Black Iron

by Franklin Veaux

  Will looked down, twisting his cap, saying nothing.

  “Do you like Claire and Donnie? Do they treat you well?”

  “Yes, sir,” Will said.

  “There are bad men about, men who want to hurt Claire and Donnie. I fear what might happen if we don’t talk to them. Do you want that?”

  Will twisted his cap. “No, sir,” he said quietly.

  “Do you know where they are?”

  The boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Are Thaddeus Mudstone Ahmed Alexander Pinkerton and the Lady Alÿs de Valois with them?”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Well, Thaddeus is, sir. The lady went back to the Palace, sir.”

  Mayferry’s eyebrow rose. Skarbunket sat back in surprise. “Really? How very interesting. Did they take the animate with them?”

  “No, sir.” Will put on his cap, then took it off again. “They’re going to go kill the animate, sir.”

  “This keeps getting better and better,” Skarbunket said. “Mayferry, make a note. We need to interrogate young children more often. Now Will, why are they going to kill the animate?”

  “Because it killed Kanda, sir. In Highpole. She was one of us, sir. Donnie said so. She was a tinkerer, like us. The police, they…they don’t…I’m sorry, sir, but they don’t care about us, sir. When someone hurts us, we take care of our own. Donnie says so, sir.”

  “And just like that, the pieces begin to come together,” Skarbunket said. “Now Will, this is the most important question. Where did they go?”

  “To the estate, sir. The one where the animate lives. The lady says it belongs to Lord Roth—Count Rich—”

  “Lord Rathman?” Bristol said.

  “Yes, sir. Lord Rathman, sir.”

  “Oh.” Skarbunket stood. He turned to the other policemen. “Which one of you said this evening couldn’t get any worse?”

  “That was him, sir.” Bristol pointed to Mayferry.

  “Right. Mister Mayferry, your promotion is rescinded.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Mayferry said. “In light of recent events, I am now doubly certain I don’t want your job. I’m not entirely sure I want my job just at this moment.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with people today,” Skarbunket said. “They lack ambition.” To Will, he said, “How do you know the animate belongs to Lord Rathman?”

  “Because I seen it!” The boy’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “I saw it. I was at Mass! It came running out the door right by me. There was lots of noise and so much commotion, sir, and it got into a big fancy carriage, sir! So I hid on the carriage. Donnie Bodger, sir, he went around after Kanda was murdered, he told all of us to be on the watch for it. So I hid on the carriage to see where it was going, sir. When we got there, there was a big stable and lots of them creatures all lined up on the wall. So I came here to tell Donnie. Did I do a bad thing? Are you going to cut my head off?”

  “That’s not my department,” Skarbunket said absently, stroking his chin. “When did they leave?”

  “Not even an hour ago, sir. Donnie, he was real upset. And there were soldiers, sir, lots of them, all at the estate. The lady, she went to warn the Queen, sir.”

  “Mister Mayferry, Mister Bristol, Mister Levy, Mister Tumbanker,” Skarbunket said, “how do you gentlemen feel about paying a visit to the third most powerful person in the Realm?”

  “Tonight? Can’t say I feel very good about it, I imagine,” Bristol said. “It would be nice if we had something more than just these truncheons if we’re going up against animates, sir.”

  “A salient point, and one I’m surprised our Mister Tumbanker didn’t arrive at before you,” Skarbunket said. “Where did you say you parked that carriage full of black-powder bombs, again?”

  The big orange cat wandered over, sat down at Skarbunket’s feet, and meowed up at him.

  25

  Alÿs crept silently through the rain-slicked streets, doing her best to remain in the sheltering embrace of the shadows. The miserable cold drizzle kept anyone with sense and money, which are often the same thing, off the street. The only people about either had no choice but to be, or were there to prey on those who had no choice but to be. Most of the former were too wrapped up in their own misery to notice a tinkerer’s apprentice skulking about; the latter knew from experience that an apprentice seldom had anything worth stealing.

  Not that Alÿs was skulking, precisely. In truth, neither creeping nor skulking were within her normal repertoire of skills. Her brief association with Thaddeus had so far been entirely insufficient for his talents to rub off on her.

  She skulked as best she could, navigating toward the Palace by the most direct route that was also consistent with keeping out of sight. The overalls provided little protection from the rain, and before long her teeth chattered. She hugged her arms tightly around herself, trudging over uneven cobblestones made treacherously slippery by the rain. Water swirled around her shoes, seeking its union with the great undilutable stink of the Thames.

  Once she crossed the bridge, the roads became wider and more level. The clever network of drains that had been part of King John’s ambitious civil engineering plan carried the rainwater away with the efficiency made possible by massive public spending. She was still soaked through, but nevertheless there was some small measure of joy in not having to wade through pools of filthy water.

  She was able to move more quickly down the wide, flat roads of New Old London. She rounded a corner onto Kingsferry Way and nearly collided with a well-dressed gentleman in a top-hat, carrying a large umbrella. He scowled at her. “You’re in the wrong place, laddie,” he said.

  Alÿs opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again and nodded. Abashed, she turned down the nearest alley, lined on both sides with refuse-dumps. A man sat smoking a cigar in the cage of an idling clanker, eyes hidden in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. Black fumes trailed from the clanker’s stack. He sniggered at her.

  Alÿs moved more quickly, feeling the eyes of the clanker driver on her back. She was unaccustomed to traveling through the alleyways, which tended to be narrower and significantly more odiferous than the streets. Thankfully, they were also more dimly lit, and she felt a tangible sense of relief for the sheltering darkness. A part of her wondered if this was how people like Thaddeus always felt.

  A lumbering animate came down the alley, a tall human-like figure dressed in simple canvas clothing. Its head was misshapen, and one arm hung lower than the other. Alÿs pressed herself back against the wall, heart pounding. She slid her hand into her handbag. The dagger was still there, reassuring in its weight. The thing passed her without a glance. Still, it was several minutes before her heart slowed enough that she could move again.

  ✦

  “Ah, there y’are, Muddy,” Donnie said. “I ’bout gave up on you. Thought you weren’t gonna show.”

  Thaddeus shook the rain from his hair. “I said I’d catch up.” He moved in beside Donnie and Claire, who were leading their small group of apprentices down the wet and muddy cobblestone road. “That the fire-throwing machines?” He gestured to the heavy canvas bag slung over Donnie’s shoulder. Several of the small group of apprentices carried similar bags.

  “Yep,” Donnie said. He waved his hand at the bulky man shadowing Thaddeus. “Who is that?”

  “This is Jake,” Thaddeus said. “Jake, meet Donnie and Claire Bodger. Jake’s a good man to have in a fight.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Jake rumbled. “Muddy says you’re lookin’ to tangle with some nobly type. That true?”

  “No,” Donnie said. “I’m lookin’ t’ finish a tangle some nobly type started.”

  “Good ’nuff,” Jake said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Who’re they?”

  “Apprentices,” Donnie said.

  “Right. Where we goin’?”

  “Does it m
atter?”

  “Naw. Just makin’ small talk.”

  They slogged on for a while in silence. Then Jake said, “How’d you drag Muddy into this, anyways?”

  Claire laughed. “You got it all wrong. He dragged us into this. Well, him and his friend.”

  “She’s not my friend,” Thaddeus said.

  “Oh, Muddy, don’t be daft,” Claire said. “Anyhow, Thaddeus showed up on our doorstep talking about being hired to sneak onto the Queen’s private airship. When he told us some people were trying to kill him and some other people were trying to steal his hat, we were, you might say, intrigued and all.”

  “You mean that stuff about dancin’ with them nobles was real?”

  “Seems like,” Claire said.

  “So what do we do when we get where we’re goin’?”

  “We see what there is to see,” Claire said. “We go looking for talking animates with murderous predispositions. If we find one, we kill it.”

  “Ain’t no such thing as a talkin’ animate,” Jake said.

  Donnie grunted. “So they say.”

  Outside the city proper (or the city improper, depending on whose view you accepted), the cobblestone gave way to dirt. The moon shone wetly off the slick brown mud. Around them, so far from the city’s arc lamps and gas jets, the landscape was composed entirely of vague shapes and dark shadows. Donnie’s face was set in a grim frown.

  “So there’s no plan, then?” Thaddeus said.

  “That is the plan,” Claire said. “We go in, we find the animate, we destroy it, we leave.”

  “Like it’s going to be that simple,” Thaddeus said.

  Claire shrugged. “We can always hope, eh, Muddy?” She unslung the crossbow from behind her back. “’Course, we might need to be persuasive.”

  “Why do you carry that thing, anyway?” Thaddeus said. “It was an antique before you were born!”

  Claire nodded. “It’s good for quiet persuasion, you know? Like, when you want to make a point all eloquent-like but you don’t want to draw a crowd.”

  Beside Thaddeus, Jake chuckled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I use a sock full o’ lead shot for that.”

  “Means getting up close and personal,” Claire said.

  “That’s the way I like it,” Jake said.

  They saw the lights before they heard the sound—bobbing yellow lanterns, dozens of them. Then came the sound, horses and men, lots of both, marching in formation down the muddy road.

  A man on horseback, wearing a uniform of red and black, trotted up to them. He had a face that looked designed and built to wear arrogance: a long, hawkish nose, dark eyes cast in a permanent squint. If an expression of anything other than boredom or anger had ever crossed his face, it had certainly left no mark there. “Stand aside!” he barked. “Make way! Make way!”

  Donnie smiled placidly. “Of course,” he said. He and Claire drew off the side of the road. The rest of the motley band followed suit. Thaddeus and Jake melted into the shadows.

  “Who are you?” the man demanded. His thin lips pressed with practiced ease into an expression of disapproval.

  “Donnie Bodger, of Bodger & Bodger Iron Fittings, at yer service,” Donnie said. “This ’ere’s my sister, Claire. These are our apprentices. An’ you are?”

  “Donnie Bodger, eh? The Donnie Bodger? I’ve heard a lot about you.” His face betrayed no hint of his opinion on what he’d heard. “Major Charles Archibald, officer commanding, Fourth Lord’s Levy Battalion, Squadron A, at your service.” Behind him, the columns of men marched by.

  “Pleased t’ make yer acquaintance, Major Charles Archibald,” Donnie said. “Fine night to be out an’ about.”

  “Routine drills,” Archibald snapped. He scowled at the tight cluster of people behind the Bodger twins. “What are you and your apprentices doing on the road at this time of night?”

  Donnie’s smile widened. “Oh, y’know, just testin’ some new ideas.”

  “In the rain? In the middle of the night?”

  “Our equipment ’as t’ work in the rain,” Donnie said. “Ain’t much good equippin’ soldiers w’ gear that only works on sunny days. We have a reputation t’ uphold.”

  “Yes, of course,” Archibald said. “What’s in the bags?”

  “A Bodger & Bodger original,” Donnie said. “Multifunction controlled long-distance temperature elevation device. Good fer startin’ campfires in wet conditions an’ keepin’ people warm. All with the Bodger & Bodger guarantee.”

  “Let me see it,” Archibald said.

  “Sure thing,” Donnie said. He slid the canvas bag to the ground. “Now the secret ’ere,” he said, bending over to open it, “is in the Bodger & Bodger two-way pressure regulatin’ valve. It feeds a constant stream into the turboencabulator, see, an’ prevents backdrafts through the Mynard regulator. Can’t have backdrafts through the regulator or y’ foul th’ spline gate, see? But the real secret, y’understand, is the special retanin’ ring on th’ mix box inlet manifold. That prevents—”

  “Fine, fine, whatever,” Archibald said, eyes blank with boredom. He waved his hand dismissively. The gesture was so perfect, composed as it was of equal parts contempt and disinterest and assembled with the precision of a pocket watch, Thaddeus found himself wondering if the man practiced it in front of a mirror. A gesture like that, you couldn’t just extemporize. It spoke of a degree of haughtiness attainable only through long hours of work. “You fellows have a good night,” the major snapped, in a tone that suggested he hoped they’d have exactly the opposite.

  “I thank you, sir, an’ wish you success on yer maneuvers,” Donnie said. By the time he picked up the bag again, Major Archibald had already trotted off to rejoin the column of men heading toward London.

  They set off down the road once more. Thaddeus and Jake appeared beside Donnie as if birthed by black magic from the darkness itself. “That was close,” Thaddeus said.

  “Naw,” Donnie said. “’E wants power, not knowledge. Likes t’ throw ’is weight around. No patience fer th’ details. Dealt with ’is kind a thousand times. Easy if y’know how.”

  “Donnie, what’s a Maynard regulator?”

  Donnie shrugged. “Dunno.”

  ✦

  The yard in front of the warehouse was a sea of mud. Commander Skarbunket scraped rather a lot of it off his boots, then sighed at the futility of it all and gave up. “Remind me again,” he said, “why you thought it was a good idea to pile a mountain of black-powder bombs into a carriage and park it here, instead of perhaps putting them at the bottom of the Thames?”

  “Evidence,” Bristol said. He pulled open the door on the crude lean-to that had been built as an afterthought against the side of the warehouse some years ago, revealing the carriage in question. Beside it, a placid-looking horse munched nonchalantly from its feed bag. It seemed totally unconcerned about standing next to a mountain of improvised explosives, demonstrating in its dim animal way that ignorance truly is bliss.

  “You couldn’t keep maybe just one bomb as evidence? You wanted to keep the whole, and it is with some reluctance I put it this way, Mister Bristol, but you wanted to keep the whole shebang?”

  Bristol winced. “I thought it best to retain the option of impressing the Court with the magnitude of the situation, sir.”

  “Mm, yes, of course,” Skarbunket said. “Remind me to put you in for a promotion.”

  “Sir! I don’t think—”

  “Relax, Mister Bristol, I wouldn’t really do that to you. Though we may, if we are not exceedingly careful over the next little bit of time, find ourselves involuntarily promoted to the hereafter. Do any of you gentlemen smoke?”

  A chorus of No, sir!s rose from the small group of policemen.

  “Good. If I hear so much as a heated word from any of you, you’re all—and again it is with reluctance I p
hrase it quite this way—fired. Mister Bristol, get the carriage hooked up.” He peered into the coach’s windows. “Looks like three of us will be riding inside with the explosives, and two up top over the explosives. Anyone here got a morbid fear of dying?”

  “I do, sir,” Tumbanker said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mister Tumbanker. You’re driving.”

  “What? Why me, sir?”

  “Because that very natural and reasonable fear, Mister Tumbanker, should help encourage you to drive with appropriate discretion. The last thing I want, Mister Tumbanker, is to be riding inside a carriage full with explosives driven by a man who does not fear death. I would think that to be obvious to a person of your formidable mental acuity.”

  “Very good, sir,” Tumbanker sighed.

  “Excellent. Now then, gentlemen, if there are no further concerns, I think we should all make our peace with the powers that be and go pay a visit to Lord Rathman. Mister Mayferry, I trust you will have no further foolishness to say about how this evening can’t get any worse? No? Good. Mister Levy, you will ride up top with Mister Tumbanker. Let’s be off.”

  ✦

  Alÿs circled around the side of the Palace toward the stables, still keeping to what few shadows could be found loitering in these parts of London. Her disguise offered at least one advantage: dressed as she was, she would attract little attention using the servants’ entrances.

  She sidled quickly across the street and darted in through the stable door, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the gloom. “Henry?” she hissed. “Henry, you here?”

  “Who’s this, then?” came an unfamiliar voice. Alÿs froze, heart jackhammering wildly.

  A man she’d never seen before, perhaps twenty years old, approached her with a lantern. He had a narrow, hard face and was dressed in the livery of a stableboy. He looked her up and down. “Who are you?”

  “Where’s Henry?” Alÿs said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.