‘Sir, what about this ring? Suits you, it does!’
‘You all right, sir? You look peaky. Want to try a tonic?’
And, more than once: ‘Can you spare a copper?’
Few of them were more than waist-high and they had perfected the art of jostling, buffeting him on all sides in a manner that wasn’t painful, or distressing, but was disconcerting. Hands waved up at him, but he also felt fingers plucking at his clothing, searching for valuables.
Kingsley wondered about the urchins. Was this the sum of their lives? He was sure they had to spend time on the surface, but if this was their home, what were their prospects?
He studied Evadne. She talked to a few of the urchins, and smiled at them all – but it was a troubled smile. You want to help every one of them, he thought. I can see it in your face.
He took her arm. ‘You don’t have much money left in your purse, do you?’
‘It’s empty. How did you know?’
‘A guess.’
‘Those rascals. You have to admit, they’re very skilful.’
‘So skilful they’d take your purse, empty it of money and replace it?’
‘Whimsical creatures.’
‘You gave all your money to them.’
She hesitated, then shrugged. Kingsley saw the sadness there. ‘All the money I had with me.’
‘Why? They’ll only spend it.’
‘That is the purpose of money, or so I’m led to believe.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Unless you have some radical new economic theory I haven’t heard of.’
She looked into his face. A number of light-hearted retorts came to him, but he abandoned them. ‘You know,’ he said with a sense of recklessness, ‘I don’t think I’ve admired anyone more than I admire you.’
‘In a purely professional sense, of course,’ she said softly.
Kingsley saw the way the wind was blowing. ‘In a purely professional sense,’ he echoed.
That was not disappointment I saw, he thought as they resumed their journey. I’m merely hopeless at interpreting facial expressions.
An urchin, taller than most, pushed his way through the mob around them. He used his elbows with alacrity until he finally was able to pluck at Kingsley’s sleeve. ‘Mr Ward,’ he said. ‘Mr Ward – that girl, over there, she’s asking for you.’ Startled, Kingsley was about to ask how the boy knew his name, but the urchin ducked, squirmed, and then vanished into the mob.
‘He may have seen the Extraordinaires,’ Evadne said as Kingsley craned his neck and looked for the lad. Many bobbing, pleading faces, none that resembled his.
‘I hope so,’ Kingsley said. ‘I’d hate to think I’m gaining a Demimonde reputation.’
Christabel was thoughtful. ‘Too late. I’d heard of you, even before the bulletin went around the Agency.’
‘And?’
Christabel shrugged. ‘I heard you had a wolf.’
‘Isn’t it remarkable how facts and rumours work in the Demimonde,’ Evadne said, giving Kingsley time to recover from Christabel’s words. ‘Now, let’s see who’s wanting to chat to Kingsley so much.’
The urchin was far removed from the cocky creatures on the floor of the open space. She was tiny, with dark huge eyes. Her hair was sparse, with large patches of scalp showing through, and her clothes were the oldest of rags.
Kingsley couldn’t help himself. Both his wild self and his civilised self went out to her. His wild self saw a cub, helpless and needing the protection of the pack. His civilised self saw a human being who was less fortunate than himself.
He knew then that he was feeling just a portion of that Evadne felt. ‘What is it, child? What do you want?’
She pointed at him. ‘You’re the wild boy.’ She looked at Evadne. ‘And you’re his white friend.’ Kingsley could see tracks of dried tears in the grime of her face. ‘Please,’ the tiny girl said, ‘a friend of mine needs help to destroy the horrible sorcerers.’
THIRTEEN
Leetha was walking on her toes, jumping at sudden noises, living alert for far longer than one should while she waited for the boy to find her champions. The delicate wiring that the big people had found her people so good at eluded her. She ruined the final stages of an important piece of equipment – a ‘microphone’, they called it – when she fumbled putting the black carbon in between the two metal plates. She was berated and threatened with the sparky stick. She cried and cried some more when she decided that the boy had betrayed her, had taken the gold and fled never to return.
That afternoon, she was taken to another of the tests for the Gompers man. A woman was with him, a different one this time, notebook on her lap. She sat on a chair next to a table. On the table was one of the machines of the big people, one that Leetha was unfamiliar with. A squat box, with a great horn emerging from it. A row of cylinders stood next to it.
‘Music,’ Gompers said through his whiskers as soon as Leetha was brought in, ‘is the highest expression of civilisation.’ Leetha was unsure if he was talking to her, to the notebook woman, or to an unseen audience somewhere in the shadows of the poorly lit room.
She nodded, just to be sure. Then she looked at the box and horn again.
‘Pay attention,’ Gompers snapped. He glared at her. ‘Your people make music?’
Leetha nodded again. ‘We sing. We have drums and pipes.’
The woman made a note. Gompers grunted. ‘Crude, no doubt, and lacking sophistication.’
Leetha shrugged. ‘We like it.’
‘I care not for what you like and what you don’t.’ Gompers pointed at the notebook woman. ‘Play selection one.’
The woman put her notebook on the table, next to the machine. Then she took one of the cylinders and arranged it in the box. Immediately, the room was full of singing.
Leetha’s mouth fell open. ‘You have captured a voice?’
‘Pay attention,’ Gompers repeated. ‘Listen.’ He pointed at the notebook woman, who had resumed her seat. ‘Ready? The subject is straining to hear, clearly responding to the music. Her hands are beginning to move. Her nostrils are dilated.’
Leetha knew what to do. She listened hard to the music, while wondering how it was made. The music changed each time the woman changed the cylinder, from the voice to shrill and brassy instruments, then to a combination of voices with the musical instruments still playing along. She made sure that Gompers had something to describe.
She watched him, too, sidelong, and was amazed. In all his dealings with her and her people, Gompers had been a stone. He showed no concern for their weariness or distress. He had the cold, hard patience of an eagle. Yet now, his attention narrowed with the music. With a lively tune, she was sure his foot was tapping – not with joy, but with furious focus as if it were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
After the final cylinder had been removed – a loud piece that made Leetha want to get up and march across the room – Gompers glared at the woman. ‘I hope, for your sake, you took note of all that.’
The woman wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Gompers sat back in his chair. He pinched his nose. ‘Now note this: opera, music hall, military band. They all move the subject, which shows she is not insensible to the finer emotions.’ He scowled. ‘But how does it work? What does it do inside her people? I shall have the answer, if it takes me forever.’
The next day, Calli took her aside. ‘You are driving yourself too hard,’ her cousin said. ‘You must let us take some of the risks.’
Leetha should have known it would be Calli who would approach her. Calli was the one who noticed hardship in others. Tall and slim Calli was never afraid to speak up. ‘I suppose you will not let me say no?’
‘Of course not. Tell me who I should look for outside.’
‘A boy. With a cap. And a hunger for gold.’
Mid-morning, in the next lull in their telegraphic construction work, Calli took her chance. Calli crept under the benches towards the doors, and Leetha was proud of how her co
usin pushed her fear aside and refused to let it master her.
While the rest of her people swept and cleaned the workshop, they chattered and moved about, making it difficult for their guard to count numbers, even if he had been interested. The way he sat on a stool by the door, smoked his cigarette and read the large sheets of his newspaper, however, suggested he had few concerns about the little people – the good, dutiful little people.
Leetha took her sweeping seriously. She searched for metal shavings with all the intent she used when looking for sweet gum in the jungle. Even though the broom was heavy and sized for big people, she applied it with vigour. She swept past the lathes, past the coils of wire, around the hammering of the metal punch. Each time she turned with the broom, she cast a glance at the doors at the far end. It was when she was sweeping the ghastly hair from around her workplace that she saw Calli lingering just inside, grinning. A few moments later, Calli was with her, a dustpan in hand. While she helped, she reported, bright-eyed and breathless. ‘The boy wants you.’
Leetha’s heart beat like a moth’s wings. For a moment she was dizzy. She gripped the handle of the broom and her fingers ached. ‘Here.’ She handed the broom to Calli and found a rag. She polished the mirror above her workplace, then the electric light on its metal stand, and gradually worked her way along the row of benches. She kept her head down. She belonged there, after all. She was doing the work expected of her. She was not worth noticing, or worrying about, as she drifted away. She was forgettable.
Outside, she found the boy leaning against the wall, under the poster that showed elephants much larger than the ones Leetha knew. ‘You have someone for me to meet?’
This boy with his ragged cap and bare feet had the look of stubbornness Leetha had seen many times before. This one would not give up. ‘P’raps,’ he said. ‘If you’ve got more gold.’
Leetha sighed and gave him a strip. She thought about how much she had and when she could find some more without being detected.
The boy set off down the lane, then stopped and crooked a finger at her. She came to his side. He looked around, as if surrounded by watchers. Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out a short iron bar, flattened at one end. With this tool, he knelt and lifted the round metal plate at his feet. A shaft opened and Leetha could see rungs.
The boy advised her to hurry.
Leetha swallowed. She put both hands over her chest, to stop her heart bursting free. She looked back down the lane at the door to the factory. She had closed it. What if the guard decided to shift himself and lock it?
The boy urged her on. He was angry.
Leetha looked up at the sky. Grey and flat though it was, the light reminded her of freedom.
FOURTEEN
Evadne put herself in front of the urchin. ‘Where do you want us to go?’
The small girl was almost entirely a pair of large eyes. She pointed ahead. ‘It’s up there.’
‘Is it far?’
‘No. Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s underneath a lane behind Lambeth Road,’ she said in a sing-song voice that signalled a lesson well-learned.
Christabel looked horrified. ‘You’re actually going with her?’
‘How could we resist?’ Evadne asked. ‘A chance to meet someone who wants to destroy the Immortals? Just what we need.’
‘And you agree with this?’ Christabel asked Kingsley.
‘Of course.’ Waifs and strays were Evadne’s weakness. He was honour bound to support his partner.
Christabel threw up her hands. ‘But she’s an urchin! She’ll most likely pick your pocket as soon as your back’s turned. Or she might just lead you into a right den of thieves.’
Evadne touched the small girl on the shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t do that, would you, dear?’
The small girl shook her head hard.
‘There,’ Evadne said. ‘What better guarantee could one have?’
‘If you’re committed to this, someone needs to know where you’re going. I need to notify the Agency.’
‘Very well,’ Evadne said. ‘If you think it best.’
‘I think it essential.’ Christabel gave a salute that was only half in mockery, then she was off.
Kingsley was ambivalent about her departure. He’d come to enjoy the company of the young Agency officer but he did see the sense in having their whereabouts known. It was like the safety net he’d seen aerial acrobats using – not elegant, but occasionally life-saving.
Kingsley lifted his lantern and peered down the tunnel. ‘So, a couple of miles as the crow flies? Or the worm creeps?’
‘A stroll, in Demimonde terms,’ Evadne said.
‘Perhaps.’ He addressed the small girl. ‘Are you sure you know the way?’
She put a hand to her mouth. Her gaze darted from one side to the other. She trembled, and Kingsley suddenly saw her as a small animal looking to flee.
Evadne glared at him and dropped to her knees, heedless of the muck underfoot. She took the girl by the shoulders. ‘It’s all right. We trust you. Show us.’
The girl looked at her feet and slowly she stopped shivering.
Evadne pushed the girl’s hair back from her face. ‘What’s your name, dear?’
The girl shrugged, a tiny jerk of a gesture. ‘They call me Mouse.’
‘But what’s your real name?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Mouse it is, then.’ Evadne took one of the girl’s hands and stood. ‘Lead on, Mouse. We’re with you.’
Since his introduction to the Demimonde, Kingsley had become accustomed to subterranea. Tunnels, pipes, shafts and access points were familiar places to him. Even though the confines were uncomfortable to his wild self, they provided further exercise for his growing olfactory senses. Smell was useful in such places, even if the odours were hardly refined.
Mouse, true to her name, scurried through these underground byways in an unhesitating but tangled route. She wasn’t afraid of emerging into the open air, either, and she took them through mazy lanes and even through a course of abandoned buildings linked by makeshift bridges that were mostly open air and wire.
They reached Lambeth Bridge and, again, Mouse didn’t hesitate. She scuttled down the stairs at the bridge abutment and shepherded them to an ancient waiting wherry. The boatman grunted, threw a stub of a cigar into the water, and pushed off as soon as Kingsley had stepped from the embankment.
On the south side of the river, they were soon underground again and, eventually, Mouse brought Kingsley and Evadne to an opening in the wall. It was a workers’ room off a large sewer, with curved walls and bricked benches set into the side, and a place for lamps to sit, sconce-like, just overhead. A metal ladder opposite led to what Kingsley assumed was the upper world with its streets, carriages and sunlight. At the foot of the ladder, reeking water rushed along the middle of the drain, filling the space with a sound that reminded Kingsley of wind in trees.
‘We wait here,’ Mouse said. The young girl took up a position on the bench opposite. She looked at her feet instead of at them, and she fumbled at a frayed sleeve. Kingsley sat next to Evadne.
‘How long have you been down here?’ Evadne asked Mouse.
‘Don’t know. Always?’
Kingsley’s heart went out to her. The child was lost and didn’t even know it.
‘How would you like to be somewhere different?’ Evadne asked. ‘A school where you’d have a bed of your own and hot food three times a day?’
‘No.’
‘No? Why not?’
Mouse squirmed on her seat. Her chanting tone of earlier returned: ‘If anyone says they’ll take you somewhere nice, run away as fast as you can.’
Kingsley thought Evadne was going to cry. ‘You’re not running away, Mouse,’ she pointed out.
Mouse slid off the bench and stood, eyeing the sewer. ‘I should. Scratcher said we should.’
‘Then why don’t you?’
Mouse bit her lip. ‘Scratcher said it was monsters what
want to take us away. You’re not a monster. You’re nice.’ She glanced at Kingsley. ‘He’s not bad, neither.’
‘And who’s Scratcher?’
‘That’s me. Mouse is one of us.’ A boy was descending the ladder opposite, testing each rung as he came. A grating noise signalled the cutting off of the light from above, and the descent of another figure.
The two stood on the other side of the drain, and Kingsley recognised the lad as the one from St Giles Under, the one who’d pointed out Mouse. He was about ten years old, bare-footed and wearing short pants, braces, a shirt that had once, in another life, been white, and a waistcoat that was far too large but once had pretensions of gaudiness. His cap was ragged.
He must have signalled to Mouse and then gone to fetch . . . who?
The lad’s companion was small, less than four feet in height, but not a child. Her skin was a milk coffee colour. Her black hair was pulled back and tied behind her head. She had almost no chin, and her nose was extremely broad. As she stood peering across the drain, her shoulders were raised, as if she were constantly shrugging. She wore grey calf-length trousers and a simple high-collared blouse hung loose at her waist. Her gaze was calm, steady and intelligent.
Kingsley at first assumed she was a foreigner, maybe even from India, afflicted with dwarfism, but the more he stared the more he realised that he’d never seen anyone like her before, and it took Evadne’s elbow in the ribs to make him realise he was being unseemly. ‘A Demimonder?’ he asked her softly.
‘Perhaps, but not one that I’m familiar with.’
Scratcher waved. ‘Now, Mouse, time to go.’
Mouse was on her feet straight away, but then she hesitated. She held her hands out, palms up, and spoke without looking at Evadne. ‘Scratcher takes care of us.’
Evadne looked across the drain. ‘Do you?’
Scratcher grinned, but it evaporated when he saw Evadne’s expression. He shrugged. ‘Best as we can.’
‘Make sure you do.’
Evadne patted Mouse on the back. It was all the urging the small girl needed. She leaped over the drain and landed on both feet, like a rabbit. She went to Scratcher. He pointed. She trotted off into the darkness with no lantern and no hesitation.
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