Longinus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. My clients leave me commissions here, and I need their first experience of working with me to give them chills or they might not realise that the Viper is a dark and mysterious character. Does that satisfy you?”
“Completely,” she replied with a smirk.
“Now can you do as I asked?”
Thankfully she did, and he was spared any more of her insolence.
Chapter 26
Rory was gathering moss when she heard a strangled noise. Looking back, she could see Longinus standing by the little tombstone, holding a piece of paper in his hands. Even in the moonlight she could see that the colour had drained from his face. She hurried over and as she got near, she spotted something shiny and golden by his feet: three golden guineas.
“What’s the matter?” she asked as she reached him. From where she stood, Rory could see a cavity at the top of the tombstone, and she guessed that was where the paper had come from. Longinus was still staring at it with horror.
“Longinus?”
“Nothing,” he replied shakily, pocketing the paper.
He produced a small contraption from his pocket with wires sticking out of it, and flung it to the sea. There was a tiny explosion when it hit the water.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“What about the dead leaves and moss?”
“No need.”
He turned and walked away, without waiting for her or picking up the coins. Never one to let good money go to waste, Rory grabbed them and hurried after him.
“What was on the paper?”
He didn’t answer.
Rory caught up with him, tripped, and went flying into his back. He righted her distractedly, not even commenting on her clumsiness.
Had to be something serious then.
She unfolded the paper she had lifted from his pocket. Two words were written in very neat letters: Longinus Pendergast.
“That’s your name,” she said stupidly.
Longinus whipped around, saw the paper, and snatched it from her.
“Why is your name on there?” she asked. “Do you think that means the copycat wants you dead? Surely he must know that you’re the Viper, right?”
He continued walking wordlessly and didn’t say another word until they reached the house. Once back in the weapons room, Rory tried to engage him again.
“So what’s our next move?”
“There is no ‘our next move.’ We don’t do anything. We will not speak of this, of any of this gods-damned business again.”
Well, at least he was speaking again. He threw himself down into a chair, covering his eyes with one hand.
“So what, the copycat now wants you dead too, you had to be expecting that. Ain’t you gonna do nothing? What’s wrong with you? I very much doubt that the Viper —”
“What in all hells do you want from me?” he shouted, taking her aback. “You want training? Fine, I’ll give you training. At no point did we agree that you could poke your nose into my affairs. You will leave this alone and never speak of it again, because I am damn well telling you to!”
Rory wiped the spittle from her face, at a loss for a reply. Longinus’ features were contorted, the tendons on his neck standing out like cords.
He stood up abruptly and pulled a crystal bottle from a small cabinet, along with a matching crystal tumbler. He poured himself two fingers of port, his hands shaking so that the bottleneck clinked against the glass.
“Go away, Rory,” he said, downing the glass in one go. “Go away, and leave me alone.”
As he walked out of the room cradling the tumbler and the bottle to his chest, she realised that it wasn’t anger contorting his features. It was fear.
* * *
Rory headed out, closing Longinus’ door behind her. She didn’t want to stay on her own in his house, and she needed space to put her thoughts in order.
Whatever was going on, it was getting more and more confusing. None of it made sense, least of all Longinus’ reaction to seeing his name on the paper. Surely it was just a message from the copycat, a threat. He had to have been expecting something like that — after all, the copycat assassin had hired Jake to get rid of her. It was only logical that he would want to get rid of Longinus too, if his aim was to replace the Viper.
Which brought her back to the question that she just couldn’t answer. Why would he want to be the Viper?
She came across a house with crumbling mortar between the bricks and, almost without thinking, she scaled the wall up to the rooftops. Damsport was bathed in silvery moonlight and from where she was, Rory could see almost all of the thoroughfares, meeting at the Great Bazaar. The streets were quiet in this part of town, the inhabitants turning in for the night, but in the distance she could see dancing lights and movements. Faint snatches of sound and laughter floated up in the still air. Those areas of Damsport that specialised in night trade would just be getting into the swing of things.
The street she was on was flanked by terraced houses, and she walked from roof to roof easily. The air was thick and moist as exhaled breath, and the tension in the air told her that another summer storm was about to break.
As she walked, her mind kept returning to Longinus’ reaction to his name on the paper. He was an assassin, even if he was an eccentric one. He dealt with death. Someone wanting to kill him shouldn’t be that terrifying. Shocking maybe, upsetting at a stretch, but terrifying? She had seen how bad his hands were shaking. This wasn’t just surprise at having been targeted.
Maybe there had been something on the paper to scare him. Could she have missed a symbol? She was pretty sure it was blank other than the name. Maybe the handwriting? Yes, maybe he recognised it. That would explain the fear. And if he recognised the handwriting, that meant Longinus knew who the copycat was. Maybe all of this was personal. It certainly would explain why the copycat would make the Viper look like a pervert.
It even explained why Jake had at first been hired to get her out of the way and not necessarily kill her. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time — this wasn’t about her and it never had been. She probably had just been an annoyance, one that had to be removed, and it was simply a coincidence that she had met Corian just before his death.
Of course, that didn’t change the fact that the attack on her had been very real and very life threatening. Rory touched the spot at her throat where for days she had borne a red mark. If there was one thing she had learned growing up on the streets, it was that if someone threatened you, you had to come back at them with everything you had right away, or you’d be a goner sooner rather than later. Especially if you were as scrawny as her. The first thing to do would be to get Longinus to tell her who the copycat was. Then they could put together a plan of attack.
Yes, she would go and confront Longinus about it right now. She was halfway back when the storm broke, immediately soaking her to the skin. She skidded back as fast as she could on the slick tiles.
Chapter 27
Longinus sat behind his desk, drinking his port. A warm light from the vapour lamp illuminated his room and all the familiar things that normally gave him comfort. His hands were shaking so violently, he kept having to put the tumbler down for fear of spilling port on his papers.
He drained the tumbler in one go and poured himself a second glass, the bottle tinkling against the glass. He drained that and poured himself a third, drained that too, and then poured a fourth for good measure. The port helped, steadying his hands.
It occurred to him that for the first time in a long time, there was someone in the house with him. He wasn’t alone. He could go downstairs and talk to Rory.
A stupid idea.
He looked at the painting on the wall, at his mother, proud and beautiful. It was her best painting, although he hated how he had been captured: as a shy toddler, clinging to his mother’s legs and looking back at the painter. The cut-out portion of the painting stared back at him, and he shivered
. His thoughts wandered to the room further down the corridor with its deadbolt, and suddenly the urge to speak to Rory was overwhelming. Even putting up with her would be better than being alone.
He ran to the door and yanked it open, rushing to the stairs and taking them two by two.
“Rory!”
The weapons room was empty.
Fool, what exactly did you expect?
He hovered at the doorway, then went to the shelf and selected a few poisons. The Spraying Mantis, with its atomiser; Throws of Death, enclosed in a fragile glass vial that would break on impact; and his beloved Writing on the Wall, although he handled that last one with particular care. As he returned upstairs cradling the bottles, he fancied he could feel warmth emanating from them, as though they were comforting him.
When he reached his desk, he lined up the poisons along the far edge. Then he pulled out a fresh sheaf of paper, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and began to write.
The house was perfectly silent, save for the scratching of his nib against the page.
* * *
Longinus was startled to find he had woken up in his bed. He sat up. Something felt odd. The vapour lamp had gone out and the room was as dark as a tomb. A cool draft blew on his skin, making him shiver, and he understood what was odd. He was naked.
He frowned.
I don’t remember getting undressed. Where is my night shirt?
He pushed the covers back and leaned over the edge of the bed, groping through the dark for the chair on which he normally left his clothes from the previous day. His hands only found empty air. The draft was still blowing and it was now really quite cold. He looked around for the source of it, but could see nothing. The darkness was so absolute he couldn’t even see his fingers when he waved them in front of his face.
Part of him wanted nothing more than to rush back to the safety of his covers.
I’m far too old to be afraid of the dark.
He got out of bed, and he heard something that made every hair on his body stand on edge. A tiny scraping sound, like a rusty deadbolt being pulled back. He froze.
The sound stopped.
Maybe I imagined it. Just a trick of the night, the house stretching…
He stood in the dark, waiting. The house stayed silent.
See, just a trick of the night. If you go out, you’ll find the door closed as always.
He moved forward, hands stretched blindly ahead of him. It occurred to him that he had no idea what direction he was walking in, and he felt a jolt of irrational panic at the thought of being lost in his own room.
His hands alighted on the reassuring wood of the door. He opened it.
The light in the corridor made him blink, and he shielded his eyes with one hand.
That’s odd, I don’t remember seeing any light filtering through the bottom of the —
Further down the hallway, the deadbolt moved, the rust catching and making the same scraping sound he had heard earlier. Longinus stared, transfixed. The deadbolt lurched a little further back, paused, then moved again.
He watched with horrified fascination as it progressed further and further back. It had almost reached the end when Longinus finally galvanised himself into action.
He threw himself down the corridor, hands stretched out towards it, but the deadbolt moved too. Just as he reached the door, it slipped fully back. Longinus came to an abrupt stop, and the door swung open silently.
A sickening buzzing sound started up in his mind, as though a million flies had taken up residence there. In the distance was a little voice: blood everywhere blood everywhere blood everywhere
With hypnotising slowness, blood crept out of the room, luridly red, disgustingly shiny. It oozed out into a puddle that widened as it came out the door, spreading into the hallway. Longinus backed away slowly, holding his breath, unable to look away.
The fibres of the carpet soaked the blood up, so that a red stain spread through it faster than the blood moved. It spread towards Longinus, ignoring the other side of the hallway as though it had a will of its own. He stepped away from it, until his back hit the closed door to his bedroom.
The red, viscous puddle crept after him. Still he couldn’t look away. So much blood. Smelling so sickeningly rich.
His hand felt the wood behind him for the door handle, but he found nothing but a smooth, uninterrupted surface. He turned in a panic, both hands frantically searching the door for the handle. It was gone.
Turning back, he saw that the blood had caught up with him. It was inches away, gleaming threateningly. His hands scrambled again at the door, fingernails scratching the wood, searching for something, anything that would open it. The blood reached his toes, oozing around each one.
Longinus screamed.
Chapter 28
Rory bounded up the stairs when she heard Longinus crying out.
“Longinus!” she pounded at his door. “You alright?”
Silence.
She pressed her ear to the door. After a while, she heard a faint whimpering sound and she listened harder.
“Longinus?” she repeated, lower this time.
“Don’t cut me! Please don’t cut me,” came Longinus’ voice.
The tall man — he had to have broken in somehow. Rory went to open the door, but it was locked. Cursing, she pulled out her picks. Longinus whined and whimpered, and she dropped one. She picked it up, but her normally nimble fingers had turned clumsy from the panic — she was all left thumbs.
At last the lock gave and she burst into the room. The noise woke Longinus, and he started up from his desk, against which his head had been resting. A sheet of paper was stuck to his cheek. He would have looked comical if it wasn’t for the way he looked around him, eyes wild with fear.
“You alright?” asked Rory. “I heard you from downstairs, I thought maybe the man had broken in.”
Longinus blinked and looked about him, breathing hard.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he muttered, removing the paper from his face. “I was just having a weird dream.”
“A dream?” As she spoke Rory scanned the room, looking for any signs of a break in. Everything looked normal.
“I said, I’m fine,” said Longinus. “There’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Now go away, I have work to do.”
“I’ll be downstairs,” she said, heading for the door. She would leave confronting him about the handwriting until morning.
Longinus nodded. As she walked out, Rory saw Longinus grab his pen with a shaking hand.
* * *
Rory spent a fitful night’s sleep. She sat in the weapons room at first, listening out for any noise, jumping up to investigate every creak of the house. She felt sure that the tall man would try something during the night. When the rain had stopped, she decided to head out for the roof so she could keep an eye out on the street should he try to break in.
No one came near the house.
After a time the rain started again, making it hard to see anything. She returned inside to wait for Longinus to get up. His nightmare had only confirmed her suspicions: he knew who was after them and he was afraid.
“What a beautiful morning,” Longinus announced as he walked in.
He wore an emerald green waistcoat embroidered with gold thread, over a white shirt and ochre trousers, and was wreathed in lace that peeked out from sleeves, collars, and hems like so many clouds of smoke. A decorative rapier hung from his belt, the basket an intricate wisp of golden filigree.
“Good to hear you’re in such good spirits,” said Rory. “ ’cause I want to talk to you. Last night I was thinking about all that happened, right, and I worked out that you know who the man is. Don’t try to tell me otherwise, alright.”
Much to her surprise, Longinus didn’t even try to dodge the question.
“Yes, I know exactly who is behind all this.”
“Good. Who is it?”
He pull
ed out the piece of paper from his sleeve cuff, and skewered it to the top of the alchemy bench with his index finger. “See here. From the meanness of the ‘L’, and the sharpness of the ’n’s, I can tell that the writer is a petty, small-minded man. And there,” he stabbed at a ’t’, “look at that. The ‘t’ of cowardice. Oh, I tell you the man behind all this is a coward. That ‘o’ shows jealousy. What we are dealing with here is a craven, inconsequential individual, a spiteful little parasite, whose admiration of me has turned to envy and now to this. It is of no more threat to me than a fly is to a lion.”
“You really expect me to believe that you’re getting all that from his handwriting?”
“Graphology isn’t just an art, Rory, it’s a science. And it tells me that this is not worth my time. The Viper is above that sort of nonsense; it will take more than that to strike fear into his noble heart.” As he spoke he struck his fist on his chest, raising his chin with defiance.
“So why were you so afraid last night? And that doesn’t explain why he’d want to get me out of the way, too. What about Dr Corian and the Old Girl’s servant? For a coward, he’s killing pretty effectively.”
“Bore someone else with your complaints, my dear, the Viper has more important fish to fry. Now!” He clasped his hands together. “We have training to do.”
“Piss on training, we can’t just pretend this ain’t happening! You were afraid last night, I saw it. You can’t pretend you wasn’t. You know who’s behind this, I know you do. Tell me, and none of this nonsense about handwriting. I know it’s a man, I know he’s tall and I know he has a hooked nose.”
Surprise flashed briefly on Longinus’ face.
“You see, you know something, I saw it on your face just now,” said Rory. “What’s going on? Who is he?”
When Longinus didn’t answer, she continued.
“Even if you don’t tell me who it is, I’ll work it out. It might take me longer, but one way or another I’ll get there and —”
“We should get some food before we begin today’s training,” said Longinus. “Training on an empty stomach should always be avoided. I’ll get my hat.”
The Viper and the Urchin: A Novel of Steampunk Adventure (Bloodless Assassin Mysteries Book 1) Page 15