The Crimson Shard

by Teresa Flavin

  “No one’s ever caught you?”

  “Never,” said Fleet. “For Sleekie and I was given rather valuable talents when we was born. Eyes sharp as a fox’s, ears keen as a dog’s, and feet clever as a cat’s. We see everything, but nothing sees us. We blend into a mob like phantoms into fog.”

  Jeremiah Starling awoke to find Throgmorton standing above him with a lantern.

  “Egad, man, you shall bore holes into me, staring in that way!” exclaimed Jeremiah, scrambling up to sitting on his makeshift bed in the workshop. “For a moment I thought you were an apparition!”

  The lamplight played across Throgmorton’s flattened nose, sending odd shadows dancing on his face. “Why are the boys not at work? It is ten minutes past midnight already.”

  “Another few minutes’ sleep shall not harm them. Not after the night they endured and the loss of William from the workshop.”

  A nerve twitched near Throgmorton’s eye. “William is not the only loss.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two more beds are empty. Blaise’s and Sunniver’s.”

  Jeremiah fell back against the wall. “How is that possible? This house is locked every night.”

  “I suspect Fleet and Sleek took them.”

  “What?” said Jeremiah.

  “The nightsneaks melt through doors, Starling. No lock is too much for them. You know this.”

  “We must confront them when they return!”

  “They will not be back,” said Throgmorton. “I am finished with them. I am shutting the business down, and with it goes all connection to Fleet and Sleek.”

  “When did you decide this?” Jeremiah’s mouth hung open.

  “The evening before last. During our after-dinner smoke, my guests repeated a description of the thieves seen stealing the Caradas musketeer painting and the drawing of a Florentine beauty the night before.” Throgmorton’s lip curled.

  “Egad” was all Jeremiah managed to say.

  “I passed this rumor on to magistrates this morning,” Throgmorton said.

  “You informed upon your own men —?”

  “They are not my men.”

  Jeremiah quivered with disbelief. “W-what will become of the Academy? And all the paintings Fleet and Sleek have left here?”

  “I have it all in hand, Starling,” said Throgmorton. “My mind is now fixed on something more important — apprehending Sunniver and Blaise.”

  “I cannot fathom why they are so important to you — why you risked bringing them here,” said Jeremiah.

  “It is none of your business, Starling.”

  “Not my business? Nothing is ever my business, even though you rely on me to oversee the work that keeps you and your daughter in such fine clothes!” Jeremiah struggled to his feet and faced Throgmorton.

  “If it had not been for me, you would not even be under this roof. You would be in debtors’ prison, dying a slow, grinding death.” The lantern sputtered at Throgmorton’s words.

  “That would be more honorable than making starving boys forge stolen paintings,” sputtered Jeremiah. “And having to pretend they were sent to the country when they vanish.” His face flushed dark red. “And having you take ownership of the house my father built with his own hands. I regret the day I painted that infernal door, which allowed you and your daughter to enter from whatever underworld spawned you!”

  Throgmorton’s sudden blow to Jeremiah’s jaw knocked the artist sideways. He tripped backward onto his rough bed and lay there, chest heaving.

  Throgmorton rubbed his hand. “So, I have made you dishonorable? When I saw that you were in trouble, I bought your debts and saved your home. All I need to do is sell the debts to someone who is less softhearted than I. Then you and the boys will be thrown out into the street.”

  Jeremiah whispered, “Your hand of friendship conceals a dagger.”

  Throgmorton’s eyes closed into slits, like a lizard’s. “I am going out to hunt for Blaise and Sunniver. If you or any of the boys encounter them, or hear any rumors of them, come to me immediately. A manhunt has already begun for the nightsneaks.”

  “They will implicate us!” cried Jeremiah, looking with horror at the musketeer painting propped against the wall. “The stolen artworks are in my workshop!”

  “Stop fretting,” Throgmorton said. “No one will believe what nightsneaks say. I have paid magistrates and ‘witnesses’ enough to make certain of it. When they are captured, Fleet and Sleek will hang from the gallows at Tyburn.”

  “The previous owners may be dead and buried for all I knows,” Jenny declared, rooting through a pile of lost-and-found clothes at the Green Dragon. “Or floating in the River Thames. Does that put you off, gents?”

  “No.” Sunni examined the black stockings and three-cornered hats the innkeeper had found for her and Blaise to wear as camouflage when out in the night. “They might still be alive.”

  “You is an optimist, I see,” said Jenny, perching a hat on Blaise’s head for size.

  Blaise looked like he would say yes to anything at that point. His constant yawning and the violet circles under his eyes convinced the nightsneaks to let their two charges flop out early in the “Nook,” as Jenny called the large open room full of snoring travelers and locals sleeping on improvised beds.

  “We rise at three,” said Fleet. “No later.”

  The hearth rug smelled of rancid dog fur and whatever had been wiped off the soles of guests’ shoes. Sunni put her bag under her head and slept in fits and starts with her back against Blaise’s knees. Fear woke her again and again, every time she heard a noise. But even the vandals and burglars around them needed sleep when they were not marauding and made no move from their beds. Fleet and Sleek were stretched out against a wall, their hats pulled down over their faces, completely still.

  Sunni could not settle. She shook Blaise gently until he lifted his head to look around.

  “Wha . . . ?” he groaned.

  “We need to plan,” she whispered, turning over and pulling herself close so they were face-to-face. “Now, while everybody’s asleep.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where are we going to go?”

  “To find someone who can help us open the door, if that someone even exists.” Blaise touched her wrist. “I didn’t tell you. One of the boys said he saw Throgmorton open it by drawing a shape on it. With a stone covered in red stuff from a vial hidden under his shirt.”

  “What?” She breathed out. “He had a sharpened stone in the workshop. It sliced my paper in two like a knife through butter.”

  “Was it stained red?”

  “Faintly.”

  “So we’ve got something to go on,” he said. “Sort of. It sounds like he uses some kind of magic.”

  Sunni sighed. “How do we find a magician?”

  “Fleet and Sleek. They already know we’ve done the impossible and walked through a painted door. We just say we need a magician’s help to get home.”

  “Okay.”

  The next thing she knew, Blaise was asleep again. She snuggled close and drifted away herself.

  When the bells of a distant church tolled three, Fleet nudged them awake. Fully decked out in their new gear of dark hats, coats, breeches, and stockings, Sunni, Blaise, and the nightsneaks left the Green Dragon’s dim public rooms, passing the orange embers in the fireplace.

  The quartet huddled in a black alley, awaiting the arrival click of heels on paving stones. A rain shower had left a slick of moisture over everything but had cleared away to leave the sky open and full of stars.

  “Not much moon tonight,” Fleet observed. “But enough starlight to move around well. On a dull night, you must use your hands and ears and nose to pick out the way through the dark.”

  Sleek hissed for them to be quiet. “A glim.”

  A lantern wended its way down the lane, held aloft by a boy of about twelve. As he got closer, they saw that he led an unsteady young man in fine clothes.

  “ ’Tis
Smithy,” whispered Sleek.

  Fleet explained, “Smithy is a link-boy, hired by gents to guide them home with his lantern — we calls ’em glims. At other times, Smithy changes into a moon-curser and lifts valuables from his squires’ waistcoats.”

  “Moon-curser?” Sunni shook her head. “Link-boy?”

  “You shall learn, Sunniver. Stay in the shadows and watch. We has decided Smithy will play moon-curser tonight, with the assistance of me and Sleekie.”

  When Smithy came near the alley, the nightsneaks stepped out and raised their arms in greeting.

  “Why, Smith, ’tis a pleasure to see you,” said Fleet with a quick wink at the boy, who stopped short and glared at him.

  The tipsy young man with him jumped back and exclaimed, “Do not accost us, sir! Be on your way.”

  “You misunderstand, sir.” Fleet put on a serious face and bowed. “We is here to warn our friend of danger. Footpads is nearby, and the night watchman is all up in arms.”

  “Footpads!” said the young man, weaving back and forth, his eyes rolling in his head.

  “Aye. They like nothing better than to bleed innocent young gentlemen of their money, so take care.” Fleet stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Shall I demonstrate how they ensnare their victims, so you shall not be caught out?”

  “By heaven, would you?” cried the drunk.

  Fleet gestured to Sleek, who moved to the young man’s side. “One rascal speaks to you, genial and close up, like my friend there. While his crony comes up from the back, like this, and is upon you!” Fleet mimed stabbing movements with an imaginary blade.

  “Vile! I am glad you warned me, sirs!” The drunk staggered away from Fleet and his invisible dagger, stumbling into Sleek, who kept him upright. They all had a convivial chuckle.

  “Safe home then, sir,” said Fleet, saluting the pair and winking again at Smithy. Once the light had dwindled in the distance, Fleet and Sleek danced into the alley.

  From his deep pocket Sleek produced an elegant watch and an engraved snuffbox, both glinting in the starlight against his black-gloved hand.

  “You picked his pocket while you stood next to him,” Blaise said. “Right?”

  “Nay, the goods was lifted in the moment he fell against Sleekie,” Fleet said. “The man never felt a thing but Sleekie’s helping hands, when his valuables was snatched. He thanked us!”

  “Smithy didn’t look too happy,” said Sunni.

  “He will when he gets his share later.” Fleet glanced around them at the empty lane. “Eyes and ears bright at all times, lads. Or else bigger fish may happen along and see us as dinner.”

  Sunni shuddered. Fleet was right — she did feel vulnerable in these predatory streets. “I can’t do this.”

  “Me neither,” said Blaise.

  “But you saw how easily Sleekie nabbed the silverware,” said Fleet. “Snatching works well in pairs. When you two is on your own, one can engage the gentleman or lady, while the other plucks the goods from a purse or pocket.”

  “No,” said Sunni. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “We shall take our leave then.” Fleet threw his arms up in the air. “Perhaps you shall do better alone.”

  Sleek pocketed his booty and began to walk away.

  “Wait!” Blaise blocked his path. “Sunni, er, Sunniver, are you sure?”

  “Yes. Look,” she said to the nightsneaks. “All we want you to do is tell us where we’ll find a magician. Then we can look after ourselves.”

  “Magician!” Sleek exclaimed.

  “We think Throgmorton must have used some sort of magic to open the painted door. The only way we can go back to our time is if we find someone who can help us do the same,” said Blaise.

  “Aye, of course,” said Fleet slowly, as if this made all the sense in the world. “Magic.” He paused and looked inquiringly at Sleek, who nodded. “We only knows of one place where magicians gather. But there is a problem.”

  Sunni and Blaise groaned in unison.

  “You must pay money to see them. Not much, but you have none. And the first magician you meet may not be the right one, and then you needs more money. And in the wait for the right one, you must eat and lay your heads down.”

  “I get the point,” said Blaise. “Can’t you lend us some money?”

  “Lend?” Sleek snorted.

  “Aye, if we had plenty to spare, but we do not,” said Fleet. “Sleekie and I must go to ground, and we needs every shilling.”

  “Then we’re stuck,” said Sunni angrily. “We have no choice but to be pickpockets.”

  Blaise shrugged. “If it’s the only way we can get quick money, we’d better just do it.”

  She kicked at the ground and grumbled, “All right, all right. But how do we get money for the stuff we take?”

  “We fences it for you with people we knows and takes a small commission for our trouble.” Fleet cocked one ear. “Hear that? It’s the watch, and he’s coming this way. This is your chance.”

  A lone, thin voice moved nearer, droning, “Four o’clock, the sky is clear.” A man came into view, walking slowly along the lane, a lantern in one hand and a long pole in the other.

  Sleek laughed silently at the sight of him and nudged Fleet.

  “Old Slipper, the night watchman. A more easy target you could not wish for.” Fleet pushed Blaise toward the corner of the alley. “See how slow he is.”

  “But he’s an old man,” Sunni protested.

  “Pah! Old Slipper is tough as iron. You cannot injure him,” said Fleet. “Go on, which of you shall divert him and which shall do the lifting?”

  “I’ll do the talking,” said Blaise. “Sunniver’s got smaller hands than me.”

  “Thanks a lot,” said Sunni.

  Fleet nodded. “Good stratagem. Your Colonial way of speech will throw Old Slipper off balance, Blaise.”

  Sunni started shaking her head. “How am I supposed to take something from him without him feeling it?”

  “Diversion,” said Sleek.

  “Keep his attention on Blaise,” added Fleet. “Seek his pocket watch. It will be in his waistcoat or his coat pocket. Ask him the time and you shall see which.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look, if we screw up, just run for it,” said Blaise, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as if he were warming up for a race.

  “I don’t believe this,” Sunni said, her brow furrowed.

  “We’ve got to eat.” Blaise readied himself, hat pulled down over his forehead. “Come on.”

  He yanked her out into open view of the watchman, who was trying to relight a street lamp.

  “Sir!” Blaise called, smiling nervously. “Did I hear you call the time?”

  Old Slipper turned suspiciously. “Four o’clock and the sky is clear.”

  “Are you sure? It seems later to me.”

  The watchman scooped his pocket watch from his coat and squinted at it. “You is right. It is gone one quarter past four.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Blaise. “My friend and I are new in town, from the Colonies, and we don’t know our way around.”

  “The Colonies,” the old man said, his eyes round. “Which one?”

  “Massachusetts,” said Blaise. “Boston.” He gestured at the pole. “Can we help you?”

  “No, no.” Old Slipper lit the end of the pole and aimed its flaming tip toward the wick above them. “Are the Colonies as rough and lawless as they say?”

  Sunni moved in behind the watchman and steadied the lower end of the pole for him. Old Slipper looked around at her and shrugged.

  “Not Boston, sir,” said Blaise, watching intently as Sunni inched closer to the man’s back. “Boston is as fine a place as you would ever want to see . . . almost as good as London.”

  Old Slipper strained upward, leaving his wide pockets vulnerable to incursion. With a deep breath, Sunni dipped her hand in and withdrew the old man’s pocket watch.

  Horrified at what she had
done, she nearly dropped it. When it was safely inside her pocket, she backed away from the man and let go of the pole. Blaise scrambled to her side, and they made for the alley.

  “I doubt it is as splendid as London,” muttered Old Slipper as he finally managed to light the streetlamp. But there was no answer. He looked around and the two Colonists were gone.

  By the time he looked for them down the nearby alley, it was empty, too. The four thieves were already on the hoof to Bandy Lane and the welcoming lights of the Green Dragon.

  “By jingo!” said Fleet. “That was well done, boys. Clever brain, Blaise, and clever fingers, Sunniver.” He put out one hand. “Let me see the booty.”

  When Sunni fished the pocket watch out, she could not hand it to Fleet fast enough. It was a sad, dented object. Somehow the sight of it broke Sunni’s heart in a way that a brand-new watch would not have.

  “Old Slipper might’ve had that since he was young,” she said, her lower lip sagging. “It might have been his father’s or grandfather’s.”

  “Or he might have bought it from a pawnbroker for ten shillings. I doubt we shall get much more than that for the thing,” said Fleet. “He might even have lifted it himself, off some poor drunk in the street.”

  Sunni shook her head, rejecting these explanations.

  “Or Old Slipper might be King George himself, come down from his palace to light lamps in the night!” Suddenly Fleet took hold of her shoulder and stopped her dead. “We can imagine stories till the sun rises, Sunniver, and find reasons not to do the things that must be done. It don’t change the fact that you and Blaise will now have a few shillings to make your way with. And Old Slipper ain’t hurt or starving, is he?”

  “No.”

  “At worst he cannot shout out the time all night, for he will not know it till he finds a new watch. And for that, the citizens of these streets heartily thanks you!”

  He and Sleek guffawed as they rapped on the Green Dragon’s door. A surly watchman let them in with a nod, and as they strolled into the tavern, the other thieves grinned welcome.

  “See?” said Fleet, saluting them. “You is one of us now.”