadily increasing clamor coming out of the darkness, it seemed that now was as good a time as any to make our move. It took another minute before I recognized that the thunderous racket was the sound of one of the warehouse doors grinding open. I only hoped it was to allow someone entry rather than for Miss Easterbrooke to leave. The thought of accomplishing nothing after all this effort felt intolerable.

Colin grabbed hold of the ladder and swung himself onto it, quickly dropping from sight. I followed suit, clinging to those cold metal rungs as I made my way down, all the while hoping the ladder was well attached to the wall passing inches from my face.

My feet found the floor faster than I had anticipated and I arrived at Colin's side just in time to hear another carriage clatter past on the other side of the crates we were hiding behind. A low, deep voice urged the horse to slow and then stop, and before the animal even settled Colin started creeping forward on the balls of his feet. I stayed right behind him, though he had yet to signal me forward.

Hurried footsteps rushed toward us from the direction of the grinding door as we plastered ourselves against the tower of crates. I cautiously leaned into a crevice of light cast between the gap along two rows of boxes and caught sight of Edwina Easterbrooke's man, Alvin, rushing past. I was certain he had gone by too quickly to have spied us, yet my heartbeat ratcheted just the same.

Colin moved off in the same direction and I trailed him, trying to keep my footsteps in a steady rhythm with his. Even so, I had to slow down, as it seemed the
tap, tap, tap
of my shoes echoing against the wood floor would surely give us away. I was considering removing my shoes entirely when I glanced up and realized I had lost Colin. Stacks of crates stretching more than fifteen feet above me formed so complete a maze that I could no longer even be sure if I was heading in the right direction. The cascading moonlight did little to dispel my confusion as it struck the tops of the towering containers, diffusing itself at oblique angles but never quite reaching where I was stumbling about.

My heart thundered in my ears as I stopped for a moment and struggled to get my bearings. I couldn't spot the warehouse walls through the jumble of boxes and began to fear that I was moving in an ever-increasing circle. I cursed myself for being so careless as I pulled the foul-smelling cloak tighter around myself and began slowly creeping along, all the while listening for anything that would help me decipher my whereabouts. Drawing my breath with methodical precision, I strained to catch a murmuring voice, the snort of a horse, or even a carriage wheel clicking idly against the floor. Something . . . anything . . .

I snuck across an intersection of boxes and was on the verge of hazarding another breath when a hand clamped over my mouth at the same instant an arm seized my chest, yanking me backwards and nearly arresting my heart. “Ssshhh,” Colin hissed, his lips raking my ear. He released me and pointed to the left through a tiny space between two enormous crates. I could just make out a bit of Edwina Easterbrooke standing in a small circle of light by her carriage. She was not more than twenty feet from where we were, wearing a most grim expression.