“O’course,” Sev answered after swallowing. “I won’t be really takin’ their garbage, just pretendin’ to.”
Jack barked a satisfied laugh. “Well said, Seven. Well said, indeed.” Midnight sat forward. “How old are you, Sev?”
“Not sure,” Sev answered, shrugging. “I can’t be more’n fifteen, but I can’t remember my birthday. Fervis never let us celebrate.”
“Hm,” Jack said. “I would have guessed as much. But with a good shave you won’t look a day over twelve.”
“Waverly always gave me grief over my baby face,” Sev agreed, nodding. “It’s a curse.”
“And a gift,” Jack amended. “The Fairsies will be more apt to purchase your contract if they think you’re just a child.”
“Purchase my contract?” Sev asked. Before Jack could answer, a small, olive-skinned man, with sleek black hair pulled into a braid that almost brushed the ground when he walked, entered the room with a large tray. He placed an ornate silver kettle, two cups, and a couple of covered bowls on the table before he gathered the dirty plates and partially empty platters. Without a word, the tiny man in the silk robe disappeared.
“Thank you, Xiang,” Jack called to the man’s back. “Coffee?” He held up the kettle to Sev, who shrugged and nodded. Jack poured the steaming black liquid into Sev’s cup. “Purchasing a contract is just a polite way to say ‘acquiring slaves’.”
“Slavery?” Sev sipped at the dark liquid and pulled a face.
“Cream and sugar will make it less abrasive.” Jack chuckled, indicating the little silver bowls. Sev poured cream into his cup and watched as the white liquid bloomed in the black. Then he spooned some sugar in as well. His next sip was much more pleasant.
Midnight smiled as Sev drank. “They don’t call it slavery. They refer to it as ‘contractual servitude’,” the villain explained.
“Is that what I saw that day at Beauchamps’s? The line o’children?” Sev asked.
“I very much doubt that, Seven,” Midnight answered, sipping his own coffee. The liquid remained black. “I’ve known Bernadette for some time. We’ve worked together. Her girls aren’t slaves, and she wouldn’t promote others being sold into slavery.” Sev shrugged, unconvinced. “Bernie’s business practices are beside the point. We need to discuss your preparations.”
“Charm school,” Sev added, smirking.
“In a manner of speaking,” Jack agreed. “You will also need to learn to defend yourself.”
“What?” Sev barked, indignantly. “I can take care o’meself!”
“You’re a bruiser, my friend, and no mistake,” Jack stated smoothly. “But there are more refined, efficient ways of fighting. You’re good, but you can be better.”
Sev couldn’t argue with that, remembering Midnight’s display a few nights ago. “Fair enough. Anythin’ else?”
“You’ll need to learn the layout of the palace, escape routes.” Jack ticked off on his fingers. “Can you read?” Jack suddenly asked.
“Aye,” Sev answered. “Not very well, but enough.”
Jack nodded. “You’ll have to keep that a secret.”
“What else?” Sev asked. Jack sat in silence. Sev could tell Midnight was mulling something over. “Just tell me, Jack. I can take it.”
“Can you, Sev?”
“Aye.”
Jack sighed. “Killing may be unavoidable. Can you do it silently?” Sev tried to suppress his shock. “Can you kill at all?” Sev drained the last of his coffee. The liquid was tepid, and he shuddered at the dregs. “Sev?”
“I’ll do what needs t’be done,” Sev answered. Jack studied his face. “If there’s no other way,” Sev added.
Jack nodded. “Silently?” Midnight pressed. Sev scowled but nodded slowly. The villain studied Sev, who sat resolute. “Good.” Jack finished his own coffee. “Let’s get started.”
6
SEV spent the next two weeks training intensively, manners and behavioral study in the mornings, while his afternoons were filled with physical and combat workouts. Midnight taught Sev the ins and outs of society life, how to talk, what to say, and when to speak, while Jack’s man, Xiang gave Sev a crash course in all things domestic—cooking, cleaning, serving, and what would be expected of him. Jack delighted in showing Sev new and inventive ways to incapacitate people, eventually instructing the young man on how to utilize whatever was close at hand to permanently deal with an attacker: knives, forks, serving trays, and even shoelaces. Sev was constantly surprised by Jack’s ingenuity and seemingly endless well of depravity, especially because Jack could be so proper, warm, and polite. It was like Midnight was two people sometimes.
Xiang helped in the afternoon as well, teaching Sev how to fight without weapons. The Chinaman called it wushu. The fighting style was fast and efficient. Sev was surprised numerous times when the smaller man used Sev’s own momentum against him, tossing him around like a rag doll. By the third day, Xiang had been pleased enough with Sev’s progress to invite one of Midnight’s large doormen to spar with his student. Sev incorporated what he’d learned to wipe the practice mat with the bigger man.
ON THE fourth day, after Jack’s charm lesson, Rat appeared with a man sporting a leather apron and an elaborate mustache. “Here’s yer man, Yer Nibs,” the urchin announced. Sev smirked, his prior suspicion confirmed.
“Mr. Garrison,” Jack greeted the man. “I’m glad you could join us. Are you prepared?”
“Aye, but ye’re a week early, sir,” the man said, showing a row of rotten teeth.
“Not me, Mr. Garrison. You are here for my friend,” Jack explained, indicating Sev.
“Let’s us get t’work then, eh?” Garrison stated, producing a straight razor from a pouch on his belt. Sev saw the flash of silver and realized Jack had arranged this test. Sev sprang immediately, grabbing a boiled potato and tossing it at his would-be attacker. The razor was knocked from the man’s hand. Sev caught the weapon in midair and kicked Garrison’s chest, forcing the man to the ground. Sev knelt over him holding the polished metal blade to the man’s throat.
Jack laughed and clapped. “Well done!” he exclaimed.
“Blimey, what’re ye thinkin’?” Rat interjected.
“What?” Sev asked. “Wasn’t this a test?”
“No,” Jack replied, smirking. “Mr. Garrison is a barber. He’s here to trim that unruly mop of yours.” Sev looked down at Garrison, who nodded apprehensively.
“Ah,” Sev said. “I see.” He removed the razor from the barber’s throat. “My apologies, Mr. Garrison.” Sev stood, offered the man his hand, and helped him off the floor. “Here’s yer blade, sir.” Sev handed the razor back to its owner.
“Thank ye, son.” Garrison accepted the tool, rubbing his recently threatened neck.
“That was delightful,” Jack chuckled, slapping Sev on the back.
“Sorry, Jack.” Sev dropped his head. “Sorry, Mr. Garrison.”
“Don’t be,” Midnight countered. “That little display proves our efforts are working.” Sev shrugged as Midnight guided him to a chair. “Mr. Garrison?”
“Relax, friend,” Garrison told Sev. “I’m just goin’ t’give ye a trim.” Sev winced as Garrison went to work, but the barber only did as he’d claimed. Sev relaxed as the man cut his hair, and Midnight continued to chuckle.
A FEW nights later, Sev awoke to the chiming of Midnight’s doorbells. Yawning, Sev swung his legs out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. When he’d finished his business and reentered the hallway, he heard raised voices and scratched at his newly trimmed locks. Sev looked toward the stairs and decided to return to bed. Just before he closed the door to his room, Sev recognized the grainy, metal tone of Kettlebent’s voice.
Sev suddenly found himself wide awake and irrationally angry. How could Midnight be meeting with Kettlebent and not have told him? Midnight had warned Sev to stay out of his business early on in their partnership, and until tonight Sev had honored that, but there was no way he wasn’t
going to see what Midnight had to do with Kettlebent. Sev crept silently down the stairs, sidestepping the squeaky one, and peered around the corner. His blood turned to ice when he saw not only Kettlebent looming in the common room but Pointy Beard as well. What the hell is Midnight playing at? Sev wondered. Midnight conversed easily with the two men as he ushered them into his private office.
Sev stalked past Midnight’s throne. “Oy.” A gravelly whisper stopped him in his tracks.
“Rat?” Sev whispered.
“What’re ye snoopin’ around for?” Rat asked as he approached Sev.
“I heard Kettlebent. What’re you hangin’ about for?”
“It’s cold out there,” Rat grumbled.
“What’s Midnight doin’ associatin’ with Fairgate and his pet strong-arm?”
“His Nibs’s business is his own. Ye’d best remember that.” Sev opened his mouth to respond, but the doorknob on Midnight’s office rattled. The two young men regarded each other with wide eyes. Sev grabbed Rat by the collar and drew him into the stairwell. They watched as Midnight reemerged with Fairgate.
“We’ll be right back, Mr. Kettlebent. Fix yourself a drink,” Midnight called into his office before shutting the door. As soon as the latch clicked, Midnight’s posture relaxed. “It’s good to see you, Will,” Midnight purred and crossed to his guest, tracing a finger down the man’s shoulder. Will? Sev thought.
“Jonathan,” Fairgate scolded.
“Oh, don’t ‘Jonathan’ me,” Midnight crooned. “Kettlebent doesn’t suspect anything.”
“Don’t underestimate Kettlebent,” Fairgate answered. “He’s sharper than you give him credit for.”
“Fine.” Midnight rolled his eyes. “I heard you moved some ‘supplies’ from Beauchamps’s a few weeks ago.” Midnight flopped into his throne.
“We did.” Fairgate walked to Midnight’s side and dropped to the arm of the chair, allowing Jack to rub his back.
“You’re tense,” Midnight observed. “Anything wrong?”
“Just the usual, Jonathan.” Fairgate reached out and gripped Midnight’s lapel. The two men drew together. Sev bit his finger to choke his shock.
“I hate this thing,” Midnight stated, touching Fairgate’s beard.
“It’s a necessary deception,” Fairgate whispered, leaning closer to Midnight. Before a connection occurred, Kettlebent emerged from the office and the men sitting on the throne jumped suddenly apart. “Mr. Kettlebent?” Fairgate gasped.
“Sir,” Kettlebent growled mechanically. “We’ve brought Midnight the documents. We should return you to Fairside.”
“Thank you, Kettlebent.” Fairgate stood, smoothing out his costume of lower-class garments. “We should be on our way, Mr. Midnight.” Fairgate’s tone turned proper and stiff.
“On your way, then,” Midnight dismissed the pair, waving them away without rising from his seat. Kettlebent stalked out the entryway. Fairgate lingered. “Something else?” Midnight smirked.
“Good evening, Mr. Midnight,” Fairgate stated, too properly.
“Don’t be a stranger, Will.” Midnight pretended to be unperturbed. The doors closed and Midnight sat alone in silence.
“What in th’name o’Jaysus was that?” Sev shouted, dashing from his place on the stairs.
“Seven?” Midnight barked. Rat slipped out while Midnight was distracted by Sev. “Stop right there, Rat.” Midnight pointed at the urchin. “You too?”
“No, sire,” Rat held up his hands in surrender. “He grabbed me. I just wanted out o’here.”
“Go,” Midnight responded. Rat obeyed, disappearing. “That,” Midnight said, turning back to Sev, “that was the man who got us the layout of the palace.” Midnight stood and motioned for Sev to follow him into his office.
“Fairgate?” Sev asked, incredulously.
“Fairgate?” Jack echoed. “That wasn’t Fairgate.”
“The beard!” Sev accused.
Midnight laughed. “The beard is false. He’s a noble, but not Fairgate.”
“False?” Sev asked. “Who was it, then?”
“A friend,” Midnight answered.
“He looked like more than a friend,” Sev guessed. Midnight smirked but said nothing, ushering Sev into his office to look at the layouts of the palace. Sev was amazed as Midnight unrolled the floor plans.
“He might not even be a friend when he finds out what I really wanted these layouts for,” Midnight stated. Sev raised an eyebrow at Midnight’s declaration. The criminal shook his head once, brows furrowed before he leveled his gaze on Sev. “You spied on me. I warned you. That was your free pass. Next time… well, just make sure there is no next time.”
“I’m tired,” Sev stated truthfully and sighed, more unnerved by Midnight’s threat than he let on. “I’m not sure what’s goin’ on here. But if ye’re double-crossin’ me, ye will be sorry,” Sev vowed seriously.
“I’m playing straight with you, Seven. About everything,” Jack promised, the hint of threat still in his voice. “Don’t worry. Get some sleep.” Sev studied Midnight for a moment before he decided the criminal spoke truly, then ascended the stairs to his bedroom and blessed sleep.
KETTLEBENT slammed the ebony doors of the Black Chapel, then stormed down the steps to the idling carriage awaiting him and Sutherland. He climbed in, his bulk rocking the cab of the mechanical hansom to wait for the duke.
Seconds later, his companion emerged from Midnight’s church and climbed into the seat opposite Kettlebent. The duke peeled the false beard from his face. “Thank God,” he sighed as he dropped the prosthetic into a small wooden case. “That thing makes me look like that weasel, Fairgate.”
“Why do you associate with that blackguard?” Kettlebent asked, ignoring the duke’s declarations.
“Middlenight?” Sutherland asked. “He’s not as bad as he plays at.”
“Midnight is a vicious bastard.” Kettlebent refused to use the man’s Christian name.
“He has been forced into the world he inhabits by his unfortunate circumstances,” Sutherland explained. “He’s a product of his environment, a violent response to a violent upbringing.”
“Very forward-thinking of you,” Kettlebent observed with unmasked sarcasm. “But for all your excuses, his association with this project jeopardizes all the work we’ve done.”
“Our ‘association’ is also responsible for many of the breakthroughs we’ve discovered as well as most of the specialized equipment we’ve acquired.”
“I won’t deny he’s useful,” Kettlebent allowed. “But I don’t trust him at all.”
The duke sighed. “I do. That’s all you need to know.”
“Why give him the palace diagrams? That’s a huge risk.”
“Mr. Kettlebent, I appreciate your concern.” Sutherland’s tone was soothing, cajoling. “Jonathan is a criminal, but he isn’t without honor.” The duke paused, staring out the window. “Above all, you can count on his mercenary attitude. He’s been paid to extract ill-gotten servants from the palace. That’s why he needed those maps.”
“Perhaps,” Kettlebent mumbled.
“What?” Sutherland chuckled. “Are you afraid that Jonathan will beat you to Fairgate’s spell book?”
“Is that so outrageous?”
“Of course it is,” the duke said dismissively. “Middlenight can’t get anywhere near the palace himself, and there is no way he knows about Fairgate’s book.” The two men sat in silence for a pregnant moment. “You’ll be able to slip away and secure the grimoire with little or no interference.”
“I hope you’re correct,” Kettlebent murmured.
“It will be easier than taking candy from a baby,” Sutherland assured him. Kettlebent had a bad feeling but was unable to articulate his concern. After another stretch of silence, the duke added, “This isn’t steamwork science. You sneak in, steal the book, and sneak out. Simplicity.”
“The road to heaven…,” Kettlebent mused. “We shouldn’t take anything for gran
ted.” Sutherland nodded slowly in agreement. Kettlebent squinted behind his tinted goggles. The man in the stovepipe hat remained unconvinced that the duke had taken his words to heart. One of the problems with the aristocracy, he thought. Overconfidence. The clockwork cab clattered quietly along the cobblestone streets toward the Line and out of Blackside, though Kettlebent remained in a black mood, like the smog that clogged the air above.
“I DON’T need this,” Sev scoffed, holding the trolley ticket. “I can slip across the Line anytime I want.” Midnight nodded. The two men sat over a dinner of roast pheasant with Chinese noodles and vegetables a few days after Midnight’s meeting with Pointy Beard on the eve of Sev’s departure for the palace. Midnight ate his meal with sticks, but he laid them aside and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. Sev had learned the utensils were called chopsticks, but he remained unwilling to try to use them.
“Seven.” Midnight’s tone was falsely sweet. “I have every confidence in your abilities. It’s why I chose you, but we need to play this plainly.” Sev opened his mouth to protest, but Midnight interrupted, adding, “At first.” He picked up his wineglass and sipped at it. “We’ve discussed this. It’s extremely important for you to appear like any other servant applicant, and that means riding the trolley across the Line.”
Sev knew Midnight spoke true. The only honest way for Blacksiders to enter Fairside was on the trolley. The conveyance was the only way for day laborers, who worked in Fairside but were too poor to live there, to get back and forth. And the only way to secure passage aboard the trolley was with a ticket purchased by an employer and issued by the Minister of Transportation. Not even the horse-drawn omnibuses operated by the London General Omnibus Company could cross the Line, though they operated routes on both sides. The underground rails were similarly restricted. “Do you know how difficult it is to obtain one of these falsely?” Midnight plucked the ticket from Sev’s hand. The younger man nodded; it was next to impossible. Even a good forgery would cost dearly, and the ticket in Midnight’s hand was genuine.
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