These Ruthless Deeds

by Tarun Shanker

  It almost made me miss the freedom in Lady Kent’s home.

  Fortunately, freedom was still quite accessible when one can self-defenestrate without fear of injury. After Lucy helped me undress for bed, I immediately redressed for escape, finding a good use for one of my fifty new tea gowns, crept down to a first-floor parlor and promptly jumped out the window. One sprained and quickly healed ankle later, I snuck around the back garden and took a hansom to the public house near the Society.

  I was late. Rushing inside, I immediately saw Mr. Kent flirting rather obviously with the barmaid. But he turned as soon as I walked in, grinning as his eyes found me.

  “Is Oliver not here?” I asked him, a little out of breath.

  “No, it seems I am the only man you can count on, Miss Wyndham.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

  “While we wait,” he continued, “we could discuss something very pleasant. A certain moment we shared just a mere three days ago.” Mr. Kent was leaning toward me now and the barmaid sulked off.

  But Oliver appeared through the wall at that moment, looking at us both suspiciously.

  “Hi,” he said flatly. “I know I’m late but they kept us while a girl who can turn people into pigs practiced turning us into pigs and I was stuck as a pig for a really long time and I really didn’t like it.”

  “Oh dear,” I said. We stared at each other. “I’m glad you are no longer a pig.” He nodded in appreciation. “No one suspects that you left?”

  “No, they think we are all resting. After being pigs and all.” He seemed extremely affronted at having been a pig. I felt guiltier and guiltier for drawing him into this plan.

  “You know you don’t need to do this—you are sure you want to?”

  He nodded impatiently.

  “Mr. Kent, can you check?”

  “Oliver, are you sure about this?” Mr. Kent had been giving me a significant look since Oliver’s interruptions but he turned toward him now.

  “I said I am!” Oliver confirmed, very exasperated. “It’s fun. They have too many rules.”

  And with the indisputable logic of a stubborn young man, we crossed behind a pillar. I took Oliver’s hand first and Mr. Kent grasped the other. Oliver took a deep breath, and pulled us down through the floor. For a second, I felt like I was walking on air, walking through air, and was air itself, until I felt wet dirt below me. We were in the cellar a few floors down. “Good work,” Mr. Kent whispered.

  We walked west, heading farther down the street, now one building from the Society. At the next wall, Oliver pulled us through confidently. I could still feel the dirt but it didn’t seem to touch me, as though we were weightless, drifting by. With a gasp, we arrived in a storeroom cellar.

  Miss Grey had said the jail was about forty paces west from the northwest corner wall we passed through. Quietly, I counted my way over in the dark and stopped at the nondescript spot.

  “Straight down another floor,” I whispered to Oliver.

  “This reminds me of that lovely kiss we shared,” Mr. Kent said as he handed me a lantern. “That feeling of weightlessness.”

  I ignored him, of course. Oliver snorted at us in disgust but took our hands again to plunge downward this time, sinking, floating down as if we were in water. I tried to ignore the complete darkness and trust in Miss Grey’s directions and Oliver’s control. My feet finally found the ground, gently, as Oliver let go.

  “You are getting better,” I whispered.

  “I know,” he whispered back, arrogant, but amusingly so. “Someday I’m gonna slide right into the Queen’s palace. Steal a cup of tea. Try on her crown.”

  “Miss Wyndham,” began Mr. Kent, “you don’t seem to be appreciating that this atmospheric location is the ideal place to discuss our lips and the way they once touched.”

  “You are mistaken; this is assuredly not the time,” I hissed in annoyance.

  I turned to dig out a box of matches and lit the lantern to be sure we’d actually dropped into the right place. It was a simple corridor of gray stone walls, a low earthen ceiling, and iron-barred doors. Nothing unexpected, except for the fact that it was somehow much colder inside than out. Frost and icicles had formed around the walls and ceiling.

  “This is … a strange prison,” Mr. Kent said cautiously.

  Holding the lantern before me, I led the way down the corridor, hearing the occasional crack and crunch of ice under our feet. Our breath was visible, each one curling like smoke before disappearing. I cautiously peered through the first door and nodded at Mr. Kent. A thin, sallow-looking man lay on the floor, turning and flipping his hand in the air as though he were playing with an invisible ball.

  “Hello, sir,” Mr. Kent said quietly.

  The man looked up and smiled, revealing toothless gums. “Hello, guv.”

  “Why are you in this prison, sir?” Mr. Kent asked.

  “Killed quite a lot of people.”

  “Indeed? That is a good reason for prison,” Mr. Kent said drily, and seemed ready to turn away, but I was thinking of Mr. Braddock, who would give anything not to have hurt people.

  “Ask him if he did it on purpose,” I whispered.

  “Now, you killed plenty of people, I understand, but was it on purpose?”

  “Oh, to be sure.”

  “Did you … enjoy it?”

  “Yes, deeply pleasurable. Just biding my time before I can do it again.”

  Mr. Kent frowned and looked to me. I had no further questions. “I see, we will keep that in mind. Excuse us a moment.”

  With that, we quickly walked to the next door, hoping this person was here for smaller crimes.

  “Like to eat the ones I kill,” a pretty young girl said.

  “No one ever notices me,” rasped an older lady at the third door. “Until I cut their skin into the loveliest ribbons.”

  “Do you want me to tell you what you taste like?” The first girl was at her door, watching our slow progress. We did our best to ignore her giggles. Oliver was looking more and more pale, but set his jaw tightly.

  “What a lovely set of people,” Mr. Kent said lightly.

  “We should find Miss Rao,” I said, trying to keep my worries from overwhelming me. I couldn’t help but wonder what she might have done. Was the recruitment order true? Was she like these remorseless souls?

  We passed a few more cells before finding her. She was sleeping, sitting up against the wall, her unbound hair hiding most of her and the darkness doing the rest.

  “Miss Rao?” I said quietly.

  She barely moved. “You.”

  Mr. Kent cleared his throat. “We are sorry to see you in this state, Miss Rao. Pardon me for this question, but I need to ask, why are you in here?”

  “Because my winds can sink ships. Or my rains can flood villages. Or my lightning can destroy cities,” she said. “You want my power since you British have taken everything else.”

  I stepped toward the cell. “They told us you killed many people.”

  “That is a lie.”

  “How many people have you killed?” Mr. Kent asked.

  “None,” came her quick answer. “I just wanted you out of my country and instead you’ve imprisoned me in yours.”

  I let out a heavy breath. “Have they hurt you?”

  “You keep speaking as if you aren’t responsible for this.” She rose to her feet and walked toward the door, into the lantern light. Her hair fell back, revealing bruises and half-healed cuts covering her face. There was dried blood from a crack in her lip and one eye was swollen shut. “You can keep me here in the cold. You can keep removing my power. You can keep hurting me. I will never help you.”

  I gritted my teeth and forced my knuckles to relax. While Miss Grey’s note had sounded unpleasant, seeing Miss Rao’s injuries sent shudders through my body. Even if we didn’t know it at the time, we were responsible for this pain.

  “I’m … sorry,” I said simply. “We will get you ou—”


  Something metal clattered down the hall. Footsteps. A faint glow was growing brighter from around the corner.

  “Oliver,” I hissed, putting out the lantern. “Bring us in there. Quickly.”

  His hands grabbed mine and Mr. Kent’s and pulled us inside with Miss Rao.

  “Why do you hide from them?” she asked.

  “We made a mistake,” I whispered back, taking her hand. She made to pull away. “Please, it will heal you. We are so sorry for—”

  Our breaths held, we listened as the crunching footsteps grew louder and louder. There was a brief pause at every cell.

  Miss Rao’s hand was cold in mine and I squeezed harder, hoping my power could heal any damage this icy cell had done. As the guard came near, I released her hand and Oliver silently guided Mr. Kent and me to the cell wall. The lantern light and footsteps came ever closer, the temperature dropping. When the guard seemed to be just outside the cell, Oliver’s hand tightened around mine and he slipped the three of us through the wall into the next cell. All I caught was a glimpse of dark hair, glowing blue in the chilly light. In the darkness we waited, not daring to breathe, letting the footsteps fade away.

  “If you let me out, I can cause searing pain to anyone you wish,” a voice hissed. “It does not leave a mark.”

  Oliver’s hand trembled and I would have screamed had I not lost complete control of my voice.

  Mr. Kent found his faster. “Thank you for the offer, but I can just invite them to my mother’s dinner parties. Mr. Myles, if you will.”

  Oliver pulled us back into Miss Rao’s cell, shaking his head. “Maybe being a pig wasn’t so bad after all.” I let out a sigh of relief, but chills still crept up my spine.

  Miss Rao fixed me with a suspicious glare. The bruises and cuts that had marred her face seemed to be fully healed. “You are no longer with them. Why?”

  I held her gaze as steadily as I could. “We made a mistake. I do not believe you deserve to be here. They lied to us.”

  “Who?” she asked, fury in her eyes. “Who is in charge of this?”

  “I don’t know. It’s kept very secret,” I said.

  “Then we will ask,” she said.

  Before I could explain that we couldn’t simply ask, I saw the flash of a small blade as Miss Rao swept past us, clenched a bar on the door, and began carving at a rusty end that already bore marks from her knife.

  “Uh … did … we interrupt your escape?” Mr. Kent asked.

  A few heavy strokes and the bar snapped off.

  “Yes,” she said and squeezed through the gap. “But you may help.”

  By the time Oliver brought Mr. Kent and me to the icy hallway, she was already making her way down to another cell.

  At the sight of Miss Rao’s freedom, the other prisoners seemed to grow restless.

  “Let us out, too!” one whispered.

  “She’s not even been here for a week!” the cannibalistic girl complained.

  “Be quiet or we won’t be able to get any of you,” I hissed back. “Mr. Kent, there must be others like Miss Rao, people who don’t deserve to be here.”

  “I don’t know how much time we have to question everyone,” he replied, frowning.

  “Question this man,” Miss Rao said, pointing at a cell a little farther down. “He is always yelling that the head of the Society is a man with no power.”

  Mr. Kent, Oliver, and I gaped at her. I hurried down the hall and peered in to see a bearded man with wild eyes pressing his face against the bars.

  “Is that true? Does the head of the Society of Aberrations not have any kind of ability?” Mr. Kent asked the man.

  “It’s true, he doesn’t,” he replied in a deep rasp. “And I won’t say another word until you let me out.”

  “Hmm. Are you one of those sorts of people who enjoys hurting others?”

  “Yes,” the man said, looking confused by his answer.

  Mr. Kent grinned. “Ah, a complicated moral dilemma you present, sir. Either I release you into the world for the information, or leave you here and never know. Blast it. I wish I could simply ask you: Who is the head of the Society of Aberrations?”

  “The Duke of Fosberry,” the man said with a scowl.

  Mr. Kent looked pensive for a moment but my heart was leaping. A name! We had a name! “Huh. How exactly did you come by this information?” Mr. Kent did not look nearly thrilled enough.

  “I was his guard.”

  “A guard? As in, for his person?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how long have you been down here?”

  “Ten years,” the man snarled. “All right, you got what you wanted—now let me out.”

  “I don’t believe I did,” Mr. Kent said. “The current Duke of Fosberry is eight years old. I assume you were the guard for his late father. Did he ever tell you who would succeed him as head?”

  Blast.

  “No, damn you,” the bodyguard growled. And then he said a word that shocked even me as he stuffed his fingers in his ears.

  But Mr. Kent just raised his voice. “Do you know how the head is appointed?”

  I looked around nervously at the prisoners. We were drawing more of them to their doors as Mr. Kent spoke louder and louder, and they were begging for us to let them out, their yelling and clanging echoing down the hallway.

  “No,” the bodyguard said, raising his voice. “No more questions unless you let me out!”

  “Who was his predecessor?”

  “The Earl of Hartwell!” he yelled at the top of his lungs in a frenzy, pulling hard at the iron bars, jamming his face up against the small opening, his spit flying in tiny flecks. “You lying, cheating scum! Guard! Guard!”

  He couldn’t hold back the answers, but he could get us caught. A heavy door cracked open. Clattering footsteps and freezing winds preceded the glowing guard.

  “Help!” the cannibalistic girl joined in, shaking her bars. “They are escaping!”

  “Go!” I shouted.

  “They’ll keep you down here with me and you can ask all the questions you want!” the bodyguard shouted after us.

  We hurried down the corridor, but I found it hard to keep my balance. The ground grew slick with ice, the air was getting colder, and then a biting cold blast struck my legs from behind.

  “Miss Wyndham!” Mr. Kent shouted.

  The cold ground hit me hard and kept me there. I couldn’t get back up. My feet were frozen—rather literally—to the ground.

  “Go, Oliver, take them first!”

  Thankfully, Oliver and Miss Rao listened to me. Only Mr. Kent disobeyed, sliding to the ground next to me, trying to pull my feet from the ice that seemed to be growing around them, making me gasp as the cold seeped through my boots, my stockings, prickling against my skin.

  The slide of nimble feet on ice came louder. I twisted around to see the dainty guard ambling forward, intent on me, while Mr. Kent tried in vain to chip away at the ice on my feet with the edge of his cane.

  Up close I could see her hair was somewhere between brown and black, shining in the strange light that surrounded her. Her skin gleamed; a pattern of snowflakes tattooed her neck, hands, and everything not covered by the thin dress she wore. She smiled, seeming to feel no discomfort.

  “That was a mild blast.” Her voice was low and rich. She gave a short whistle, her frosted breath thick in the air. “If you call the boy back now, that will be all the punishment you get.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said flippantly. “I don’t really feel like it.”

  Her eyes lit with a blue fire and she let out a laugh that sent shards of ice flying. “Oh, you will, you’ll feel like doing whatever we say once they find out what you have done.”

  Mr. Kent dropped his cane, giving up on my feet and reaching into his jacket. He pulled his pistol out, but the guard didn’t need to draw her own weapon. She exhaled a quick concentrated burst of freezing air that hit Mr. Kent’s hand before he could even aim, encasing his hand and gun in ice.
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  “That your answer then?” she asked. “Fine.”

  And then she started to inhale, drawing in a great gust of air.

  “Wait! What are your thirty favorite foods?” Mr. Kent asked.

  His question forced her to cut her breath off and answer. “Shepherd’s pie, roast turkey, ice cream…”

  Mr. Kent leaned down and smashed the block of ice that was his arm against the mound at my feet. This seemed to do the trick, shattering both and letting him pull me up. One boot remained stuck in the ice, but we wrenched my foot free and scrambled away. A heavy dread was beginning to replace the surge of panic that had run through me till now. Mr. Kent pulled me toward the end of the tunnel as the guard chased us, still listing her favorites.

  “… beef stew, tarts, bacon…”

  I stumbled, the cold making me numb. I felt like I was running at the bottom of the ocean, unable to push forward.

  “… fish soup—ha!” The guard finished her list with a shout of victory I could barely register before my whole body sang with pain. Cold sank into my bones, my muscles grinding to a halt, my skin stinging fiercely, a scream lost in my throat.

  “Oi!” I heard, then a scrawny but strong hand had my elbow. I was being pulled up and through the dirt, feeling nothing but the cold that seemed to burrow deep into my bones. Behind me I could hear a frustrated roar from the guard but she was too slow, too late and up, up we went till we reached a dark alleyway outside the Society. Back, again, on solid ground.

  The pain still held me in its grip and I fell to the ground, unable to stand. Mr. Kent reached out to touch my cheek and I yelped, the warmth burning as much as the cold. I could see him asking me something, looking a little desperate. I stared vacantly for a moment, letting my vision settle, letting my body heal itself and my shivers dissipate. I gasped and it seemed immeasurably warmer than the guard’s freeze. I had never been so pleased to smell the sooty London air.

  “Please, Evelyn, are you all right?” Mr. Kent was asking me. Behind him, Miss Rao’s face was lifted up, her eyes moving rapidly as she scanned the skies.

  “I am, I am,” I said, coming back to myself slowly. “We must go. They will look for us.”