by C. J. Archer
We passed through the Highgate Cemetery gate and I nodded at the two horses tied up nearby. "It's too far to walk so I brought transportation." I'd managed to saddle them on my own; Seth had taught me how. I'd brought the two most docile horses in the stables and prayed they wouldn't be spooked by the ethereal quiet of the foggy night, or by Gordon.
I'd left a note on the kitchen table for Cook. I didn't want to wake him and he wouldn't have been as useful as Gordon anyway. Hopefully I'd be back before he or one of the others read it. No doubt it would cause alarm, despite my assurance that Gordon could protect me.
"Do you know the way to Lee's?" he asked me.
"Not precisely. Lower Pell Lane is near the docks, but that's all I know."
"I'm well familiar with it," he said drily. "I could find my way there with my eyes closed."
He held my horse while I mounted, then spent a moment to familiarize himself with the other. It shied away from him at first, but a few gentle words and pats coaxed it to stand still and allow him to mount. Even so, its ears twitched back and forth and its nostrils flared.
We rode south as quickly as I dared. With no traffic to get in the way, it was an easy ride, thank goodness. Gordon was more comfortable on horseback than me, as most gentlemen would be, and he frequently had to stop and wait. We dismounted in a tavern yard around the corner from Lower Pell Lane and paid a tired looking stable lad to mind the horses. Gordon clung to the shadows as I completed the transaction.
Despite the late hour, a few drunkards came and went from the tavern but took no notice of us. Dressed in my boys' trousers, I blended in. We were a few streets north of the actual docks, and aside from taverns and alehouses, there were shops selling wares that travelers or sailors might need. All were shut up for the night, some with lamps valiantly trying to ward off thieves, all with heavy locks on doors.
I held my lantern high and walked swiftly to keep up with Gordon. We headed away from Ratcliff Highway, through an arch, along a narrow passage and into a courtyard crammed with tenements. Faded signs hung above doors announcing that lodgings could be had within. There were other signs too, in a script I couldn't understand.
Gordon fixed on a door with the symbol of a dragon etched into the wood. "This is it," he said. "Lee has rooms inside and a man on the door. He'll scream blue murder if we're police, but shouldn't put up a fuss when he sees it's just two lads, especially if I use Mr. Lee's name. He's had this establishment a few years now, ever since the authorities began cracking down on the dens, and he had to leave his shop for something more discreet. Be prepared, Miss Charlie. It's a hovel."
I drew in a deep breath and nodded at the door. "I'm ready."
He pulled up the collar of his suit to cover his chin and mouth and drew some of his hair over his face. A few strands fell out as he did so. He knocked and the door was opened by a Chinaman with a long black ponytail and sleepy eyes. His age was difficult to discern, but his face was quite youthful. The smell of smoke drifted to us, tickling my nose.
Gordon bowed before the man could fully see his face. "Is Mr. Lee in? I've brought a friend with me this time."
The Chinaman bowed and so did I. When he straightened, he indicated we should go through. "Mr. Lee at home," he said and sat again on a stool by the door.
We headed up a flight of wooden stairs. The burning smell grew stronger, but it wasn't quite the same smell as a fireplace. It was more acrid, and the closer we drew to the room at the top of the stairs, the more my eyes watered.
Gordon opened the door and the fumes almost overpowered me. I coughed into the haze of smoke and wiped tears from my stinging eyes. Gordon took my arm. His eyes were fine. He would be unaffected by such mortal things as opium fumes.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the room was quite small. Clothing and bedsheets hung from the ceiling on string, but for what purpose, I couldn't say. If Mr. Lee did his laundry in there, it would never be free of the smoke. A large bed occupied most of the room, but there were two other narrow beds as well, two chairs, a table and stove. When I realized how many people lay on the three beds, my jaw dropped. There were two on each of the smaller cots, lying curled on their sides, and at least four or five on the bigger bed. It was difficult to determine the number as the limbs were splayed here and there, and the bodies packed together. One or two raised their heads upon our entry, but most simply lay there in a stupor, writhing every now and again, like snakes. Even more men sat or lay on the floor, pipes drooping from their mouths. Most stared vacantly, but a few were intent on their conversations or lighting their pipes.
An ancient Chinaman shuffled over to meet us. As with the fellow downstairs, he wore his hair in a long ponytail. His face, however, was quite a shock. It held little more life than Gordon's. The pallor was almost the same, the eyes and cheeks were just as sunken, and the bones at his shoulders protruded through his clothing. The corpse-like figure bowed at us and we bowed back.
"Mr. Lee," Gordon said. "It has been some time since I've been."
Mr. Lee searched Gordon's face for signs of recognition. Either he found some or he thought he must be a friend since he'd greeted him by name, because he ushered us inside. He didn't seem to realize he'd welcomed a dead man in. Now that I was closer, I could see the smokers more clearly. They were from all walks of life; some with English faces, but others different shades of brown, Oriental and one even appeared to be a woman with red hair that fanned out on the pillow like a disheveled aura. She opened her heavy lidded eyes, muttered something, then closed them again and rolled on her side, away from us.
Mr. Lee led us to the table, where a small lamp burned and some pipes had been laid out beside a box. He indicated we should sit, and I realized he was going to prepare us an opium pipe.
I shook my head. "No, no. We're looking for someone. A man." I left Gordon to explain while I moved around the room, checking each face. Of the Englishmen there, none wore spectacles and all were under the effects of opium. If the captain had been there earlier, he wasn't there now.
I rubbed my temple and my fingers came away slippery with sweat. I removed my jacket and slung it over the back of one of the chairs then plopped down on the chair itself. My legs felt heavy, as if they didn't belong to me, and I worried I wouldn't be able to walk out again.
A hand settled on my shoulder, startling me. I jumped, but it was Gordon. Except his hand bore no skin. It was only bone and sinew now. How had he deteriorated so quickly? I blinked and his hand returned to normal. How peculiar.
"Are you all right?" he asked me, frowning.
"I think I'm seeing things."
"Hallucinations. It's the opium doing that to you. You're small and unused to it. It'll affect you easily. We'll go soon."
I nodded again, but wasn't sure how well I managed the motion with such a heavy head.
"There's another room through there." He pointed to a doorway I hadn't seen before. There was no door, only a curtain hanging from a string. "That's where the wealthier customers go. That's where we'll find him."
"Him," I repeated dully. "The captain?"
His hand patted my shoulder then he headed toward the curtain. Mr. Lee settled down onto a floor cushion in the corner of the room and picked up a pipe. He didn't seem to care what we did.
I hauled myself to my feet and followed Gordon. The room beyond the curtain was just as smoky but a lamp burned through the haze, providing more light than the candles in the main room. There was only one bed with one man lying on it, his body so thin that he was almost flat. Another man sat on the bed at his side, his back to us. He held a syringe against the unconscious man's arm. He was going to inject him!
"Stop!" I cried, lunging forward. I lost my balance and Gordon caught me, but I lost sight of the men in the process.
Then someone appeared at my side. Not Gordon. He wore spectacles and seemed quite alert, compared to the opium addicts. The captain! He held up a syringe filled with dark red liquid. Blood?
Bile rose to my thr
oat. I covered my mouth and somehow managed not to vomit.
"Who're you?" the man said in cultured, crisp tones.
"Good evening, Captain," Gordon said.
I'd sunk to my knees at some point, and now looked up to see the man known as the captain stare at Gordon, his jaw slack. He lifted a hand to Gordon's face, but pulled back without touching. Gordon smiled and the captain recoiled altogether.
"My God." The captain shuffled backward and fell on the bed. The figure in it groaned but didn't move. He was still alive, but an air of death hung around him. I could sense it, despite my addled brain.
I got to my feet and lurched to the bed. I rested a hand on the man's chest and felt for a heartbeat. It was terribly weak and slow. He wouldn't last much longer.
"What were you doing to him?" I shouted.
But the captain wasn't listening to me. He was intent on Gordon. He looked as appalled as he was fascinated. "Thackery?" he squeaked. "What trick is this?"
"No trick."
"My god!" The captain set aside the syringe and got up again. "Come here so I can see you. Are you Gordon Thackery's twin?"
Gordon chuckled, and the brittle sound sent a chill down my spine. I was glad I wasn't the focus of his attention at that moment. I was the focus of no one's attention. My legs once again felt too heavy to hold me up, so I sat down on the bed. My foot hit something solid. A bag, like the sort doctors carry. I bent down to inspect its contents but it was whipped away by the captain.
He clutched it to his chest. "Who're you and what do you want?" he snapped at me.
"I want to know what you're doing to these men." I indicated the near-dead fellow on the bed, and Gordon. "Tell us why you're killing them? What are you doing with them? What do you want with them after their death?" A thousand other questions and thoughts flittered through my head like bees, all buzzing about. My mind would see one, run for it and try to grasp it, but the bee would dash off before it could be caught. It was maddening, confusing. I pressed a hand to my forehead.
"Answer her," Gordon growled. "I'd like to know what you want with me too, now that I'm dead."
The captain hugged his bag tighter and tried to edge past Gordon toward the door. Gordon blocked his path. The captain swallowed heavily. Now that he was closer to Gordon, he must be able to see the signs of decomposition. He'd gone quite a bit paler.
"Y—you're…Gordon Thackery."
Gordon nodded. "I have no twin."
"Y—you're dead."
"Quite. Tell me, Captain, did you kill me? I don't seem to recall much from that night, except that you visited me here."
The captain began to shake all over and a drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face. "Let me out! Let me out of here!"
Nobody came to his aid.
He tried to dodge Gordon but couldn't. Cursing, he opened his bag and pulled out a gun. He didn't point it at Gordon, however. He pointed it at me.
"No!" I cried. "Don't shoot!"
Gordon put up his hands in surrender and stepped aside. The captain ran past, flipped the curtain aside, and disappeared.
"You promised me discretion!" he shouted at someone, presumably Mr. Lee. Then the main door slammed shut.
As I once more struggled to stand, the Chinaman who'd been guarding the downstairs door suddenly appeared. He held a pistol, although at first I thought it was a black lizard. The part of my brain still functioning normally realized that it was a hallucination.
"You, out," he ordered Gordon and me. "Mr. Lee want no trouble."
"We'd better do as he says, Miss Charlie," Gordon said. "Mr. Lee may have sent for you, but I'm assuming this is more than he bargained for."
"Agreed." I was about to get up when the body on the bed gave a final gasp then went still. A moment later the spirit rose from it, glanced around, and was about to take off when it saw me watching him and not his body.
"Good evening," I said. "My name is Charlie Holloway. I'm a necromancer."
"A bloody what?"
I waved my hand. It was too difficult to explain. "Can you tell me what that man wanted with you? The man known as the captain?"
"Jasper? What's it to you?"
Jasper! I must remember that. "It's a long story, but he's linked to some grave robberies."
He shrugged. "Why should I care?"
"Because your body may be the next one he steals from its final resting place."
That got his attention. The spirit swooped closer. "Did he kill me?"
"I don't know. He might have, or you might have died anyway. I do know that he's feeding a substance to opium addicts while they are barely conscious, then, after their death, digging up their bodies. Can you tell us any more than that?"
The spirit's features bunched into a frown. "That bloody cur. If he hadn't run off like a coward, I'd bloody kill him."
"Sir? Answer my question, please."
"I don't need to answer nothing, now. But I can tell you this. If that man had anything to do with my death, I'll come back and haunt him until he's out of his mind. If you find him, you tell him that from me."
"I'll be sure to." I sighed. "So you can't tell me anything more?"
"No." The mist looked at the ceiling and I thought he was about to disappear when he added, "He fed me something on a spoon sometimes, and said my sacrifice would be worth it."
"Worth it? Worth what?"
"That's all I know." Without even a goodbye, the mist drifted off.
"Well, that was rude," I said, finally pushing myself to my feet. Except my feet wouldn't obey and I fell back onto the bed once more. I tried, and failed, again. I yawned and closed my heavy eyelids. "I might rest here a few moments."
"Not yet," Gordon said. "I got you, Miss Charlie." He scooped me into his arms and turned toward the door. I opened my eyes when he didn't move.
The Chinamen still barred the doorway, but he now shook from head to toe, his eyes huge as he stared at Gordon. Mr. Lee stood beside him, a gun in hand. He seemed more composed, or perhaps he thought the cadaver advancing on him was merely an opium-fueled illusion. Either way, he was unperturbed. He lowered his gun, bowed, and backed out through the doorway.
Gordon went to follow, but the young Chinaman wasn't quite so calm. Sweat dripped from his temples and beaded on his bare top lip. The hand that held the pistol shook as he raised it.
"Put it down." If I'd had any doubts that Gordon had been in the army, his command would have banished them. "Let us pass."
The Chinaman said something in his native tongue, shook his head, and fired.
CHAPTER 11
The sound of shattering glass set off a sequence of seemingly disconnected events. The room went dark—or perhaps I'd closed my eyes. I spun around and around, like I was on an out of control carousel. But wasn't Gordon holding me? My head swam. My stomach lurched. I fell.
I landed on something soft, much to my aching head's appreciation. I passed a hand over my stinging eyes—they were definitely open—and felt around me.
I touched something. An arm, a shoulder, a face and hair. The corpse on the bed. I screamed, but it was lost in the din of noise that had exploded in the room. Voices blended together like an out of tune orchestra, some shouting, others groaning. I heard my name, but I couldn't be certain who'd called it.
I stopped screaming. I pushed myself up into a sitting position. The gunshot! I checked myself over, but I was unharmed.
A fight had broken out near the door where some light filtered through from the main room. Gordon wrestled with a man who seemed to be a match for him. But how could that be? The dead possessed superior strength when raised. No mere human could dodge his rapid-fire punches then get in pounding blows of their own that had Gordon stumbling backward. Gordon reacted by kicking out, but his opponent anticipated that too and jumped out of the way. A kick to the back of Gordon's knees unbalanced him, and in the blink of an eye, my bodyguard was pinned to the floor beneath—
"Lincoln? Is that you?" I squinted into the d
imness then got off the bed, only to find my legs wouldn't obey me. I collapsed back onto the mattress.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his breathing a little faster than usual.
"Yes. But why did you attack Gordon?"
Gordon grunted into the floorboards. "A good question."
Lincoln leaned closer to Gordon's face then got off him. "I didn't know it was him." He came to the bed and knelt in front of me. At least, I thought he was directly in front of me. It was difficult to tell. My eyes seemed to be playing tricks on me, and at times he appeared to be several feet away. "We need to leave. Can you stand?"
"Not very well."
He glanced over his shoulder and said a few unintelligible words to the young Oriental man standing near the curtained doorway. He held the gun loosely at his side, but his wide eyes stared at Gordon as my bodyguard stood up. Gordon took a step forward and the Oriental inched back, muttering something under his breath. Mr. Lee was nowhere to be seen.
Lincoln picked me up and I snuggled into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "Thank you," I murmured.
Gordon held the curtain back and we passed through. Mr. Lee was once more sitting on his cushion, a pipe plugged into his mouth. Some of the other smokers were sitting up, their droopy-lidded eyes following our progress as Lincoln picked his way through the collection of bodies sprawled on the floor.
"Thank you, Mr. Lee," I said to the ancient Chinaman. "Please notify us again if the captain returns."
He made no acknowledgement, simply dragged on his pipe and blew out a long chain of smoke. Gordon, my jacket in his hand, went first down the stairs, and Lincoln and I followed behind. Outside, the blissfully cool air soothed my eyes and hot skin. I never thought London's air could smell so sweet, but after the thick fumes of the opium, it was the freshest air in the world.
The young Chinaman had followed us down. He said something to Lincoln in his own tongue, pointed at Gordon, and slammed the door shut.
"I don't think he likes me," Gordon said cheerfully.