by Skye Knizley
“A nice trick, that,” he rasped. “Got Mrs. Cronk all worked up so you could search for my nest, well done.”
Chastity stepped back and placed a hand on her sword. “Mr. Moody, I would say it was good to see you, but you look as if you’re having a distressing day. Mayhap I should come back after you’ve bathed and donned some clothing.”
Moody smiled and Chastity could have sworn one of his teeth fell out.
“Clothing is too confining. What do you want?”
Chastity kept her hand on the hilt of her blade. Moody’s revolting appearance had caught her by surprise and she was fighting to get her nerves back under control.
“I had some questions about the murder of Mr. Davis late last night. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Moody shrugged and slime dripped from his arms onto the floor with a wet splat. “I know everything.”
Chastity had expected him to at least deny his involvement.
“You killed him then?”
Moody nodded and flashed a smile so quick that Chastity almost missed it. “You, know, I’ve never broken a law before in my life and now here I am breaking into buildings and killing people for the Bobbies to find. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had!”
He began to pace, his path taking him to the hole Chastity had made and back. Each footstep left a patch of slime on the floor, as if his very skin was secreting the viscous liquid.
“I doubt you know what it is like, growing up a freak and being turned into a sideshow monkey before you could even walk. I made the money being put down and spot on and they took everything. Now I will take it all back!”
Chastity stepped further out of Moody’s reach. “So it was your idea to kill Davis? To cut his head off and leave his corpse behind?”
Moody stopped pacing and smiled again, this time longer. “Yes. And then again, no.”
“That isn’t exactly helpful, Mr. Moody. What do you mean? Are you but a puppet?”
Moody giggled, a low, menacing sound that held everything but humor. “If I told you that, it would spoil the surprise. I love surprises!”
With startling speed he dodged forward, arms outstretched. Chastity’s blade was in her hand a heartbeat faster and she spun away from him, her blade a flashing whisper that removed his left hand just above the wrist. He backpedaled, keening like a wounded animal and made a leap for the window. Chastity followed and watched as the skinny man swarmed up the wall and leapt onto the adjacent building, his movements fluid even with a missing hand.
Chastity wasn’t about to let him get away. She sheathed her sword, trying not to think of the slime that coated the exquisite blade and judged the distance outside. In one movement she passed through the window, gripped the drainpipe and used her legs to propel her across the alley to the adjacent rooftop. She rolled when she hit the slick shingles and slid to the edge where her boot caught on what was left of the gutter and kept her from plummeting two stories to the alley below. With a motion she had practiced for years, she drew her sword and wedged it between the shingles with one hand. Then, using it is a piton she began to climb. She was partway to the top when Moody appeared in her view.
“Having trouble, girl?” he asked. “You should have stayed inside where it was safe!”
He stomped on her hand with his heel and Chastity felt the small bones grate against one another. She grit her teeth against the pain and drew one of her pistols with her free hand. She hadn’t wanted to risk a shot, but she saw no other choice. She also didn’t want to kill Moody, not until she found out what he knew. She squeezed the revolver’s trigger and the silvered bullet exploded from the barrel to pass through Moody’s leg just above the knee. He howled and scrambled away again.
With her hand free, but almost useless Chastity began to slide back toward the gutter. She holstered her pistol as she slid and used her good hand to slow her fall, but it was not enough. When she reached the edge she again caught the old clay gutter with her boots, but this time her weight was too much and the gutter gave way. She could hear Moody’s merry cackle echoing somewhere above and felt the gut-wrenching sensation of free fall before her good hand caught the drainpipe and turned her fall into a helpless slide into the rain-filled culvert at the bottom. The impact knocked the breath from her. She gasped for air and felt hands on her, both helping her up and tugging at her many pouches. She slapped the hands away and craned her neck for any sign of Moody on the roof above.
“Are you okay, Miss?” one of the men asked.
Chastity saw Moody lean over the edge, his manic grin in place. He then ran away, waving her sword over his head like a child at play.
“No,” she said. “Excuse me, a monster is getting away.”
She started off in a dead run, only half watching the street ahead of her. Here and there she caught glimpses of Moody passing over alleys and she followed as best as she could, often running into other pedestrians, rebounding and running away again with a shouted, “pardon me,” as she accelerated away.
After several minutes, she found herself deeper within the alleyways of Whitechapel, in a courtyard of sorts between five buildings. She’d been here before, during the day it held carts selling pork pies, street meat and ill-gotten goods, but tonight its only denizens were a half-dozen thugs sharing a damp fag-end and counting out coins. One of the men spotted her and shrank back into the shadows with a muffled, “Oi, keep the coins, she’s bloody dangerous!”
The other men laughed at him and spread out to block Chastity’s path.
This again? Chastity thought.
Out loud she said, “Gentlemen, I’m in a hurry. I don’t know what you were told, but I suggest you keep the money and get out of my way.”
“We couldn’t do that, Miss. Mr. Cutbush paid us good coin to stop you.”
His accent made it sound as if he couldn’t pronounce ‘t’s’. They were implied rather than said.
Chastity eyed the men and dropped a handful of tiny caltrops into her hand.
“Who is Mr. Cutbush?”
By way of answer the man pulled a cosh from his sleeve and swung. Chastity side-stepped and threw the sharp, jack-shaped caltrops into his face. She kicked the next one in the gentleman-vegetables and ran; she’d find out who Cutbush was later, for now she needed to catch Moody and he was getting away. She pounded down an alley with the name of Heartless and used a rotting crate to help her leap over the fence at the end. She skidded in the mud on the other side and almost fell into a pair of Bobbies standing in the protection next to a well-lit pub.
“Pardon me, officers,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Are you alright, lass?” One asked. “That was a nasty fall.”
Chastity smiled then remembered she was wearing a mask. She turned her face away from the light and said, “I’m fine, thank you. I’ll just be on my way.”
“Stop her!” a voice yelled. “She stole ol’ Jimmy’s pay!”
Chastity didn’t have to look to know it was one of the men paid by Cutbush.
“I did nothing of the sort!”
The other officer gripped her shoulder. “Hold on, missy. You did come over the fence like the devil hisself was following you. What’s in all them pouches?”
Chastity sighed and readied herself. “This is ridiculous. Officer, I’m sorry, I don’t have time to explain.”
She pulled herself free, spun and swept his legs out from under him. She stepped hard on his partner’s foot and started running again. It only took a moment for both the police officers and the thugs to give chase, she could hear them coming after her, ringing their bells to attract other police in the area. She was trying to decide if continuing the search was worth it when Moody again appeared atop a building just a few blocks away. He squatted at the edge of the roof and Chastity could see that he appeared to be re-growing his severed hand like a gecko grew a second tail. The man, or whatever he was, was becoming more interesting from moment to moment.
Chastity
bowed her head and ran harder, twice having to dodge Bobbies stepping out of alleys and side-streets in an effort to stop her mad dash through Whitechapel. She knocked the last one sprawling then jumped atop a rain barrel to reach the roof of a small bakery that smelled of fresh pies. From there she could see Moody, now moving at a more leisurely pace; His pale skin stood out in the lightning like chalk on a slate. Chastity followed, leaping over alleys and trying to avoid the handful of pursuers that had been brave enough to follow her onto the rooftops. She was about to leap to another building and get that much closer to Moody, who was resting not far away, when she heard a muffled scream from behind her. She turned to see two terrified officers and one of the thugs on the building behind her. They were staring in horror at something below her sight line. She ran forward and looked down to see a young officer hanging from the clay gutter by one hand while the other flailed against the side of the building. Chastity slid head first to the bottom and caught his wrist just as his strength waned and he started to fall. His weight pulled her part way over the edge and she caught herself on the same piece of gutter that had saved him from a three story fall.
“I’ve got you,” she yelled above the storm.
“Aye, but for how long?” the officer called back.
“Not long,” was Chastity’s answer. “Can you climb over me?”
The officer’s eyes widened. “Miss, no man should touch a woman in such a manner!”
“It’s either that or make a decent sized bloodstain in the middle of the alley! Get climbing, boy!”
The officer swallowed and started to pull himself up, using the belts and straps of Chastity’s outfit as handholds. He rolled onto the roof then helped Chastity up beside him where they lay side by side, gathering their wits.
“Thank you, Miss,” the officer said when he could speak again.
Chastity stood and adjusted her mask, which was becoming choked with water.
“You’re welcome, officer. Next time, keep your feet on the ground.”
“Arrest her!” the thug said from across the alley. “That little ragamuffin robbed me!”
“She just saved my man’s life,” the patrolman replied. “I think that wins her the benefit of the doubt this night.”
“She’s a dipper and owes me a finny!” the thug shouted.
“Can you prove it?” the officer asked.
The thug paused and his pointing finger drooped. “Well, no, not as such, but surely she has my money. Look how she’s dressed!”
“Protection from the rain, of course.”
The patrolman cupped his hands and yelled, “You can go about your business, Miss. Geoff, you get down from there and meet us in the alley.”
Chastity turned and looked for Moody; he was long gone.
CHASTITY CLIMBED TO where she’d last seen Moody and found her sword in a puddle of slime mixed with what looked like a layer of skin. She felt certain that it would smell to high heaven were it not for her rain-soaked mask and the smoke from a nearby chimney. She pulled her sword from the mess and cleaned it as best she could before slipping it back into the sheath at her hip. With it seated and a lecture from Herbert avoided, she sat in the lee of the chimney and bandaged her hand. It didn’t feel as if the bones were broken, but it was stiff and sore and probably would be for several days. If she was careful it shouldn’t impede her work.
When she was finished, she turned and started back toward Moody’s apartment. Though he was unlikely to return and it was a risk after the commotion she’d caused, his severed hand may yet provide some clues, at least to what he was. Herbert and Kyrie were miracle workers at identification.
Clocks were chiming the tenth hour when she reached the alleyway beside JW Reynolds. Everything was quiet save for the officer pacing outside, truncheon at the ready. Chastity wasn’t surprised to find an officer on duty, doubtless someone had called the police in once the cause of the fire, or lack of one, had been discovered. She watched him long enough to be certain he wasn’t going to notice her, then climbed the drainpipe she’d used to make her exit just a few hours before. The window Moody had broken was still open and she climbed over the sash, being careful of her injured hand. Now the adrenaline had faded, it was beginning to smart.
The room looked unchanged; the hole she’d made in the wall, the strange mucus left behind by Moody and the detritus of their short fight were all as she’d last seen them. But the door was closed and his hand, which had fallen just inside, was gone. Chastity crept to the spot where she was certain it lay and confirmed it had indeed left a patch of slime on the wooden floor, a patch that was now drying in the warmth from below.
From behind her she heard the ominous click of a revolver. She half turned to see a figure standing in the shadow beside the stove. He was wearing a Western hat and holding Moody’s hand in a piece of torn newspaper.
“Looking for this?” Inspector Price asked.
Chastity looked at him and again was grateful her features were obscured by her hood and mask. She hadn’t expected to find Price here, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. A bloodless, severed hand was the sort of case he would be interested in.
“I asked you a question,” Price said when she hesitated.
Chastity raised her hands and turned so she was facing him, but deeper in shadow. She couldn’t let him see her face or capture her, but she also didn’t want to be shot, and by all accounts Price was a skilled marksman.
“Give me the hand, officer,” she said, her voice muffled by her mask.
“You’re in no position to make demands, kid,” Price replied. “Where is the rest of Mr. Moody?”
Chastity smiled behind her mask. “I’ve no idea. If you see him please let him know I’d like another word.”
Price moved closer to Chastity. “I don’t think you understand your situation. More than a dozen people saw someone matching your description flee the area. When police arrived they found a severed hand and no sign of the occupant. I can arrest you just based on that. Cooperate and it will be easier for you.”
Chastity folded her arms, putting her hands close to her own weapons. “Officer, perhaps your hat and demeanor will work on others, but not on me. How many of those dozen can identify anything more than clothing similar to mine? You could hold me, but I suspect you’re an honest man and won’t arrest me without evidence. You have none.”
Price’s face hardened. “I have a severed hand, a hole in a wall and a missing man. I want answers, boy, or I am throwing you in a cell and tossing the key in the river, evidence or no.”
Chastity looked into Price’s eyes and knew he would hold her for the night if only to scare what he thought was a boy. Teenaged criminals were commonplace in the city.
“As you wish, officer. Arrest me.”
Price nodded. “Fine. Put your hands on your head.”
She did as he asked. When she did, Price lowered his revolver and went for her guns. Chastity grabbed his hand, spun into his guard and slammed her elbow into his sternum. She felt the woosh of his breath on her face and felt sorry for what she was doing, but she saw no other course. She pulled the Colt from his belt and placed it against his head as he gasped for air.
“I’m sorry, Inspector. I promise you we’re on the same side. Give me Moody’s hand and I’ll be on my way.”
Price coughed and drew a ragged breath. “I never told you I was an inspector. Who are you?”
Chastity paused. “You’re dressed in plain clothes, obviously you’re not a regular officer, Inspector. Nice hat, by the way. Now give me the hand!”
Price straightened, still fighting for breath. “If we’re on the same side, you won’t shoot me in cold blood. So what now?”
He was right. Chastity couldn’t shoot an innocent man, especially one like Price. Before she could think what to do, he yelled “Catch!” and threw Moody’s hand at her face. She batted it aside and almost dropped the Colt. The opening was enough for Price to grab her hand and squeeze. She screamed in p
ain and dropped the Colt. Price’s eyes widened and he let go.
“You’re not a kid, you’re a woman!”
Chastity growled behind her mask and kicked Price, only remembering at the last moment not to use her full strength. Price collapsed around the bundle of pain in his abdomen and Chastity picked up Moody’s severed hand.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Inspector,” she said.
Moments later she was jogging across rooftops, the paper-wrapped appendage safely in one of her many pouches. Her own hand was swollen and aching and her mind was a jumble of thoughts. She would no doubt have to interact with Price again, would he know she was the masked vigilante running across the city? Only time would tell.
MORNING ROSE AND for once Chastity was up with the sun, what there was of it behind the ever-present clouds that hung over the city. She’d chosen to dress in leather breeches tucked into boots that kissed her knees and a crimson blouse beneath a matching black corset. She was in no mood to deal with a chemise, bustle or petticoat. She would worry about being ladylike if her day called for it.
She spent the early part of the morning having her hand seen to. Doc, an American thought long dead by his countrymen, used leaches to reduce the swelling then applied a cream of his own design. He wouldn’t say what it contained other than wild yams. It worked, but smelled more of urine than anything else. On top of this he’d placed a linen bandage with instructions that she change it every few hours.
When she was done, she adjourned to the laboratory where she’d left Moody’s hand. The lab was in its usual turmoil, with massive heat from the smithy, electricity crawling the walls from one of Nikola’s experiments and the distant sound of explosions as technicians tried to perfect some gadget or another. Chastity found Herbert in the subterranean cavern he’d set aside for organic specimens. He’d placed the hand in what looked like a large fish bowl and was studying it through the glass.