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

by Celine Jeanjean

  When they reached Longinus’ street, they slowed to a walking pace, looking out for anyone watching. Cruikshank took the spider to both edges of the roofs so they could look down at the street below, but it was empty.

  “There’s a broken skylight from when I last broke in,” whispered Rory.

  “What do you mean last broke in?”

  “Now’s not really the time for a lecture, alright?”

  Rory was relieved when Cruikshank didn’t press the point. They reached Longinus’ roof silent as you like. The skylight was still open, with the hole Rory had kicked in what seemed like a lifetime ago. However, it was far too small for the spider to fit.

  “Why don’t I go in,” whispered Rory. “I know the way. We can use my grappling hook and line to get me out.”

  “No way,” Cruikshank whispered back. “I don’t like the idea of you on your own. We don’t know who’s in there. Can you figure out which window leads into Longinus’ room?”

  Rory unstrapped her harness, and slid down from the spider. She went to the edge of the roof and peered down, immediately retreating.

  “It’s the left-most window, but we can’t do it — there are two of Myran’s men out there. The spider’s too big, she’ll draw attention. It’s best for me to go in through the skylight. They won’t be expecting us. It’s been two days — if we were gonna come, it would have been right after we escaped, right? I’ll be fine. Anyway, I’m good at hiding.”

  Cruikshank looked dubious.

  “We ain’t got no other option, and we got to get those notes if we are gonna stop Myran from killing the Marchioness.”

  That decided Cruikshank. She opened a compartment to the side of the spider and pulled out a large coil of rope.

  “Easier for me to haul you up with that than your silk line,” she said. She also pulled out a tiny vapour lamp that Rory hooked to her belt.

  Once the rope was securely fastened around Rory’s waist, Cruikshank lowered her through the open window.

  “Be careful in there,” she whispered.

  Rory nodded and turned to look at the room beneath her. It was just as she had left it, with the furniture looming in the gloom under its white sheets. She landed on the chaise and untied the rope from around her waist, giving a thumbs up at Cruikshank. The older woman’s face was framed by the window and it was full of anxiety. Rory grinned at her to reassure her, although her palms were sweating.

  She made her way to the door and listened. Silence.

  She opened it carefully and peeked into the corridor. It all looked normal. Walking as quickly as she dared without making a sound, she headed for Longinus’ room. She shuddered as she passed the dead-bolted room, remembering the bloodstain.

  Once inside Longinus’ room, she closed the door carefully. Even in the dark she could tell the room had been ransacked. She shook her lamp to life and was grateful Longinus wasn’t there to see this.

  The bedsheets were torn; stuffing from the pillows and mattress was strewn about the room, as were ripped clothing and broken furniture. The desk rested against the floor, two of its legs broken off, its drawers yawning open. It looked as though every single piece of paper it had contained had been ripped apart, which seemed odd at first — but then Rory guessed that Myran must have been the one going through the room and she must have taken pleasure in destroying Longinus’ precious pamphlets.

  Up on the wall, the painting remained untouched, Longinus and Myran’s mother looking down on the ruin.

  Rory walked over to the desk and pressed the marquetry the way Longinus had explained. Thankfully it still worked, and with a faint whir of clockwork a compartment clicked open. Inside was a thick, leather-bound journal, which on inspection contained rows upon rows of odd symbols and complicated-looking formulae.

  No doubt, the famous alchemical notes. There were other journals in there too, smaller and simply bound in fabric covers. She flicked through them quickly. The writing was neat but childish.

  Myran is so scared she has peed herself like a baby. And she cries like a baby, too. The Viper stands in front of her, tall and terrifying, and she is curled up on the floor.

  “Stop your crying!” says the Viper. The words are perfect because the Viper doesn’t stutter. “You don’t deserve my mercy, but I’m the most powerful man in the world and I’ve decided to let you live but you can never go near Longinus again in fact I’m taking Longinus away with me so he can learn to become the fiercest assassin in the world and you will stay behind all alone in the house and you will think about what you did.”

  Rory flicked forward to a later part of the diary.

  Myran lifted the knife ready to cut Longinus but the Viper appeared, his cape floating behind him, his face terrible to see.

  “Get away from the boy!” he thundered, and his voice was so loud that Myran dropped the knife. “You will never cut him again. In fact you will never be able to hold a knife again.” The Viper stretched out a hand and Myran’s hands were transformed into cat paws without claws, soft and useless.

  She flicked through another journal. Similar stories crowded the pages, the Viper coming to Longinus’ rescue over and over again. She wondered when Longinus’ imaginary protector had crossed the divide and become an alter ego. She stuffed the journals down the back of her trousers.

  Then, she headed over to Longinus’ wardrobe. That too had been hacked to pieces, all the silk, lace, and brocade reduced to little more than ribbons. She rooted around in the mess, until she found some black silk. She pulled out a black shirt and black trousers that were unscathed. She tied the shirt and trousers around herself like a sash and headed back to the bedroom.

  The tinkle of breaking glass made her freeze. She turned the vapour lamp off, listening in the darkness.

  Beyond the door, a heavy tread. The sloshing of liquid. Rory returned to the closet and buried herself in the torn fabric. She had just finished covering her head when she heard the bedroom door open. She held her breath.

  The sound of liquid sloshing, and then spattering against wood or something hard. And then again. A faint grunt, and heavy steps leaving the room. Rory didn’t hear the door close and she didn’t dare move. She waited in her hideout, straining to hear any more noises. Were both men inside the house?

  When she didn’t hear anything else, she poked her head out of the pile of ruined clothing. She smelled the smoke a second before she saw the orange flicker coming from the bedroom.

  Fire.

  She ran out of the closet only to find the doorway to the room obstructed by tall flames. Rory looked about desperately. She spotted the sheets on the bed. Maybe if she wrapped herself up well enough, she’d be able to run back to the room with the skylight.

  The fire spread to the desk, greedily eating the rug and wooden floorboards. No time to hesitate. Rory picked up the biggest bit of sheet she could find and wrapped herself as well as she could in it. It barely covered her.

  She headed to the doorway, and then noticed that the entire corridor beyond was ablaze. She’d never make it. Panic beat against the walls of her chest like a bird trapped in an attic.

  The fire reached the closet and she backed towards the bed.

  To her left, the window exploded in a spray of glass. She shielded her face with her arms.

  “Get on quick!” Cruikshank gestured from the spider. Down below, shouts erupted as Raynard and the other man spotted the spider.

  Rory ran over. The spider was below the window, but with her bad arm she couldn’t climb down to it without slipping right off its smooth abdomen.

  “Hold onto me,” said Cruikshank, looping a muscular arm around Rory. Rory managed to swing a leg around Cruikshank, clinging to her with her good hand. Cruikshank pushed the spider up the wall with Rory hanging off the side, until they reached the roof.

  “Right, now get on behind me.” Cruishank’s voice was perfectly calm.

  Rory clambered on as best she could, wincing from the pain in her bad arm. She had barely
sat down when Raynard appeared at the edge of the roof — he had climbed up the wall.

  “Hold on,” said Cruikshank, pushing the spider forward.

  They made the jump easily, and the spider scuttled off along the next roof, and the next. Holding onto Cruikshank with both legs and her good arm, Rory turned back to look at Raynard. He was giving chase, and although the spider was faster than him, it was also incredibly easy to spot.

  “He’s chasing us,” she shouted in Cruikshank’s ear.

  Cruikshank increased the spider’s speed, but still when she looked back, Rory could see Raynard chasing after them, arms pumping efficiently, long legs leaping from roof to roof. The man was tireless.

  “We’re not losing him,” she said.

  “Dammit,” said Cruikshank, “we’re running low on fuel.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that soon we won’t be able to jump and then we won’t be able to move at all.”

  They were still a long way from Machinist Crescent. Cruikshank slowed right down, and behind them Raynard seemed to speed up.

  A few blocks away, Rory could see Medlion Traversal.

  “I’ve got an idea. Get us to the traversal over there.”

  “Why?” asked Cruikshank.

  “You ever ridden with Crazy Willy? I reckon he’d be game for a huge spider on his steamcoach, so long as there ain’t anyone already on the top. It’s pretty late, so he should be empty. You got coinage on you?”

  “And if Crazy Willy doesn’t get here in time for us to jump before Raynard catches up with us?”

  “Then I guess we’re buggered either way. You got any better ideas?”

  “No, and that’s what worries me.”

  Cruikshank pushed the spider to top speed until they reached the edge of the traversal. Rory looked over her shoulder. Raynard was hopping from one roof to the next with impressive speed. They didn’t have long until he reached them.

  When he was only three roofs away, Rory heard the melodious screeching that announced Crazy Willy.

  “Here he comes. You ready, Cruikshank?”

  The older woman nodded, backing up the spider a little. Seen from the top, Crazy Willy’s steamcoach looked even more like a nightmarish beast.

  Raynard landed on the roof behind theirs.

  “Dammit, he’s almost on us.”

  Crazy Willy’s coach screeched around a corner, charging towards them. Raynard sprinted to the end of his roof, leapt, and landed just a few yards behind them.

  “Get ready,” yelled Cruikshank.

  Raynard sprinted towards them and Rory turned back, dagger out, ready to repel him. He jumped up on the spider’s abdomen behind Rory and she slashed with her blade. He dodged, grabbed her collar, and pulled her back. Rory realised she had forgotten to tie up her harness. She did her best to hold on to the spider with her legs, her left arm dangling uselessly at her side. The surface was too smooth, and she began to slip away as Raynard pulled her back.

  “Cruikshank, he’s got me!”

  Crazy Willy’s coach thundered closer.

  Rory slashed with her blade, but again Raynard dodged and then threw a punch at her bad shoulder. Rory almost fainted from the pain, and her legs let go. Raynard yanked her backwards, but just as she was slipping off the spider, Cruikshank’s hand shot back, catching hold of her belt. Rory hooked one foot under one of the spider’s legs, straining to keep herself on. She slashed with her dagger again, and this time she caught something. Raynard grunted. Still he held on. He threw another punch, but this time Rory managed to dodge.

  “Now!” shouted Cruikshank. She sent the spider forward, Raynard still holding on at the back.

  Rory stabbed immediately behind her neck, and she felt her dagger connect with something. Raynard let out a cry and released her just as they reached the roof’s edge. The spider jumped and landed on the back of the coach. Rory was still half off the spider and her torso and head hung over the side, the street below streaming past at alarming speed. Cruikshank turned and pulled her back up.

  “You alright, lovey?”

  Rory nodded, shaken. She turned back in time to see Raynard watching them from the rooftop, cradling his right hand, then the steamcoach turned and he was out of sight.

  Chapter 38

  Cruikshank and Rory returned to the workshop as quick as they could, but the spider was too low on steam to continue on the rooftops for long. They finished their journey at street level, but luckily it was still too early for anyone to be out in the streets and they made it back without any trouble.

  Rory gave Longinus his alchemical notes. When she told him about the fire, he paled, and for a moment she thought he might faint.

  “My poisons,” he murmured. “My life’s work.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Rory stood awkwardly, knowing there was nothing she could say. She thrust his childhood diaries at him without a word, and Longinus took them in silence.

  “We’ll get her for that,” she murmured. “We’ll get Myran and make her pay.”

  Longinus didn’t react. She wasn’t sure he had heard her.

  “She takes everything,” he said at last. “Everything…”

  Rory put a hand on his wrist. “You still have the Viper, remember. She can never take him from you.”

  Cruikshank cleared her throat.

  “We have to go to the Marchioness,” she said. “The sun’s rising. Let me take a quick look at your shoulder, lovey, and then we’ll go.”

  Rory nodded, tearing her eyes from Longinus. Cruikshank peeled back the bandages, examined and prodded the wound at Rory’s shoulder, clucked her tongue, and declared herself satisfied.

  The two women then headed out, leaving Longinus still in the same spot, looking down at his diaries. Rory set her mouth in a grim line, more determined to get Myran than she had ever been about anything.

  The sky was clear enough of clouds for the sun to beat down mercilessly on the city as it awoke. Cruikshank and Rory walked briskly despite the heat, and they soon arrived at the Old Girl’s mansion.

  It was a simple building, little more than an enormous house really, built in white stone, its roof decorated with green jade tiles. An old-fashioned gate full of curlicues surrounded it, and at its gate four female Varanguards with hard faces gazed impassively out. Their helmets and ponytails gleamed in the rising sun, and Rory caught a glint from one of the hidden knives. Unlike the Varanguards she had seen back at Cruikshank’s workshop, the four women wore the official purple uniform with spiked bracers at their wrists.

  “We’re here to see the Marchioness,” said Cruikshank to one of them. “Eleanore Cruikshank. Urgent business about the Revels.”

  The Varanguard nodded silently and glanced at Rory.

  “This is…my assistant,” said Cruikshank.

  The Varanguard opened the gate and slipped inside. Behind the gate was a small cabin, just big enough to accommodate one person. Two copper tubes the width of a fist ran along one wall, disappearing into the ground.

  “I built that,” murmured Cruikshank, gesturing at the copper tubes with pride. “Allows communication with the house without them having to leave their post.”

  Rory nodded, not paying attention. She shifted restlessly on her feet. The Varanguard reappeared and resumed her post at the gate, face still impassive.

  “Well?” asked Rory.

  “Wait,” said Cruikshank, “someone will come fetch us.”

  Seconds stretched past. The four Varanguards gazed silently into the distance, pretending they couldn’t see the two women standing in front of them. Rory’s skin itched with the awkwardness of it.

  At last the door opened and a small man minced towards them, crossing the distance from mansion to gate in an unhurried manner.

  “Didn’t he hear this was urgent?” Rory whispered to Cruikshank.

  “No point getting angry, lovey, it won’t make him go faster.”

  At last the little man reached them. He
had a fleshy face with feminine lips, and he oozed enough condescension to rival Longinus on a good day.

  “Open the gate, if you please,” he said in a nasal voice.

  The Varanguards obeyed, and Cruikshank and Rory stepped inside.

  “I am Brandt. This way, please.” He waved towards the mansion and bleated a small laugh.

  They followed him, keeping with his slow pace, and Rory wondered what the punishment would be for kicking a member of the Marchioness’ household up the arse and running ahead of him. As they walked, Brandt went to great pains to explain just what an honour it was that the Marchioness had deigned receive them on such short notice, and at such a time in the morning, all the while punctuating his speech with short bursts of nasal laughter. He glanced at Rory frequently, as though to make clear it was particularly an honour for her.

  Brandt led them up a sweeping staircase and down a corridor that was panelled with dark wood and bedecked with paintings of the Marchioness’ ancestors.

  “You must of course, haha, address the Marchioness as ma’am, and wait for her to speak first.”

  “I’ve seen her plenty of times, Brandt,” said Cruikshank. “You don’t need to remind me of the protocol.”

  “It’s, ah, your assistant I’m more worried about, haha. Please note, young lady, that ‘Old Girl’ is not an appropriate way to address the, haha, Marchioness.”

  “Really? Gosh, ain’t I glad you’re here to tell me the way of the world.”

  “Sarcasm isn’t appropriate either,” he sniffed.

  “Not to worry,” replied Rory, patting him on the shoulder. “My sarcasm is all for you.”

  They finally arrived in front of a set of double doors. Brandt paused and turned to observe the two women.

  “This is the Marchioness’ study,” he said in hushed, reverential tones. “It is from here that she, haha, shapes our fair city, from here that she makes plans that topple empires —”

  “Lovey, much as I like to hear about the Marchioness’ achievements, you might have noticed the word urgent in our request.” Cruikshank went to step around Brandt, ready to push the door open, but he stopped her with a strangled cry.