Peppermint and Pentacles: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (Steampunk Red Riding Hood Book 3)

by Melanie Karsak

  I blew on my fingers once more. I didn’t remember it being this cold at Christmas last year, and it had already snowed much more than usual in London. I pulled a silver flask from my belt, took a quick sip of brandy to warm me, and then approached the crowd.

  “Honest, Officer. We found ‘em,” a boy was saying.

  “He’s telling the truth, mister. Maybe the river washed ‘em up,” a second lad added.

  “Yeah, maybe the Thames washed ‘em up,” a small girl chirped in.

  “You know what the punishment is for stealing,” one of the officers was saying as he grabbed the biggest boy by the collar on his shirt.

  The second officer grabbed the other two children by the arms and was about to haul them off to the paddy wagon parked nearby.

  “Officers? Problem?” I asked.

  “Not to worry, ma’am. We’ve got it settled,” one of the officers called without looking up.

  The children looked from the officers to me.

  I pulled up my hood and adjusted my cape so it draped about me in an obvious fashion. “That wasn’t what I asked, Officer,” I retorted.

  Exasperation filled the man’s voice. “Look, lady,” he began as he turned to me. But when his eyes took in the cape, he let the boy go.

  Pushing my cape aside to reveal the small emblem of the Red Cape Society on my belt, I raised a questioning eyebrow at the man.

  The officer nudged his partner, who frowned then looked over his shoulder. When he spotted me, he let go of the children he was holding.

  The kids, thinking it was their cue to run like hell, moved to take off. But I raised a finger, motioning to them, and they stilled like statues.

  “Let me ask once more. What is the issue here?” I said.

  “Um, well, nothing for you to be worried about, Agent. Just some pickpockets trying to fence their stolen goods.”

  “We didn’t steal anything,” the older boy protested.

  “And what is it that you didn’t steal?” I asked the boy, looking from him to the officers and back again.

  “These,” the other officer said, extending his hand. Therein lay five perfect golden bands.

  “Rings?”

  Both officers and the children nodded.

  I looked at the children. “Where did you find them?”

  “By the river,” the girl said.

  “Where? On a road? A walking path? Near the shore?”

  “They were lying in the mud not far from our camp by the bridge,” one the boys answered.

  “You see, they’re lying,” one of the officers told me.

  “Has anyone reported missing jewelry to your station?” I asked the officer.

  “Well, no. But—”

  “But they have reported missing children, haven’t they? Isn’t your station supposed to be looking into that matter, not bothering a bunch of street rats?”

  “Yeah, well, we were working on that case when these kids caused a ruckus.”

  “Ruckus? We ‘bout had these sold until you showed up,” the shorter boy protested. “No ruckus about it.”

  I pulled out my journal, jotted down Mister Anderson’s address, then tore out the page. “Mister Anderson, the gentleman who lives at this address, has been waiting on your department to call. His daughter is missing. I am sure your superiors are aware that my division is now on the case. I expect you to follow up on this lead immediately,” I said, handing the paper to the second officer while scooping the rings from his other hand. “And I’ll take care of these.”

  “We-we didn’t know that the Society was working the case,” the first officer said.

  “You do now. So scuttle off and do your job.”

  “Yes, Miss—”

  “Agent. Agent Louvel.”

  “Sorry. Yes, Agent,” the officer said, then he and his comrade crawled back onto their wagon and headed off in the direction of Mister Anderson’s home.

  I looked at the rings. They were identical, each made of high-quality gold. My brow furrowed as I thought it over.

  “You said more children went missing?” the young girl asked.

  Shaken from my thoughts, I looked up at her. “Yes. In fact, I was coming to find you to ask about another missing child.”

  “Bunny, Mags, Little Max, or Big Max?” the older boy asked.

  “Sorry? What? I was looking for Bunny. I believe she might know something about the disappearance of a boy from Saint Clement Danes. Lucas?”

  “Lucas is missing too?” the younger boy asked.

  I stared at them. “Are you saying Bunny is missing?”

  The three children nodded.

  “And Mags, Big Max, and Little Max,” the older boy added.

  “What? Four children? Did you tell the authorities?”

  They laughed.

  “You see how well they believe us,” the older boy said.

  I sighed. He was right about that.

  “When did these other children go missing?”

  “Let’s see…Mags, Little Max, and Big Max went missing last week. Bunny went missing last night. We didn’t want to say in front of the Bow Street clods, but we found these rings right near her cot at our spot down by the river.”

  “That’s very odd.”

  “We’re a bit scared, to be honest. Someone is snatching us off the street.”

  “How many are you?”

  “Us three and two more back at the bridge.”

  “I want you all to go to Saint Clement Danes. Ask for Pastor Clark. Tell him Agent Louvel insists that you all be given shelter until this case is settled.”

  “But didn’t they snag Lucas and Tom from Saint Clement?”

  “Tom, yes. But it appears Lucas was grabbed somewhere between courting Miss Bunny and the orphanage.”

  “All the same to you, miss. We’re better off on the street.”

  “Clearly not. Four of you are missing! You will be safe at the orphanage. I…I believe the danger has passed there now, but not out here. You are still at risk if you are on the street at night.” If my initial estimate was right, whomever was working the Strand would not backtrack to pick up these children but would move on…but where and why?

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “I’m not staying though. We’ll go for a few days. Maybe through Christmas. That would be a good racket, something warm to eat on Christmas morning. What do you say?” the older boy said.

  The others looked more hesitant.

  “Tell Pastor Clark that I will sponsor your stay, if needed. But I want you off the streets. Today.”

  “But we aren’t staying for good,” the little girl confirmed.

  “No. Of course not. Just until the trouble has passed. And I do believe the orphanage provides a nice Christmas dinner. You must promise me you will go. I don’t want to ask the other officers in my agency to remove you,” I said, darkening my tone a bit.

  Once more, I saw that same awe—and a little fear—that my cloak always evoked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the older boy said with a nod.

  “The others—Mags, Little Max and Big Max—where did they disappear?”

  The older boy shrugged. “They were working the streets that night. You know, theatre crowd. Fancy dresses. Deep pockets. Lots of autos and carriages. Good hunting grounds. Everyone is out for the big holiday shows and the Lyceum and Adelphi.”

  I smirked but said nothing. Ripe for pickpocketing and panhandling. Of course. “And your camp. It’s by the bridge?”

  They nodded.

  “Good. Now, go to Saint Clement. Understood?”

  They nodded then turned and set off in a run. I only hoped they did what they were told. If I was right, they would be safe at the orphanage. But they were not safe on the street. That was certain. The case was out of hand. Nine children were missing. Nine, not four. Whatever was hunting the Strand, I needed to catch it and fast.

  Chapter 7: The Nutcracker

  After a quick investigation of t
he guttersnipe’s camp, finding nothing odd save a bevy of swans swimming in the chilly Thames, I headed back toward the Strand. It was almost dusk when I arrived at Mister Anderson’s flat on Burleigh Street. The apartment was in a finely appointed building; Mister Anderson’s lodgings were on an upper floor. A footman met me at the door and led me into the parlor that was festively decorated with evergreens and a Christmas tree. I stood, my hands behind my back, and looked out the window down the street toward the Lyceum. A flurry of activity was underway as the theatre hands prepared for that night’s show. From the window, I could see a sign advertising the event: The Red Slipper Ballet Academy presents The Nutcracker.

  “Miss—Agent Louvel,” Mister Anderson called, entering behind me. “Please, have a seat.”

  “I was just admiring the view,” I said then sat.

  “Ah, yes. The theatre. My daughter and I love the shows. We never miss one. We’d been hoping to see The Nutcracker. They say the ballerina playing Clara is the best dancer since Elyse Murray graced the stage. Perhaps…perhaps there will still be time. Tea? Or brandy, perhaps?”

  Given how cold it was outside and the fact that I was likely going to be up all night, I went for the brandy. Mister Anderson poured me a glass then handed me a snifter full of the amber-colored liquid. He then poured one for himself and took a seat opposite mine.

  “I must thank you. The constables were by not long ago and took a full report.”

  I smirked. Of course they were. “I’m sorry it took them so long. Now, what can you tell me about your daughter’s disappearance?”

  “I am a manager at the bank,” he said, pointing down the street. “I’d come home late, but Elizabeth’s nanny was here with her all day. She didn’t report anything unusual. Elizabeth and I had dinner, read a bit, then I tucked her in for bed. It was sometime around midnight when I heard the bird, as I mentioned to you earlier.”

  “Yes. The colly bird. And your nanny? Did she see anything unusual? Any disturbances during the day?”

  The man shook his head then took a drink. “No. Nothing. Agent Louvel, Elizabeth is my princess, my everything. Everyone told me to send her to a boarding school, someplace proper for a young lady, but I couldn’t let her go. If I had, this might never have happened. We…we need to find her.”

  “Mister Anderson, do you—and forgive me for asking—do you have any enemies? Anyone who might hold ill will against you?”

  “I don’t think so. Small grievances, perhaps. Loans I have declined. A certain lady whose intentions I rebuked. Nothing so serious to warrant something like this.”

  “May I see Elizabeth’s room?”

  He nodded then motioned for me to follow him. The small flat had beautiful, new furniture and lovely paintings on the walls. Mister Anderson was not a gentleman but certainly a man of some means. When he opened the door to young Elizabeth’s room, however, one might have thought themselves at Buckingham Palace. I was unable to suppress a gasp.

  Mister Anderson chuckled. “Even Princess Helena would be jealous, I suppose. I do spoil my Elizabeth a bit.”

  A bit was an understatement. The room looked like it had vomited pink lace, silk, dresses, dolls, hats, and every other manner of thing a young lady could want. Most of Mister Anderson’s wages must have gone to keeping his daughter in the latest fashion.

  “The window, there, was open,” Mister Anderson said. I went to the window and looked out. Unlike the other windows, this one did not lead to another rooftop. There was, however, a sturdy ledge that ran along the side of the building. The leap from there was not impossible. Difficult, but not impossible. Especially if you are a werewolf.

  I turned back and looked at the room once more. Miss Elizabeth had to be the most spoiled child in all of England. I wondered if Her Majesty’s children had so many beautiful dolls and gowns.

  “I will need the name and address for your nanny and any other household staff,” I told Mister Anderson, who had become teary-eyed once more. I handed him my notepad.

  “Of course,” he said, jotting down the names. “I…I don’t know how I can live with myself if she’s…harmed. My last words to her were harsh.”

  “Why so?”

  “Elizabeth is my princess. And some of her demands are a bit excessive. With the holidays at hand, her desire for extravagances was beginning to outweigh what this Santa Claus could afford. And she was not pleased when I asked her to scale back for the sake of Santa Claus’s reindeer.”

  “All children dream big,” I said.

  “Do they?” Mister Anderson replied. “In my effort to give her everything I didn’t have, to make up for her loss of her mother, I fear I have overdone what was needed.” He sighed then handed the notepad back to me.

  I slid the journal back into my bag. “You only did your best. It’s clear you love your daughter very much. I will do everything I can to find her and will send word as soon as I have news.”

  Mister Anderson nodded then led me back to the front of the flat. “Thank you, Agent Louvel.”

  With a nod, I headed back outside. The sun had set. It was time to find some high ground. When I exited the building, however, I caught the scents of roasted walnuts and crepes on the breeze. My stomach growled. A little detour wouldn’t hurt, right? I followed my nose back out the Strand where the theatres were lit up. A line had already formed outside the Lyceum for the evening performance of The Nutcracker. I eyed the crowd. An elderly woman with startling white hair, wearing a shimmering white gown and bright red silk slippers, exited an auto that had just pulled up outside. The assembled crowd stopped to stare, clapping loudly when the woman emerged. She was accompanied by a distinguished-looking gentleman in a grey suit with a blue rose on the lapel. The woman waved to the crowd as she headed into the theatre. She must have been a famous actress, but I didn’t follow the fine arts. I did, however, follow my nose. The street vendor had to be around here somewhere.

  I headed away from the Lyceum and down toward the Adelphi. The marquee noted that they would be performing Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. A play about ghosts? Now, that was something I could enjoy. Better than the play, however, was the cart outside selling mulled wine.

  “One, please,” I told the man.

  He looked at my cape then handed the drink to me. When I tried to press my coins toward him, he waved them away. “On me,” he said with a wink.

  Sipping the hot wine, cinnamon, orange, and other spices heavy on my tongue, my thoughts drifted toward Agent Hunter once more. My mind twisted past the lusty thoughts of his spicy skin to the soft smile on his face, and his kind words of caution as I’d headed out that morning. In truth, I knew almost nothing about him. What manner of man was he? Did he like the theatre or did he prefer the pub? Did he spend the weekends in the city, out in the country on a hunt, or curled up by a fire reading books? A firm derriere and bulging biceps aside, these were the things that made up who the man really was. And despite my most ardent fantasies about him, I really didn’t know him at all. Sadly.

  I trailed down the street, stopping to purchase a crepe with hazelnut and cocoa spread, then headed down an alleyway. Polishing off the last of my wine and gobbling down the crepe with such lack of decorum that Grand-mère would have been scandalized, I grabbed a ladder and climbed up to the rooftop. From there, it would merely be a matter of leapfrogging from rooftop to rooftop until I found a good spot. I eyed the sky. A week until the full moon. Some of the wolves, especially the older ones, would already be drawn out by the moonlight.

  I found a spot beside a chimney, absorbing the heat off the bricks. I cast a glance across the snow-covered rooftops. The glow of the waxing moon cast a blue-silver sheen over everything, making the powder sparkle. I could hear the soft sounds of the orchestra in the theater below and the muted hum of voices, autos, and clopping horse hooves. But otherwise, it was silent.

  “Well, Fenton, looks like it’s just you and me,” I said with a sigh, patting the hide hanging from my belt.


  I stared out at the vista of gables. Trouble or no, I would find the werewolf running rampant on the Strand and end him.

  Chapter 8: Up on the Rooftop

  I stayed on the rooftop long after the theatre revelers had departed. Snatches of laughter and peals of “Away in a Manger” reached my ears. In the sky above, airships boasting red and green lanterns passed by. Christmas had come once more.

  The clock on Tinker’s Tower had just bonged out two in the morning when a light snow started to fall. I hadn’t slept for more than twenty hours. I was freezing, my fingers and nose numb. My crepe long gone, my stomach started grumbling once more.

  I was beginning to worry I had miscalculated. Perhaps the culprit was already working further down the Strand. I suddenly wished I’d ordered more uniformed officers on the streets. I hadn’t done so since all they generally did was get in the way. But just as I started second guessing myself, the palms of my hands and bottom of my feet tingled.

  A block away, a flock of birds was startled from their roost and flew off.

  I slipped on my night optic and activated it. Wrapping one hand around my silver dagger and pulling my pistol from my belt, I stayed close to the chimney to hide in the shadowed darkness then scanned the nearby rooftops.

  Save for the few airships passing overhead, almost nothing else was moving. The lamplights on the streets below flickered, casting orange blobs of light onto the silent streets. Both the rooftops and the road were covered with a light dust of snow that shimmered crystalline in the darkness.

  Through this silent space, I heard bells. Jingle bells. Just like Charles had said.

  I squeezed the handle on my knife and looked around. There, five buildings down the Strand, a shape appeared on the rooftop. From his massive size and the heavy robes he was wearing, he appeared to be a werewolf. But I didn’t recognize him, and he was wearing some kind of strange hat. Wonderful. Just what I needed, another wild card like Marlowe. The hulking figure moved quickly across the rooftops.