The Changeling Murders (The Thief Taker Series Book 4)

by C. S. Quinn

  ‘Why do we come this way?’ she demanded. ‘’S rioting near.’

  But instead of obeying her orders, to Lynette’s surprise, the carriage stopped. She heard the driver hop down.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Lady Castlemaine ordered your carriage stop here,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘And you followed her orders?’ demanded Lynette, realising the driver had been threatened or bribed. ‘You realise the ’prentices are on the move? It’s not just my neck,’ she added. ‘How d’ya think they’ll treat a man driving a whore around?’

  The driver was shaking, his face white. He was very young, Lynette realised, her anger at him melting away.

  ‘She said I must stop,’ said the driver, casting a terrified glance up and down the street. ‘She said I must.’

  They were outside a private house and Lynette watched as Lady Castlemaine appeared at the door and made her way down the steps.

  There was a roar from the bottom of the street.

  ‘They’ve seen the carriage,’ said Lynette, fear mounting. ‘Get back to the horses. Quick.’

  Lady Castlemaine approached the coach. She looked up the street. A group of loud boys was shouting and pointing. She frowned and stepped up and into the carriage.

  ‘Drive!’ shouted Lynette, knocking on the roof as hard as she could. ‘God’s fish, drive!’

  The carriage began to move, jolting slowly over the cobbles as Lady Castlemaine sat, closing the door behind her.

  Lynette was shaking.

  ‘Look at you,’ said Lady Castlemaine contemptuously, settling herself on the plump seats. ‘You put up a good performance on stage, but when confronted with your betters you’re terrified.’

  Lynette shook her head. ‘They saw you get in the carriage,’ she said. ‘The ’prentices. Do yer not hear them?’

  Lady Castlemaine frowned. The crowd noise outside had risen in volume. Then a sharp patter of stones sounded on the thin wall of the carriage. Shouts came from ahead. The mob was blocking off the carriage’s escape.

  ‘You fool.’ Lynette was shaking her head. ‘They hate you. Do you not understand? They riot because of you. Because of your greed. You’ve just driven us both straight into the middle of them.’

  The carriage lurched suddenly. Lady Castlemaine clutched the seat to stop herself falling. The haughty arrogance had vanished now. A thud sounded out. Then another.

  ‘They throw clods of mud,’ said Lynette, ‘and God knows what else.’ She sat back on her hands and breathed out.

  ‘Drive!’ shouted Lady Castlemaine in panic. ‘Why do you not drive? Ride over them if you must.’

  ‘You’ve not seen a London mob before,’ said Lynette. ‘Once they get started there’s no stopping ’em.’

  The horses were twitching and slowing now. Men laid hands on their reins. A taunting shout had now risen up outside the carriage. It was a baying rhythmic chant. ‘The Catholic whore! The Catholic whore!’

  Lady Castlemaine clutched her crucifix. The glass carriage window smashed, and a dead cat landed unceremoniously at their feet. Lady Castlemaine drew back her feet in horror. Hands began appearing through the window now, grabbing, punching.

  ‘What will they do?’ screamed Lady Castlemaine, trying unsuccessfully to pull the curtain as a barrier.

  ‘If we’re lucky,’ said Lynette, ‘they’ll only kill us.’ She thought for a moment, then she stood and began drawing back the curtain at the window.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lady Castlemaine grabbed at her dress.

  ‘My old mother always told me don’t sit around and wait for the Reaper,’ said Lynette. ‘If I’m going, I’ll go doin’ what I do best, playing to the crowd.’ She adjusted her dress, tucked her hair behind her ears and grabbed the nearest pair of clutching hands. Then she kissed them. The rough fingers drew back in surprise. ‘Lend us a hand, will you?’ she shouted. ‘I’m coming out.’ Lynette pushed her head and upper body full out of the window and bellowed at the top of her voice, ‘Good people! Be civil! It is the Protestant whore!’

  There was a murmur and a few laughs. Lynette shouted the same words a second time. Now the laugh had rippled through the crowd.

  ‘If you tear me to pieces, I can’t learn me words for next week,’ she boomed. ‘And I’ve a special jig for the King I need both legs for.’

  ‘It’s Lynette!’ Male cries were sounding from the mob.

  The tone had changed now. Bloody threats had become whistles.

  ‘Sing us a song!’ cried a man loudly.

  Lynette took a breath and began singing. ‘Lady Castlemaine’s got a hole, a hole a holey hole hole! A whole lot ’a jew-els from Charlie the King . . . !’

  There were whoops of delight from the crowd now. The carriage jerked as people cleared and the driver began urging the horses through the clearing crowd.

  ‘Not too fast, John,’ hissed Lynette. ‘Don’t stir ’em up again. I’ll keep singing and you keep it steady.’

  They began moving at a slow trot, with Lynette bellowing ever more colourful lyrics as they went.

  They rounded into the familiar cobbles of Whitehall as Lynette sang about Lady Castlemaine stroking the King’s cocky-cock cocker spaniels. As they cleared the crowd, Lynette sunk back inside the carriage with a sigh of relief.

  Lady Castlemaine was wearing a strange expression. ‘You could have got out of the carriage and left me to be torn apart,’ she said.

  Lynette turned to her. ‘We are sisters, no matter what you think. And those are your sisters in the bawdy houses. You have a lot of faults, but you are no coward. If you have the money to help them, you should.’

  Lady Castlemaine’s expression was a peculiar mixture of confusion and hatred. She stood, shaking. ‘I am nothing like you,’ she said, her voice quavering strangely. ‘Do you know how many actresses he’s bedded? You are nothing. One of many. Nobody will remember your name. My children have titles, they are royalty.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ said Lynette mildly. ‘Your last little girl is as common as me.’

  Lady Castlemaine’s face contorted to dark rage. ‘Let me out,’ she demanded, knocking on the roof. ‘I’ll not stay another minute with this harlot.’

  Chapter 84

  In the tunnel below Covent Garden, Charlie and Lily could see a row of torches flaming.

  ‘It’s been used recently,’ said Charlie.

  ‘All kinds of madness happens after dark in Covent Garden,’ said Lily. ‘The King isn’t a man to miss out.’

  They passed beneath a set of exposed floorboards with a square section of a trapdoor cut into it. Charlie scratched at the soft wood and licked his finger.

  ‘Tavern floor,’ he confirmed, tasting the tang of a century of spilled beer. ‘I’ll wager The Swan is right above us. But the tunnel goes on.’

  He noticed something else. The sign of the Sun in Splendour had been scratched deep into the dirt floor at their feet.

  ‘An old safe-passage sign,’ said Lily. ‘This must have been one of the tunnels the Royalists used during the civil war.’

  Charlie looked forward. A newer section of tunnel had a bright brick floor and smelled of freshly dug earth. Thick oak struts kept the city above from crashing on their heads.

  Charlie mapped the route above, north away from the Strand, and east towards Drury Lane.

  They ran forward over the new bricks, following the ground curving up and around a corner. The tunnel joined a few wooden steps and came to an end at a red velvet curtain.

  ‘The King’s own private entrance,’ breathed Lily, climbing the steps and lifting the fabric to reveal a smart wooden door.

  Charlie turned the handle and a familiar odour of beer and bitter oranges greeted them.

  It was the King’s Theatre.

  Charlie and Lily’s feet met thick carpet. The tunnel door had taken them through to a small box, right next to the stage. There was a crashing sound from the front of the theatre. Then splintering of wood.
r />   ‘We’re too late,’ said Charlie. ‘The apprentices are already here.’

  Chapter 85

  ‘We need to get backstage,’ said Charlie. ‘If the apprentices find the Lord and Lady all is lost.’

  They ran along a narrow corridor and threw open the dressing room door. It had been abandoned in haste. Clothes were strewn around, and on a wide table holding a large wood-framed mirror there were half-pint pots of white-lead face paint, a tray of disordered mouse-hair eyebrows and patches and some jagged mounds of red lip paint.

  ‘The actresses and actors weren’t expecting an attack,’ said Lily, taking in a wall hung with wigs. ‘These are expensive things to leave unguarded in London.’

  Charlie’s eyes tracked to a little cupboard in the corner, unlocked, with ‘Company Property’ scrawled on the door.

  ‘What’s in the cupboard?’ asked Lily, moving forward.

  ‘Props,’ said Charlie. ‘Every theatre troupe has property they carry with them. Wands, crowns, wooden swords. The host theatre is supposed to lock them in this cupboard. But it’s bad luck to use real jewels or anything of value on stage. So they don’t usually bother. Ironic,’ he added, ‘because inside are the most valuable things in all of London.’

  He twisted the catch and the cupboard opened easily. Inside were an array of motley props. A skull, an hourglass, a few bent swords and a moth-eaten velvet cloak. And there, resting towards the gloomy back, were the two things Charlie had been searching for.

  The Lord and Lady.

  Chapter 86

  ‘Tom, what happened?’ whispered Maria.

  ‘Don’t call me that.’ Tom was sitting on the ground, hands clamped over his ears. He was rocking in a strange juddering motion, thudding his back against the wall. ‘It isn’t my name.’

  Maria’s mind went to the vial of poison stolen from his coat. She’d hidden it in the corner of the room, near the wine and food he’d left her.

  ‘You went to her, didn’t you?’ guessed Maria. ‘Your mother?’

  Tom was shaking his head. ‘I’m not her son,’ he said. ‘I am a changeling.’

  Maria stepped towards him.

  ‘No!’ Tom shouted. ‘Don’t you see? It’s dangerous? You lure him.’ Tom looked at Maria. ‘You,’ he said. ‘You have changed me. He knows. You haven’t long, Maria. I have seen how he kills. He has horrors planned for you. Good Friday approaches. I cannot contain him.’

  Maria’s gaze slipped to the wine he had left her. ‘Take a drink,’ she said. ‘Calm your nerves.’

  She picked up the vial of poison and tipped it into the bottle with a shaking hand. Tom was in the corner, looking at the floor. She went to him and passed him the bottle. He took it unthinkingly and raised it.

  ‘Cromwell thought me sent by God to help his cause,’ he said, hesitating, the bottle at his lips. ‘He thought wine a sin.’ He shot her a look of deep longing. ‘Fairies in the old tales are fallen angels,’ he murmured. ‘Magical beings fallen foul of God’s grace and stranded in the human world.’ Tom smiled. He drank deeply. Then he moved the bottle away from his mouth and looked at it quizzically, as though it contained a flavour he recognised. ‘You didn’t?’ began Tom. His fingers moved to search his coat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Maria. ‘Truly.’

  ‘You fool!’ said Tom. ‘He comes! You’ve summoned him.’

  Maria brought both hands together and clubbed at his head with all her might. Her manacled wrists struck the side of his face hard and Tom went down, stunned. Maria dropped to the same height, searching in his coat for a key.

  Suddenly Tom was screaming, rolling back and forth, holding his hands over his ears. Maria grabbed at him, trying to get hold, but he rolled out of reach.

  ‘You broke the mirrors!’ His voice was a screech, high-pitched and accusing. ‘You trapped me in the glass again!’

  Maria inched towards him. She thought she could perhaps get a grip on his foot, pull him back into her circle of movement.

  He twisted suddenly towards her. His eyes had a terrible expression.

  Maria drew back.

  Tom’s lips parted, and his voice came as a slow, drugged drawl. ‘You didn’t give me enough,’ he managed. ‘He is coming for you.’

  Chapter 87

  In the backstage of the theatre, Charlie realised he’d been holding his breath. In front of him were the two most priceless objects in all of London. Enough to start a war. To depose a king, or bring a man wealth for life.

  He reached to take them when the door behind him flew open. Charlie stepped back quickly, letting the cupboard door swing shut.

  Repent stood in the entrance, grinning. ‘Charlie Tuesday,’ he said. ‘A little whore told us about you. You’re looking for the Lord and Lady.’

  Charlie felt his heartbeat quicken. Lily touched his hand with her fingers. ‘Don’t let him bait you,’ she whispered. ‘It will do you no good.’

  Repent was drunk. He nodded at the key at Charlie’s neck. ‘That key unlocks them, I reckon.’

  Charlie unlooped the key from his neck and held it out. ‘This is nothing but a foundling token. Something so my mother might find me one day.’

  They could hear boyish shouts now. And the crashing of serial destruction.

  ‘Your mother never found you?’ sneered Repent. ‘I reckon she made her coins raising her skirts for nobles.’ His eyes glittered.

  ‘Charlie . . .’ began Lily. She was looking at the door behind them.

  Charlie’s hand shot forward so fast that Repent had no time to react. The sharp end of the key plunged into his face. Repent howled in pain and then Charlie punched low, driving left and right into Repent’s abdomen. Charlie straightened up and hammered the full weight of his head forward into Repent’s face. The apprentice’s nose exploded in blood and he staggered back. Then Charlie heard Lily cry out in pain behind him.

  He looked around to see she was struggling against a tall apprentice who had grabbed her. He had a cherubic appearance. Blond hair and angelic features. But his eyes were hard and thick with drink.

  ‘Charlie!’ said Lily, writhing. ‘Run!’

  As she spoke, more apprentices poured in behind. They were cornered. Repent straightened up, holding his nose.

  ‘Take hold of the thief taker,’ he growled. ‘We’re going to slice him up worse than the whores.’

  Apprentices grabbed at Charlie’s arms, pinning them to his sides. Repent moved forward and punched him in the stomach. Charlie doubled over, gasping.

  ‘Bolly, bring the girl over here,’ Repent called over his shoulder. ‘Let the thief taker watch.’

  ‘Wait,’ gasped Charlie, catching his breath. ‘Wait. Let her go and I’ll tell you where they are.’

  ‘What?’ Repent bent forward and Charlie could smell body odour and beer.

  ‘The Lord and Lady,’ managed Charlie. ‘I know where they are.’

  ‘Charlie, no,’ said Lily.

  ‘They’re in this theatre,’ continued Charlie.

  ‘We’ve already searched it,’ said Repent. ‘There’s no one else hiding in here. We would have found them.’

  ‘The actors hid them from Tom Black,’ continued Charlie, ‘in the last place he’d look. His old theatre company. They’ve been acting with them ever since. Disguised in plain view.’

  ‘Nah.’ Repent rubbed at his smallpox-scarred chin. ‘That whole company was put to death, back in Cromwell’s time.’

  ‘There’s a secret tunnel in this theatre,’ said Charlie. ‘The Lord and Lady have been hiding there.’

  ‘It isn’t possible,’ said Bolly. ‘No one could have hidden underground for that long.’

  ‘They’re fairy folk,’ countered Repent. ‘Their powers grow underground.’ He eyed Charlie thoughtfully, his scarred face twitching strangely. Blood ran down his cheek. ‘Take us to the tunnel,’ he said.

  Chapter 88

  ‘What are you doing?’ hissed Lily, as Charlie led Repent and his gang of apprentices to the tu
nnel.

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ whispered Charlie. ‘It could work.’

  ‘No talking amongst yourselves!’ shouted Repent, giving Charlie a prod with his gartered sword. ‘Just take us to them.’

  They reached the secret side box at the side of the stage, with the hidden door at the back.

  ‘This is it,’ said Charlie, holding his breath. ‘They’re through there.’

  Repent glanced over his shoulder. ‘You boys wait here,’ he said, moving towards the door.

  Bolly made to follow him.

  ‘Best I go alone,’ said Repent self-importantly. ‘Keep the gypsy here in case Tuesday tries anything.’ He eyed Charlie. ‘Try to cross me and your girl will have a bad time up here with all these boys.’

  Charlie met his gaze but said nothing.

  Repent nodded to the door. ‘Lead on.’

  They went through and down underground.

  ‘This way,’ said Charlie, ‘where the older part of the tunnel is.’

  They reached the part where the trapdoor leading to The Swan had been sealed over.

  ‘Your father,’ said Charlie. ‘Does he approve of what you do? With those women?’

  ‘A boy must become a man.’ Repent shrugged. ‘Jesus himself had a whore. How can a man teach his wife if he knows nothing himself?’

  ‘You hurt those women,’ said Charlie. ‘Mark them.’

  ‘You cannot rape a whore,’ said Repent. ‘I only make certain others know them for what they are.’ But he sounded uncomfortable.

  ‘I think your father is frightened of what you have become,’ said Charlie. ‘Is that why you seek the Lord and Lady? Their powers turn you to sin?’

  ‘Show me where they hide,’ growled Repent. ‘I don’t need a sermon from you.’

  They were standing under the old boarded-up trapdoor now. The rotting roof beams cut into the old dirt ceiling.

  ‘Up there,’ said Charlie. ‘See how the fairy lights flicker?’

  Repent licked his lips, breathing heavily. He was staring up at the lights.

  ‘Up there you say?’ He rotated his sword nervously in his hand. ‘I see nothing.’