Scotland Hard (Book 2 in the Tom & Laura Series)

by John Booth

  Laura smiled and curtseyed in response.

  “Why thank you kindly, young man. You may kiss my feet if you wish, but pray, pay particular attention to my big toes as they are a little dirty.”

  “I would be delighted to kiss them without a moment’s hesitation,” Tom replied straight-faced. “Were it not for my concern that my tongue might prove to be too rough on your delicate and fragrant skin.”

  The two burst out laughing on the deserted platform. When they sobered up they looked around and considered their next move.

  “I was sure Sir Ernest would send someone to pick us up,” Laura mused. The taxi rank was empty and there would be no buses or trams running at this time of night.

  “It is strange. Perhaps he sent a telegram to MM3, but it didn’t get through.”

  Laura shivered. She wasn’t dressed for the coldness of the night and knew they couldn’t wait for long on the platform.

  Tom stared across the expanse of the station. “There’s a Hotel at the top of the street. I vote we go and get rooms for the night.”

  “Do you have enough money? I have no more than sixpence to my name.”

  Tom had only a couple of shillings on him, but he grinned. “We can try charging the rooms to MM3. If nothing else, that might get them to notice that we have returned.”

  Tom began to walk briskly towards the hotel. Laura ran to him and put her arm in his. He slowed down to match her pace

  “Do you think we should ask Sir Ernest for a salary?” Laura enquired. “Presumably spies get paid and I thought we did all right in the end. I would settle for either a proper salary or a suitable reward. What do you think saving the life of the Prime Minister might be worth?”

  “Not much, I should think. After all, Lord Palmerston is very old. I think he’s nearly eighty,” Tom mused.

  “That is beyond dispute, Thomas. Well then, shall I offer my body to passing strangers in order to obtain the price of our room?”

  Tom looked around the deserted station and the similarly empty road leading up to the hotel. He squeezed Laura’s arm.

  “Well, you are a lady and it is most certainly the night. Do you have any experience in such matters?”

  Laura lowered her eyes to stare at the cobbles in the street. “No, sir, sadly I do not. I would ask if that lowers the price of a close encounter, or does it raise it? I must admit that I am far too naïve in such matters to be certain.”

  “In your case, I am sure that no man abroad on the streets of London could possibly meet your price,” Tom said gallantly.

  “Oh I’m sure you could meet it, Tom. In fact I know you could.” Laura smiled warmly and squeezed Tom’s arm.

  In the time they were talking they had walked out of the station and reached the street beyond. London’s infamous smog drifted across the road, reducing visibility to only a few yards. In the distance, they heard the distinctive sound of a cab approaching.

  The cab seemed to materialize out of nowhere, blinkered horse whinnying as it pulled to a halt alongside them. A cabby, wearing a greatcoat and hat with a broad scarf covering his face, scowled down at them.

  “Young and Carter for MM3? I’ve been sent for yer.” The voice sounded course and uneducated, but Laura wasn’t fooled. There was a layer of arrogance beneath the fake accent that she recognized at once.

  “Is that you, Mr. Saunders?” she asked, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. “Mr. James Saunders? It is you. I recognize you. How nice of you to come and pick us up in person.”

  Saunders did not seem pleased by Laura’s skills at recognition. He pulled down the scarf revealing his red face in the amber glow of the street lamp.

  “Come on, get into the cab. We are already late and have a fair distance to travel.”

  “We’re coming, Mr. Saunders,” Tom said, eager to please and glad they wouldn’t have to worry about getting a room for the night. He helped Laura to climb into the cab before bounding up after her. Before the door fully closed, Saunders flicked his whip at the horse and they were flung back into their seats as the cab set off at a fast trot.

  “We are coming, Mr. Saunders,” Laura said repeating Tom words back at him in a high pitched voice. “What a toady you are, Tom. I think Saunders was annoyed when I saw through his disguise. I wonder why?”

  Tom flopped back in his seat and yawned.

  “I could not care less, Laura. I am thoroughly tired and any bed he takes me to will be most gratefully received. You are far too suspicious, my girl. You have let your recent experiences give you a bad dose of paranoia. Saunders is the Director of Operations at MM3 and maybe he doesn’t like having to run errands for Trelawney.”

  “You’re probably right, Tom, and must admit that I’m tired too. I am sure the world will look less hostile in the morning.”

  They fell asleep as the coach made its way through the night.

  When they awoke, they had no idea how long they had been travelling. Saunders had stopped the cab in what appeared to be a dark country lane. It was hard to tell anything much about their surroundings by what little starlight the clouds let slip through.

  “Wake up you two. You can sleep all you want when you are safe inside.” Saunders poked at Tom and shook Laura.

  “Where are we?” Laura asked sleepily.

  “Safe house. That’s all you need to know. Now get a move on.”

  Saunders bundled them out of the coach, down a dark drive surrounded by tall bushes and up to the door of a large country house. He knocked impatiently.

  “Who is it and what do you want?” A sour female voice enquired. Whoever she was, she made no attempt to unbolt the door.

  “I have the packages. Open the door before I kick it in.” Saunders sounded incensed.

  “Oh, it’s you. I might have known.” Her words were followed by the sound of bolts being drawn.

  As soon as the door opened, Saunders pushed Tom and Laura through it.

  “Take care of them,” he said curtly and followed them into the house.

  They could see little of their host in the light of the candle she carried. She wore a tatty nightgown indicating she was a servant. She was more a dark shadow than a person.

  “Come along.”

  She led them upstairs to their rooms, putting Laura in the first they came to, and Tom in the second. She closed the door on them as soon as they were inside. Tom thought he heard a bolt being slid into place.

  He was far too tired to investigate and struggled to get partially undressed and into bed in almost total darkness. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  Tom dreamed that someone woke him to make him drink something sweet, and then his sleep became even deeper.

  3. Tricky

  The Laws of Magic

  The Laws of Magic were discovered by Sir Isaac Newton. He believed his research would be censured by the Church and kept it a closely guarded secret. After his death the majority of his notebooks were destroyed by the vicar of his parish in the mistaken belief that they described a form of witchcraft.

  Fortunately, Sir Isaac’s most important work, Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Magicis, was well hidden and would later be discovered by Lord Magus and form the basis of today’s Military Magic.

  The Laws of Magic

  There are seven and only seven magical talents.

  No person can possess more than one of the magical talents.

  All the branches are equally represented in the population.

  Talent will grow or fade at sexual maturity.

  - from A Short History of Military Magics by Sir Anthony Barrett

  Tom woke to a soft rustling sound. It brought him instantly awake because it sounded as if someone was creeping up on him. The room was bathed in the dull grey light of morning as the curtains to his window were open.

  His eyes snapped open and he saw a ripple flow across the tapestry covering the wall. He could almost hear the shuffle of feet and certainly saw where hands pushed at the fabric.
r />   The second thing that Tom discovered was that he was lying on the top of his bed covers without a stitch of clothing. His mother would have been horrified at his lack of decency. The New Victorian man kept his body covered at all times, as nakedness was known to lead to strength sapping perversions outlawed by God. Some took this edict to mean that even bathing should be undertaken clothed, though his mother had never been that strict.

  His bed was of the four poster kind. It had drapes and a tent like hood. The drapes had been tied to the posts so he could see around him. He didn’t remember getting fully undressed the previous night, though he had a strange half memory of being given a drink.

  Sitting up and hastily pulling a sheet over his groin, Tom called out, putting as much authority into his voice as he could manage.

  “I know you are behind that tapestry. Come out at once.”

  Whatever Tom had been expecting, it wasn’t the boy that stepped into view with a sheepish grin on his face. The child looked to be no older than ten or eleven.

  “I wasn’t hiding from you, guv’nor. If I ‘ad been ‘iding you’d never ‘ave known I was there.”

  Tom was fascinated by the boy’s hair and eyes as both were an intense black. Despite the grin on his face, this gave the child a devilish look. The boy shivered despite the fact that it wasn’t particularly cold in the room. He wore a thin white nightshirt that Tom immediately envied, any form of clothing would have been welcome at that moment.

  “Me name’s Tricky and you is Carter,” the boy told him, being very matter of fact about it. “I ‘ave things to tell and I don’t ‘ave much time.”

  “You have me at a slight disadvantage,” Tom replied courteously. The boy didn’t seem to present any obvious threat. “You haven’t seen my clothes, have you?”

  Tom could see nowhere in the room that his clothes might have been placed. Apart from the bed, the tapestry, and the curtains open against a solitary barred window, the room was devoid of any kind of furnishings.

  “We don’t ‘ave time for that. You ‘ave to listen to me,” the boy said insistently.

  Tom decided that he might as well humor the lad. He had nothing pressing to do, though the need to relieve himself might become a problem in the near future.

  “You and the binder girl, Laura Young, ‘ave been caught like rats. We kids are trapped too, waiting to be auctioned off to the ‘ighest bidder. You ‘ave to ‘elp us escape.” The boy stared at Tom with eyes so dark they seemed to trying to swallow his soul. Tom was convinced of the boy’s sincerity. That only left one question, from which house for the insane had Tricky escaped, for he was certainly mad.

  “And how do you know all this?” Tom asked, to keep the conversation going while he located his clothes. Staying in bed was no longer an option. He jumped off the mattress and went over to the door. However, a quick turn of the knob informed him it was locked.

  “You’re not listening, mister,” Tricky said, a little urgency creeping into his voice. “I was stolen from me ‘ome by these men, taken away by blokes who said they were from Military Magic, but they lied.”

  Tricky took a deep breath and then continued his explanation at breakneck speed.

  “I’m a Farseer, but I’m kinda broken. Instead of seeing things far away, I can only see things that are close up. I can see inside locks and pick them. That’s ‘ow I found the passages in the walls. That’s why Mam and Dad call me Tricky.”

  Tricky licked his lips nervously and waited for Tom’s response.

  Tom moved to the window while he listened to the boy. Looking out, he saw fields and grazing sheep. Beyond the first mile or so the fields became forest that stretched to the horizon. Tom tried to remember their arrival at the house the previous night, but his memories were a blur. He had been so tired after the journey he could barely remember the cab and Saunders, let alone what followed it.

  “They calls themselves the Brotherhood,” Tricky said a little desperately. “I come to you rather than the binder, because they said Mister Stewed might ‘ave turned her.”

  Tom moved from staring out of the window to staring at Tricky. Thoughts flashed through his head at lightning speed.

  “You are sure they said Stewed and not Snood?”

  Tricky shook his head. “Stewed, Snood, who cares? If she’s working for them we can’t trust her.”

  ‘If Snood worked for the Brotherhood, and they were held by them now then that meant…’

  “Have you heard the name Saunders mentioned? James Saunders?”

  Tricky detected the eagerness in Tom’s tone and screwed his face up as he tried to remember. “They said Jimmy was goin’ to bring you ‘ere.”

  Tom said a rude word under his breath and then a far ruder one a moment later. Saunders must be the leak in MM3 that Trelawney had been looking for, and he had delivered them here himself. That would explain why he had been so annoyed when Laura saw through his disguise.

  “Jimmy’s one of them, ‘im and a bloke called Smee,” Tricky said. “I’ve heard them talking through the walls, but I ain’t tall enough to see through the spy ‘oles. The auction will ‘appen soon now that you two are ‘ere.”

  Tom stared at the tapestry lost in thought and Tricky shook him to get his attention. “There’s three of us, Alice is the oldest, she’s thirteen and she’s a Telepath.”

  It took some effort for Tom to get his mind into focus. The revelation about Saunders had shaken him to the core. If the Director of Operations of MM3 worked for the enemy, getting free wasn’t going to be good enough. They had to find out everything he could before they could act.

  “Slow down, Tricky,” Tom said, pulling the boy’s hands off his waist. “Who exactly is holding us captive? And where are we?”

  “Dun know where we are, somewhere out o’ London in the country, I think,” Tricky said in a voice that suggested he thought Tom was wasting time. “The ‘ouse is run by Bertram Smee. Lord of the manor, ‘e calls ‘imself. ‘E’ll whip you soon as look at you. I got some marks…” The boy started to raise his nightgown, but Tom stopped him. They could look at bruises and share stories about whippings later. What Tom needed right now were answers to more immediate questions.

  “Who are they holding captive and why, and while we are at it, just how long have you been held here?”

  Tricky sat on the bed and adopted a thinking man’s pose, hand on chin.

  “Bin ‘ere near on three weeks, Alice a week more than me. We got the testing for talent that everybody ‘as. These men as come round to me ‘ouse said we’d passed the tests and they brought us ‘ere. They said we’re ‘ere for more tests, but I’ve ‘eard them talking and they’re not part of the military, they’re planning on selling us to the highest bidder.”

  It would be so easy to imagine the boy was being paranoid, but Tom knew he wouldn’t be locked in the room and left without his clothes if that were the case. Tricky’s story even made some sort of sense. Military Magic tested children for magical talent and the more talented were sent to special schools. The Empire needed the services of every one of them in its endeavors to grow.

  If Saunders had infiltrated MM3, which was responsible for managing the most talented magicians as well as intelligence work, it would be easy for him to arrange the kidnap of some of them. The bureaucracy of the Empire was so complicated that it was possible nobody would notice; especially if he covered his tracks behind him. Complaints from parents would probably come to Saunders desk. Tom dreaded to think how Saunders might deal with any truly persistent parent. There was only one problem with this theory as far as Tom could see.

  “Who does the Brotherhood work for? The Hungarian Empire? The French?”

  Tricky sneered. “They does it for dosh. The Brotherhood ain’t working for anyone, but number one.”

  ‘Was it just about money? Was it that simple?’

  “Who are the other children?”

  Tricky counted out on his fingers.

  “There’s me, Alice and Ebb, s
hort for Ebenezer. We’re all a bit odd, magically speakin’. Alice’s a telepath who can send messages into anybody’s ‘ead. She shouts a lot. Ebb’s a Precog, but only for five seconds ahead, but real reliable like, an’ all the time.”

  “How did you get in my room and where’s Laura?” Tom asked. As he asked his questions, Tom saw the boy wince as if he had been hit hard on the head.

  “Got to go, someone’s comin’,” Tricky said urgently. “I wish Alice ‘ud learn to whisper and not shout at me.”

  Tricky was back behind the tapestry before Tom could react. Tom thought it was a stupid place to hide and went to drag Tricky out. When he lifted the tapestry the wall behind was free of the boy. All he saw was wooden paneling from floor to ceiling.

  Tom might have begun tapping the wood to try to find the secret passage, but he heard the sound of his door being unbolted and decided that lying in bed was a better place to be found, rather than tapping on the walls like a lunatic. He was still naked and there might even be a woman on the other side of the door.

  He pretended to wake as the door opened. A butler in his fifties held open the door as a young maid entered the room. She carried a tray laden with food, her head was down and she stared at the floor as though it might jump up and bite her if she glanced away.

  “Good morning, sir. I trust you enjoyed a fine night’s sleep,” the butler enquired as though he might be interested in the answer. He was immaculately dressed, clean-shaven and well spoken.

  “I seem to have mislaid my clothes,” Tom said apologetically. “You don’t happen to know where they I might find them?”

  The maid giggled and then went silent as if she sensed the frown the butler bestowed on her, though she certainly couldn’t have seen it. She tensed her neck as if waiting for a blow, but it did not come.

  “Your needs will be attended to shortly, sir,” the butler told him gravely. “If sir is in need of relief you will find a night jar beneath the bed. I’m afraid I must leave you now and be about my duties.”