Max complained vociferously about the time they were wasting, about the throngs of people, about Julianus’s reckless disregard for traffic. Julianus ignored him. This failed to soothe Max’s temper. In Max’s world, ignoring him was a capital offense, second only to acts of violence against the Crown, and then only by the breadth of a whisker. Finally, he grabbed Julianus by the shoulder. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
Julianus scanned the roofs of the buildings around him. “I’m talking to you!” Max thundered. “What are you looking for?”
“That,” said Julianus, pointing.
“What? Where?” Max followed the direction of his finger.
“Look up,” Julianus said. “On the roof.”
Max followed his fingers. “Looks like a minor violation of section 103 of the maintenance code of New Old London,” he said. “Failure to maintain a roof or other structural element of a permanent structure in good repair. Hardly a thing for the Queen’s Guard to—hey, where are you going?” He ran after Julianus, who was already halfway down the alley.
When he caught up to him, Julianus was standing knee-deep in rubbish in a refuse-dump. The side of the dump had broken, spilling its contents across the alley. “Come up here,” he said. “Give me a hand.”
“What? No!” Max said. “Have you lost your mind? It’s undignified, a member of the Guard mucking around in garbage. Show some self-respect!”
“What does that look like to you?”
“A problem for someone else to deal with,” Max said. “Are we roofers now?”
“Does that look like a scrap of silk?”
“Maybe,” Max said grudgingly. “So what? That doesn’t prove anything.”
Julianus hopped down off the pile of wet refuse. Max wrinkled his nose. “Congratulations,” he said. “You smell like something rotten. It suits you.”
“We’ve never really talked much, have we?” Julianus said. “I don’t know a lot about you. Like, how did you get promoted to captain of the Queen’s personal guard?”
“I rescued her half brother from drowning in the pond by Queensbury Lane. He was six,” Max said. “Why?”
“Ah, no reason,” Julianus said. “I thought it might have been your encyclopedic knowledge of building maintenance laws.” He was scanning the ground, pacing back and forth in front of the broken refuse-dump. He knelt in the gutter, ignoring the water soaking into his clothes. “What is this, do you think?”
Max bent over and peered at the small object on the ground, curious despite himself. “Looks like a broken stick,” he said.
Julianus picked it up, turning it in his fingers. “A broken bit of bamboo. With a metal joint attached. Look.” He held it up. The end of the short bit of wood was capped with a gleaming bronze fitting, attached to the bamboo with exquisite care.
“So where’s the rest of it?” Max said. He looked up, tracing the path of destruction on the roof, engaged even in the face of his skepticism. “If your kite fellow landed here, looks like he landed pretty hard. So what, now you think your mysterious flying intruder jumped out the window, landed on the roof, fell into the alley, then stopped to pick up all the broken bits before he ran away?”
“If there was anything else here,” Julianus said, “scavengers would have gotten to it pretty fast. Something as valuable as silk isn’t going to stay put long on the street.”
“Okay, so if this was your guy, and I’m not saying it is, but if it was, now what? He’s had a long head start. Where is he now?”
“Let’s go,” Julianus said.
“Where?”
“We’re thinking about this the wrong way.” Julianus tucked the broken bit of bamboo into his pocket. “We need to work backward. Follow the kite, not the man. I want to know who made this. I think I know just the people to ask.”
11
“I don’t see why I should have given them my hat,” Thaddeus said glumly.
“Would you rather be arrested?” Claire asked. “Just think, you could have the best hat in the cells. All your fellow criminals could admire it while you wait for the Magistrate. What do you care? You looked a complete tit in it anyway.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Thaddeus said. “That was my hat!”
“It was,” said Claire the pragmatist. “Now it ain’t.”
Thaddeus and the Bodger siblings were sitting at a workbench that had been cleared of tools and parts. The afternoon whistle had sounded, marking the break for the midday meal. Thaddeus was astonished at how quickly the place emptied out. The swarm of apprentices, journeymen, tinkerers, and other craftsmen stopped as one, all save for the boy who was crawling around in the enormous tracked machine. By the time the last echoes of the whistle blast had faded, the clanging, hammering, pounding, and thumping had ceased, the great driveshaft in the ceiling had spun down to a stop, and the apprentices were already filing out the back door toward the combination kitchen and bunkhouse in the back. In short order, the shop was nearly silent, save for the tick tick tick of cooling metal.
Three wooden bowls of rich stew sat on the bench. Thaddeus poked at his suspiciously with a spoon. When nothing moved, he tucked into it.
“Tell us the whole egg,” Claire said. “Leave no facts unturned.”
“It started in a pub,” Thaddeus said.
“Of course it did,” Claire said. “And then?”
Thaddeus related the story of his adventures, beginning with how the man he inwardly referred to as “Mister Creepyhands” had approached him in a tavern. The strange and unsettling man had provided him with clothes and a fancy invitation, printed in gold leaf on fine linen. He had told Thaddeus to board the Queen’s airship to plant a ring among her effects, and then make his getaway by means of the folding kite that had also been given to him. Details poured back into his memory: the cover story his employer had supplied, his bewilderment at the baffling array of cutlery that accompanied the strange dishes at the buffet, the odd drinks the Queen had supplied…
“What about the drinks?” Claire asked.
“Not beer, not mead, not water, not wine,” Thaddeus said. “Well, there was wine, and beer, but those weren’t the odd ones. The odd ones were hot. Foreign. One of them was black and tasted like roasted dog rear. Strong. Nasty.” He made a face at the memory. “Don’t remember what it was called. The other one was called ‘tea.’ Brown and warm, served with milk.”
“What was it like?” Claire asked.
“Liquid heaven,” Thaddeus said. “I’ve never had anything like it before. Why?”
“No reason, just curious.”
Claire and Donnie listened to the rest of his story without interruption Thaddeus related how he’d been buttonholed by a rich and inquisitive, if rather short, young socialite in a stupid dress, and how this very same woman and a member of the Queen’s Guard later witnessed his dramatic exit from the airship. He told the story of the long, terrifying trip to the ground, hanging beneath a great silk kite that fluttered in the breeze, how he’d been instructed to fly a tight loop lest he end up far from where he needed to be or, worse, in the foul-smelling sludge of the Thames.
He described his close encounter with his employer, and the subsequent unwelcome arrival of three exuberantly beweaponed ruffians at his door. He told of his cleverness and determination in his escape, ending the tale with his late-night arrival at Bodger & Bodger.
When he had finished, Claire sat back, arms folded. Silence filled the space.
Finally, after lengthy internal consideration, she shook her head. “Muddy, that’s the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard. None of it adds right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how does that make any sense? Hiring someone to plant something in the Queen’s quarters? Aboard an airship? And why would someone hire you, of all people? No offense, Muddy, but you’re not the first perso
n I’d pick for a secret mission. If someone wanted to plant something on the Queen, there are easier ways. And jumping out of an airship? That ain’t exactly an inconspicuous getaway, if you follow my drift.”
“Maybe he heard of me,” Thaddeus said. “I have a reputation, you know.”
Claire looked at him sadly. “Muddy, I like you, but you’re dense as lead and not half as bright. Someone set you up.”
“What do you mean?”
Donnie leaned forward. “My sister means you ain’t very smart.”
Thaddeus searched his face, but there was no hint of malice written there, just Donnie’s normal open friendliness. It was not an insult, just the facts as Donnie saw them.
“I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Thaddeus said, a trifle defensively. “Why do you think it was a setup?”
Claire sighed. “Oh, Muddy. A person with enough access to get you an engraved invitation to the Queen’s airship doesn’t hardly not have a way to plant a ring on the Queen himself. And jumping out the back door? They didn’t want you not to be seen. You can hardly ask for a less inconspicuous exit. Nobody would really take finding some evidence on the Queen seriously what with you jumping out the window. That’s got ‘planted evidence’ writ all over it. Or maybe ‘botched attempt at spying.’ Something. People will notice. People won’t talk about anything else.”
“So if you’re so sure nobody would take it serious, why go through all the trouble to get me to do it?” Thaddeus said. “And why try to kill me?”
“’Bout time,” Donnie said.
“About time? For what, killing me?”
Donnie shook his head. “No, ’bout time you started askin’ the right questions.”
“Okay, smart guy,” Thaddeus said, “if you’re so smart, what are the right answers?”
“Dunno. Ain’t got all the pieces yet,” Donnie said placidly. “Pretty near obvious why ’e tried t’ kill you, though. Yer a loose end. Can’t have you runnin’ around spoilin’ ’is plan.”
“What’s his plan?”
“Dunno that either.” Donnie’s massive shoulders moved up and down. “So let’s think ’bout what we know.” He held up an enormous hand and counted on his fingers. “Number one: my sister is right. Figure whoever hired you wanted you t’ be seen. An’ remembered, right? Number two, they wanted you t’ set up the Queen, but not, like, in a believable way. Number three, they wanted you dead after.” He turned his hand this way and that, contemplating his fingers. “So the way I sees it, either you were there as a distraction, t’ take attention off what’s really goin’ on, or you were there as misdirection. That’s the way royalty works. Schemes within schemes, and us commoners are the pawns. That’s you, Muddy. A pawn. Only yer a pawn who didn’t get off the board when ’e was supposed to. That makes you dangerous. Even a pawn can topple a king if ’e’s in the right place at the right time.”
“That’s chess, right?” Thaddeus said. “I don’t know anything about chess.”
“Best learn.”
“So what do I do now?”
“We ain’t got all the pieces yet. So you need t’ go out an’ get more pieces.”
“I can’t leave here!” Thaddeus wailed. “The police are sure to be looking for me!”
“What makes you think that?”
“There are dead people at my flat! If the posies come looking to talk to me about dead people at my flat, they won’t just take my hat and go away.”
“True,” Claire said. “They already have your hat.”
“That’s not funny!”
“Yes it is,” Claire smirked. “It’s a little bit funny, anyway. Oh, cheer up, Muddy. It ain’t as bad as all that. Thing is, the police notice dead people more in some places than others. That’s the way it is. Some lives matter more than others. If dead people turn up on the porch at the Palace, they’ll take note, no question. But in your neighborhood? They might find a guy with thirty stab wounds in his back and be content to write it up as suicide.” She smiled without mirth. “So it goes.”
“Easy for you to say.” Thaddeus’s expression was grim. “You’re not the one with two or maybe three dead guys on your doorstep. That sort of thing tends to raise uncomfortable questions.”
“Perhaps,” Claire said. “Maybe. It might depend on what sort of mood the cop is in, or whether someone else found them first. You’re in the middle of a game being played by people way above you, Muddy. If they don’t want the city police involved, the city police won’t be involved.” She scratched her head. “Still, I take your point. Probably not wise for you to go back home right now. What say we get Elias to go take a look?”
Donnie nodded. “Perfect.”
“Elias? Who’s Elias?”
Donnie whistled. It was the kind of whistle that could shatter stone, a piercing sound designed to carry easily over the clamor of the workshop in high gear. In the silence, it was deafening. The boy who’d been half-in, half-out of the strange tracked machine came running at breakneck speed.
“This is Elias,” Claire said. “He’s the new number two apprentice. Got a job for you, Elias. You good at getting around without being seen?”
“Oh, yes!” Elias nodded with the enthusiasm of a person who likes his lot in life, and is keenly aware there are the multitudes of other apprentices who would gladly step into the shoes of the new number two if given even half an opportunity. “Whatever you need, I’m your guy!”
“See, now that’s the spirit we look for in an apprentice,” Claire said approvingly. “Here’s what we need you to do. Sneak over to Muddy’s flat, check around for a couple of dead guys, or maybe three dead guys, or the gendarme asking about dead guys, or anything to do with dead guys. See if the law enforcement types is about or if they ain’t. Figure out what’s going on. But don’t draw attention to yourself, okay? Oh, and see if you can find out whether anyone else is creeping around doing the same thing you’re doing. Got it?”
“Got it!” he enthused. “Sounds like fun!”
“You have a strange sense of fun,” Thaddeus said dryly.
“Scouting for corpses in the streets of London gets you out of the shop for a while. Not that I don’t like it here,” he added hastily. “But every now and then it’s nice to mix things up.”
As he was leaving, Thaddeus called after him. “Hey, number two!”
“Yessir?”
“If a big guy with a club tries to take your money, tell him you’re working for Thaddeus Mudstone and he’ll have to reckon with me if he doesn’t leave you be, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mister Thaddeus!” And he was gone.
“Good kid,” Thaddeus said.
Donnie nodded. “Quick study. Might go far.”
A thumping came at the door. Thaddeus froze, his spoon halfway to his lips.
“Open up for the Queen’s Guard! Open up in the name of Her Majesty the Queen!” boomed a voice accustomed to prompt obedience.
Blood-curdling panic hatched in Thaddeus’s toes. It crawled up his body, turning his legs to jelly, twisting his stomach into knots. He knew, somehow, that when it reached his brain he would start shrieking and running in circles, and then it would be all over. How had they found him? To have come so far, evaded all these attempts on his life, and now this…
Claire rose smartly and took his hand. “With me. Donnie, you talk to them.” She tugged him to the back of the workshop, where an enormous half-assembled machine lurked, all struts and cables and massive riveted iron. She pulled a large, grubby sheet of canvas off the base of the machine and spun open a hatch. “Climb into the boiler. Pull the hatch shut behind you.” The hammering on the door came again.
Heart pounding with dread, Thaddeus squeezed through the hatch and dropped into a narrow, pitch-black space that smelled of rust and iron. He felt his way around carefully. Menacing rivets protruded from the rough metal, look
ing to snag his clothes or gash his skin. Flakes of rust rained down on him. He tripped on a bolt protruding from the bottom of the boiler and fell, cursing. Slowly, cautiously, he turned around. The hatch was heavier than it looked and protested when he swung it closed. He left it open just a crack, peering through the gap to see what was going on.
Donnie opened the door. Two men came in, both dressed in bronze chestpieces, plumed helmets, and long white cloaks. Thaddeus felt an icy stab of fear through his heart.
“My name is Julianus,” said one of the men. “This is my partner, Max.” An expression of fury crossed the face of the man beside him. His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword. Julianus paid no attention. “Are you Claire and Donnie Bodger?”
Claire bowed. Her clothing cracked stiffly, sending a small cloud of coal dust drifting to the floor. The big orange cat twined in a figure eight around her legs. “Claire Bodger, at your service. This is my brother, Donnie.” He nodded curtly.
Max stepped forward, addressing Donnie, his back to Claire. “Under the Crown Directives Act of 1818, all subjects of the Crown are obliged to render such assistance to the Crown or its duly appointed representatives as is necessary and lawful in the service of the security of the Crown.”
Donnie smiled. “I’ll take yer word for it,” he said. “Can the subjects of the Crown be expected any remuneratin’ for their service?”
“It is your duty to assist us!” Max barked.
“Thought not.” His grin grew wider. “What can my sister and I do in the service of the security of the Crown?”
“The Bodger twins are well known throughout London,” Julianus said in a conciliatory tone. “You are highly regarded for your skill in the engineering arts. We are investigating a matter of some urgency for the Queen and need some information. We hoped you might be—”
“Oh, get on with it!” Max said, scowling. He snatched the small bit of broken bamboo from Julianus’s hand and gave it to Donnie. “What is this?”
Black Iron Page 11