The Ruby Airship

by Sharon Gosling

  “Bollocks!” scoffed J. “That’s total rubbish, that is. I never heard such tripe, truly I ain’t. You and Thaddeus, you’re two of a kind. Or you were, before that Mr. Yannick turned up. Why are you so angry at Thaddeus? What do you fink ’e’s done? Cos I bet it ain’t what you think it is. No way. He’d walk over hot coals for you, Rémy, and no mistake.”

  For a moment, Rémy thought about her discarded opal and wondered whether to tell J about it — about what she’d heard Thaddeus thinking. But she dismissed the idea almost immediately. Best to leave those worms to squirm beneath the ground where they belonged.

  “You wouldn’t understand, J,” she said instead. “And as for Yannick, he’s my friend. He’s always been my friend, ever since we first met. And that’s more than I can say about Thaddeus, isn’t it?”

  J set his jaw in the stubborn line Rémy had become used to and shook his head. “Well, you know best, Rémy. But, well, I don’t know what’s up with you two. Honestly, after all that stuff that happened in Abernathy’s caves, you’d think —”

  Rémy covered her face with her hands. “Not now, J. D’accord?”

  “All right, all right. You’ve got to admit, though — that’s some whopper you’ve got there. Ain’t really surprising Thaddeus thought it might be nicked, is it?”

  Rémy dropped her hands and saw that the boy was pointing at Lady Sarah’s ruby, still sitting heavily on her index finger.

  “That’s a right beauty, that is.”

  She shrugged. “That’s what I thought, too. Now I think I’ll throw it in the Thames.”

  “Don’t do that! It’s just what I need. Can I borrow it for a bit? I’ll give it back, promise.”

  Rémy pulled the ring from her finger and threw it to him. J caught it one-handed, staring into the red jewel with wide eyes. “Keep it,” she told him. “I wish I’d never seen the damned thing.”

  * * *

  Thaddeus spent most of the day following a hunch that took him deep into London’s West End. Once there, he called at the Adelphi theater, where Lord Theakston and his wife and daughter had spent the evening before the jewels had disappeared. Once he had taken a look at the playbill and spoken to the establishment’s owner, he moved on to another theater called The Vaudeville, where, he had discovered upon checking, Lord Bolsover had visited the night of his robbery. There he looked again at the playbill and spoke to that theater owner, too. By the time he had completed these tasks, Thaddeus felt not only that his hunch was proving itself to be a solid line of inquiry, but also that where it was leading him was uncomfortably close to home.

  He returned to his office, foot-sore and not a little perturbed. Sitting down, he spread his notes out across his desk again and tried to find a clear path to follow through the fragments.

  He was still deep in thought when a strong knock sounded at his office door. Thaddeus glanced at the clock to find with surprise that it was after six p.m., and the police station was almost empty. He stood and opened the door to see his friend Maandhata Desai standing patiently outside. Thaddeus smiled as he bid him come in, noting the slight frown on his friend’s face.

  “Desai,” said Thaddeus in greeting. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you, Thaddeus,” said the older man, his floor-length cloak rustling as he took a seat. The cloak was a rich, dark blue, embroidered at the edges with foreign flowers that made Thaddeus’s drab office seem even duller than usual. Desai pulled the hood down to his shoulders, and the young policeman saw a new touch of gray in his friend’s long hair and beard.

  “You look worried,” Thaddeus observed. “Some-thing I should know about?”

  “I am afraid so, my friend, and worse than you will be expecting.” Desai let out a sigh, his eyes troubled.

  Thaddeus and Desai had first met during the Abernathy affair, when Desai’s men had rescued the policeman from the belly of one of the mad Lord’s malfunctioning machines. Thaddeus had heard Desai’s name whispered before that, though, and had assumed that he was just another gang lord making money from the misfortunes of the poorest in the East End. This had turned out to be far from the truth, and Desai had proven to be a great ally in helping Rémy and Thaddeus thwart Abernathy’s insane plans to destroy London.

  Afterward, he had taken J under his wing, even going so far as to let the boy accompany him to his native homeland of India to release Rémy from her family curse. Since he’d been back in London, Thaddeus had found Desai a great help in keeping an eye on the criminal workings of the city.

  “Well, tell me,” said Thaddeus, beginning to tidy his desk of his notes on the robbery. “Perhaps it is something that, together, we can put right.”

  Desai smiled. “My young friend, your optimism and positive spirit are a valuable gem in these injurious times.” He leaned forward. “You know that my men have been, as you would say, keeping an eye on the rivers?”

  Thaddeus frowned, alert at once. “Yes, I do, of course. Why? Has something come of it?”

  Abernathy’s plan had been to attack London from below, using terrifying mechanical machines of war that could navigate the city’s submerged rivers. The would-be despot had died trapped inside one such contraption. It and the others had sunk into the silt deep below the streets when Rémy’s heroic efforts to disable their power source had been successful, and they were still there now. Desai had made it his mission to see that these machines never again saw the light of day.

  Desai nodded. “At first my scouts believed they were interrupting salvage seekers who had simply stumbled on some remains by accident. But now I am convinced otherwise. Over the past month, we have tracked three or four larger-scale operations that have specifically targeted the Black Ditch, where Abernathy’s largest machines lie.”

  “‘Specifically targeted’?” Thaddeus repeated. “But . . . how can that be? That would mean that someone else — someone other than us or Abernathy and his army — knew what he was doing.”

  Desai nodded grimly. “Indeed, my friend. As I said, worse than you were expecting, no doubt.”

  “But how?” Thaddeus asked. “How could anyone know?”

  The other man pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and passed it to the policeman. Thaddeus smoothed it out. The paper bore two columns of neat handwriting — Desai’s own pen had made these lists. One was of names, the other a list of countries.

  “What’s this?”

  Desai leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “What I have not told you up until now, my dear friend, is that besides monitoring the rivers, I have also been examining Abernathy’s past. It started when I returned to India — I took the opportunity to begin tracing his path onward from that first fateful meeting with the Professor. My inquiries have turned up several disturbing facts, the chief among them being that Abernathy was not alone in his insanity. He had friends. The names you hold there in your hand are his consorts, his abettors, his encouragers, and, I am sorry to say . . . his investors.”

  Thaddeus stared at the note again, feeling a sick chill beginning to churn in his stomach. Among the names listed were counts and princes, noblemen all. Their countries ranged from Bavaria to France, from Turkmenistan to China and even beyond. He shook his head, reeling in a revelation he was only just beginning to grasp.

  “Are you saying that these men may also have the machines the Professor designed?” he asked hoarsely, through a mouth grown suddenly dry. “What could they possibly want them for? War?”

  Desai unsteepled his fingers to raise his palms. “This I do not know. What I do know is that at least one of them has been trying to recover what he can from the scene of Abernathy’s failure.”

  Thaddeus looked up. “Surely that’s a good sign? Perhaps it means that they have also failed in their own attempts and are clutching at anything.”

  Desai smiled wryly. “We can but hope. Alas, I think it more likely that
at least one of these men is eager to see a return on an investment that is surely to have been far heavier than he expected.”

  Thaddeus shook his head, staring again at the paper. “But what can we do? These men are powerful, and so spread out. Who can we approach for help? How do we build proof? Where do we even start?”

  Desai sighed, a soft sound that filled the room with melancholy. “Ah, Thaddeus, this is where I must burden you further. For whatever must be done, must be done by you alone, at least in the immediate future.”

  “What do you mean?” the policeman asked with a frown.

  “I am imparting this knowledge to you,” explained Desai, “as I cannot be a vessel for it myself any longer. I must return to my homeland to deal with a problem I had thought long quelled.”

  “But — you’ve only just come back.”

  “I know, my friend. But there are things about my past you are unaware of; ancient responsibilities that, when they call, cannot be ignored.”

  “What problem?” Thaddeus asked. “What is it?”

  The older man smiled, his face creasing into a harmony of fine lines around his eyes and mouth. “Nothing that you should burden yourself with, my friend. The Sapphire Cutlass is a worry for me alone.” He reached out a hand, grasping Thaddeus’s own firmly. “I am sorry to leave you at such a time and with such a burden in your heart and mind. But in my absence, I wanted you to be aware. In case I do not come back —”

  “What do you mean, in case you don’t come back?”

  “In case I do not come back, my men have been ordered to report to you. In fact,” Desai added, “I am informed that one of these men —” he pointed to the paper Thaddeus still held, “is to meet with the salvage hawkers tonight. We do not know which, but finding out is vital. I feel it would be prudent for you to attend yourself, since I cannot. Inconspicuously, of course.”

  “Tonight?” Thaddeus asked, looking at his watch. The evening was already drawing on. “You must leave that soon?”

  “I am afraid I must. If you had plans this evening, I apologize my friend, but —”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Thaddeus interrupted quickly. “But a case I am working on — a difficult case . . . I finally have a lead, and I cannot afford to let the trail go cold. From what you have told me, this, I am sure, is more important, but…”

  “But your superiors do not know of it and therefore, would not care. I understand.”

  “What time is the meeting?” Thaddeus asked, glancing at his watch again. “If it is late, as I’m sure it must be . . .”

  “It is late, indeed,” agreed Desai, “for who conducts nefarious deeds in daylight? We believe the meeting is set for close to midnight — though, of course, it would be prudent to be in place beforehand in order to observe.”

  The policeman shut his eyes briefly. He had hoped never again to have to enter the dank underworld that lurked beneath the city. But it seemed he had no choice.

  “I should be free from ten o’clock,” he said quietly.

  “Excellent.” Desai stood up. “Where shall I have my man meet you?”

  Thaddeus stood, too, his stomach churning. “Outside the Albert Saloon theater, in Britannia Fields.”

  “Very well.” Desai dipped his head, a slow gesture full of dignity. “And now, Thaddeus, I must leave you. I am truly sorry for this abrupt departure, and that I must leave at all. With any luck, I will return swiftly and with a better plan of how to proceed, aided by the information you will gather tonight. But for now, I must take my leave.”

  Once Desai had gone, Thaddeus sank back into his chair, chilled. He’d thought Abernathy’s madness to be far in the past, but now it seemed that what they had battled was in fact only the tip of the iceberg. He stared at the list of names Desai had given him. One drew his attention more than the others. Comte Cantal de Saint-Cernin. That name rang a bell. Where had he heard it, or something like it, before?

  Thaddeus glanced at the clock again and, after another moment’s thought, stood and reached for his coat. Desai’s problem was not the only issue he had to deal with. Tonight he would come closer to finding out if his hunch about the “impossible” burglaries were indeed more than a hunch.

  {Chapter 7}

  DARK DEEDS

  Yannick was already on stage when Rémy arrived at the theater that evening. Even without seeing them, she could tell from the buzz of the crowd that they loved his act. But that wasn’t surprising — she’d always known Yannick was going to be a great magician once he’d honed his craft, in the same way that he’d always told her she was going to be an amazing trapeze artist.

  Rémy stood in the wings and watched. “Is there someone out there willing to volunteer?” Yannick was saying, standing at the front of the stage and addressing the audience. “I need someone of strong mind, someone not easily swayed.”

  There was a chorus of calls from the seats before him. Rémy peeked out from the curtain to see a flurry of hands — mostly men, though a few women were also brave enough. Yannick picked a fat old wheezing man in a black dinner jacket who struggled slowly to the stage with the help of a carved, dog-headed cane.

  “Welcome to the stage Mr. . . .” Yannick greeted him, his voice carrying sharply through the auditorium.

  “Sir,” said the fat old man, coughing slightly. “I am Sir Johnson.”

  “Sir Johnson, it is an honor to have you as my guest this fair night,” corrected Yannick, smoothly. “Now sir, I ask you again — are you of strong mind? This next part of my act requires a strong mind. If you are not, I fear . . .”

  “Oh, I have a strong mind, damn you,” boomed Sir Johnson. “Do your worst, trickster, you’ll see you can’t fox your betters. Stuff and nonsense, hypnosis — it’ll only work on the weak. Not me, my boy, not me!”

  Rémy smiled. So that was why Yannick needed the old goat — to hypnotize him! A smart move, because unlike other tricks, hypnosis performed by one truly skilled in the art was no illusion — it was real, and it worked best on those who swore blind they would never be controlled by it. Just as Sir Johnson had done. It was what made the turn so hilarious for the rest of the audience and why they loved it. There was nothing better than seeing the pompous taken down a peg — or a dozen.

  Rémy scanned the audience as Yannick prepared his hapless helper. They were animated, interested, excited, and it made her smile. Good. That meant that when Rémy herself took the stage to finish off the night, the audience would be nicely warmed up and ready for —

  Rémy froze, her gaze falling on a familiar figure in the fifth row. Oh, he was without his battered top hat, but she’d know that face anywhere. Thaddeus! What was he doing here? Had he come to see her perform? Because if he had, it was a sweet gesture, but it wouldn’t . . .Then it hit her. No, he wasn’t here to see her. He was watching Yannick too intently for that, his sharp policeman’s eyes following everything her friend did, taking it all in, filing it all away.

  Thaddeus suspected Yannick! He still couldn’t find the real culprit behind his blasted burglaries, and since he couldn’t pin it on her — because she was innocent — he was going for the next best thing: Yannick, whom he’d hated on sight.

  Rémy was instantly furious. How dared he? How dared he? Was Thaddeus going to pursue all her friends from now on? Was it enough to be a former circus act for the great and pure Thaddeus Rec of Her Majesty’s Police to assume that you were a criminal and treat you as such?

  Rémy didn’t see the rest of Yannick’s act — she was too blind and deaf with rage. It bubbled in her ears, an angry roar that didn’t diminish even when the audience exploded with applause as the curtain came down on a humiliated Sir Johnson. By the time Yannick had finished, she was pacing like a caged tiger, up and down, up and down, so fast that the magician almost collided with her as he stepped from the stage.

  “Rémy? What on earth’s the matter?”
Yannick’s face showed alarm as he put out his arms to steady her. He gripped her shoulders. “What is it? Tell me! You look as if the fires of hell itself burn behind your eyes this evening!”

  “They might as well, too,” Rémy hissed. “Yannick — we’re not wanted here. We don’t belong here. Not in this theater, not on this stage, not in this stinking, godforsaken city. Let’s go back to France.”

  “Rémy — what’s happened?” Yannick asked, puzzled, rubbing her arms in an attempt to calm her down. “You can’t go out on the trapeze like this, you’re too tense. You’ll do yourself a mischief.”

  “I’m not going on,” Rémy hissed. “Not here, not ever again. Let’s go back to France. Right now. We can get the last train from Waterloo and be on the first boat back home in the morning.”

  “But —” Yannick began.

  “I mean it, Yannick,” said Rémy. “We’re not welcome here. And I can’t leave you here — don’t ask me why, but I know something bad will happen to you if I do. We’ve got to go. Now.”

  Yannick stared into her eyes for a moment, and then away at the wall, frowning seriously as he considered her words. “D’accord,” he said, finally. “Let’s do it. Just give me a moment — I have an errand I must attend to.”

  He stepped away from her, motioning to one of the backstage boys who was lurking in the shadows. They conversed in low voices for a moment. Then the boy nodded once before vanishing back into the shadows.

  “Right,” said Yannick, returning to her. “Let’s go.”

  They left the theater quickly and quietly, slipping through the night as eels would through the murky sediments of the Thames.

  * * *

  Thaddeus did not stay for Rémy’s performance. Instead, he left as soon as Yannick had exited the stage, having first noted the name of Sir Johnson on the notepad he had tucked into his top pocket. That line of inquiry would have to wait for tomorrow for him to follow up, however. For now, he had even darker deeds to observe.