by C. J. Archer
“Precisely! You can’t risk them throwing you out.”
“Some of them are my friends. I don’t want them looking at me differently. I don’t want them hating me for destroying their businesses. That’s what would happen if I used my magic at work. You know that.” He settled his hands on his son’s shoulders. “You know that,” he said, softer.
Mr. Carpenter Junior shook his head sadly. “You should be creating pieces of art, Father. Your work should grace the drawing rooms of palaces. But instead, you’re half the man you ought to be because you preserve your best work for children. You just give it away!”
Mr. Carpenter Senior sighed. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? The money I could earn if I used magic at the workshop.”
Carpenter Junior pushed his father’s hands off his shoulders. “I don’t want that life for my children.”
“No, Son. The life you don’t want for your children is a life where they grow up not being able to use their magic anywhere. That’s what will happen if the bomber isn’t caught in time. Her actions will expose us and ruin what freedom we currently have. Mrs. Glass is right about the fear that would ensue.” He nodded at Brockwell. “Tell the inspector how to contact the fugitives so he can stop them in time.”
Mr. Carpenter Junior lifted his gaze to Brockwell’s but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I admit that I harbored them here, and helped them with disguises so they could escape the city, but I don’t know how to get in touch with them now. I didn’t even know they were in Brighton until you mentioned it.”
Willie swore. “God damn you, you son of a—”
“Willie!” I grabbed her arm as it went to sweep her coat aside. She was either about to put her hand on her hip or reach for her gun. I wasn’t prepared to gamble on the former.
Matt strode back to the carriage. Cyclops and Duke followed, but Willie remained with Brockwell as he informed Mr. Carpenter that there would be consequences for his actions. When the inspector also returned to the carriage, I had to force Willie to move away from the door. She glared at the two Carpenters with as much force as she could muster before storming off. I raced after her.
“Now what?” she asked as she climbed into the cabin and sat beside me.
“We set off for Brighton in this contraption,” Brockwell said, eyeing the horses dubiously. “Will they last the distance?”
Matt, still standing on the pavement, leaned his forearm on the doorframe. “We won’t make it in time. We wouldn’t even get there today.”
“We should return to Scotland Yard,” I said. “There might be a response from the Brighton police. Hopefully they’ve found them by now and we won’t have to worry.” I suspect my tone gave away the hopeless direction of my thoughts. Bunn and Amelia had escaped the police thus far; they wouldn’t get caught now.
“Matt,” Cyclops called out from the driver’s seat. “Woodall thinks there might be another way to reach Brighton on time.”
“You could catch the train to Hastings,” I heard the coachman say. “Change trains in Hastings and travel to Brighton along the south coast. The whole journey uses different lines to the derailment.”
“How long would that take?” Matt asked.
“Three hours, I reckon.”
I checked my watch. “We have three and a half hours.” I snapped the watch case closed. “Get in, Matt! Brockwell, make your way back to Scotland Yard. If the Brighton constabulary have caught them, send a wire to Victoria Station ticket office to notify us. Woodall, make haste!”
I thumped on the cabin ceiling before Matt had even closed the door. Brockwell leapt out of the way of the wheels but landed in a muddy puddle. He didn’t care and raced off to find a cab back to Scotland Yard.
“That low down cur,” Willie spat as we sped through the streets. “If he’d come forward yesterday, they could have been stopped from leaving the city.”
“What’s done is done,” I said, peering out of the window. “I’m sure he regrets his actions now that he knows how perilous the situation is.”
“I don’t know. He didn’t look like he regretted it. This is the problem with having children, India. Parents do stupid things for them. Don’t have them. They’ll loosen the screws in your head.” She tapped her forehead.
“Thank you for the lecture,” Matt growled. “But forgive us for not taking parenting advice from you.”
Willie sniffed. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“Well don’t.”
I frowned at Matt and rested my hand on his knee. Tension vibrated through him. I gave him a weak smile and he tried to give one back, but failed. He placed his hand over mine and squeezed. It was of little comfort.
It seemed to take an age to get to Victoria Station, but my watch said we still had time to make it to Hastings, but only if a train was leaving in the next ten minutes.
Unfortunately there wasn’t one scheduled for another forty according to the attendant at the ticket booth. “Why so late?” Matt snapped at the elderly man dressed in the uniform of the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway company.
“It’s Sunday, sir,” the man said with strained friendliness. It must be difficult to remain cheerful in the face of a glowering Matt. “The trains aren’t very frequent.”
“Don’t people wish to go to the seaside?” Willie asked.
“Not in winter, sir, and just before Christmas at that.”
“Fools,” she muttered. “And I ain’t a sir, I’m a miss. You need new spectacles.”
The attendant touched the frame of his glasses. “These ones work perfectly fine. I’m sorry for my mistake, but you are dressed in trousers.”
Willie plucked the fabric at her thighs. “These are buckskins.”
I nudged her aside and peered through the ticket booth window. “Have you received any telegrams here in the last few minutes for a Mr. or Mrs. Glass?”
“No, madam. No telegrams have arrived this morning.”
“Would you mind checking, please?”
He turned around and looked at the machine behind him. It was silent. “No telegrams, ma’am.”
I sighed. “Now what?” I asked Matt.
He tapped his finger on the ticket booth counter as he studied the timetable. “We need to get to Brighton by two.”
“Impossible,” the attendant said. “There has been a derailment on that line.”
“We know,” Matt said through gritted teeth. “That’s why we’re trying to purchase tickets to Hastings where we’ll change trains and continue on to Brighton.”
“It’s almost an hour and a half journey from Hastings to Brighton, sir. You won’t make it by two. Not with the Hastings train not departing for another…” He checked the large clock hanging from the roof by two rods of iron. “Thirty-seven minutes.”
Matt’s tapping fingers increased their tempo. “And there’s no other way to reach Brighton by two?”
The attendant clasped his hands on the counter and gave a tight smile. “No.”
“What about by canal or river?”
“No.”
Matt shook his head and walked off to join Duke and Cyclops. I watched him go with a sickening, sinking feeling. This truly was hopeless.
Willie placed her palms on the ticket booth counter. “Can you think of any way to get to Brighton by two?” she asked the attendant. “We’re desperate. We’ll pay for the fastest horses, the best driver.”
The attendant’s smile returned, tighter than ever. “Unless you can saddle up a large bird, there is no way for you to get to Brighton by two. Now, if you don’t mind, madam, there are people over there who appear to be waiting to purchase a ticket but have been too afraid to approach the booth.”
Willie swung around. “Why are they afraid? I ain’t frightening. Come on, India, we better go. India? You all right? You look strange.”
I shook my head, unable to form words. Only one thing occupied my mind and it was madness. Utter madness.
“You just had an idea, didn’t you?” Willie grabbed my hand and dragged me toward Matt, pacing beneath the clock. She beckoned for Cyclops and Duke to join us. “Matt, talk to India,” she said. “Find out what her plan is. She won’t tell me.”
I shook my head over and over but still did not speak.
Matt touched my chin and his frowning face came into focus. “India? What is it? What are you thinking?”
“No,” I said. “No, it’s not possible. It probably won’t work. It’s far too dangerous.”
“Which is it?” Willie asked, hands on hips. “Impossible, improbable or dangerous?”
“It’s a ridiculous idea. Forget about it.”
“Tell me your idea,” Matt said in the voice he used to coax information out of anxious or difficult women. It almost always worked. “We have no other choice. As it stands, you cannot get to Brighton by two. So any option is better than none, even if it’s ridiculous. And magical.”
I couldn’t believe I was going to suggest it, but they were all staring at me with earnestness. I was quite sure they would all agree it wasn’t a viable option once they heard it.
“You know Fabian and I created a spell to make carpet rise off the floor and move,” I said.
“You mean fly,” Duke said.
“I suppose I do.”
“But it didn’t hold Charbonneau’s weight,” Matt said.
“India could send it to Brighton with a letter pinned to it,” Cyclops suggested. “Can you direct its flight from here?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I need to see it to control its flight path. No, what I’m suggesting is even more ridiculous than that. Fabian came to me the other day with an idea to strengthen the rug by using iron as supports. If he uses his spell on them and I use my new one on the carpet, there’ll be twice as much control as well as support and no one will accidentally slide off.”
Matt’s lips parted in a quiet gasp.
Willie let out a whoop and slapped her thigh. “You want us to ride it!”
“I told you it was ridiculous,” I said.
“Sounds like fun to me.”
“That’s because you’re mad,” Duke told her. “No way I’m getting on that thing.”
“Fine. You stay here and make decorations with Letty. Me and India are going on a magic carpet ride.” She trotted off, only to glance over her shoulder and beckon us when she realized we lagged behind. “Well come on! There ain’t no time for dawdling.”
Matt took my hand and ushered me along the platform. “How confident are you it will work?”
I thought about lying, but Matt would see right through me. “Not very. But you were right. We don’t have any other choice.”
Chapter 14
Fabian was more excited by my idea than a little boy opening presents on Christmas morning. He spoke in English sentences peppered with French words as he ushered us into the drawing room.
“Aidez moi,” he said, picking up one end of the sofa.
Duke took the other while Matt and Cyclops removed tables off the rug. It was an enormous Oriental, covering almost the entire floor surface. It would fit all of us.
A lump rose to my throat. If this failed…
Once the furniture was clear, Fabian directed us to roll up the carpet. “I will fetch my rods.”
“You have iron rods lying around your house?” Willie asked.
“Bien sûr,” he said, striding off. “I do not know if a moment such as this will arise, so I keep some on hand.”
When he was gone, Matt eyed the roll of carpet. He shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“It might,” I said. “But I agree, we shouldn’t risk it. It’s far too dangerous. We must experiment first under controlled conditions, and increase the height and distance of each flight before taking on such an enormous task.”
“No, I mean we need to affix the iron rods to the carpet somehow. Simply resting the carpet on top of the rods could cause all sorts of issues. What if Charbonneau makes the rods fly at one speed but you direct the carpet to fly at another? The carpet will slip off.”
The men stood around the roll, scratching their jaws, while Willie called for the butler.
“Fetch rope,” she told him. “Lots of rope.”
“You going to strap the rug onto the rods?” Duke asked her.
“Like a saddle on a horse.”
Fabian returned carrying an iron rod in each hand. A footman followed, weighed down by an armful of them. The butler arrived with lengths of rope then the servants departed without batting an eye. They must have thought us mad.
We were mad to attempt something we hadn’t practiced.
“We can’t do this here,” Matt said as Willie picked up the coil of rope. “Once the carpet is mounted on the rods, we won’t get it through the window or door.”
“Then let’s take it outside onto the street,” she said.
“Too visible.”
“Where should we go?” Fabian asked.
“We need somewhere hidden away, discreet,” I said.
Precious minutes ticked by as we considered the difficulty of finding an outdoor surface large enough to spread out the rug where we would not be visible to the general public. A flat roof would be perfect but finding a flat roof in London was nigh impossible, let alone one we could get access to on a Sunday.
“It’s Sunday!” I said. “The shops are closed.”
“There’ll still be traffic along the main shopping thoroughfares,” Matt said.
“But not in the laneways. I know of a wide alley off Regent Street. It provides access for deliveries to the shops along Regent so the public don’t venture down it anyway, and today there won’t be any deliveries either.”
“And there won’t be any staff wandering about,” Cyclops said. He picked up one end of the rolled carpet and instructed Duke to get the other. “We’ll put this on the roof of the coach.”
“That’ll be discreet,” Willie said with a roll of her eyes.
“You got a better idea?” Cyclops shot back.
Between us we managed to take the carpet and the iron rods to the carriage. Thankfully we were in the large landau. With Duke sitting beside Woodall, and Cyclops standing on the groom’s seat at the rear, they held the rug between them. It extended over the roof at both ends and the front flopped onto one of the horse’s hind quarters, causing it to shy and the carriage to rock. Woodall calmed it and ordered Duke to hold the carpet higher.
Matt, Fabian, Willie and I sat in the cabin with the iron rods over our laps. The coach moved forward and it was as if a signal went off for Willie and Fabian. They couldn’t stop chatting about the “thrilling” prospect of flying over the city and on to Brighton. All I could think about was hurtling to my death.
Matt simply stared out the window. We were passing a church when he suddenly turned in his seat to peer out of the rear window. “Damn it,” he muttered.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Coyle and Hope were about to step into their carriage and saw us.”
“They’ll simply think we’ve bought a new rug and are taking it home.”
“On a Sunday? When they know you’ve been working on a new spell with wool magic?”
“Tell them we purchased this rug off Fabian and are taking it home,” Willie said.
“We’re heading in the opposite direction,” Matt pointed out.
“Then we’re taking it to a charitable organization on account of it being threadbare.” She clapped her hands together and rubbed them for warmth. “Don’t be so negative, you two.”
“I’m not negative,” Matt said.
“You are. And you’re in a bad mood.”
“We’re going to be flying through the air on a rug, Willie. It’s never been done before and one false move could see us die.”
I felt sick.
“It has been done in the past,” Fabian said. “There are written accounts of magic carpet rides from centuries ago.”
> Matt’s jaw hardened. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“That ain’t it,” Willie said. “You were in a foul mood before India suggested the magic carpet.”
“There’s a lot at stake,” I told her. “Matt is simply feeling the pressure of the urgency and scale of the matter.”
We turned a corner very fast and we all had to clutch at the iron rods before they rolled off our laps. Matt opened the window and told Woodall to be careful.
Woodall said something back which I couldn’t hear, and Matt closed the window. He turned to look through the rear window again.
“Coyle is following us,” he said. “Woodall’s trying to get rid of him.”
Just as he said it, the carriage took another sharp turn, sending us all sliding to our right. Duke and Cyclops must be having a devil of a time keeping the carpet in place on the roof.
After some more dangerous driving, Matt declared we’d lost Coyle. “He knows we’re up to something magical,” he said, facing forward again.
“It won’t matter because we won’t tell him what it is,” I said.
Fabian nodded. “He will ask me, I am sure of it, but I will not reveal anything to that pig. He cannot buy me.”
“Has he tried?” I asked.
“Of course. But I cannot be bought.”
“What about with something other than money?” Willie asked.
Fabian smiled. “He cannot get me what I want and even then, I would not give him a spell. India’s spells are hers to sell, not mine.”
“And I won’t sell them,” I said.
Matt gave me a firm nod and a half-hearted smile.
“So Fabian,” Willie began, “what is it you want?”
“Ah, I cannot tell you. It is my secret.” He winked at her and she blushed, which made him laugh.
When we finally came to a stop in the laneway, my fingers had frozen from holding onto the cold iron rods, despite my leather gloves. When I deposited the rods on the cobblestones beside the rolled up rug, I removed my gloves and blew on my hands.
Matt took them in his and rubbed. Behind him, the others set to work tying the iron rods to the base of the carpet. The lane was just wide enough for it to be laid out flat. Behind me, Woodall sat on the driver’s seat and awaited instruction. With the carriage blocking the only entrance to the alley, no one could see what we were doing from Regent Street if they happened to walk past.