The Viper and the Urchin: A Novel of Steampunk Adventure (Bloodless Assassin Mysteries Book 1)

by Celine Jeanjean

  Unthinkable.

  Of course, there could be some thrill in the idea of pitting his intellect and skill against a worthy opponent, but too much was at stake for Longinus to relish the challenge. Whoever this was clearly wanted to supplant him as the Viper, and Longinus would die before he let that happen.

  He would have to get to the body and obtain a sample of the poison to analyse. All these conjectures were useless without the hard evidence of alchemy to clear a path through the fog. He took a sip of port, mulling over how to gain access to the corpse, which by now would be under heavy guard. He had a handy little device that would allow him to suction some poison from the skin, so that aspect would be no trouble.

  The thought reminded him of the sailor he had killed out in Smallport Marina, and of the ridiculous account Mistress White Apron had given of the state of the body. He put the port aside at the reminder — she had said the corpse had been skinned. He put a hand over his mouth as a wave of nausea came over him.

  What if she hadn’t been lying? What if the sailor had been found with some of his skin missing? A skilled alchemist might be able to replicate the poison from a sample closely enough for its effects to appear the same. Especially to an untrained eye.

  Longinus leapt to his feet, propelled by a bolt of nervous energy. That had to be it. The odds of another alchemist creating the same poison, and this days after he’d first unveiled it, were simply too small. Longinus was a man of alchemy, after all; he did not believe in coincidence.

  It was more imperative than ever that he get that poison sample. He had to know how close this other alchemist had come.

  He paced up and down the room, cobbling together a plan. The guards wouldn’t allow anyone to see the body at this stage, save for relatives. There was, however, no way to pose as a relative without knowing who the deceased was. He would be able to obtain the name of the deceased one way or another, but that then destroyed his opportunity to pass himself off as a family member.

  Longinus stopped abruptly. The girl. That filthy urchin could finally make herself useful and be the second prong to the brilliant plan of attack already forming in his mind. He smiled and resumed his pacing.

  Nothing like a little intellectual challenge to kick off the day.

  The door opened, and Rory stepped in, her mouth set in a grim line.

  “Ah, there you are,” exclaimed Longinus, “and not a moment too soon, either.”

  “You’re waiting for me?”

  “Well, of course. You do realise what’s at stake here, don’t you? I have put together a strategy that will allow us to discover the composition of the poison used, and therefore will give us a good idea of who is trying to replace me. I have a role for you to play, so you can finally make yourself useful. Why are you looking at me with those dead fish eyes?”

  “My eyes ain’t like a dead fish’s, and you can’t just assume that I’ll be doing as you say. I’m blackmailing you — I ain’t your assistant.”

  “Enough with the blackmail already, this is bigger than your silly sword fighting.”

  “Yes it is, but not for the reasons you think.” Rory told him about her meeting with Jake.

  “Why would someone care about you?” asked Longinus.

  “Plenty of reasons,” she replied, clearly miffed. “I’d met the man from the baths the previous night too, after I left you.”

  “You did? Well, why didn’t you say so right away?”

  “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

  “You what? I’m a gentleman. I gave you my word.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know whether you had killed him.”

  “For the last time, I am not entirely devoid of manners and feeling. To throw someone’s corpse in the water is not only base, it’s —”

  “Alright, alright, I get the point.”

  “Good. Now, since you know the man, that will make things far easier. I will pose as a member of his family and gain access to the body.”

  “I don’t know how you’ll do that, I don’t even know his name.”

  For some reason (that Longinus cared little about) the girl looked guilty.

  Longinus sighed. Useless. A good thing I already had a plan in place.

  “We’ll have to stick to my original plan, then,” he said. “I have a role for you to play, but first I have to change.”

  “You gotta be joking,” she replied. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?”

  Longinus waved a hand. “Please. I won’t be long, and then we’re off to the barbers. I can’t go to my regular man, so it might take us a while to find a suitable establishment.”

  He paused in the doorway. “Don’t touch anything. You touch the wrong vial and you could die a rather unpleasant death.”

  “Yes, yes, I won’t touch anything. More to the point, someone wants to kill me and take your place as the Viper, right, so do you really think the state of your moustache is important right now?”

  “You have a lot to learn about the world,” he called back as he climbed the stairs. “The state of my moustache has never been more important.”

  Chapter 17

  Rory followed Longinus through the streets, glancing about uneasily. He was dressed so extravagantly, he might as well have had a sign tacked to his back asking someone to rob him. He had on wide ochre pantaloons in the fashion of Kushania, and a matching open vest that was richly embroidered. His fingers were covered in heavy rings, and the decorative scimitar at his hip was crusted with gems.

  “Ain’t you afraid someone’s going to attack you for the jewels?” asked Rory, pointing at the scimitar.

  “Anyone can see that they’re fakes. As if anyone would waste jewels on a sword.”

  “I dunno… They look pretty real to me. I ain’t getting involved if someone tries to rob you.”

  “Thank you, Rory, but I am not in the habit of trusting my security to tiny girls anyway.”

  Rory skewered him with a look, but he didn’t seem to care as he fussed with his pantaloons.

  “Damned ridiculous things. What are the Kushanians thinking of?”

  “Why are we going to the barber?”

  “I need a bigger moustache.”

  “And why do you need a bigger moustache? I’m working with you on this, right, I need to know the plan.”

  “To find out who the deceased is.”

  “Can you be a bit less specific please, the details are overwhelming me.”

  Longinus ignored her, instead entering a small barber shop with a sign above the door that read ‘Gamp & Son.’ Rory was left with the choice of scowling outside or inside. She chose inside.

  A small man with a congenial smile hurried towards them, bowing as he walked.

  “Welcome to my humble establishment! I am Gamp, at your service.” He sketched another little bow. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Do you do alchemical enhancements?” asked Longinus.

  “I do indeed! What will you be needing? Thicker, or longer hair?”

  “My hair needs no alterations.”

  “No, no, of course it doesn’t.” Gamp bowed again. “What I meant was —”

  “My moustache. I am after something with more body, something in the Kushanian fashion.”

  “Absolutely, absolutely. Please step this way.”

  Gamp gestured towards a shaving chair with a deep bow.

  “While you’re at it, I’ll also be needing a shave,” added Longinus, stroking his chin. “I’m a little dishevelled this morning.”

  Gamp looked as confused by this as Rory: other than his moustache, Longinus’ face was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. The barber complied nonetheless, lathering up Longinus’ cheeks and chin, and stropping his cut-throat razor. After Gamp had scraped the first lot of lather, Longinus inspected it with a critical eye, and nodded with a satisfied air, as if seeing some microscopic hair in the foam.

  “Good, good,” he said. “I already feel neater. Keep going. With the grain, Gamp, al
ways with the grain. By the way, I noticed it said ‘son’ on your sign. Is he available to comb my assistant’s hair?”

  Gamp looked over at Rory, paled a little at the sight of her hair, but quickly recovered.

  “Junior!” he called. “In here now! It would be our pleasure, sir. We are always ready for a challenge at Gamp & Son.”

  A lad walked in, a sulky version of his father.

  “Junior, please comb this, er, lady’s hair.”

  Junior and Rory looked at each other with equal displeasure, and he gestured at a chair for her to sit. Gamp, meanwhile, continued shaving Longinus.

  “And are you going anywhere special, sir?” he asked.

  “No talking, Gamp,” replied Longinus.

  “Yes, quite. Of course, sir.” He bowed.

  The shave finished, Gamp began applying a foul-smelling, viscous liquid to Longinus’ moustache with a little brush. Rory lost sight of them as her head snapped back; Junior had begun attacking her hair with a comb.

  “Ow!”

  The comb pulled ineffectively at her locks and she could feel Junior’s hand trembling from the effort of trying to rake the comb through one of her rope-hair segments. The comb’s teeth snapped off with a dry crack.

  “I can’t comb her hair, it’s broken the comb. I’m gonna have to cut it.” He produced a pair of sharp-looking scissors.

  Rory leapt out her chair, pulling out her dagger. Junior’s expression curdled with fear.

  “You crazy? You ain’t getting those near my hair! Bad enough that I look like a scrawny boy, you ain’t cutting my hair too, you hear me?”

  “Rory!” Longinus yelled, startling everyone. “Gentlemen, please excuse us,” he continued in a lower tone. “I must have a word with my assistant.”

  He stood up from his chair, a thick moustache drooping down one side of his mouth. Gamp and Junior hurried out, Gamp throwing a worried glance towards Rory.

  “You imbecile!” Longinus hissed once they were alone. “Did someone urinate in your gene pool? You never pull out a weapon at the barber’s. The gods be damned, girl! It’s almost as bad as killing outside your tailor’s!”

  “He was going to cut my hair, what exactly —”

  Rory’s eye was drawn by a familiar figure walking past the window. Out of context, it took her a second to recognise him. She froze — Jake. He must have felt her eyes on him because he turned to look at her. He opened his mouth and made to walk towards the shop when he spotted Longinus. He looked back at Rory, caught sight of her drawn dagger, and a quick flicker of hurt passed across his features before his face darkened to anger.

  Rory wondered if he had been waiting for her all morning at the shelter. She had completely forgotten about him — not that she’d had any intention of going back to him, but she knew he would be furious at her rejection.

  The moment stretched on, Rory and Jake keeping their eyes locked on each other, and she realised that the next time they met it would be trouble.

  “Rory, who is that man?” asked Longinus.

  Rory didn’t reply. Jake clenched his jaw, and took another good look at Longinus before skulking off.

  Rory sagged with relief, realising that she had been holding her breath.

  “Nothing. Nobody. Not your business.” She slipped her blade back into her belt. She could have told Longinus that Jake was the man who had been hired to get rid of her, but even now it seemed wrong to get anyone else involved. This was between her and Jake.

  Longinus gave her a weird look, and she realised that he was looking at the bruise on her face. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. He returned to his chair.

  “Gamp, get back here,” he called. The little barber returned, darting nervous looks at Rory. “My assistant won’t require your services. We have decided to keep her hair as it is. Now, please finish my moustache.”

  * * *

  Once Gamp was finished, Longinus was furnished with a luxuriously thick moustache that curled up at the tips thanks to the application of a little wax. Longinus examined himself in the mirror with a satisfied smile.

  “Good man,” he said to Gamp, who bowed, glowing with pleasure.

  Longinus paid, and he and Rory stepped back out onto the street.

  “Look,” he said, “I…I wanted to say to you… Well the thing is, um, well there are rules… Yes, there are rules, but then there are rules, you know?” He cleared his throat.

  “No, I got no clue what you mean.”

  “I mean, there are rules, but in your case, of course…I mean, um… you’re a girl.”

  “Yeah, I’m a girl. And?”

  “And, um, we’re assassins. So there are rules, to each their business…but with girls it’s different. You see?”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  Longinus cleared his throat again. “I’m a man, and you’re a girl.”

  “Yeah…”

  “And there are rules.”

  “Alright, and?”

  “And your face…”

  “My face?”

  “Yes. If anyone…um…I mean, well you know. If anyone tries, er, I’d have to be…um… involved.”

  “Stone the gulls, Longinus! Are you coming onto me?”

  “What? Er, what?” Longinus turned beet red. “No! No, no, no! Gods, no!” He glared at her. “You damned idiotic girl, why is everything with you so difficult?”

  “Don’t call me idiotic, I ain’t the one spouting nonsense,” replied Rory, more than a little relieved at his answer. She had no desire to see what Longinus being romantic was like — no doubt it would be cringe worthy and unpleasant.

  Longinus pinched the bridge of his nose. “The gods help me, women are born to irritate, but you take things to another level.”

  “I aim to please. You gonna tell me what that was about, then?”

  Longinus shook his head. “Forget this conversation happened.”

  “I ain’t even sure there was a conversation.”

  Chapter 18

  By the time they had reached the guard headquarters, Longinus finally felt in character. He found himself very taken by his new moustache, twirling its tips between his fingers. This was going to be one of his character’s tics.

  He glanced back over his shoulder to ensure Rory was still out of sight, and did his best to put her out of his mind. He had to stay in character now, no distractions. Too much was at stake. He walked up to the guard headquarters with the confident swagger that comes with wealth.

  Although not very large, the building was one of the more impressive in Damsport. Over time it had become an amalgamation of dome-topped turrets, cupolas, and spires, each part reflecting the style of the Marquess or Marchioness of the time, so that the result was an odd mishmash of architecture that somewhat managed to work as a rather astonishing, cohesive whole.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen,” Longinus said to the two guards at the gate, putting on an aristocratic Kushanian accent. “I’ll be needing to speak to your supervisor. The name’s Shakh Sankhrit.”

  “You got a card to announce you?” asked one of them.

  “Unfortunately no, I’m still waiting on the printer. The design was all wrong, had to be remade. But your Lieutenant will want to speak to me, so hurry about it. I don’t have all day.”

  The guard who had spoken disappeared within the building, leaving Longinus to wait outside. Longinus twiddled his moustache. It really was a handy tic to have, it kept one’s hand busy and gave one an air of superiority. He might have to take that up for himself. Of course, that would mean growing a longer moustache.

  Worth considering.

  The guard eventually returned. “Lieutenant Grahms will see you. Follow me.”

  Longinus was led through a succession of twisting corridors, each decorated in its own fashion, mirroring the patchwork effect of the exterior. They finally reached a set of shiny lacquered double doors. The guard knocked.

  “Come.”

  The guard opened the doors and ge
stured for Longinus to go inside.

  Within was an office that was as gaudy as Longinus’ costume. Lacquered, gilded screens, brocade upholstered chairs, intricately patterned rugs, all of it clashing, without good taste to guide them into harmony. The Lieutenant stood at the window, gazing out onto the Bottleneck. He turned to greet Longinus, who recognised his face from one of the paintings hanging on the office wall.

  “How can I help you, Mister…” Lieutenant Grahms pretended to have forgotten the name.

  Really? Does he think that is enough to put me out? Laughable.

  Longinus threw himself onto a chair without being invited.

  “Sankhrit. But you can call me Shakh. I like to use my mother’s name for anonymity, but I’m sure you’ll have heard of my father’s name, Firuz.”

  Grahms’ demeanour changed immediately at the mention of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Kushania. Longinus smirked. It was so easy.

  “Yes, of course, of course! What can I do, how can I be of assistance, Mr, ah, that is, Shakh?” Grahms sat down and called for some refreshments.

  “I’m moving to Damsport. Got bored with living on the family estate.” Longinus waved a nonchalant hand. “You know how it is. I wanted a little hobby, something fun to fill my days, so I purchased a newspaper. I’ve always fancied myself a writer, you see, and my prose is second to none. A journalist, mind you, none of that fictional nonsense. So I thought to hell with propriety! I bought the newspaper.” Longinus smiled and twiddled his moustache. “And I shall run it, too.”

  “I see. What newspaper is that?”

  “The Damsport Gazette. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure.”

  Grahms nodded stiffly. “Yes, I’ve had one or two run-ins with them.”

  “As I am well aware. I do my research. I was pondering what to do with my newly acquired newspaper yesterday in the baths — your public baths are so delightfully quaint, by the way. There is a frisson about slumming it with the common folk, is there not? At any rate, I heard about this ghastly corpse appearing in the women’s section.” Longinus leaned forward. “Naturally I could not go and investigate this myself, so I came straight to you. This would be a marvellous story for me to start with.”