Hale, Ginn

by Wicked Gentleman (lit)

  "You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in black."

  "So, what now?" Edward asked.

  "Now you go to a safe house."

  "A safe house?" Edward asked. "A safe house from the Inquisition? Are there really such things?"

  "A few." Harper turned and strode quickly along the walk-way. Before Edward could question him further, Harper took a sharp turn and swung down the emergency stairs to the ground of Hells Below.

  He led Edward through the narrow streets. Decaying houses and rumpled, dark shops jutted into the streets and hunched against each other like drunks.

  "They're going to ask you what the Inquisition wants you for," Harper said quietly. "Don't tell them. Just say that you're a physician looking for work. There aren't any doctors down here. You're worth more than any reward. They'll sell their own kids before they'll turn you over to the Inqu—"

  "Will, you're coming with me, aren't you?" Edward broke in. Oily droplets of condensation spattered down from the cavernous roof and drummed across the roofs of the crumbling houses. Harper and Edward walked under the cover of the over-hanging eaves.

  "You'll be fine," Harper began.

  "No. You don't understand." Edward glanced askance to see if anyone was near enough to overhear them.

  Three Prodigal boys played with a nest of rats at the far end of the alley, but none of them took any note of either Harper or Edward.

  "Will, it isn't going to be safe for you in the city. They made me sign a confession. I didn't want to, but—"

  "I know. I went through the files and pulled it out."

  "You did?" Edward looked a little startled. "How did you know?"

  "That's just how the Inquisition works. They get confessions and then use them to bargain for trial testimonies."

  "Are you angry?"

  "Not with you. You did the smart thing. Hell, you did the only thing you could. If you hadn't given them that confession, they wouldn't have stopped torturing you. You wouldn't have been in any shape to escape when I came for you." Harper frowned. "I'm just sorry I didn't get you out sooner. I shouldn't have left you the way I did."

  "You had someone else to look after." Edward shrugged. "Did you take care of him?"

  "We need to take Wax Street." Harper pointed ahead.

  "You could be less obvious about not answering, you know," Edward said as they continued on.

  "You see that little chapel." Harper inclined his head toward the brick building. "That's where you're going. You'll want to talk to Bastard Jack."

  "Not his real name, I hope," Edward commented.

  "You never know with Prodigals. It doesn't matter. Just ask for him, and tell him that Nick Sariel recommended him to you."

  "What if this Nick Sariel is there?"

  "He's locked up at Brighton," Harper said. "Just drop his name if they ask. What's going to interest Jack is the fact that you're a physician. Once he knows that, he'll piss himself to make a friend of you. The only other thing you have to remember is not to mention me, not to anyone down here. Inquisition captains are never popular, and neither are their friends." Harper patted him on the shoulder, then stepped back. "You think you've got all that?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Good. Take care of yourself, Edward."

  "Will—"

  "Just say goodbye," Harper told him as coldly as he could.

  "Goodbye."

  "Goodbye."

  Harper turned before Edward could say anything more and walked away. He didn't want to drag this out, and he didn't want to discuss it. The less time Edward spent in his company, the better chance he had. Harper knew Edward was watching his retreating back.

  Only after he knew he was well out of Edward's sight did he turn back. He dashed back to the wooden fire escape that was nailed to the back of a rotting tenement. Two of the steps snapped under Harper's weight, but the rest of the ladder held. He climbed up onto the roof and looked across to Wax Street. Through the haze of falling condensation, Harper watched as Edward slowly approached the brick chapel and then disappeared inside.

  Though there was no day or night in Hells Below, it felt suddenly much darker to Harper.

  Chapter Nine

  Silk Stocking

  Harper wanted to think calmly. He wanted to feel that familiar, detached coldness enfold the burning rage inside him, but it wouldn't come. He didn't know why. Perhaps it had been seeing Edward hunched in that cell, too frightened to even look up. Or Joan, dressed like beggar and covered in filth, staring at him as if he might harm her. Perhaps it had been holding Belimai's shaking body in his arms and knowing that nothing could ever give Belimai his innocence back. Or perhaps it was simply remembering all those things and looking out over the desolation of Hells Below. The injustice seemed infinite. Fury welled up through Harper.

  He had spent years gathering evidence and following the correct procedures of prosecution. All the while, Abbot Greeley and his friends committed brutal crimes whenever they pleased and had witnesses murdered at their leisure. Time after time, Harper had crushed his own anger and poured his strength into the belief that justice had to prevail.

  But justice did not prevail. It struggled, floundered, then sank into oblivion.

  Harper had been told as a child that God brought Justice to every man. Harper had believed that. Even as his innocence fell from his body, even as he uncovered mutilated women and gutted Prodigals, Harper had clung to that promise. Now he couldn't make himself believe it any longer. No wide-eyed saint or righteous angel was going to give Harper Justice. He didn't even want it any longer.

  What he wanted now was vengeance. For that, he did not have to wait on heaven's judgment. Vengeance he could take with his own hands. It wasn't smart. Harper knew that, but he didn't care. His life was already in ruins.

  When Harper had left Hells Below, the drops of condensation clung to his hair and skin like baptismal waters. His anger cooled as he walked, but it didn't fade. By the time he reached the open air of Champion Street, he'd already decided on a course of action. He made his way through the dark streets to Cherry Row and up into one of the squalid little flats.

  Now, he watched from the grimy window as a single figure strode across the street below. Only a few of the streetlamps had been re-paired since the deluge the week before. This particular little road had only one working lamp. Harper smiled as he caught the shine of red hair under the light.

  Harper pulled the curtains closed and walked carefully across the small, dark room to the door.

  "Not much longer, now," Harper whispered to the woman on the bed.

  She stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. She didn't even attempt a reply through the wadded-up cloth and silk stocking that Harper had used to gag her. The deadness to her responses told Harper that he was not the first man to treat her this way. She hadn't tried to cry for help. She had already known that no one would respond to the screams of a whore. She hadn't even struggled against Harper's strength when he slammed her down onto the bed and tied her. She lay still, giving Harper no reason to hurt her, no resistance to beat down. She just watched him, with an expression of hopeless knowing.

  "This will all be over soon," Harper said quietly. "Just stay where you are, and you'll be fine."

  She nodded slightly. Through the darkness, Harper smiled at her.

  The sounds of footsteps on the stairs grew louder. Keys jingled like bells as Brandson tried to find the right one. At last the door swung open. Brandson stepped inside and groped for the wall lamp. The door fell shut behind him. Harper silently twisted the lock back into place.

  "I'm not paying you to be asleep, Lucy." Brandson kept fiddling with the lamp. "I've had a hell of a day, and it's going to take more than a drowsy hand job to make it better."

  A weak flame flickered up into the dirty, glass housing of the lamp. Brandson lost his grip on his coat as he suddenly saw Lucy.

  "What the hell is this?" Brandson demanded.

  Stepping up from behind, Har
per pushed the barrel of his pistol hard against the back of Brandson's neck.

  "This is where your day gets even worse," Harper said. "You know the procedure, Captain. Arms up. Do anything else, and I'll spatter Lucy, over there, with the majority of your head." Harper reached under Brandson's raised arm and removed Brandson's pistol. He pocketed it.

  "Very good." Harper ran his hand down to Brandson's waist and unbuckled his belt. Years of desperate encounters in back alleys had made the motion second nature to him. He unclipped the handcuffs from the belt and then let Brandson's belt and pants fall to the floor. A shudder of fear and protest moved through Brandson's body.

  "Keep your hands up," Harper snapped when he felt the slight shift in Brandson's shoulders. Brandson jerked his arms back up.

  "I never appreciated how well you followed orders until now," Harper commented. "Left arm behind your back."

  Brandson did as Harper told him.

  "Now the right." Harper cuffed Brandson's hands behind his back tightly.

  "Now, slowly down onto your knees." Harper pressed the pistol down against Brandson's skin as Brandson sank to his knees. Harper kept his pistol snug against Brandson as he reached down and jerked the belt out from the folds of cloth around Brandson's ankles. Harper's right palm ached as he moved his hand. The cut split open again. The sharp pain only made him angrier at Brandson.

  Harper wrapped the belt around Brandson's ankles, pulling it tight with vicious jerks, and then buckled it. The black leather cut into the muscle of Brandson's legs. Brandson winced. Harper stepped back and then kicked him forward onto his stomach. He hit the floor with a hard thud.

  Harper crouched down near Brandson's face.

  "So, Captain, why do you think I'm here?" Harper asked.

  "Your brother-in-law, Dr. Talbott," Brandson muttered against the floor. "I can get him a full exoneration if that's what—"

  "Don't pretend to bargain with me." Harper grabbed a fistful of Brandson's red hair and jerked his face up close to his own. "Right now I want to kill you so badly it hurts, so don't give me a reason. Just answer my questions. Understand?"

  "Yes," Brandson whispered. Harper released his hair and Brandson's head dropped back down to the floor.

  "Who killed the woman Dr. Talbott was treating?"

  "The abbot gave direct orders—"

  "I said, who killed her?" Harper demanded.

  "There were three of us."

  "You were the one who put the bullet through her, weren't you?" Harper rested the muzzle of his pistol against the base of Brandson's skull. Brandson squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head against the floor in silent admission.

  "Who were the other two?" Harper asked.

  "Captain Spencer and Captain Warren."

  "What about Reynolds and Miller?" Harper asked.

  "No, the abbot hates them. He thinks they're filthy sodomites."

  "I see." Harper stood and then rolled Brandson over with his foot. He stared down at Brandson's pale face.

  "It was the abbot's order. I had to do it, Harper," Brandson whispered. "Her testimony would have convicted Lord Cedric. It would have been a huge scandal."

  "Didn't it even occur to you that Lord Cedric deserves to be convicted? He murdered his niece."

  "He never meant to. She fell down the stairs—"

  "Her body was covered with months of bruises, Brandson. He was beating her, and she died trying to escape him. Anyone who bothered to look at her could have seen that." Harper crouched down beside Brandson, pressing the tip of his gun against Brandson's chest. "If you fell down a flight of stairs trying to escape me, don't you think I might be to blame for your death?"

  Brandson stared at Harper in silence for several moments. Harper didn't know what Brandson saw in his expression, but suddenly Brandson squeezed his eyes shut.

  "Don't kill me, Harper. I'll...I'll do whatever you want. Just don't kill me."

  Harper looked away in disgust as Brandson begged. He took a deep breath of the cool air.

  "Just answer my questions, Brandson," Harper said.

  "I will, I swear."

  "Where is the abbot keeping Lord Cedric?" Harper asked.

  "I'm not supposed to—"

  Harper cocked the hammer of his pistol.

  "White Chapel!" Brandson shouted. Sweat poured down his forehead. "For the love of God, don't kill me, Harper. Please..."

  Slowly, Harper released the hammer. Then he stood up and went to Lucy. She stared at the pistol in his hand, then glanced up at his face. Harper gave her a brief smile. She tried to return the smile, but she was too frightened to be convincing. The gag in her mouth made the expression grotesquely desperate.

  Harper sighed and strode quickly to the woman's shabby dressing table. He opened the drawer and dug through her underwear until he found another pair of silk stockings. There was a little pattern of L's decorating the seams. He took those as well as a pair of underwear and a cotton sock.

  Harper returned to Brandson. He holstered his pistol and then viciously yanked him up off the floor and shoved him back onto the bed. Brandson gave and absurd cry of surprise. Lucy bounced as the mattress heaved with Brandson's sudden weight.

  Harper didn't wait for Brandson to gain his equilibrium. He grabbed Brandson's legs and lashed them to the iron rungs at the foot of the bed. Then Harper sat on Brandson's chest, pinning his cuffed arms under his back. He tied one end of a silk stocking around Brandson's throat like a leash and then knot-ted the other end to the headboard.

  "Open your mouth," Harper commanded, and Brandson obeyed.

  Harper shoved the underwear into Brandson's mouth, cramming them in until he gagged. He used the remaining cotton sock to hold them in place. After briefly checking his knots, Harper got off him. He walked around the bed and, much more gently, untied Lucy's arms and legs.

  He led her by one arm as he picked up Brandson's coat and keys, and then left the room. He stopped in the hallway with her.

  "I'm going to take your gag off. But you have to stay quiet," Harper told her.

  Lucy nodded. Harper untied the gag, taking care not to pull her hair. When he did, she winced but made no noise. At last Harper pulled the stocking off, and Lucy spit out the wet wad of cloth that had been in her mouth. The sides of her face were red from the tightness of the gag.

  "I'm going to let you go," Harper told her. "But you should leave the city if you can. This will help." Harper pulled Brandson's wallet and coin purse out of the coat. Lucy reached out tentatively and took the money.

  "You might think of going to the Inquisition to report this," Harper said, "but you should remember that it was an abbot who ordered Brandson to kill another woman for knowing what you just heard. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes," she whispered quickly.

  "He wasn't kind to you, was he?" Harper asked suddenly, remembering how resigned she had been to the bonds and gag.

  "Worse than some, better than others." She looked up at Harper. "Can I have his coat? I haven't got one of my own."

  "Here." Harper handed it to her.

  "Thank you." She put the big black coat on and then headed down the stairs. Harper watched her go.

  "Good luck," Harper told her as she turned away. Lucy glanced back up at him.

  "Good luck to you too," she said, and then she rushed into the darkness.

  Harper turned back to the door. He was glad to have let Lucy go. She was the kind of girl who had seen too many ugly things already. He wouldn't have wanted her to witness what he had left to do with Brandson.

  Chapter Ten

  Crooked Teeth

  The sun had risen an hour ago, but the sky remained dim. Heavy gray clouds hung above the rooftops and wrapped the tall steeples in thick mist. Harper liked the fog. It suited his thoughts, disguised the stains on his clothing, and hid his features. As the city bells rang out the hour, Harper squinted up the street.

  Vendors were already out hawking their goods. Carriages and cart horses tore deep grooves
through the muddy roads as the drivers shouted each other aside. The smell of hot bread and piss mixed as bakers opened their doors and women emptied the previous night's chamber pots into the gutters.

  Harper sidestepped a splash of fouled water. His stomach clenched at the smell. He had already walked from Lucy's rented rooms on Cherry Row to Brandson's house on Archer's Green Road, then made his way to the walled grounds of White Chapel. Now he strode back along Butcher Street. The muscles of his back and legs burned with exhaustion. His eyes ached from strain and fatigue. His stomach churned in a mixture of hunger and tension. He felt almost certain that the moment he stopped moving he would simply collapse.

  "Captain!" a young man shouted.

  Across the street, a dark haired youth beckoned him.

  "Captain." The young man grinned and Harper recognized him. Harper didn't know anyone else with so many teeth crammed so wildly into his mouth. Harper waved a brief hello. The young man returned the gesture with clumsy enthusiasm.

  "Come across, Captain," the young man shouted over an argument between two carriage drivers. Harper waited for a slow moment in the rolling advances of carts and carriages, then rushed across the street.

  "Morris," Harper said. "What are you doing down here?"

  "Working." The young man held up a dripping broom. "Can you believe it?"

  "Street sweeping?" Harper frowned.

  "No. I'm just cleaning up in front of the shop." He pointed up to the sign that hung over their heads. Harper glanced up at the painted image of a loaf of bread encircled by patterns of wheat leaves.

  "I got an apprenticeship to a baker." Morris pointed to the stained apron he wore. "Mr. Stone's been showing me how to make butter pastries. I baked my first ones this morning."

  "That's good. I'm glad things have worked out for you." Harper smiled. Sharp tremors of exhaustion passed through his legs as he continued standing. If he didn't get moving again, he thought he was going to drop.

  Morris beamed at him, his riot of Prodigal teeth flashing out again from behind his lips.

  "You wouldn't have thought it could happen, would you? You would have thought I'd be back to doing light work out of other folks' pockets, wouldn't you?" Morris bounced slightly on the balls of his feet in excitement. Just watching him made the bones of Harper's feet ache.