Thom pulled out the kerchief again and spent a few moments with his face buried in the damp red cloth. Mrs. Molly leaned forward from her chair and put her arms around the boy, and he leaned into her. His breathing grew steadier as she whispered kindnesses into his curly red hair.
“What was it that got the reverend and his pastors involved?” Nimble addressed the question to Mrs. Molly.
“Thom went to him and told him the whole story. But I don’t know that he exactly believed Thom—”
“He believed me all right!” Thom straightened up. “He didn’t look surprised or nothing when I told him that I thought them gents were making magic potions from the corpses of murdered Proddies. Just like I read about in my penny blood books. The reverend knew just what I meant! But them gents have bought him off. Because instead of telling me that we should press charges and warn off other Proddies, he slaps me upside the head and calls me a liar. He tells me that he’ll turn me over to the Inquisition for extortion if I mention this to anyone again! Then he takes hold of me by the hair to hand me over to Lord Umberry! So I put a knee to his bollocks and pelted straight to Mrs. Molly.”
“Kneed him. No wonder the reverend couldn’t come running after you himself, eh?” Nimble grinned at the boy, but then he shifted his gaze to Mrs. Molly. “Will Eligos cause you trouble if the lad stays with you?”
“Oh, I doubt the pious old miser cares a fart so long as Thom doesn’t show up in his church spouting accusations.” Mrs. Molly shrugged. “It’s his own reputation he’s worried about, not the facts of the matter one way or the other.”
“I ain’t stepping foot in his church ever again!” Thom declared. “He ain’t getting half a penny more of my pay in his collection boxes.”
“Ah, a lad after your own heart there.” Nimble winked at Archie and then added for Thom’s benefit, “If you ever make the mistake of dragging our Archie to a sermon, you’ll hear him muttering words that’ll blister your ears, and he’ll even sing filthy ditties to the tune of the hymns.”
Thom gazed at Archie with an expression somewhere between horror and awe. Like the vast majority of Prodigals, the boy had no doubt been brought up on a constant diet of piety and deference to church authority. Even Nimble, for all his impropriety and conjuring, still carried a wooden cross as a pocket fob. Archie, on the other hand, had been born a bastard in a noble house and witnessed firsthand who truly benefited from church doctrine. He’d lost his last shred of faith in the goodness of God while watching his brother slowly die that last week on fucking Sollum Hill.
“Can we leave it with you, then?” Mrs. Molly lifted her amused gaze from the boy to Nimble, and her expression turned grim. “You know the Inquisition won’t take this disappearance any more serious than the last ones.”
Last ones? Archie raised his brows.
“Yeah. I’ll take it on.” Nimble offered Mrs. Molly a half smile. “It can’t pay worse than the last job you brought me.”
“Oh, it only took you a minute to get the cat up from that ash pit,” Mrs. Molly responded.
“Nearly lost an eye in that minute, though.” Nimble turned to Archie. “Claws like a lion’s on that fat little kitten. And not so much as a two-penny for thanks from—”
“I’ll pay you, Nimble! Just don’t let them get away with what they done to Nancy.” Thom shot to his feet. “I ain’t got money, but I got a strong body and a baptized soul. I know you conjurers trade in souls—”
“Don’t—” Mrs. Molly cried out, but it was already too late.
Archie’s horror probably showed as plainly as Mrs. Molly’s. He knew damn well what such a bargain entailed, and it revolted him to think of a child Thom’s age entering into such a pact. But the words had been spoken aloud and of the boy’s own volition, same as Archie himself had blurted them out to Nimble so many years ago. They couldn’t be retracted, only answered—just as they had been in the ages before when Nimble’s ancestors answered from their kingdoms in hell.
Mrs. Molly shook her head in a silent plea, and Archie glowered at Nimble. But Nimble didn’t pay either of them any mind. Instead he crouched down in front of Thom and studied him with a hard, intent expression.
Revulsion snaked through Archie. This was an aspect of Nimble’s trade that he had never before witnessed and had deluded himself into thinking was something rare and somehow special between the two of them. He’d not wanted to know if Nimble took other men, much less boys, but if he witnessed it with his own eyes, he didn’t know if he could stand it—if he could forgive it.
“Nah. That’s too bright a light burning in you, Thom. You’d blind me, you would.” Nimble stood, though he still held Thom’s gaze. “I tell you what, lad. Why don’t we strike this bargain. I’ll look into what was done to your Nancy and see that justice is got for her, one way or another. In return, you’ll apply yourself to finding good work somewhere solid. When the occasion arises that I need to be let in the back door of your swank establishment, or if I need to know a few names or addresses, well, you’ll be in a position to do me the favor.”
Mrs. Molly melted back against the cushions of her chair, her benevolent smile rising like cream through milk. Archie, too, felt relieved but then slightly confused as well. He realized that as much as he’d been horrified by the thought, he’d also expected Nimble would snatch up the child’s soul—wouldn’t be able to resist doing so.
“You just want me to find a posh job?” Thom appeared rightly skeptical, Archie thought.
“Correct, my lad.”
“Nothing more?” Thom asked.
“There’ll be more. Like I said. The day may well come that I want a favor from a fellow in a first-rate position. I could need information concerning accounts or comings and goings. I might require an introduction or the copy of a key.” Nimble sounded serious now. “It’s not so little as you might think, lad. A bit of knowledge can be as powerful as blood and conjuring if you know how to use it. And I believe this arrangement would suit us both. Yeah?”
Thom appeared thoughtful. Perhaps this was the first time he’d considered the information and access his employment in a powerful institution could confer. He nodded.
Absently Archie wondered how many others had struck this deal with Nimble.
“Shall we have a shake to bind it, then?” Nimble extended a big hand, and Thom grasped it with his own much more delicate fingers. They shook three times.
After that, Mrs. Molly and Nimble traded gossip and news, all while she gathered up her shawl and Thom’s cap from the kitchen. As they discussed the latest attempt of the Good Commons Association to repeal the Prodigal Restriction Codes, Archie picked up a deck of Nimble’s playing cards. He shuffled and flipped through them, absently drawing the ace of diamonds over and over. Nimble cleared away the tea and cups and then bid Thom and Mrs. Molly a good day. Archie folded the ace back into the deck of cards and waved the two of them a farewell.
Nimble locked the door behind them and then went to the window to observe their descent down the wooden stairs.
Archie wondered how much of Thom’s story had been truth and how much a boy’s imagination. The detail of the infirmary locks and the excuses for them bothered him. That wasn’t something a child thought up. Of course, the entire affair was Nimble’s concern, not his; still, he felt curious.
“Anyone waiting at the bottom to thump them?” Archie asked.
“Nah. They’ve just popped in to Britcher’s Ragstand. Probably selling that blue satin livery and picking up something a little more subtle for the boy to walk around in.”
Archie nodded and drew his ace again.
Nimble glanced back in time to see him do it and grinned. “You’ve gotten better with the cards than I ever was.”
“Practice, old boot. It’s just practice,” Archie replied.
“Doesn’t hurt to have a fortune to practice with, though.” Nimble leaned over the tall back of the chair Mrs. Molly had abandoned and watched Archie cut and shuffle. He wore a flatterin
gly attentive expression.
“There’s not much that having a fortune doesn’t make easier,” Archie agreed. “I don’t suppose you’re going to offer me a sip of something a little stronger than tea, are you?”
“I’m getting to it, my bantling,” Nimble replied, but he didn’t move. “I’ve heard that your uncle lost two more ships at the card tables.”
Archie grinned. It had taken him years of gambling, bargaining, and bribery, but he now possessed the majority of his uncle’s debts and assets. He would soon be in a position to ruin the man completely.
“Must be true to put such wicked smile on your lovely face.” Nimble strolled to the little side table where his yellow bottles of blue gin and pine whiskey stood. “A dash of easy drops?”
Archie shook his head. He’d found it a challenge to wean himself off ophorium after the war. Now he felt wary of the painless languor the drug so easily provided.
“The arm’s not hurting, then?” Nimble commented as he poured their drinks.
“Not today. Suppose that means we won’t be seeing rain.”
“We never do down here.”
Nimble brought Archie a generous tot of blue gin in a fat little glass. Archie accepted it with a nod of thanks. An excited hum seemed to awaken in his belly, even before he swallowed his first mouthful. Nimble swirled the pine whiskey in his own glass. The waters dribbled into the liquor produced milky streaks that reminded Archie of smoke. Nimble, too, studied his glass. His expression struck Archie as unusually thoughtful. As a rule, Nimble maintained an air of glib, grinning confidence. Even while he slept, his lips often curved in smug satisfaction.
“You aren’t far from having all you wanted, are you?”
Nimble caught Archie off guard, lifting his gaze as Archie stared at him. Archie felt an absurd heat rise in his face and covered it by taking a swig of blue gin. The stuff tasted like it could strip stains from sheets. It burned down into his stomach.
“I mean to say, you’re well in now. Accepted as Archibald by all and sundry, set up with the title and posh tracts of soil. Not even your sly uncle Silas suspects—”
“Sure.” Archie wasn’t certain why they were discussing this now. It made him uneasy. “And I know that’s all thanks to you, old boot. I’m not trying to back out—”
“’Course not. Your word is good as gold with me. Always has been. But the thing is….” Nimble swirled his glass again, turning the entire drink milky white. “The thing is that we struck our bargain ages back, when we were both still wet. Since then… since then, I’ve started to….” Nimble scowled at his untouched drink like it could be blamed for his difficulty in making his point.
The tremulous sensation fluttering through the pit of Archie’s belly turned from butterflies to spiders. He drained his glass just to kill the feeling. Whatever it was that Nimble needed to say, Archie felt certain it wasn’t anything he wanted to hear. There was too much seriousness and finality to Nimble’s expression.
Suddenly Archie wondered if somehow time had run out. Did Nimble need to collect his soul from his body now? Would that leave him an inhuman wreck? Would it simply kill him? Archie gripped his ironwood walking stick but then forced himself to release it. He’d been the one to make the proposal to Nimble. Whatever fate awaited him, it was his own responsibility.
“Well, here’s the thing.” Nimble dropped down into the seat across from Archie and slouched back so his knees pushed Archie’s tense legs apart. “That Thom boy isn’t the only one willing to pay me to have a go at the Dee Club. All put together, I stand to make quite a haul, but I need an in to the club, don’t I?”
The question fell so far from what Archie had been contemplating that it took him a moment to absorb Nimble’s words.
“You need a nobleman to sponsor you?” Archie said.
“That I do, my bantling. That I do.” Nimble sipped his pine whiskey. “And we both know that there’s only one nobleman I’d be willing to trust with a venture like this, yeah. So, that puts you in a perfect position to secure the properties that you previously sold to me.”
“I don’t—” Archie just caught himself from speaking ruinous words. “I’ve not yet avenged Archibald. I’m close, but it’s not done yet.”
“But you will have hung Silas out to dry in less than three months, won’t you?” Nimble gazed at him with congratulatory knowing. And Archie wondered how many bankers and debt collectors kept him informed. Archie didn’t want to admit as much, but he couldn’t deny it. When his uncle’s end came, it would be splashed across broadsheets and shouted by newsboys on street corners. A tremendous scandal of bankruptcy, debtors’ prison, and with any luck, suicide as well.
“He can’t last more than two months,” Archie said. “But I still need those two months, Nimble.”
Nimble nodded. “But after that, you’ll want to be free of… this.” He gave a wave of his hand. “And I… well, I need a way into the Dee Club. You do me that favor and we’re square. That’s fair, ain’t it?”
Archie nodded, feeling weirdly stunned, almost as dazed as he’d felt the first moment searing hot cannon shrapnel had torn into his chest—so wounded that it seemed beyond comprehending. The pain came later and lasted for years. He was going to want another drink.
He lifted his gaze to Nimble’s strangely solemn face and realized Nimble was doing him a kindness. Probably at some cost to himself. Souls didn’t come all that easily. He wasn’t hurting Archie purposefully; he just didn’t know. And if he didn’t know after all these years, then Archie wasn’t about to tell him. He still had that much pride.
“Shall we go upstairs?” Archie asked.
Nimble grinned and then tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “One last time, then, my bantling.”
ARCHIE FOLLOWED Nimble up the narrow, worn staircase. The first time they’d done this, Archie had just turned eighteen and had been filled with anxieties of nearly every kind, from the dread of selling his soul and taking on the uncle who’d terrified him as a child, to worrying over the freshness of his breath. At the time, Nimble had seemed so much more experienced. Though now Archie realized they’d both of them been little more than boys.
Nimble had been all of nineteen and still hadn’t quite mastered the light steps that he now employed to disguise the immense weight of his iron-dense bones and heavy muscles. These days, floorboards didn’t squeal nor did the steps groan like they strained under lead feet. Just looking at him, no one would have guessed that he weighed nearly twenty-one stone and swam about as well as a cannonball. Archie had discovered as much for himself on maneuvers, when he’d nearly drowned hauling Nimble out of the dank waters of a flooded bog.
Certainly strangers wouldn’t have imagined that such a jaunty, light-fingered fellow could ever have numbered among the half-starved, barefisted Prodigal Chargers, who’d held Sollum Hill for three weeks against cavalry and heavy guns. Nimble wouldn’t have wanted them to know. He liked being thought of as a flashy tough without any particular history beyond the tall tales that sprang up throughout the back streets of Hells Below.
Nimble seduced every novice in the Sacred Heart Convent and even knocked up the sixty-year-old Mother Superior.
Knife turned that skinner, Fatty Braggs, into a pig and sold him to his brother, Butcher Braggs, for sausages.
Nimble the Knife once killed a snitch, dressed in his clothes, and ate his entire body before the Inquisition captains could arrive on the scene to investigate.
Archie gave a quiet snicker at the thought of that last one.
Nimble looked back at him with a raised brow.
“Just having a laugh at myself,” Archie replied.
“And here I thought you might be having a chuckle at how wasted my fine ass is, dressed in these dull togs.” Nimble took the last three steps up to the narrow landing, then fished his keys from his pocket and opened his bedroom door. Archie’s pulse picked up, and words seemed to evaporate from his mind.
“The trousers look good, actu
ally,” Archie managed to get out, though it was hardly sparkling repartee.
Again Nimble looked back at him, this time with a sharp grin. “I thought they did. Glad you noticed.” Then Nimble beckoned him into the warm dark room. A single Argand lamp rested on the nightstand, throwing circles of soft gold light across the room and adding the scent of olive oil to the air. The modest necessities of a washstand, dresser, and rag rug edged the space, while two small framed prints hung on the far wall—reproductions of Sykes’s famous studies of Adonis in Repose. But it was the four-poster bed that took pride of place and truly revealed Nimble’s love of lavish color and too-bold patterns. Even in the faint light, gold threads gleamed along the length of the bolster. Lush green pinstripe pillows spilled across the scarlet artichoke patterns of his throw. A rainbow of poppy designs enveloped the plump curves of his duvet cover. The silk sheets beneath all that would reveal an indigo sky studded with mauve and yellow stars, Archie recalled. Gilded apple blossoms wound up all four of the bedposts, and the dark violet canopy above displayed hundreds of crescent moons.
Nothing could have been further from the tasteful pearl-gray elegance of Archie’s own home, and yet the sight of this mismatched extravagance flooded him with a feeling of happiness. He didn’t want this to be the last time he ever visited this room or lay spread across that bed.
Hating the melancholy turn of his own thoughts, Archie turned his attention from the bed to the prints on Nimble’s wall. The studies captured a handsome man, but with such an empty expression and flawless body that he might as well have been a polished stone.
Nimble strode to his wardrobe and brought out the three big red candles that he always burned for their ceremony—one for each month. They were no longer the tall, grand columns they’d once been, but now looked short and fat, almost enveloped by the streams and beads of their own melted wax. Nimble muttered some low growling incantation over each one and used his hard black fingernail to gouge a symbol into the wax. He set them in a row and looked well pleased with himself.
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