Black Iron

by Franklin Veaux

  The two men stared at each other, neither moving, each daring the other to blink. After a long moment, the stalemate was broken by one of the man’s friends. “Come on, Nonya, let’s go.” His other friend sniggered.

  The man gave Skarbunket a wide grin as phony as the smile on a banker’s face. He turned to go, then spun around, fist speeding toward Skarbunket’s nose. Skarbunket stepped smartly out of the way, grabbing the flying fist and twisting it up behind the man’s back.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, Mister Business, but assaulting an officer of the law, and that’s what you’ve just done there, is grounds for arrest. Not on a technicality, either.” he leaned close, talking directly in the man’s ear. “You are testing the bounds of my limitless patience, Mister Business. I recommend you make yourself a lot less visible.” He gave the man a push. “Go home.”

  The three turned sheepishly and were swallowed up by the crowd.

  “Impressive. I’m surprised he didn’t hit you.”

  Skarbunket turned toward the new voice. “Chancellor Gaton. What a surprise it is to see you in Highpole on such an unpleasant night. What brings you here?”

  “That’s Lord Chancellor Gaton. I’m sure we’re here for the same reason, Officer…Skarbunket, isn’t it?”

  “That’s Commander Skarbunket, my lord,” Skarbunket said.

  “Ah, of course. Commander Skarbunket.” The chancellor removed his top-hat and looked at it critically. He flicked some droplets of rainwater from the brim and replaced it on his head. “Indulge my curiosity, if you will, Commander. It seemed to me that you knew that man was about to punch you. How did you know?”

  The same way I know you and I are not here for remotely the same reasons, Skarbunket thought. Out loud he said, “He had to do it. If he hadn’t, he would be Mister Nonya Business to his friends for the rest of his life. He would never live it down.” He shrugged. “He still might not.”

  “I could not help but notice that you did not arrest him, even though he assaulted an officer of the law.”

  “What purpose would it serve, my lord? Other than taking some of my men away from their duties here, that is. But surely, my Lord Chancellor Gaton, surely it is not matters of operational procedure that have rousted you from your home this evening and brought you all the way across the river in the rain.”

  “It is exactly matters of operational procedure that have brought me here, Officer—pardon, Commander Skarbunket. This morning, the Council of Lords passed a resolution calling for a six o’clock curfew on all foreigners in the Highpole District.”

  “I am aware, my lord. Though I might add, my lord, that it is difficult to know who is a foreigner and who is not, here on Highpole Street. Many of the residents have been here for generations, which makes them British rather than foreigners, does it not?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, Commander!” Gaton said. “You know exactly what the resolution means.”

  “Indeed I do, my lord,” Skarbunket said. Inwardly, he added an unvoiced it means you’re scapegoating.

  “And here it is, now…” He pulled a pocket watch from his pocket and snapped it open. “Let me see. Can this possibly be right? Unless I am sorely mistaken, it is six thirty-seven, and there are still people on the streets. Indeed, it looks like the mosque is open, and those foreigners are still in there praying.”

  “You are not mistaken, my lord. It is indeed still open.”

  “Was the resolution not clear, Commander Skarbunket?”

  “It was very clear, my lord.”

  “And is it not already later than six o’clock?”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “What is it that you and your men are doing here, Commander Skarbunket?”

  “Normally, my lord, we do not bring others in on matters of operational security,” Skarbunket said. “But you are the High Chancellor of the Council of Lords, so if you don’t have the necessary station to know confidential information, who does?” He looked around at the curious crowd, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I would beg you, my lord, to the utmost discretion in this matter.”

  “Oh?” Gaton leaned in. “What are you up to?”

  Skarbunket looked around again, then bent close. “This is not for common circulation, my lord.”

  “Go on, man, out with it!”

  “You see, my lord, at this very moment, and I mean this literally, at this exact moment in time I have, on my orders, my lord, two of my men inside the mosque.”

  A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “Inside the mosque? Right now?” He glanced at his pocket watch again. “Really? Right now?” The uncertainty changed to doubt. He glanced at the mosque, then back at his watch. “Do you think that’s safe, Commander?”

  “I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be, Lord Chancellor. Can you?” He surveyed the man’s face. “The presence of the police in Highpole Street provided an opportunity, I’m sure a man of your intelligence can understand, an opportunity to place some of my men within the walls of the mosque itself. Should the missing lady be there, they will find her, you may rest assured of that. But in order for that to happen, my lord, it was necessary to permit the evening prayers to take place. Otherwise, you see, the opportunity would be lost.”

  Gaton nodded. “Of course, of course.” He waggled his finger. “I, ah, I admire your, ah, initiative, Commander. That is, ah, clever. Very clever. Yes, of course. A man in the mosque. Who would have thought of it? You’re a smarter man than I realized, Commander.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Skarbunket said. “You don’t know what that means to me coming from a man like you, my lord.”

  “Do you think they will, ah, unmask the, ah, the conspiracy? Against the Lady Alÿs, I mean.” He glanced again at his pocket watch.

  “I am absolutely confident, my lord, that my men will find everything there is to be found. Absolutely confident. But I would beg you, my lord, to keep your voice down. It is important, as I know you understand, it is important not to tip our hand, so to speak.”

  “Ah, yes, of course, of course,” Gaton said. He snapped the pocket watch shut and tucked it away. “Well, I will leave you to it. Do keep me informed how things progress?”

  “Of course, Lord Chancellor.”

  Skarbunket watched him depart. The crowd parted before him like a tropical sea before an avenging Biblical patriarch. When he had gone, it closed again, leaving no trace he was ever there.

  “Well there goes a complete tit and no mistake,” Tumbanker said.

  “That’s Lord Complete Tit, Mister Tumbanker,” Skarbunket said, “lest the likes of us forget.” His eyes narrowed. He turned toward the man next to him. “Something stinks, Mayferry. He was expecting something to happen. He wanted to be here to see it himself. Something stinks, and for once it’s not the Thames.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, I think that is the Thames you’re smelling. The Lord Chancellor has already left,” Mayferry said.

  The doors to the mosque opened. People streamed, apprehensive, into the chill and soggy evening.

  “Ah, well, here come Mister Habis and Sergeant Nadeem,” Skarbunket said. “I imagine Mister Levy will be along shortly as well. I think that’s our cue.” He raised his voice so that it boomed out over the street. “Good citizens of Highpole! As you are aware, in the interests of public safety, the Council of Lords has requested you to return to your homes this evening. The rest of you lot, it’s a rainy and miserable night, and there will be nothing else to see here. We request that you return to your homes as well. A curfew is now in effect in the Highpole District for everyone in this neighborhood, wherever you may call home.”

  21

  “This is a bad idea,” Thaddeus said. “It was a bad idea yesterday. Now that I’ve slept on it, it’s still a bad idea.”

  He was standing in one corner of the shop, back tu
rned to the great iron hulk of the mechanical spider. Somewhere beneath the tarp, he heard the rustling of Alÿs changing her clothes.

  “You don’t know him. I do. I trust him.” Alÿs’s voice floated up from beneath the tarp.

  “Well, I don’t,” Thaddeus said, petulant.

  “You don’t trust anyone, Thaddeus Shoe Man,” Alÿs said.

  “I do!” Thaddeus protested. “I trust Claire and Donnie.”

  “How come?” came Alÿs’s disembodied voice. “Why them?”

  “Because! They are…well…you wouldn’t understand. You’re noble and all.”

  “And that means I can’t understand you commoners?”

  “Yes! It’s just…. Things on the streets are different.”

  “Different than what?”

  “Different than living in a palace! When you’re in trouble, you go to Claire and Donnie. They look after you, and they don’t expect you to have to pay them back. Everyone knows. If you don’t have anywhere to go, they’ll help you.”

  “That’s very generous of them,” Alÿs said. “London is a big place.” The tarp rustled. A bit of bare flesh peeked out from behind it. Thaddeus looked away, embarrassed. “What do they do with all these strays they collect?”

  “Well, you know,” Thaddeus said. He looked up, catching a glimpse of an exposed leg, and hastily looked down again. “Some of them become apprentices. You know, if they have the talent for it.”

  “How did you meet them?”

  “I came here after my parents...it’s not like I had anywhere else to go, is it?”

  “But you didn’t become an apprentice.”

  “No. Never got the hang of it.”

  “Why do they call you Muddy?”

  “On account of my name,” Thaddeus said. “My friends can call me that. Nobody else.”

  “The Bodgers are your friends? Is that why you came here?”

  “Yes. They helped me. They help everyone. That’s why you’re here, after all. And they know things.”

  “Things?” Alÿs said. “What kind of things?”

  “Everything!” Thaddeus said.

  “That’s not a very informative answer, Shoe Man.” Even from under the tarp, her voice sounded prim.

  “Everything!” Thaddeus said again. “They know what’s going on in London. They have people who tell them things.”

  “Like you?”

  “Like me, and like lots of other people. Claire and Donnie have friends in high places and not-so-high places. And they take care of their friends.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Not like the Cardinal. How are we going to get in to see him without being recognized, anyway?”

  “Easy. They’re looking for a lady of the Court, not a commoner apprentice.” She stepped out from behind the tarp. Thaddeus goggled.

  She was dressed in shabby but unremarkable clothes and a striped pair of overalls, the universal uniform of the working class. Her mad tangle of unruly hair had been tightly disciplined with comb and pins, and was tucked up under a hat. She looked…looked…

  “You look like a boy!” Thaddeus blurted. The instant the words were out of his mouth, he realized how stupid they sounded.

  Nevertheless, Alÿs looked pleased. “Thank you,” she said. “I learned some tricks when I was back home in Paris. My father never let me leave the house without a full entourage, so I had to get creative if I wanted to go out on my own. Even the guards at the gate didn’t recognize me if I was careful to keep my head down.”

  “The house?”

  “Well, the palace, I suppose. He is a king.”

  “Of course he is,” Thaddeus said, with more bitterness than he intended.

  “Hey, don’t be that way. We can’t help how we’re born. I’ve always wanted to be a commoner,” Alÿs said.

  “No, you haven’t!” Thaddeus said.

  “Sure I have! The freedom—”

  “Freedom to starve, or be sent to the workhouse—”

  “—being able to come and go as you please—”

  “—never knowing where your next meal is coming from—”

  “—not having to get permission to leave the house—”

  “—not having a house…I get it! You don’t like being hemmed in. But you don’t want to be a commoner. You want to play at being a commoner and then go back to your nice safe palace and your banquet tables and your friends in high places.”

  Hurt registered in Alÿs’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said more gently. “Some of us can’t be commoners only until it’s not fun anymore.”

  “Aye, what’s goin’ on ’ere?” Donnie rumbled.

  “Nothing,” Thaddeus said. “I was just telling Alÿs that this is a really bad idea.”

  “You don’ haf t’ go with her, Muddy my boy,” Donnie said.

  “Of course I do!” Thaddeus protested. “I’m in it good, you said so yourself. I need to work on getting out of it.”

  “Speakin’ o’ that, where are your fancy shoes, Muddy?” Donnie’s eyes flicked down to the work boots on Thaddeus’s feet and back up to his face.

  “I got rid of them,” Thaddeus said sullenly. For reasons he didn’t really understand, he hadn’t told anyone what he’d done in Highpole. He still wasn’t convinced his spur-of-the-moment frame had been the right thing to do. A pawn can topple a king, but it helps if the pawn knows the rules of chess. Pawns that act impulsively probably create all kinds of trouble.

  “You two know the plan, then?” Donnie said.

  “Yes,” Alÿs said. “Lucky for us King John decided to hire you when he wanted to add bell towers to the cathedral. And lucky you kept the key for the service entrance.”

  Donnie smiled his placid smile. “Luck ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with ’ow things get done ’round ’ere. Surprised you don’t know that by now, my lady.”

  “Does the Cardinal know you have this key?” Alÿs held up the key in question, a heavy iron thing with a startlingly complex shape.

  Donnie’s smile grew a fraction wider. “Run along, you two. Sun is down. Street should be safe now.”

  ✦

  “This is a bad idea,” Max said. “We have no idea if the lady is going to try to talk to him. If she wanted to, wouldn’t she have already done so?”

  “Why don’t we ask him?” Julianus said.

  “Because he has no reason to tell us the truth.”

  “If they’re as close as the Lady Eleanor says, he will be concerned about her disappearance.”

  “Unless he’s involved in it.”

  “True,” Julianus said. “But I don’t see him commissioning a murder in Highpole. Especially not from the Lady Alÿs. I’m sure a man in his position has plenty of his own men he can use for that kind of thing.”

  “You really think she’ll show?”

  “It will be interesting to find out.”

  The two men were sitting across the street from the main entrance to the great Cathedral of St. Paul. It was a grand building, made of white stone with a pale blue roof, crowned by a modest dome from which sprouted a tall spire that ascended to the heavens in steps and that had earned the whole building the affectionate name “the Wedding Cake” from Londoners.

  It was a grand building, its face dominated by great arched windows of exquisite beauty, but since its construction in 1702, it had suffered one minor but nevertheless quite perturbing flaw: it completely lacked proper bell towers. This absence was not lost on King John, who, upon embarking on his ambitious civil program, sought to rectify that issue by ordering construction of two great bell towers equipped with modern, steam-powered, automated bells. At the same time, he had added two new wings, one of which became the cathedral’s new chapel house, and the other of which made up the living quarters of the Cardinal.

  He did these things without the i
nput or oversight of the Pope in France, which led to a certain amount of tension between the Papacy and the Crown. King John pointed out that the French clerical hierarchy paid the Crown no rent for use of the cathedral, an oversight he would be pleased to revisit if the Church so desired, but meanwhile, given that it technically belonged to the Crown and not to the Church, he would make such improvements as he bloody well pleased, thank you very much.

  The French Pope, upon considering the potential impact to the church’s treasury from a different arrangement, reconsidered his objections.

  From where they sat, Max and Julianus could see everyone entering the church. The great doors were brightly illuminated by electric arc lights that bathed the courtyard in fierce blue-white light. The bells pealed the start of the evening Mass. Worshippers streamed through the doors.

  “Any sign of her?” Max growled as the last stragglers entered the church.

  “No. Let’s go.” Julianus hopped off the low wall he’d been seated on and headed for the church.

  Max shook his head. “This is a waste of time.”

  “So you keep saying. You have a better idea?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  ✦

  The last ringing echoes of the bells had long faded to silence by the time Thaddeus and Alÿs reached the cathedral. Alÿs started across the street. Thaddeus grabbed her by the hand. “Psst!” he said. He drew her into the shadows behind the tavern that stood, in defiance to all that was holy, directly across from the main entrance. The sign over the door proclaimed it the Stumbling Stoat, with a carved picture of a drunken mustelid beneath, just to make the point. Thaddeus knew the place well; it was frequented by his sort of people, for some definition of “his sort.” There were those who might say that conducting criminal enterprises in the shadow of the cathedral might be taking camouflage just a step too far, but where such people saw danger, others saw opportunity. It was surprising how often proximity of the criminal elements became a matter of ecumenical convenience.

  Besides, it made going to confession that much easier.