“One of the Steamies got a bit overexcited questionin’ one o’the girls,” Mikey explained. “I showed ’im t’the door, but he managed t’land a punch on th’way out.”
“Then ye’re lucky the big metal bastard didn’t shatter yer face,” Sev told him.
“My God, Seven,” a voice split the relative quiet of the reception area. “What are you wearing?” Sev turned to see Madame Beauchamps dashing toward him with an enormous smile plastered on her face. “You look so handsome. Where’d you get the fancies?” She embraced him roughly, enveloping him in the smell of lavender and her enormous bosom.
He hugged her back, surprised by the woman’s sudden emotion and slightly confused. He’d just remembered that he’d suspected her in the disappearance of Blackside’s children. “They were a gift from the man who wants me t’continue working fer him,” Sev explained.
“You mean?” The madam gasped. Sev nodded and she whispered, “Midnight.”
“He’s also fixed me up with a flat. I’m on my way t’see it now.”
She held him at arm’s length and studied him for a moment, like she was trying to decide if he was ready. “You be careful, you hear me? Midnight isn’t one to be taken lightly. I know it for a fact.”
“Yes, mum,” Sev answered, nodding. “I’ve seen it firsthand, and I’ll watch my step, if I decide t’take him up on his offer.”
Beauchamps nodded once. “You’re as sharp as our Annie says.”
“Is she upstairs? Can I see her?” Sev asked.
Madame Beauchamps shot Mikey a mournful glance. “She’s not here any longer,” the older woman answered, shaking her head.
“What?” Sev’s mind jumped to the worst conclusions. “What’s happened to her? Was it Fairgate?”
“No, dear. She’s fine. She just isn’t here. Just in time too. The Coal-Eaters were looking for her.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think, Seven? They know she’s your friend. You don’t think this was all a coincidence?”
“So they’re lookin’ fer me. I’m sorry t’bring this t’yer doorstep,” Sev apologized, his eyes on his new shoes.
“Oh posh,” Madame Beauchamps said dismissively. “No harm done. Not really.”
“Where’s she gone, then?” Sev looked from the madam to Mikey. Beauchamps fidgeted, wringing her hands nervously. “What?” Sev’s suspicions returned.
“Well, dear, we can’t tell you where she’s gone,” Beauchamps explained. “We, uh, we don’t know.”
“Ye don’t know,” Sev stated, dragging a hand through his hair. She was obviously lying, but why? “She disappeared?” he asked.
“Something like that. I’m sure she’s fine.” She patted Sev on the back. “I’ve things t’do now, dear. You take care.” Sev agreed that he’d take care and bid Mikey farewell.
Back on the street, Sev was torn. He desperately wanted to check in on Waverly, but if the Steamcoats were looking for him, he didn’t want to endanger his only other friend, although he might already be in danger. If they knew to look for Sev at Beauchamps, they might know to check the Bacchus and Tun as well. Waverly could handle himself. Maybe Sev could get a letter to his friend and let him know what was happening.
Sev suddenly felt like everyone’s eyes were on him. He might be overreacting, but he’d always felt being safe was better than being sorry, and it had served him well up to this point. Sev started walking east toward his new flat. He knew the smart thing to do would be to stay out of sight for a while. But he wondered how they’d found out it was him. His mind jumped to Kettlebent. It would make sense the bearded bugger would offer Sev up to clear his name, but he hadn’t said anything last night, and Sev doubted Sutherland would allow it, considering the man’s peculiar relationship with Midnight. No, there had to be something he was overlooking. Michaels wouldn’t have turned him in, and Mary didn’t know who he really was.
Sev ran over the suspects in his mind, flashing back to his time in the palace. No one who worked there knew who he was except Michaels. He tried to run through that last evening, wondering if he’d left some clue, replaying his search, the fight with Kettlebent and when he fled into the hallway. He remembered the look on Fairgate’s face as he came running down the hall followed by a guard and a few guests. Their faces swam into his memory, and he stopped. How could he not have noticed it? In his memory, just beyond Fairgate’s shoulder, he saw the sneering, one-eyed face of Fervis. The weasel must have been too shocked to say anything that night, but he must have pointed Fairgate in Sev’s direction.
Damn it. Sev shoved his fists angrily into his pockets. Fervis again. Rearing his ugly head and making trouble for Sev seemed to be the one thing the bastard excelled at above all else. Sev’s breathing became slightly erratic with frustration, and the filthy air of Blackside caused him to cough. He hadn’t realized how much of a difference in the air quality of the two regions of the city there truly was. He must’ve gotten used to the clean air of Fairside. He couldn’t stop coughing, and people were starting to stare. He’d gone from anonymous to conspicuous. Sev curled his fist to his mouth and tried to stifle the coughs as he dashed further into Blackside.
The coughing only grew worse, and Sev had to pause again. With his hand on his knees he felt as though he’d cough up a lung. He thought he heard someone calling his name, and he wanted to run, but he couldn’t breathe. He looked through tear-blurry eyes as a figure approached him with arms raised, waving. Sev thought he recognized the diminutive form. When he heard the sympathetic French accent, he knew for sure. “Monty,” he choked.
“Oui, Monsieur Sept, oui,” Monty answered, patting Sev on the back. “You must calm down, mon ami.” Sev nodded but continued to cough. “Take shallow breaths. Here.” Monty handed Sev a copper flask. “Try to drink zhis.” Sev cleared his throat between coughs and sipped from the flask. The liquid inside was thick. It spread over his tongue and eased down his throat with oily warmth. It tasted like liquid raisins and coated his throat. The coughing subsided. “Better?” Monty asked. Sev nodded and took a second pull on the flask. He cleared his throat and didn’t cough. “Where have you been, mon ami? Did you take Monsieur Midnight up on his offer? Is that why the Steamcoats are asking about you?”
“No, Monty,” Sev croaked. “Not you too?”
The little Frenchman shrugged. “I told zhem nothing. Do not worry.” He guided Sev over to his booth and sat him down. “Zhey don’t actually know what you look like. Not exactly. Zhey are more or less chasing zheir tails.”
“What is this?” Sev held up the flask.
“Ah. Tawny Port. Delicious, non?”
“Aye.”
“You must tell me all that has happened since last we talked.” Sev took a tentative breath to see if he’d start coughing again. When he didn’t, he related his story to Monty, pausing from time to time as his friend attended to customers.
“That’s when ye found me,” Sev finished.
“Zhat is quite a tale,” Monty spoke with awe. “How can we save our queen?”
“Our queen?” Sev repeated.
“Oui. Zhis is my home as much as it is yours.” Monty thrust his chin out indignantly.
“I suppose it is at that, my friend,” Sev answered with a smirk. “But I’m not sure how we can help her.”
“I have heard things.” Monty spoke conspiratorially. “But I don’t know what is true and what is fantasy.”
“Well I plan t’find out what’s true and what’s not around here. I’m sick o’feelin’ like I’m stumblin’ around in the dark.”
“I understand your feelings, Sept.” Monty heaved a great sigh. “But if I were you, I would take it slowly. Give zhem time to forget about you.”
“Yer advice is sound, Monty. But I don’t know if we have that luxury.”
“I fear zhe truth of your words.” Monty shook his head. “It feels as zhough a storm is gathering.” Sev nodded. Monty had expressed it exactly: a gathering storm, distant rumbling that would
culminate in a roof-shattering thunderstorm with wind and lightning. “Monsieur Sept?” Monty intruded on Sev’s thoughts.
“Sorry, Monty. I’m just trying t’figure this whole thing out. I think I’ll go have a look at the flat Midnight offered me. I’ll stay there fer a bit. Stay out o’sight.”
“Zhat sounds like a splendid idea.” Monty pulled a bottle from under his stand, filled the flask, and pushed it at Sev. “It’s not much, but it should take zhe edge off Blackside’s air. Until you get used to it again.”
Sev accepted the vessel, saluting Monty. “Thanks, my friend.” He tucked the flask into his new coat. “Have ye found anything else on that lightning gun?” Sev asked, remembering the odd item. He wondered if Midnight had found the broken weapon in his personal effects.
“Non, nothing new,” Monty answered.
“Mm. I wasn’t expectin’ so. Well, I’m off. Ye take care of yerself, Monty.” Monty agreed, and they bid one another farewell as Sev peeled a few bills from the wad in his pocket, paying his friend for the lightning gun and his trouble. Monty accepted the money gratefully and Sev marched off to his new flat.
HIS breath came easier as it gathered in misty clouds in the cold air, while he trudged through the filthy, greasy gray snow. The building on Kirkwall Lane looked like all the other ramshackle row houses lining the street. A puzzled look drifted over Sev’s face. He hadn’t expected a palace, but this was a rat hole. As if in answer to Sev’s thought, a figure sitting on the front steps stood and greeted him. “Oy, Sev!”
“Rat. What’re ye doin’ here? Makin’ sure I found my way?”
“His Nibs thought y’might need a runner until things cool off. Here I am.” Rat took a deep drag on his cigar, stamped it out, and lit another.
“I suppose I might at that,” Sev agreed. “Anybody else live here?”
Rat shrugged. “Sometimes. Jack’s people. No worries. His Nibs has put th’word out. Nobody knows ye’re here, no matter who’s askin’.”
“Reckon I’ll have a look-see.” Sev pulled out the brass key and opened the burgundy door. The air inside was stale, musty. Wallpaper drooped like dead skin from the stairwell walls. Bottles and other debris littered the rickety stairs. Each floor had two doors on either side of the stairway. Sev had to step over a urine-soaked drunk on the second landing. None of the flats were numbered.
As he ascended the last of the stairs, a smile crept across his lips. A large, red door lay at the top of the stairwell, a shiny brass seven emblazoned on the wood. Sev sighed in light of the villain’s unabashed theatrics. He unlocked the flamboyant door and stepped into what looked like another world. As shabby as the building looked on the outside, the flat was just the opposite—clean, freshly painted, and in no need of repair. It wasn’t nearly as lavishly decorated as Midnight’s home, but it wasn’t far off. Polished wood floors, lush oriental carpets, and a few fine pieces of elaborate furniture dotted the flat, which occupied the entire top floor. Elaborately embroidered drapes covered the windows, but soft, golden light from gas lamps suffused the space.
Sev walked through the sitting area and ran his hand over the red velvet of the couch. A small dining area sat between a fireplace and the kitchen. Sev sniffed with disbelief when he saw the cold box near the sink. He opened the door and found it fully stocked with meats, cheeses, and fresh juice. Amazing, Sev thought. How did Midnight manage this kind of thing? A large four-poster bed, similar to the one he’d slept in at the Black Chapel, sat in the far corner near a wardrobe Sev suspected contained a complete complement of brand-new clothes. He opened a door to find an elaborate water closet with steam-powered shower. He wondered where the water came from. He continued his circuit and found a desk by the wall opposite the fireplace. He rolled open the top to find it fully equipped.
An idea occurred to him, and he sat down, choosing a pen and a sheaf of parchment. He scribbled a hasty letter to Waverly, letting his dearest friend know he was safe, careful not to reveal any information as to his whereabouts. He signed it with the number seven and folded it, placing it into an envelope. He scrawled a W on the outside and dashed down the steps, where he gave the letter to Rat with instructions to deliver it to the Bacchus and Tun. Rat tipped his hat, shoved the envelope into his coat, and sauntered off down the street. Satisfied, Sev returned to his flat and fixed himself a small meal of bread, cheese, and cold roast beef. When he’d finished eating, the enormity of his situation finally caught up with him, and he dropped onto his new bed, unable to keep his eyes open.
SEV’S father looked up from the pair of shoes he’d been resoling, his face breaking into a splendid, beaming smile. Sev dashed into the man’s strong arms, and his father swept him up and twirled him. They were laughing together suddenly in the tiny yard behind their row house. The sun glinted in his father’s strawberry hair. His father placed him back on the ground, and Sev dashed off giggling. His father called to him, and Sev turned just in time to see his father’s forehead explode.
Sev screamed, not with a young boy’s voice, the voice that had just finished laughing, but with a man’s voice. His father’s body slipped sideways, an expression of surprise in his remaining eye as it fell. Fervis stood behind, a smoking gun in his hand. Fervis’s laughter echoed too loudly in the factory as the villain grabbed Sev’s mother. She screamed, but no sound came out of her mouth. Sev felt sick when he noticed the wedding dress she wore. He tried to reach her, to save her, but his feet didn’t want to move. The wedding dress turned black, and instead of his mother, the queen leaned into Fervis’s embrace, but it wasn’t Fervis anymore. It was Fairgate, his eyes flashing red. He no longer held a smoking gun. It had turned into the stolen journal. Fairgate cast some sort of spell, and the journal melted into a flaming lantern. The queen tittered discordantly, and Sev noticed her eyes were black like the void. She smiled too widely with too many teeth chiseled to violent points. Fairgate tossed the lantern at Sev. He tried to catch it, but he was afraid he’d burn. He juggled the object for a moment before it dropped to the ground. A trail of fire burst forth, and Sev’s gaze followed it as it crawled across the floor to where his brother and sisters stood.
“No!” Sev screamed, but his feet still wouldn’t cooperate, and now it wasn’t just his siblings engulfed in flame. Midnight, Annie, Waverly, and Monty all wailed within the conflagration. Sutherland and Kettlebent tried to extinguish the flames but were enveloped as well. Sev reached for Waverly. They’d never had a chance together, but he reached for the young man he loved anyway. Guilt stabbed his chest. Why would he try to save Waverly over his own flesh and blood? He didn’t have time to ponder. The floor beneath Sev opened up, and he plummeted into a dank darkness. It was wet and cool compared to the inferno raging above. Sev knelt, tears streaming, mingling with the fetid water below the factory. A desiccated hand reached out, followed by another and another, until Sev was surrounded by corpses. He knew they were his friends and family, the people he’d killed. They whispered in unison with one multifaceted voice, “It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.” They reached for him, and when the first rotted hand connected with the bare skin of his face, a vile finger curling into his mouth, Sev screamed.
He was still screaming when Rat shook him awake. “Wake up, mate! Wake up,” he shouted. Sev gasped for breath as he sat up, swinging his arms to free himself from the grip of the corpses. He knocked Rat to the floor before he realized what had happened. “Gah!” Rat groaned. “What in bloody blazes is yer problem, mate?”
“I’m sorry, Rat.” Sev decided he was waking up this way much too often, before he offered the young boy his hand and helped him up. “I was havin’ a nightmare.”
“No shite,” Rat commented sarcastically. “I was tryin’ t’deliver this when y’attacked me.” Rat held up a folded bit of paper. Sev took it, unfolded it, and read:
7-
Glad you ar safe. Take care, my frend.
-W.
Sev read the short missive twice. Direct, not overly emotion
al, just like Waverly. Sev smiled sadly. His friend’s note warmed his heart while simultaneously breaking it just a little. “Everythin’ aces?” Rat inquired.
“Fine,” Sev answered.
“Grand. I’ve things t’attend to, but I’ll be back. Make yerself at home.” Rat tipped his hat and left Sev alone in his new flat. Sev didn’t feel much like making himself at home, but he figured he should get used to the space since he’d be here for a while until Fairgate’s desire to find him subsided.
He walked over to the wardrobe and opened the double doors. Sure enough, it was filled with clothes, all in similar shades of black and gray. A few pairs of shoes and a pair of boots sat in the bottom. Sev’s heart jumped when he saw his old rucksack. He pulled the bag out and went through his possessions.
Everything was there. Crossbow, goggles, and even the bundle of cloth with the bits of the lightning gun within. Elated, Sev laid the parts out on his new table, trying to piece the weapon together like a puzzle. The mystery held his attention for a few hours, but without access to parts or information, there wasn’t anything more he could do.
DAYS passed like weeks. Sev was going mad with inaction. He felt like he should be out doing something. Surely someone had learned something from Fairgate’s journal by now, something that would give them some insight on how to stop the madman. Rat was his only visitor. The dirty urchin brought food and newspapers, letters from Midnight, and most importantly, Henry in his fancy cage. Sev promptly released his feathered friend from his gilded jail. Henry hooted happily and flapped about the room. The little owl’s presence helped, but Sev still itched to do something.
At the end of Sev’s second week, he and Rat sat at the dining table playing cards. Sev pressed Rat for information about the world outside his flat. “No word on Annie?” Sev asked for the hundredth time. Rat grunted and shook his head in response. “What’s Fairgate doin’?”
“Don’t know, do we? Nobody’s seen ’im. His men’re still lookin’ fer ye, though. Not as many, but still.” Rat slapped down a card.
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