The Midnight Charter

by David Whitley

  Just then, a coach rattled past and Mark jumped aside to avoid a spattering of filth, his thoughts banished.

  ‘Are we ready to take on the other servants again, Snutworth?’ Mark grumbled. ‘I hate this walking everywhere. First thing to do is to get the coachman back.’

  ‘I shall make a note of it, sir,’ Snutworth promised. ‘However, for the moment, there are a few last pressing orders of business. If you would just place your seal here.’

  Mark felt himself jostled as they pushed their way on to the Central Plaza. He glanced over the stack of papers uncertainly.

  ‘Can’t this wait until we’re back at the tower?’

  ‘Naturally, sir, but I thought that I might make a detour and hire some new staff before returning today. You can have a new cook by this evening, sir.’

  Mark sighed, looking around.

  ‘Light the sealing-wax, then. I’ll have to find a stall counter to lean on.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Mark soon found a stallholder who was finishing for the day, and willing to clear a space. He tried to get back into the usual rhythm, pressing down his signet ring into the soft wax, but he still could not stop his mind from wandering. He thought about this new cook. Would they be male or female? Old or young? Over the last year the cook had been nothing but a means to an end. He had had three at the tower and could not have picked one of them out in a crowd. When he thought of the kitchen, he still saw Lily there, stirring the pot with one hand and pointing to the lines of unfamiliar words with the other.

  ‘I think,’ Mark said cautiously, as he handed back the documents and they set off again, ‘I’ll go with you to choose the new servants. I should know them, after all.’

  ‘If that is your choice, sir.’ Snutworth sounded doubtful. ‘But I can hardly see the point.’

  ‘If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,’ Mark snapped.

  ‘Sir.’

  They continued for a little further in silence, Mark still brooding on his new thoughts. He began to reason that if he knew who his servants were, why not his other workers in the businesses? Why not those who bought his fish, and jewellery, and prophecies? Did he really know anyone he dealt with? He stared about him, at the sea of faces that swarmed past, avoiding each other’s gaze, plun -ging through on errands of their own.

  Did anyone ever stop and look?

  ‘Nearly there, sir,’ Snutworth said, the tapping of his cane quickening.

  Mark looked up. In front of him, through the broad streets of the Gemini District, he saw the great tower rise up. The late autumnal sun glinted off the glass of the Observatory; its thin, ancient shadow fell forward, stretching towards him. And Mark smiled. He owned this wonder, the finest in the city outside the Directory itself. From its topmost windows, he would really begin to see.

  A hand grasped his shoulder. A hand in a midnight-blue glove.

  ‘Mr Mark?’

  Mark turned his head. It was not an old face, but it had weathered a few storms. It wasn’t harsh, but there was something firm in the set of the mouth that would stand for no argument. He looked down at the badge of office being presented to him.

  ‘Yes, Inspector –’ he squinted to read the lettering – ‘Greaves.’ Mark felt a chill, remembering the name from the report into Gloria’s death. ‘Can I help?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘You could say that, sir,’ the inspector said grimly.

  Suddenly Mark became aware of the other receivers standing around him in the crowd. He noticed people turning to each other, whispering. And above all he noticed Snutworth take two deliberate steps away from him.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mark said, nervousness flaring up within him. ‘Snutworth, what –’

  ‘Mr Mark,’ Inspector Greaves continued, in a reasonable but firm tone, ‘by the authority of the Directory of Receipts, I am taking you into custody for illegal dealings and for possible involvement in the life theft of Miss Gloria.’

  Mark tried to step back. He felt more hands on his shoulders and arms, rougher ones. The crowd around him was filled with blue coats.

  ‘You will be property of the Directory and stored in prison until the investigation of your case is concluded.’

  ‘Snutworth!’ Mark called out, struggling against the receivers. ‘A lawyer… Find me the best…’

  ‘Everything is in hand, sir,’ Snutworth replied, his expression unreadable.

  ‘This way, sir,’ Inspector Greaves said softly. ‘It’s best if you don’t struggle. We don’t want to cause a scene.’

  As Mark looked up, the tower faded from view, blocked by a wall of receivers. A whole patrol, just for him.

  Special treatment.

  ‘Yes, Inspector,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THE SCROLL

  A sickening snap, a groan and the work was over.

  Gently, Lily poured one of the doctor’s concoctions down the patient’s throat. After a few minutes, the moaning subsided. By the time she had finished binding the wrist she had reset, he had lapsed into a fitful sleep.

  As always at moments like this, her fingers went to her throat, to the little bottle that had once held her disgust. As she touched it, she felt her queasy feelings subside. Her disgust was within her, but she could control it.

  She stepped back to observe her handiwork. Not bad, although she had seen neater splints. It had been a while since she had put the training Theo had given her into regular practice, but now, as she looked around the Almshouse, she could see three of their new helpers dealing with the basic care, and it was time to put her own skills to use.

  She wandered over to the cooking pot by the altar, checking to see if any of the daily broth remained.

  ‘There’s nothing left,’ Theo remarked as he joined her. ‘We’ve had a lot of new arrivals today.’

  Lily nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s getting colder, so more come every day.’

  ‘I’ll make something to eat when Laud gets back with the supplies,’ he said.

  ‘Isn’t that Ben’s job?’ Lily asked.

  ‘Usually, but I think she’s gone to visit Pete at his new workplace.’ Theo chuckled. ‘Now, that was unexpected. But he says he’s happy there.’

  Lily rolled her eyes.

  ‘Trust Ben, shining her light into any dark corner,’ she said fondly. She idly ran her finger along the rim of the cooking pot. ‘We’ll be needing something bigger soon.’

  ‘Or perhaps a larger almshouse,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ve heard that the spice merchant on Aurora Road is planning to sell and the new patrons may be persuaded to assist.’

  Despite her tiredness, Lily matched Theo’s encouraging smile. It hadn’t been an overnight change. The day after the trial the street had not been thronged with silk-robed merchants donating all their worldly goods to help their fellow men. But somehow, ever since that speech, a trickle of people, some far from wealthy, had knocked on their door to give, not to take. At the same time, the Sozinhos had seized the mood of the day and finally managed to persuade some of their wealthy friends that becoming almshouse patrons would be good for their public image. Lily remembered Laud summing up their position the day before with a wary observation: ‘Well, it seems that we have become fashionable.’

  There was no guarantee that it would last, but for now the donations were flowing in steadily.

  ‘There’s a long way to go,’ Lily said, half to herself.

  Theo nodded.

  ‘A disease may linger for years, or even many cycles, and for most of that time medicines will only soothe, not cure.’ Theo shrugged. ‘But that’s no reason to give up hope. Stranger things have occurred.’

  Lily frowned. Too many strange things had happened recently. She had tried to forget about them, to immerse herself in her work, but she could not push the thoughts of them from her mind. In her dreams now she saw shadowy figures closing in around her and Mark, knives flashing in the dark, the golden scales of the Libran Society branded on the
ir hands and foreheads.

  ‘Theo,’ she said quietly, ‘how deep do you think the illness goes?’ She faced him, trying to read an answer in his sympathetic eyes. ‘How sick is our city?’

  Theo did not at first reply, running a finger thoughtfully over his moustache.

  ‘We cannot solve everything on our own, Lily,’ he said at last.

  ‘I just feel, sometimes, that we’re only treating the symptoms, not the disease.’

  ‘We are already doing so much. And you knew that it wouldn’t change overnight…’ Theo stopped, a curious expression on his face. ‘This isn’t about the Almshouse, is it?’

  Lily tried to put her thoughts into words, but she couldn’t. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew something she had hidden there since the night at the Clockwork House. Holding up the gemstone, she watched as it seemed to draw in the coloured light filtering through the stained-glass windows.

  ‘There are so many secrets in Agora, Theo,’ she said, ‘so many lies.’ She set her jaw in determination. ‘I can’t go on skirting around, almost knowing. I don’t care what Lord Ruthven says. Even if I have to go over his head and force my way into the Directory itself. I need to know.’

  ‘Is knowledge worth so much, Lily?’ Theo said, his tone quietly desperate. ‘You’re still so young. Can’t we search with you carefully?’

  Lily shook her head, clasping the gemstone tightly. ‘You don’t understand, Theo. This is my only clue. You see, I think it’s one of the gemstones that were left with me at the orphanage.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions?’ Theo suggested. ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Look at it, Theo,’ she said, holding it up to the light. Slowly, the smoky crystal seemed to glow, a tiny sparkle like a flame springing to life in its heart. ‘It’s just how Miss Cherubina described them. There are no others like them in the whole city. I’ve looked everywhere, from the Virgo District jewellers to the Gemini museums. The Librans must know about me… know who I am, who my parents were… know what this Charter says or doesn’t say. I need to know what I’m involved in, Theo, and the Charter might have the answers. I can’t just wait for another attempt to kill me.’

  ‘So instead you plan to seek out those who wish you dead?’ Theo said. ‘Hardly the most sensible idea, surely.’

  ‘At least then none of my friends will get in their way again,’ Lily said.

  ‘Don’t you think we need you here?’ Theo replied, more heatedly. ‘Is the truth more important to you than the Almshouse and everyone who needs it? Is it more important than us?’

  For a moment, Lily couldn’t think how to reply. She had never seen Theo like this, half-angry, half-pleading. She tried to articulate her feelings.

  ‘But what if this truth is something terrible, Theo?’ she said at last. ‘Pauldron said that Mark and I would destroy Agora. I don’t know how, or why us, but as long as you, Laud and Ben are here… I might be putting you in danger. At least if I know what is happening I can make a decision.’

  They stared at each other. Around them, the usual sounds of the Almshouse – the groans of the hungry and the desperate – seemed distant. Theo appeared to be making his mind up about something.

  ‘Let me tell you a secret, then,’ he said at last. ‘There are those who say that the Director never sees anyone, that his vision extends across the whole of Agora, through everywhere a deal is made or a trade is sealed.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘Perhaps that is true, who knows? But the Director does see people. The heads of the guilds, and of the most important societies, are summoned occasionally, and all such elite men and women may demand an appointment, once in their lifetime.’

  Theo reached into the pocket of his stained, dark coat. He pulled out a tiny scroll, sealed with black wax. There was no mistaking the symbol upon it – an unfurled scroll, the Director’s personal sign.

  ‘My grandfather was elected to the head of his guild for life ten years ago,’ Theo continued, almost whispering. ‘I don’t believe he held even the Director in high esteem. He never bothered to go.’ He tapped the scroll thoughtfully with one long finger. ‘It took some explanation. I couldn’t pretend that you would be on the astrologers’ business, or say why the Count wasn’t requesting it in person.’ He glanced over to the old man, sitting blankly in a chair on the far side of the room. ‘But in the end, people have a tendency to see me as harmless.’

  He put the scroll on the altar before them. Lily stared at it. An appointment with the Director himself. She felt her throat go dry. It was like meeting a figure from legend. The man who ran the world, who pulled the strings of the whole city, the one who knew every secret.

  She reached out her hand and stopped.

  ‘Why?’ she said.

  Theo sniffed.

  ‘Your gratitude is touching,’ he muttered, turning away.

  Hastily Lily laid a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t mean… I… Thank you. It’s more than I could have dreamed of, but… if you don’t want me to go…’

  ‘I don’t,’ Theo said, still looking away into the distance. ‘None of us do.’

  ‘I will be back. I don’t care what the legends say. They can’t make me disappear.’

  Theo turned back, his eyes endlessly sad.

  ‘Grandfather was not the type to tell bedtime stories. But once, when I was small, he told me something. He said that Agora held secrets that could destroy you, just by hearing them. Secrets that could drive you mad. Secrets that would make you vanish and never return.’ He gave a hollow chuckle. ‘Who knows? Perhaps that’s why I turned out such a coward.’

  ‘You’re not a coward, Theo,’ Lily replied. ‘You’re a healer.’

  ‘I was a survivor. A survivor who wanted to help a few others survive too. But I never had the courage to change things, to challenge. Like I do now.’ He sighed. ‘It isn’t just you that we’d lose, Lily. I don’t know if that spirit will last without you. I’m a better man with you around.’

  Lily stared at the doctor. It was strange to see him like this, looking back at her like a lost child. Yet this was the same man who had never complained, who had gone on treating patients, paying and debtors alike, through the worst of their times, when they were only a day or two from becoming debtors themselves. The man who had been the stable point in her world since she was first pushed in through the doors of the tower. Dr Theophilus, never tiring, the healer of everyone.

  ‘I won’t go if you tell me not to,’ she said at last. ‘You’re still my master. It’s down on the contract.’ She fixed him with a stare. ‘But you must command me. I need to know that I have no choice.’

  Theo shook his head.

  ‘I haven’t been your master for a long time and we both know it.’

  For a lingering moment, they stared down at the scroll, its black seal glistening in the autumnal light streaming through the stained-glass windows. Then Lily looked up and around at the Almshouse that she had started, that was going on around her, an idea that had been set in motion a year ago and, she fervently believed, could not be stopped.

  She put her hand on the scroll.

  Theo turned away.

  ‘The appointment is in three days’ time,’ he said softly, ‘at the twelfth hour of day.’ He moved across the room, agitatedly picking up his outdoor coat. ‘I think… I’d better go and check on the slums, it looks like there might be another outbreak of the grey plague and I think I’ve perfected the cure…’

  ‘Theo –’ Lily began, but the doctor interrupted.

  ‘No time to talk, I’m afraid,’ he said, pulling on the coat with unusual speed. ‘I’ve got lives to save, you know…’

  Now he had seen her decision, he seemed desperate to get away, as if her choice had caused him pain. Lily hurried after him, her mind now focused on the time ahead.

  ‘I promise you, Theo. I will be back.’

  Dr Theophilus stopped in the doorway and turned round. The pain in his eyes had
softened to something else.

  ‘Please, Lily. Don’t make promises it is not within your power to keep.’ He picked up his mask and goggles. ‘Hope, wish… but don’t promise.’

  He slipped on the mask, covering his face with blank white authority, and stepped through the door, vanishing into the crowds.

  Lily watched him, losing him in the throng, and clasping the little scroll so tightly in her hand that the seal cut into her palm.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  THE CELL

  Mark was awakened by the sound of stone scratching on stone.

  For a moment he considered opening his eyes, but then he chose to keep them closed. As long as he lingered between sleep and wakefulness, he could believe that the prisoner in the opposite cell had loosened a stone, and was even now tunnelling through the walls to freedom.

  It couldn’t last.

  As he lay there, Mark became more and more aware of the cold stones beneath him. More conscious of the aches in his arms and legs, more conscious of the feeling of dirt coating everything in grime.

  He opened his eyes. A trickle of light made its way through the high window, casting shadows on the rough stones of the walls and the rusty bars of his cell door. Rusty, but firm. Mark had tested that while he still had the strength. But a few weeks of prison food had soon left him weak.

  Listlessly, he turned his head to peer into the cell opposite. The scratching was still going on, louder and more furious than ever. Mark watched the prisoner, who was pushing greasy hair out of his eyes as he scratched furiously on the walls with a stone. The walls of Ghast’s cell were covered with script. They looked like calculations of some kind, or maybe a diary. The truth was, Ghast had scratched over them so many times that they had lost any meaning they once had. He could cover all the walls in a single day. No wonder the skin sagged from his frame, for he never stopped moving.

  Mark closed his eyes, determined not to spend another day watching the madman’s scrawling. The problem was, there was nothing else to do, except remember, and Ghast was always preferable to that.