“So I ride the trolley,” Sev conceded, turning his attention back to his meal. “When it stops at Charing Cross, I need t’find someone named Michaels.”
“And present him with this letter of recommendation from the Duchess of Inverness,” Midnight stated, handing Sev the sealed document. “He’ll take you to the palace and introduce you to Cartwright, who will question you mercilessly to test your qualifications.”
“I got it covered,” Sev assured him.
“I know.” Midnight raised one eyebrow. “After that it will simply be a matter of biding your time.”
“There’s nothin’ simple about this,” Sev observed.
“That you can recognize that fact is why you’ll succeed, my young friend.”
“I hope ye’re right, Jack.”
“Seven, I’m always right,” Midnight crooned. Sev couldn’t help but smirk at the villain’s vanity.
The two men finished their meals, and Xiang cleared the dishes after bringing brandy and the savory course, Angels on Horseback—bacon-wrapped clams.
“Ye’ll see to Henry?” Sev asked, concerned for his feathery friend.
“I take care of Hank,” Xiang interjected. “No worries, Mr. Seven.”
“Thanks, Xiang,” Sev answered and sipped his brandy, letting it spread its warmth through him. The small Chinaman exited with the dirty dishes. “Guess I’ll turn in. Big day tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Midnight asked. He popped an Angel in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of brandy. Sev shrugged. “Fancy a game o’billiards?”
“I’m pretty tired.” Sev faked a yawn, noting Midnight’s slip of diction, attributing it to the wine and brandy.
“Scared?”
“Not likely,” Sev returned, standing with his brandy.
“That’s the spirit.” Midnight stood also, then grabbed his snifter and the decanter of brandy.
“I’m not goin’ t’let ye win, ye know that, right?”
“I’m counting on it,” Midnight confirmed as they walked to the common room.
SEV had beaten Midnight twice before the villain had managed to turn the tables on his young guest. Midnight stayed up celebrating long after Sev turned in. The young man rose bright and early, long before his host, to prepare for his first day as a new person. He dressed in the clean clothes Xiang had lain out—a simple white shirt, dark trousers with bracers, and brushed leather shoes. A duffle bag rested on the floor beneath a heavy coat and hat, hanging from a peg. Sev said his good-byes to Henry before he snatched up all three articles and crept downstairs.
His nostrils were assailed with the scents of a proper breakfast. Xiang stood next to the table setting, a smile punctuating the deeply creased lines of the old man’s face. Sev wondered when the Chinaman slept.
“Eat, Mr. Sev,” the small man instructed. “Probably best you’ll eat for some time.” Sev didn’t argue, just sat down and tucked into the meal. Xiang beamed with pride for his young charge. “You take care of yourself,” Xiang ordered Sev as the young man cleaned his plate and his mouth.
“I will, Xiang.” Sev gripped the smaller man’s shoulder. “I promise.” The Chinaman’s eyes looked glossy and wet with emotion, completely contradictory to the dutiful, emotionless servant and instructor Sev had observed over the last couple of weeks. Unsettled by the manservant’s sudden emotion and unaccustomed to such displays of genuine feeling, Sev retreated hastily from Midnight’s church. He picked his way through Blackside toward the nearest trolley stop.
Even with his hat pulled low and the collar on his new coat turned up, Sev felt too exposed in the early morning sun. The currents of people flowed in equal directions, preparing for their days at work in the factories to the east or the posh district in the west. Sev followed the iron tracks barely inlaid among the uneven cobblestones. He felt as though everyone watched his every move, but surely that was paranoia brought on by his dangerous and imminent task.
As he moved swiftly but cautiously, he noticed one of Fervis’s men propped against the filthy brick wall of a nearby building. Sev would swear that the rat-faced man with the greasy moustache was following him, and he soon realized he was right. Sev ducked down an alley hoping to lose his pursuer, but when he emerged once again on the main thoroughfare, the man was right there. Sev drifted into a group of Blacksiders headed for the factories, and Fervis’s man elbowed his way toward Sev. The young man increased his speed as he broke off from the crowd. Fervis’s man shadowed Sev’s every move.
Panic gripped Sev, his chest tightening, his pulse quickening. He could feel sweat trickling the length of his spine as he focused on walking determinedly from the bustle. Every step he took was echoed by his pursuer. He searched for a spot to duck into, but he couldn’t break the man’s line of sight. From the corner of his eye, Sev caught movement as the mustached man signaled to someone to his left. The new pursuer nodded and took up a flanking position across the street from the first. Damn, Sev thought. Not even on the trolley yet, and things were going terribly wrong. Sev had no choice but to deal with this, and as he dashed along the walkway, an opportunity presented itself in the form of a narrow alley, which Sev ducked into. He scrabbled up to a second floor windowsill as he listened to the men’s footsteps growing closer.
Fervis’s men turned the corner and stopped, surprise evident on their filthy faces. Sev waited as they searched fruitlessly for him. He held his breath until both men were just beneath him, and then he dropped, knocking them to the stones. Without missing a beat, Sev regained his feet and slipped from the alley. He could hear the trolley clattering along its tracks, and instead of waiting for it at the nearest stop, he chased it and jumped aboard while it traveled.
Mustache and his companion emerged from the alley, searching frantically. Sev watched them without being too obvious, but his eyes locked with his pursuers’. Mustache slapped his buddy’s shoulder and pointed to Sev. The other man nodded, and they both sprinted after the trolley. The mechanical conveyance chugged steadily on its tracks as the two men closed the distance. The bigger man was growing winded quickly, but Mustache pushed steadily ahead. Sev tried to work his way farther onto the trolley, but it was packed with the early morning commuter crowd. He had nowhere to go. Mustache’s hat flew off, and Sev could see the sweat gathering on the man’s brow as he approached the rear of the trolley. His hand snapped out to grasp Sev’s pant leg.
The young man kicked and pulled, trying desperately to loosen Mustache’s grip, but the man gritted his teeth below his lip hair, snarling to hold on. Mustache stumbled and Sev slipped, almost losing his grip on the trolley with the added weight of the other man. Sev held onto the trolley for dear life as he kicked out with the foot not held by Mustache. Sev’s shoe connected with Mustache’s shoulder, and he stumbled a second time. This time his grip loosened, and he fell in the wake of the trolley, rolling across the cobblestones. From the ground, Mustache reached into his coat, and Sev was sure the man would shoot him off the trolley, but a crowd of people gathered to see if Mustache was injured, and, surrounded by so many witnesses, he abandoned whatever he had planned with what was in his coat. Sev let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and turned his attention to the front of the trolley and his destination. Despite his weeks of extensive training, he remained apprehensive at what awaited him in Fairside.
7
THE trolley screeched to a halt outside of Charing Cross Station, and Sev could hear the din of trains within. Most of the trolley’s passengers disembarked. Sev joined them. He searched for his contact, Michaels, but had no idea what the man looked like or where he might be exactly. Sev wandered about the station, trying to remain inconspicuous as he searched for the man. There was no sign of Michaels, but Sev saw a number of young people filing toward a conspicuously ornate brougham. Each boy and girl carried a duffle similar to Sev’s, so he fell in at the end of the queue. A young boy joined him as he walked. He carried a duffle as well.
“Headed to the palace
?” Sev asked.
“What do you think?” the boy answered.
“Have I offended ye somehow?”
“I’m Michaels.” The boy ignored Sev’s question. “I expected you to be a little sharper.”
“What? How was I—?” Sev sputtered.
“Shush,” Michaels answered. Sev did as he was told, more out of surprise than acquiescence. Their credentials were checked and a cursory search made of their persons and belongings before they were allowed to board the brougham. After the guards were satisfied the young people had no weapons or ulterior motives, the group filed onto the conveyance. As Sev climbed up the retractable step, a second carriage pulled up to take its brother’s place, and he wondered how many of the young Blacksiders would make it into the queen’s services.
THE horses drew the brougham to a stop near the servants’ entrance of the palace, where the passengers disembarked. A stoic, well-dressed gentleman stood awaiting the applicants.
“I am Her Majesty’s head steward, Mr. Cartwright.” The steward waved the crowd of potential servants forward to inspect them and assess their attributes. Sev’s heart raced in anticipation of the severe man’s scrutiny. The candidates filed forward. Cartwright declined three of the six he’d inspected. Sweat broke from Sev’s pores as he observed the steward’s ritual, feeling like livestock as he shuffled toward Cartwright’s calculating gaze. The steward waved the boy preceding Sev away. Sev swallowed and stepped up to the queen’s steward. “What’s your name, boy?” Cartwright inquired.
“St-even,” Sev stammered, pronouncing the word like seven with a “t.”
“What’s that?”
“Steven,” Sev pronounced the word with confidence.
“Well, Stephen,” the steward sniffed. “What makes you think you’re qualified for this position?”
“I do my job. I don’t shy away from hard work, and I know my place,” Sev stated.
The Royal Steward raised an eyebrow in well-restrained surprise. “Well said, Mr. Stephen. You’ll do.” The older man waved Midnight’s agent into the palace. Sev scooped up his duffle and almost skipped into the building. Michaels caught up with Sev. “Ye’re doin’ just fine. Let’s find our room.” The smaller boy pushed past Sev, who fell into step behind.
THE accommodations were cramped and uncomfortable, but the servants spent little time resting. Their days were spent working diligently, preparing the palace for a royal celebration. The fact that this was the first Christmas gala within the palace since Victoria was crowned made the preparations that much more difficult. Sev had never seen so much silver in his life, let alone been expected to polish each piece.
He’d been in the palace for three days and had been in a different room each day. As he rubbed at the silverware, Sev wondered where Michaels had gotten to. As if on cue, the other servant wandered into the room, pretending he was lost.
“All right?” Michaels asked in a whisper. Sev nodded, realizing the need for discretion. “We’ll talk soon. We’ve grounds duty together tomorrow.” Michaels tipped Sev a wink before drifting back to the hallway. A young girl with snow-blonde hair gathered into a bun cleaned her way nearer to Sev.
“You know Barty?” the girl whispered.
“Who?” Sev asked.
“Bartholomew,” she stated. Sev stared at her. “Michaels,” she added
“Oh.” Sev realized who she referred to. “We’re acquainted.” Sev made sure his statement remained vague.
“What’s he really like?” she asked.
“I don’t know him that well,” Sev admitted.
“Oh,” she acknowledged. “I see.”
“Have ye worked here long?” Sev asked as he continued polishing silver.
“Mm.” The girl nodded in confirmation. “You’re here for the Christmas ball.”
“I am,” Sev agreed.
“Fairgate,” the girl lamented. “The queen never stayed at the palace for the holidays before.”
“Ye seem displeased,” Sev observed. The girl shrugged in answer. “Fairgate has an odd influence over the queen, doesn’t he?” Sev pushed. The servant girl nodded, hesitantly. “Somethin’ wrong?” Sev asked. The girl looked nervously around, as if to confirm she wasn’t watched, and then she nodded. “Fairgate’s not right?” Sev asked.
“Not at all,” she answered. Her eyes fell to her task, and she continued to clean the china. Sev also focused on his task, polishing the royal silver. “He’s been known to take the belt or the stick to the servants,” she whispered.
“That’s awful but not surprisin’,” Sev mumbled.
“They’re the lucky ones,” the girl added. Sev paused in his silver polishing to regard the fair-skinned servant girl. Her eyes were wide, her expression troubled. “There’re some he does worse to.”
“Did he hurt you, um….” Sev paused, realizing he didn’t know the girl’s name.
“Mary,” she whispered.
“Stephen,” Sev lied, though he didn’t want to—not to this frail creature, and laid his hand on hers. Mary’s pale skin colored instantly.
“It could be worse,” Mary answered. Sev squeezed her hand. “Thanks for your kindness, Stephen, but we better finish our work.”
“Quiet, you two,” the older female servant hissed. “Cartwright’ll be around soon to check up.”
“Cora’s right, Stephen. We better stop talking nonsense.” Mary smiled weakly as she turned to retrieve a serving platter. Sev was beginning to think something more sinister was at work in this palace than even Midnight had suspected. He would have to keep an eye out for Fairgate. Sev wouldn’t fail in his mission for Midnight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of Fairgate once his book was secure.
SEV woke the next morning before the sun had breached the horizon as someone shook him. His eyes were blurry and swollen with sleep as he sat up in his bunk. “Rise and shine, mate.” Michaels’s familiar drawl sliced through Sev’s fuzzy senses.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” Sev slurred.
“We’re on greens detail,” Michaels explained and tossed a mound of fabric at Sev. Instinctively, Sev started to pull his clothes on, though it wasn’t easy.
“Greens?” Sev’s sleep-dry throat croaked.
“For Christmas decorations. Holly. Garland.”
“Ah,” Sev spoke as he finished dressing. “So we’re headin’ into some royal forest or another?”
“It’s not for us to know where we’re going. Only that we do our job once we’re there. It’s South Somethin’-shire or another. There’s a steam-trolley waiting for us by the stables.” Michaels leaned close to Sev’s ear. “We’ll slip away when we get the chance. I’ll let you know.” Sev wondered where Michaels got his energy at this hour of the day as the other young man dashed from the servants’ apartments. Sev shook his head slowly as he slipped into his shoes and shuffled wearily along with the rest of the newly hired boys.
SEV gazed out of the trolley window as the vehicle trundled along snowy lanes. He’d never been out of the city before, at least not since he’d been very young, and it seemed a different world entirely. The constant rushing of people to and fro, the clang of machinery—with the exception of their own vehicle—and the wails of hungry children were all gone. Even in Fairside one could hear traffic and commotion, though of a much more civilized sort. Out here it was whisper-quiet, the sound of the soft wind joined infrequently by the call of a bird or small animal.
The thing that struck Sev most was the white. The purity of the snow almost blinded him. The snow in the city was gray at its best, having already fallen through the layer of soot and smog that hung over Blackside. By the afternoon of a snowfall, the drifts would turn to sludgy puddles. So too in the west end of town, snow was only white before the morning traffic began its incessant march through the streets. The cab of the trolley was warm with the heat rolling off the engine at the front, and before he knew it, Sev had drifted off to sleep in his seat.
Too soon, he was roused by one of t
he other boys, and they filed out into the freezing December air. Sev squinted against the bright winter light and pulled his collar up about his neck. The footman in charge of the young men began searching through a trunk strapped to the rear of the trolley, handing out various tools and splitting the boys off into groups. Michaels drifted into Sev’s group as they moved away armed with saws and burlap sacks to collect the greens.
They were at it for over an hour before Michaels made his way to Sev’s side. An impromptu contest emerged among the boys to gather not only the most greens, but the most perfect as well. Sev clipped lush branches from an ample holly bush.
“I’ve got a line on getting you into Fairgate’s apartments,” Michaels whispered as he gathered the branches Sev dropped.
“Aye?”
“There’s a boy who tends Fairgate’s fire. All we have to do is get him out of the way and you’re in.”
“I assume y’got a plan?”
“You doubt me?” Michaels asked with mock offense. Both boys chuckled softly.
“Well, well, what ’ave we ’ere?” one of the larger, older boys asked. Sev thought his name was Pike. Another especially dull-looking bruiser named Swisher fell into step beside him. “What’s the joke, girls?” Swisher laughed at his friend’s lame attempt at humor.
“Piss off,” Michaels growled. Pike and Swisher exchanged looks of surprise before expressions of anger and malicious amusement replaced them.
“Ye deaf?” Sev asked and motioned the behemoths away.
“Ain’t they cute?” Pike slapped his companion.
Swisher nodded and licked his lips. “Especially the little one,” he said, grinning at Michaels.
“Ye’ll be handin’ over that bag.” Pike indicated the sack in Michaels’s hand.
“Not bloody likely,” Michaels answered.
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