Kettlebent slammed his fist onto Fervis’s desk, smashing the cigar box to splinters. Sev gasped at the strength behind that blow. The display gave Fervis pause as well. The weasel reached into his desk and produced a turret pistol that Sev recognized all too well. Kettlebent jabbed an accusing finger at the industrialist. Fervis kept the gun leveled at the dark man and pressed a red plunger on his desk. In no time, two large foremen appeared on either side of Kettlebent. They grabbed him, and he shrugged them off like they were clinging children before storming from the room. Fervis took a large puff on his cigar and returned the gun to its drawer as he waved his men out.
Sev shook his head, turning away from the edge of the roof. Far from answering his questions, the little scene he’d just witnessed only complicated things. If these men were working together to traffic child slaves, why were they fighting now? Money, probably, Sev thought. Fervis, Kettlebent, Pointy Beard, and Madame Beauchamps: it seemed to Sev that all the adults in Blackside were in league, committing some atrocity against the youth population. The young man sat on the cold roof alone with his confused thoughts, trying to decide what his next move would be.
A FEW hours later, Sev strolled along Cheapside, pretending to browse the booths and stalls as he tried to unravel the mystery of Kettlebent. Eventually someone calling out to him in French interrupted his aimless wandering. Sev glanced up to see Monty looking very pleased and waving him over. Although in no mood to talk to anyone until he could wrap his mind around recent events, Sev admitted he was curious.
He lifted his hand as he crossed the street, avoiding a passing carriage harnessed to living horses. “Afternoon, Monty,” Sev said, raising his voice over the loud clopping of hooves. “Have ye found somethin’?” Monty responded with a silent nod. The little French peddler was visibly shaking with excitement. “What, Monty? What is it?”
“Voilà.” Monty peeled back a small bit of soiled cloth to reveal the skeleton of a very unique pistol.
“How’d ye manage t’get yer hands on this, mate?” Sev’s eyes grew wide. He wanted desperately to touch the small device.
“It was luck, mon ami. I had parked my cart near zhe Line, and I heard a commotion.” Sev traced the long copper barrel, which ended in an odd metal fork where the bullets would usually emerge. The workmanship was delicate and strange. He studied the pieces as Monty continued to talk. “When I looked out zhe window, I saw three Blacksiders menacing a meandering gentleman. He appeared to be a little tipsy.” An odd, broken glass bulb replaced the chamber where the rounds would be loaded. The grip was molded rubber. Sev had never seen anything like it. “I zhought zhe man would be overcome within an instant, but he pulled out zhis device. Zhe bulb here,” Monty said and pointed at the broken glass. “It was sparking inside. Like zhe lightning.”
“What?” Sev asked, astonished.
“I know, Monsieur Sept. I know. I could not believe my eyes. His attackers were just as surprised. And zhen he started to turn zhis crank.” Monty flipped the gun to reveal a small handle attached to a gear that appeared to turn something in a copper tube running through the center of the glass bulb. “Zhe bulb grew brighter and zhen lightning erupted from zhe fork and one of zhe men fell to zhe ground.”
“A lightning gun?” Sev breathed the words.
“It would appear zhat way,” Monty answered. “But zhe bulb grew dark after zhat, and zhe other two men attacked. Zhe gun was knocked from his hand, where it broke on zhe street. You know how zhese things go.” Sev nodded. He knew. Monty glanced around to make sure their discussion remained unobserved.
“Someone pulled out a knife,” Sev finished for the Frenchman. “They took his valuables and left the gentleman fer dead.”
“Oui,” Monty agreed. “Zhey left zhe gun because it was broken. Zhe gentleman and his attacker were both dead. I didn’t think he would need his gun. Zhen I moved my cart.”
“Wise decision,” Sev agreed. “What’s this?” Sev pointed to a small rod on the back of the gun above the grip, where the hammer should be.
Monty shrugged. “Truly, I do not know. But look.” Monty pulled on the rod, revealing a thin copper wire trailing into the barrel. When Monty released the rod, the wire automatically retracted, pulling the rod back into its channel. “Amazing, non?”
“Did ye search the dead fella?”
“Oui, no way to know who zhe man was.”
“Damn,” Sev growled. “Ye think the man who carried it invented it?”
Monty shrugged again. “C’est possible.”
“Ye think ye can fix it?”
“Non,” the Frenchman answered, shaking his head. “Zhis is well beyond me.”
“Someone has t’know somethin’ about it.” Sev spoke more to himself than the peddler. He was surprised when Monty’s finger snapped up to his lips. The Frenchman nodded to Sev’s left. Sev turned to see a small, filthy child standing just behind him. “What’s this, then?” he asked the urchin.
“Oy, mate,” the child growled. “You Seven?”
“Never heard of ’im. Who’s askin’?”
“Jack Midnight,” the little blighter spat. Sev and Monty stared at one another in obvious disbelief. “Good. I got yer attention. The Prince o’ Blackside wants t’speak wif ye.”
Sev regained his composure. “What’s Midnight want with Seven?”
“Got a job fer ’im, don’t he?” The urchin squinted his dirty little eyes.
“When an’ where?” Sev asked. The urchin laughed at Sev’s question. “What?”
“Ye don’t know where the Prince lives?”
“I do,” Sev had to admit. Everyone in Blackside knew.
“As fer when….” The urchin turned on his heel and stalked away. “When d’ye think?” he called over his shoulder. Sev and Monty watched the dirty bugger’s exit.
“Midnight, o’course,” Sev chuckled. “Looks like I got an appointment with royalty.”
“Better you zhan me, mon ami,” Monty sighed. “Do you want zhe gun?” Good old, Monty. Business first.
“I do, Monty,” Sev confirmed. “But I’m tapped. I got nothin’.”
Monty raised an eyebrow. “Oui,” the little man agreed. “But it seems to me you are about to come into some money.” Monty nodded toward the center of Blackside. “I think you are good for it, non?” Sev shrugged, hoping Midnight’s offer was authentic, and it wasn’t some sort of trap. Monty wrapped the pieces of the weapon in the cloth and handed it over to Sev. “Good luck, mon ami.”
“Thanks, Monty.” Sev took the bundle and stowed it in his satchel. “Here’s hopin’ I don’t need it.” Sev turned from the French peddler’s cart. He had some time to kill until midnight, and something had occurred to him at the sight of the urchin that he wanted to share with someone else, to see if his suspicions were valid.
4
WAVERLY had finished his shift for the evening, and when Sev entered the Bacchus and Tun, his young friend sat at a table in the corner with a couple of the neighborhood working girls, who were not as healthy or as well fed as Annie. Wave sometimes bought them food, more often gin, in exchange for a quick roll. They’d obviously all been at the drink for some time when Sev sidled up to the table. “This seat taken?” he asked.
Wave brightened at the sight of his old friend. “Se—” Waverly began before he caught himself and covered. “Sam! Come on. Sit with us. Have a nip.”
“Thanks, Wave.” Sev sat at the table. Waverly offered the bottle of gin, but Sev declined. “Can’t, mate. Got a job meetin’ this evenin’.”
“Tha’s too bad,” one of the girls said. The brunette smiled at Sev. Her teeth were almost as black as her hair.
“Sam, this is Fanny and Patty,” Waverly said, saluting each with his shooter of gin.
“Pleased, ladies.” Sev tipped his hat, eliciting giggles from the girls.
“What a gentleman,” Fanny, the blonde girl, observed. Her thick Blackside accent made the words sound like Wottagennlemin.
“Not at
all, mum,” Sev replied.
“I likes y’even more, then,” Patty, the brunette, added and both girls laughed.
“So what’s this meetin’?” Waverly asked.
“I need t’see a man at Midnight.” Sev leveled his gaze on Waverly, who suddenly aspirated gin.
“Girls, give us a minute. Will ye?” Waverly motioned them away. They stood without argument, used to obeying orders, but made sure to take the bottle of gin as they wandered to another table. “Midnight? Y’mean Jack Midnight?” Waverly asked when they were alone. Sev nodded. “What’s ’e want with you?”
“No clue.” Sev shrugged. “That’s not why I’m here, though.”
“What’s bigger than a meet with th’Prince?”
“He sent a kid with his message.”
“So? Everybody uses street kids fer messengers.”
“They did,” Sev agreed. “How many street kids d’ye see anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Wave answered.
“The gangs’re gone too,” Sev whispered as he leaned over the table. Ever since Fervis and the other industrialists started abducting children to work in their factories, any orphans or street kids migrated into gangs and groups to make sure they couldn’t be taken by the press-gangers and forced into the factories. “Think about it, Wave.” Sev watched as Waverly screwed up his face.
“Ye’re right, Sev,” he agreed. “I haven’t seen any of the old Stickers around lately.” Sev nodded. They called them Stickers because of the large sticks and cudgels the children carried to rob people and protect themselves. “Y’know,” Waverly offered, “now that ye mention it, I’ve been overhearin’ some o’the foremen talkin’ lately. There’s kids disappearin’ from the sweatshops.”
“What?” Sev blurted. This was news to him, and he made a point to help the kids in those factories. “How could I’ve not heard about this?”
“I don’t know,” Waverly admitted. “But that’s what I’ve heard. Kids disappearin’ in the middle o’the night. Nothin’ obvious and never in large numbers, but here and there.”
“I know over the years they’d lose a kid once in a while,” Sev mentioned.
“Aye, me too. But lately, it’s been more frequent.” Sev listened to Waverly’s words and thought about the line of children marching out of Beauchamps’s. He debated whether he should tell his friend what he’d seen. He decided to tell Waverly everything that had taken place over the last few weeks. Waverly whistled. “That is peculiar,” Wave agreed. “What’re y’goin’ t’do?”
“T’be honest?” Sev answered. “I got no idea. But somethin’ sure isn’t right around Blackside.”
“I can’t believe Beauchamps is in on it,” Waverly said, shaking his head.
“Neither could I,” Sev agreed.
“Everybody loves her,” Waverly stated, sobering up.
“I know.” Sev’s hand slipped onto his satchel, and he remembered the gun. He wondered if Waverly would know anything about it. “Wave,” he whispered, deciding to trust his old friend completely. “Ever seen anythin’ like this?” Sev produced the bundle and showed his companion the contents. Wave’s eyes grew wide like Sev’s had, and the pub hand shook his head. Sev hadn’t really expected him to.
“I haven’t, but you know who might?” Wave asked. Sev shook his head. “Old Carrington.” Sev almost slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten about Carrington? The old guy used to be one of the Ministry of Invention’s top minds. Lucius Carrington had been the driving force behind some of the Ministry’s most successful advancements, chief among them the auto-carriages. When the queen’s interests began opposing the poor, Carrington’s vocal objections and ideas that favored the working class were at first shunned and then denounced as treason. Fairgate had attempted to reason with the man, to give him one final chance to see sense and avoid punishment, but Carrington refused to cooperate and insulted the queen’s wizard, giving the crown no other choice. When the Coal-Eaters stormed Carrington’s laboratory to arrest the inventor, he and all his work were gone.
“Well, aye, Carrington, but no one’s seen him in years,” Sev acknowledged.
“Good point,” Waverly admitted. “What will you do?” The clock on the wall struck eleven.
“First things first.” Sev stood. “I’ve got t’see Jack Midnight.”
SEV trudged silently along the cold, mostly deserted streets of Blackside toward the most notorious building in Spitalfields. Midnight’s home and office resided in the former Christ Church on Commercial Street. There were hundreds of rumors about how a known felon and scoundrel was able to acquire the premises, and each was just as preposterous as the next. Sev’s favorite story included a deal with the devil in which Jack Midnight outsmarted God himself. Even now, Sev smiled at the thought. The true stories were the ones that made Sev shudder. No one called it Christ Church any longer, though. Now everyone referred to it as the Church of Midnight, and Jack accepted worshippers of every faith as long as they were willing to act on his orders without question.
Sev had worked a few jobs with Midnight’s men but had never been summoned to meet with the man himself. Few had. Midnight kept a very tight crew of trusted lieutenants and kept everyone else at arm’s length so nothing could be traced back to him. The criminal had his hands in every facet of illegal activities, and rumors even existed that the majority of criminals in England paid Midnight a small stipend to watch out for them.
The steeple of Midnight’s home stabbed skyward, and Sev regarded it, though he remained blocks away from the building. Sev had heard Midnight turned his back on aristocratic society to build his criminal empire before he was more than a teenager. He’d also heard that Midnight often liberated children from the workhouses and factories, giving them jobs in his organization and watching out for them. After all the dishonesty he’d witnessed lately, Sev wondered if any of it was true. Adults held a very low position on his list of people he could trust and no matter what the man used to be, Jack Midnight was too old to be trustworthy.
The polished ebony doors of the Church of Midnight reflected the soft glow of the gas lamps around them. Sev sat in the shadows cast by those lights, debating how best to approach. He waited in the alley across the street, looking at the majestic lines of Jack’s black chapel. Whatever the stories said, they agreed on one point—Jack and another man had wanted the building. In 1850 when that man died, Jack acquired the structure and completely redesigned the church with the help of the architect Ewan Christian and, rumor had it, the inventor Carrington. Sev wondered what the inside would be like as he decided to face this meeting head-on. He stepped across the street and ascended the steps to those polished black doors, acting braver than he felt.
Two men stepped from the shadows on either side to impede Sev’s progress. Sev slowly removed his hands from his pockets to show that he meant no harm. “I’m here t’see Mr. Midnight,” Sev stated. “He sent fer me.”
“Settle down, fellas,” a gravelly, young voice interrupted. “Gave the mick the message meself.”
“If y’say so, Rat,” the big man on the left answered, though he didn’t lower his musket.
“I say so,” Rat answered. “C’mon, kid.” Sev was almost amused at the dirty little urchin referring to him as a kid when Sev was obviously years the boy’s senior. Sev didn’t say anything, only followed Rat into Midnight’s home.
Sev had no idea what to expect, but it wasn’t what awaited him within. He’d been in a church once, and this looked nothing like that had. He found himself in a small, well-appointed anteroom with lush couches and beautiful furnishings. Two delicately carved mahogany doors stood opposite the entrance, and Rat opened one. “Wait ’ere,” he told Sev and disappeared. Alone, Sev walked about, observing the shelves that lined the walls. Some of the baubles looked like they might have been boosted from the queen’s own collection, while others were intricate clockworks. He poked at something that looked like a bronze Egyptian beetle. At Sev’s touch, the device clicked
to life, whirring. The beetle construct walked around its display base before its metallic wings started beating and the machine lifted into the air. Then it landed, folded its wings, and remained still. Sev whistled at the advanced clockwork. He saw what looked like a copper bat hanging upside down from a metal branch and walked toward it curiously.
“Oy,” Rat barked as he reappeared. “Mr. Midnight’ll see ye now.” Sev glanced at the motionless clockwork before reluctantly following Rat through the doors to Midnight’s chambers.
As the pair emerged into the next room, the space opened considerably. The ceiling was impossibly high, and Sev stretched his neck to take it all in. Rat led Sev up a center aisle that must have separated rows of pews at one time, but those were gone, the areas on both sides now filled with home furnishings. On the left were beautifully stuffed and carved couches, expensive tables, and cozy fireplaces to form a massive sitting room, while on the right was a long line of majestically polished tables, with scores of finely carved chairs beneath amazingly delicate chandeliers in what was obviously a dining room. All the walls were decorated with paintings of beautiful, half-naked, androgynous figures cavorting in twilight woods, like faeries in a children’s story. Sev wondered why Midnight would have such elaborate facilities for entertainment when everything Sev had heard suggested Midnight allowed few access to his inner sanctum. Perhaps he had aspirations to one day rejoin high society, although Sev doubted that very much.
When Sev managed to tear his eyes away from the decadence, he looked to the front of the room, where an altar for services should reside. Instead there was an elaborate black throne beneath an equally elaborate painting where the image of Christ should hang. In the throne sat a lithe, exquisitely dressed young man. The suit was finely tailored, though the articles fit more snugly than was dictated by and accepted in general society. Sev would guess he was barely twenty. The smiling youth had delicate features and held a glass of dark liquid, but not as dark as the clothes he wore, nor as dark as his shockingly black hair combed forward in a wave that almost concealed his left eye. As Sev approached, he could see the beautiful man wore dark, dusky eye makeup.
The 7th of London Page 4