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

by Celine Jeanjean

  At least her black eye was fading to little more than a yellowing of the skin (thanks to an ointment of his creation — he had made Rory throw out Dr Corian’s paste which was distinctly inferior), and the mark at her neck had completely disappeared. She still looked a disgrace, but no longer like a beaten disgrace. It was just as well that they hadn’t come across that lumbering character from the barber’s, or Longinus would have been hard pressed to resist the temptation of flinging some of his powdered poison in his face.

  Unfortunately, they had no luck with the urchins, either. Daily trips to Susie’s brought them no word, no messages. It was as though the copycat assassin had decided to disappear, back to where he had come from.

  Chapter 24

  Rory and Longinus were sitting down to another delicious meal at Susie’s, accompanied by two butterscotch coffees — fast becoming Rory’s favourite drink. Rory had begun to enjoy these daily trips to the coffeehouse almost as much as the training. It wasn’t just because of the respite it afforded her aching arms and legs. She and Longinus were settling into a comfortable sort of routine, largely consisting of him hissing at her and poking her in the ribs to remind her of whatever manners he felt she was lacking at the time, while Rory did her best to come up with ever-more-inventive ways to wind him up.

  She barely thought of Jake anymore, or of the partnership they used to have.

  They had just started eating, and Longinus hadn’t even had time to start berating her on her table manners, when a commotion at the entrance interrupted them.

  Susie appeared at their booth.

  “Someone here to see you both,” she murmured.

  “Thank you, Susie,” Longinus replied. “My apologies for the disturbance. Would you be so kind as to add this to my bill?”

  He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin and stood up. Rory followed suit but, not wanting to waste her coffee, she downed it all in one draught. It was still far too hot, and it burned her tongue and the inside of her mouth. As she followed Longinus she stuck her tongue out, breathing on it, trying to cool the burning sensation.

  Back at the reception, she could see Pip and Alice waiting outside. Alice looked timidly about her while Pip’s expression was a mixture of outrage and impatience.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed as soon as he saw them. “I told ’er and told ’er, I needs to be seeing ya now on urgent bisniss, but she ain’t listened to me. Apologies, sir, miss, for the delay, next time inform yer employees of yer important bisniss. Least that’s what I’d do.”

  Longinus and Rory stepped out into the late-afternoon light, blinking after the gloom of the coffeehouse.

  “What have you got for us?” asked Rory as soon as they had stepped out into the square, before Longinus could begin a lecture on manners or silence.

  The urchins both spoke eagerly, Alice raising her voice to be heard above Pip, but the result was so confused that Rory could make no sense of it.

  “You first,” she said to Alice.

  “But —” protested Pip.

  “I makes the rules here, alright?” cut in Rory.

  “The Viper killed a servant of the Old Girl,” said Alice, “by writing on ’er fore’ead.”

  “ ’e killed her last night,” interrupted Pip. “I found that out independent of her like, so you ’ave ter pay me.”

  “How d’you know it was the Viper?” asked Rory.

  “ ’e left a note,” said Alice.

  “Aye, and then ’e took all her clothes. Pervert if ya ask me.” Pip crossed his arms as though his opinion was the final word on the matter.

  Longinus went a grey shade of pale.

  “What was the note like?” asked Rory, throwing a worried glance at Longinus. Now was not the time for him to throw a scene.

  “Like a playin’ card,” said Pip

  “But with a snake on it,” added Alice.

  “Alright, that’s great. Good work.” Rory gestured at Longinus for the purse, and he gave it to her as though in a dream. She handed the urchins their coins.

  “And what if we ’ear of more of the Viper’s activities?” asked Pip.

  “Leave word ’ere, but don’t be making a fuss again or I’ll be cuffin’ you ’bout the ears, alright?”

  “Aye,” said the lad.

  “Good. One last thing. If yer smart, ya’ll work together. Cover more ground that way.”

  Pip looked at Alice doubtfully. “Dunno…” he said.

  Alice looked back at him with her big mouse eyes.

  “Trust me,” said Rory, “Little ’uns like her can do pretty damn well for themselves.”

  Pip nodded, understanding the reference to Rory’s comparatively tiny frame, but he still seemed wholly unconvinced by Alice.

  “See you both soon, no doubt,” she said, and seeing Longinus walking away, she waved at the urchins and hurried after him.

  “Longinus?”

  He turned, seeming startled to find her walking beside him.

  “You alright?” she asked.

  “No, of course I’m not alright! The Viper is being made out to be a pervert. A pervert! You heard the urchin.”

  “Pip.”

  “What?”

  “His name is Pip.”

  “Focus, Rory! The name of an urchin is hardly worth our attention at this point! My reputation is at stake. Years of carefully nurturing it and along comes this…this…whoever this is, and he sweeps it away just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “A pervert — the Viper. Unthinkable.” Longinus was shaking with outrage.

  “You thought of why someone would want to do that? Only I was thinking, right, if he wants to be the Viper, why discredit you like that? Makes no sense, he needs the Viper’s reputation intact to take your place. And right now your reputation ain’t looking too good. It doesn’t make sense, we’re missing something here.”

  “I don’t know, Rory!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “He doesn’t want competition, he wants to be the only worthy assassin in Damsport… Maybe he isn’t trying to replace me, just to discredit me. After all, you saw how crass what he did with…” Longinus composed himself and looked around, dropping his voice, “with Dr Corian was. It doesn’t matter why he’s doing it, what matters is that he’s ruining my reputation.”

  “But then why try to get rid of me? I mean I ain’t exactly here to help your reputation neither, am I? It ain’t making sense, I don’t get where I fit in. And then there’s the issue of how he selects the targets in the first place. Are they random? Why kill the Old Girl’s servant? Is he getting commissions from people? Your commissions?”

  At this, Longinus seemed to be electrified.

  “What?” asked Rory.

  She was startled when he turned to her, face a mask of fury.

  “You little…”

  “What did I do now?”

  “My commissions!” he exploded. “Of course, he’s been taking my commissions. I haven’t been able to check on them because of you.”

  “Of me?”

  “Yes, you! With your blackmailing, your incessant irritating questions, your —”

  “Hey, it ain’t my fault if you haven’t been doing your job. I haven’t been stopping you from doing nothing.”

  Longinus went silent as they reached his house. He led the way to the back door and, opening it, stepped inside. He left the door open, which Rory took as an invitation to enter.

  The weapons room was dark, only partially illuminated by the late-afternoon light. Longinus shook the lamps to life, the vapours mixing and producing their orange glow. He finished lighting the last lamp, then he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the door that led into the rest of the house.

  “Hey, what —”

  He shoved her in through a door immediately to the left of the weapons room and slammed it shut. By the time Rory had reacted and thrown herself at the handle to open it, the sliding deadbolt was already back in position.

  “What in all hells is going
on?” she shouted, banging a fist on the door.

  “There is no way I am letting you anywhere near my commissions. I won’t have you getting in my way, either. Because of you, I’ve let my vigilance slip and now this man is stealing my jobs. Well, he is in for a rude surprise, let me tell you. But you,” as he spoke, Longinus slapped the door with his hand, “will not get in my head and distract me as you have been doing every day since I met you, you hear me?”

  Rory shouted and swore and threw a couple of kicks at the door for good measure as she looked around her. She was in a tiny room, with a single, high window. Against the wall was a set of shelves with cloths, rags, bottles, and other cleaning supplies. A couple of brooms were stashed in a corner, along with buckets and scouring brushes.

  The window was the only obvious way out, but it was narrow — possibly even too narrow for her. It was also too high for her to get to. Maybe if she climbed the shelves, she could break out of the window that way, although any smashing glass would be easily heard from the weapons room. Still, it was worth a try. If Longinus thought he could keep her locked up in here, he had another thing coming.

  Still shouting and swearing to cover any noise she might make, she set to work.

  Chapter 25

  Once Longinus had changed into his black silks, night had fully settled. He went to the cupboard, but Rory had stopped making a racket. He guessed she had gone to sleep.

  Good.

  He checked the little trap that he had spent the last hour or so preparing. It would fit into the niche where clients normally left him commissions, and if the copycat assassin was stealing his jobs… Well, he would soon find out what it meant to cross the Viper.

  Longinus slipped the contraption in his pocket, careful not to knock it against anything. It was designed to burn the hands and arms of anyone who set it off, and cover them with blotches of bright purple murex dye, thus making the culprit easier to identify.

  He headed out, pleased to finally be alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t been able to write or even to think in peace these last few days. The girl was always there, talking, making noise, being herself. It was exhausting. She was exhausting. And irritating.

  He thought of the pamphlets that needed writing. A small part of him, a very small part of him, yearned to lock himself away in his room, and write and write until all of this had blown over.

  He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and raised his chin haughtily.

  The Viper is never defeated. The Viper fights to the end and wins. I will find this mysterious man, I will find him and kill him. I will create a poison so vicious, so deadly, Damsport will shiver with fear at the mere mention of it.

  Soon enough he reached Thirteen, at the end of which was the cemetery, on a hilltop by the sea. Although Thirteen was technically a thoroughfare, it was in fact little more than a wide alley between dilapidated houses. Pottersfield was even less desirable an area than the Rookery — nobody wanted to live near the dead.

  The streets were dark, with no vapour lamps to light the way. Curtainless windows looked down like black, empty eyes. The few who lived in Pottersfield stayed away from Thirteen, leaving those who visited the dead unobserved. Which suited Longinus just fine, since he had no desire for anyone to see him. Remembering that he had most likely been watched by the docks, he moved carefully, his keen eyes and ears ready to pick up the slightest movement or sound. Something Rory had said earlier nagged at him. Much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. Why was this man doing all this? Why discredit him, and why the interest in getting Rory out of the way?

  The houses on either side of the road gave way to gently sloping ground on which grew ragged clumps of trees. Up ahead, Longinus could see the hill on which the cemetery was perched, sticking out of Damsport like the crown of a bald man’s head.

  Most of the dead were burned at sea, but certain religions still insisted on a ground burial. A few expensive marble crypts dotted the top of the hill, but for the most part it was a simple cemetery with tombstones protruding from the ground like dragon’s teeth.

  He paused at his usual spot within the trees, a little way from the wrought-iron fence that circled the cemetery. From there he commanded a view of most of the cemetery, except for the part that backed out onto jagged rocks, against which the sea dashed itself in great sprays of foam.

  A white cat, its eyes so pale they look liked moonstones, walked lazily towards him. As it reached the fence, it sat on its haunches, regarding Longinus with obvious antipathy. It opened its mouth, but no sound came out.

  Every cat in the Damsport cemetery was voiceless and only appeared at night. Some said they were the spirits of the dead, while others said that they guarded the dead and to touch them meant touching the Other Side. Longinus simply stayed clear of them.

  He waited to see if anyone stirred behind the wrought-iron fence, savouring the peace and calm that came with being alone. The thought of having to go through many more days with Rory by his side, with her constant insolence, her irritating questions, her —

  “So, why are we here?”

  Longinus yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin. Rory stood behind him, regarding him coolly, her eyes pale in the moonlight.

  “Quiet,” he hissed, heart still pounding from his fright. “Someone might hear you.”

  “You’re talking louder than me,” she replied in a whisper.

  Longinus pinched his nose and summoned up every ounce of noblesse oblige. He hadn’t thought it possible for the girl to be any more irritating than she had already been, but there it was.

  “How did you even get out?” he asked.

  “Please.” Rory waved her hand as though the question was beneath her. “I been breaking in and out of places since you were sucking your thumb and crapping yourself.”

  “Don’t try to be a smartarse when you can’t even count. You didn’t exist when I was a child.”

  “Oh, I know that, I just assumed you were a slow developer,” she replied with a smile. “Now shhh, or someone might hear you.”

  It was all Longinus could do not to throttle the girl. She was right, though — he couldn’t afford a scene now, not when someone might hear. He controlled himself with some difficulty.

  “You’re going to have to learn to stay locked up when I lock you away,” he managed in a low whisper.

  “I ain’t good at being locked away. Sorry. Why are we at the cemetery, anyway?”

  “None of your business. Go back.”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t do what I came here to do.”

  “Fine with me, it’s a beautiful night, better to spend it under the stars than in a cupboard if you ask me.”

  Longinus pinched the bridge of his nose again.

  The gods give me strength, but the girl is a she-devil. A harpy, a harridan, a shrew, a termagant.

  The outburst of words calmed him a little.

  Taking advantage of my generous, trusting nature. I took her in, I fed her, clothed her, taught her, and she won’t repay me with any obedience.

  He took a couple of deep breaths, reviewing his options. Unfortunately, he was faced only with two: continue on with the girl or return home with the girl. Neither of which was acceptable.

  The patience of a saint. I have the patience of a saint.

  “Follow me,” he whispered to Rory, “and do exactly as I say.”

  “Alright,” she whispered back, her expression irritatingly triumphant.

  “And I take back what I said the other day,” he added. “If someone attacks you again, I won’t be defending you, even if you are a girl. I can’t imagine the number of people you’ve provoked to breaking point.”

  “Oh, is that what that weird conversation was about?”

  “Quiet!”

  Longinus couldn’t believe now that he had ever harboured any delusions that the girl was in need of protection. Even worse, delusions that he should somehow be the one protecting her.

  He moved silentl
y towards the fence and followed it around until he reached the gate. It was flanked on either side with vine-covered pillars. A myriad of mythical beasts, grotesques, and various representations of death were carved into the marble, peeking out from between lustrous leaves.

  They passed through the gates and weaved their way amongst the tombstones. To the right was the little hut of the grave tenders, but no light shone out of the single window. They crested the hill, passing by impressive crypts, complete with marble statues of the fates, of justice, or of whatever god or goddess the deceased had worshiped. The humid, salty sea air had nibbled away at some of the marble faces, so that they resembled hideous lepers with missing eyes or noses.

  On the other side of the hill, the tombstones were in much worse condition, exposed as they were to the humid, salt-laden wind. The slope was steeper too, and some of the stones leaned dangerously, as though the sea was trying to drag them in.

  Longinus navigated his way with practiced ease down the slope to a particularly runty tombstone. He clucked his tongue with annoyance when he saw how neat it was: the sand and debris from the sea had been swept away, as had the cobwebs and moss that had once covered the stone.

  Why can’t those damned grave tenders mind their own business? They remove my moss and dead leaves every gods-damned time.

  He turned to Rory. “Go fetch me some dead leaves and moss over there.”

  “Why?”

  “This tombstone is far too neat.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because I need it to look eerie and neglected.”

  “Why?”

  “Enough with your damned questions!” Longinus’ voice rose dangerously.

  “Shhh,” whispered Rory, “you’re making a scene. And if you answered me straight I wouldn’t need to ask you so many questions, now would I?”