by Tom Becker
“STOP!”
The chatter and bustle of the Gardens ceased as an entire street froze. At the sound of the imperious voice, Carnegie muttered a particularly foul oath.
Peering out from underneath his cowl, Jonathan saw that the crowd had parted to reveal the woman who had hailed them. She was over six feet tall, with dark brown skin and dramatically cropped black hair. Unlike the other women who wandered down the Slattern Gardens, she was dressed simply in a silver waistcoat and trousers, a single matching diamond glowing in her left ear. Even so, as she strode forward, Jonathan was mesmerized. The woman was stunningly beautiful.
She wasn’t alone. There were around twenty armed women with her, all dressed in the same flowing red robes that the girl on the jetty had worn. At the click of her fingers, they formed a threatening circle around the three intruders.
“You are Vendetta’s maid,” the woman said mildly. A statement, not a question. “I recognize you.”
“I am honoured, Queenpin. My master has entrusted me to trade some stones on his behalf.”
“Of course. All Darkside knows of your fidelity to Vendetta. But who are your companions?”
“New serving girls,” Raquella said quickly. “He thought it best that I show them the Gardens.”
The Queenpin ran a disdainful eye over Jonathan, who shrank back inside his hood. “By the looks of things, your master’s judgement is not what it was.”
Her eyes narrowed. When she spoke again, her voice was like a whip cracking across Jonathan’s face.
“Remove your hood. Now.”
8
Jonathan froze. The circle of guards tightened around them, a dazzling and deadly array of jewels and daggers, rings and swords. Even with Carnegie at his side, they wouldn’t be able to fight their way out. If he took down his hood, they were as good as dead.
“I gave you an order,” the Queenpin said, as icily beautiful as the diamond in her ear. “I don’t expect to be kept waiting.”
“Please forgive my cousin,” Raquella cut in hastily, desperation creeping into her voice. “She is a deaf mute. She will not understand you.”
The Queenpin gave her a scornful look. “How very trying. Why don’t you be a good girl and remove the hood for her?”
“Enough.”
Carnegie stepped out into the centre of the ring. The wereman threw back his hood, exposing his craggy features to the gaslight. Gasps of shock and horror rose up from the watching throng at the sight of a man, Slattern Gardens’ greatest taboo.
“Let’s end this charade,” he snarled. “You know exactly who we are.”
The Queenpin held his gaze steadily. “I know you’re no woman. Did you really think you could creep around without being detected, wolfman? You know that no male may enter the Gardens while I rule. Was a cloak really enough? You can spend the remaining seconds of your life thinking about that. Guards, take them to my quarters.”
Jonathan felt a knifepoint dig into his back, and several pairs of hands grabbed him. His hood was pulled off, to an encore of amazement from the crowd. He waited for a roar, the sounds of Carnegie hurling himself on to the attack, but to Jonathan’s surprise the wereman mutely allowed himself to be manhandled by the guards. Between them, Raquella’s face was grey. It seemed that she was to share the punishment of her male companions.
The procession carried along the glittering length of Slattern Gardens in a strained silence. As they were pushed and harried along the street, the crowds parted fearfully, as if the intruders carried some sort of infectious disease. Jonathan was too angry with himself to be afraid. He had failed, almost before he had started. What would happen to Mrs Elwood now? How would Alain cope, if he lost his son as well as his wife? And what about Theresa – was she still out there somewhere in Darkside, waiting in vain for Jonathan to find her? Would she even know that he had tried?
At the end of the promenade, the row of jewellery shops ran into a sheer rock face. A small boat was beached on the side of the street, looking out over the waterfront. It was a battered, bedraggled craft, coated in barnacles and peeling paint. The name Silverine was painted on its prow. The Queenpin climbed lithely up a ladder hanging down from the side and disappeared inside the cabin.
“She lives here?” Jonathan said in surprise. He was rewarded with a knife jab from one of the guards.
“Ow!”
“Speak with respect when you talk of the Queenpin,” a young female voice hissed in his ear. “She has no need for luxury and fripperies. Now get up there.”
She shoved Jonathan in the direction of the boat. Reluctantly, he hauled himself up the ladder, feeling the scratch on his back. The guards, he noted, waited below. It didn’t make any difference – there was nowhere to run anyway. He ducked his head and entered the cabin, Raquella and Carnegie on his heels.
The interior of the Silverine was as cramped and shabby as its exterior. The floor listed sharply to one side, and bowed wooden planks groaned at the tread of Jonathan’s feet. Charts and weapons covered the walls. The Queenpin was standing with her arms folded by a table next to the window, staring out over the water. When Carnegie entered the cabin, she immediately strode up to him and kneed him sharply in the groin.
As the wereman groaned and dropped to his knees, Jonathan winced in sympathy. Expecting the wereman to lash out, he was amazed when instead Carnegie broke out into a weak chuckle.
“I was worried you hadn’t missed me, Martha,” he wheezed.
“Be silent,” the Queenpin said coldly. “Your life hangs by a thread.”
She paced up and down the cabin, glaring at Carnegie.
“Let me make sure I understand this. You trespass in my territory, breaking all the Gardens’ rules, flaunting your presence with those ridiculous disguises. . .”
“Not for the first time,” Carnegie interrupted mildly.
The Queenpin snorted. “That was a long time ago. You haven’t graced us with your presence for several years.”
Carnegie spread his hands out. “I’ve been busy, Martha. Look, I know the rules of Slattern Gardens better than anyone. I wouldn’t have come here without a very good reason.”
“And what would that be? More gambling debts? Are you penniless again?”
“If only it were that simple. I’m trying to help the boy here. He’s had a run-in with Vendetta. He needs to get his hands on a certain jewel before the end of the week or someone’s going to get hurt. We needed information, so we came here.”
The Queenpin raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you cared about anyone other than yourself?”
Carnegie winced. “I’m not entirely selfish, you know,” he said, sounding a little wounded. “And the boy and I are linked now – whether I like it or not. We have to get this jewel.”
“And which particular stone would we be talking about?”
“The Crimson Stone!” Jonathan blurted out.
For a second the Queenpin looked startled. Then she burst out laughing.
“What is it?” Jonathan asked. “Have you heard of it?”
“Child, I run Slattern Gardens. The Crimson Stone is the most sought-after jewel in Darkside. Of course I have heard of it. I’ve spent years trying to track it down. And that sly old dog Gresham had it all the time! I sent a representative to the auction, but there was no way I could compete with Xavier’s wealth. I thought that would be the last chance I had to see it. Of course, now I know differently,” she said merrily, “because Vendetta’s blackmailed a child into stealing it back from Xavier. Really, Elias. Even by your flimsy standards, this is a weak story.”
“It’s true!” Jonathan cried. “And I’ve only got six days left to get it or he’s going to kill Mrs Elwood! You have to help us!”
“I don’t have to do anything, child,” said the Queenpin, in a tone eerily reminiscent of Carnegie. “And from now on you will stay silent un
less I tell you.” She turned to Raquella. “You work for Vendetta. Is this nonsense true?”
The maidservant nodded. “Yes, Queenpin. Jonathan has crossed my master in the past. I fear this is his revenge.”
The ruler of Slattern Gardens thoughtfully tapped her cheek with a finger. Carnegie coughed pointedly.
“Yes?”
“There is one more thing,” the wereman added. “Vendetta isn’t working alone. He has joined forces with . . . Marianne.”
The Queenpin’s eyes blazed with hatred. She crashed a fist down on to the table, making all three of them jump.
“Now it starts to make sense. This sounds exactly like the kind of affair that scheming wench would involve herself in.” She gave Jonathan an appraising stare. “You’ve made some powerful enemies.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied ruefully, and then, sensing an opportunity, “I’m sorry we trespassed here, Queenpin. But my friend’s life is in danger. If you kill us, she’ll die too.”
The Queenpin turned back to the window, and the black, still waters outside.
“I could be persuaded to spare you,” she mused.
“We need more than our lives, Martha,” Carnegie growled. “We need your help.”
She glanced back over her shoulder.
“My help comes at a price, Elias. What would you be willing to pay? How desperate are you? Would you beg for it?”
The wereman gave her a sardonic look.
“Hardly. But I would owe you.”
“Would you now? What an interesting proposition.” The Queenpin gestured at the table. “Sit. You will eat with me. We will discuss it then. In the meantime, Elias,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “I’ll have to think of some way you can repay me.”
It was by some distance the strangest meal Jonathan had ever eaten: crowded round a rickety table in the cabin of a beached boat, illuminated by the prisms of lights shining forth from the promenade. Two young guards brought up platters of cold meat and vegetables and laid out a meal. Jonathan couldn’t work out what he was eating, either by sight or taste, but made sure to look as if he was enjoying it. There was no cutlery, and everyone tucked in with their fingers. The Queenpin ate voraciously, tearing the meat into strips and stuffing it into her mouth, her chewing drowned out only by the sound of Carnegie’s incisors tearing through flesh. When she disappeared to get more wine, Jonathan seized the chance to whisper a question to the wereman.
“Carnegie?” he said hesitantly. “Does she . . . like you?”
The wereman eyed him suspiciously. “Martha and I go back a long way.”
“What, you used to go out?” Jonathan said incredulously.
“Put it this way,” the wereman said mysteriously, wiping flecks of fatty meat from his chin, “before she met me, she used to wear two earrings.”
Before Jonathan could ask anything further, the Queenpin returned to the table, swigging from a pitcher of wine.
“Let’s talk business. You want to know which thieves you can approach. Now, as you can appreciate, no thief is reliable or trustworthy, but some are more skilled than others. I heard that Gracie Cartwright is between jobs – she knows her way around a safe. The Weston Boys are good too.”
“We need more than good, Martha,” Carnegie said. “We need the best.”
“Well, you can’t have the best,” the Queenpin replied, matter-of-factly licking her fingers clean. “The Troupe split up five years ago.”
“The Troupe?” asked Jonathan.
“Finest thieves I ever saw. They could get in and out of anywhere. To this day I still can’t work out how they got hold of the Baskerville Emerald.”
The wereman raised an eyebrow. “That was them?”
“I should know,” the Queenpin smiled. “I bought it from them.”
“Where are they now? Could we not try and get them back together?” asked Jonathan.
“You could try. It wouldn’t be easy. But then, if anyone could get you the Crimson Stone, it would be the Troupe.”
Carnegie stood up.
“Time to organize a reunion, then. Who do we start with?”
“With their leader. Antonio Correlli.”
Jonathan’s heart sank.
“Well, that’s torn it,” he said.
9
They slipped out of Slattern Gardens several hours later, after the shops had locked their doors, the gaslights had dimmed, and the ladies had returned to their Darkside dwellings. The broad expanse of the promenade was empty now, save for the four people heading back up towards the pier, led by a long-striding woman with a regal bearing.
In the perpetual darkness of the cavern, it was impossible to be certain what time it was, but Jonathan guessed it had to be early in the morning. His mind was a whirl of confusion. On the one hand, they had managed to escape the Gardens with their lives. On the other, it seemed that their best hope of recovering the Stone lay with Correlli – the fire-breathing mercenary Jonathan had clashed with only months beforehand. The last time they had met, a building burnt down around their ears, and he couldn’t be sure that the mercenary was alive. Even if Correlli had survived, how could they persuade him to team up with them?
The waves were lapping against the base of the pier as gently as a lullaby. Carnegie’s gondola was now the only craft left in the water. The guard keeping watch at the edge of the jetty raised her dagger aloft in salute at the sight of her approaching leader. The Queenpin acknowledged her with a brisk nod.
“This is where we part company. I trust that you have learnt something about the Gardens tonight – and to respect its rules in future.”
“Yes, Queenpin. Thank you,” Jonathan said gratefully. “If we manage to get the Stone, it will owe a lot to you.”
“If you manage to get the Stone, child,” she replied, her eyes twinkling, “you will come and show me before you do anything with it, yes?”
Carnegie hustled Jonathan towards the gondola.
“Time permitting,” he barked. “Come on, boy. Let’s go and see if our old friend Correlli is still alive.”
“Oh, he’s alive all right,” the Queenpin called out. “All Darkside’s been talking about how a Lightside boy got the better of him. You might want to try the Sepia Rooms – I hear he’s been spending a lot of time there recently.”
As Jonathan and Raquella clambered down into the gondola, the wereman paused at the edge of the jetty. He turned back and clasped the Queenpin’s elbow.
“If we get through this, Martha, you and I will meet up to discuss my debt. It has been fairly earned.”
The Queenpin’s eyes were bright. “Look after yourself, and the children. I shall take no pleasure hearing of your death, Elias.”
Carnegie grinned, displaying his sharpened, feral teeth. “I think we both know that’s not entirely true. Goodbye, Martha.”
He sprang down on to the gondola and began to propel the boat onward, away from the jetty and deeper into Darkside. The Queenpin remained on the jetty for a few seconds, an indecipherable look on her face, before spinning on her heel and striding out of sight. Jonathan gave Carnegie a quizzical look and opened his mouth, but the wereman silenced him with a warning glare.
“Not a word, boy. Not a single word.”
It was a drowsy, subdued journey back to the centre of Darkside. The gondola splashed out of the huge cavern, and down another long, narrow channel. Jonathan closed his eyes and rested his head against the side of the boat, lulled by the swelling of the waves. Beside him in the gondola, he heard Raquella humming a strange melody to herself. A strange calm washed over Jonathan, and he drifted quietly off to sleep.
He was jolted awake by a loud scream from somewhere high above his head. They had emerged from the dark channel into the open air, and were cutting through slightly deeper, choppier waters between two large wooden piers. The wate
r was littered with all manner of flotsam and jetsam: rotten planks and rusted sheets of metal; dead fish; a small, flesh-coloured object that looked suspiciously like a human finger. Through the early morning mist, Jonathan could see dirty smudges of light in the sky. A strong odour of salt and human waste hung in the air.
Jonathan sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Where are we?”
Carnegie took a deep breath.
“Judging by the smell, I’d say we were home. Devil’s Wharf, to be precise.”
A small makeshift platform had been constructed at the base of one of the piers, where a boy sat huddled in a blanket. Now struggling with the stronger current, Carnegie manoeuvred the gondola over towards the platform, and hurled the mooring rope to the boy. The young lad – who bore more than a passing resemblance to Philip, from beneath The Redblood – hailed the boat cheerily.
“Good morning, Mr Carnegie!”
The wereman gave him a suspicious glance as he stepped gingerly back on to dry land. “Hello, Peter. You were expecting us?”
“Yes, sir. Philip sent word that you were heading to the Gardens. Said that you’d probably end up here, if you made it out alive. And here you are! Good trip?”
“It had its moments,” the wereman growled. “It would have been slightly easier with oars. When you see your brother, Peter, tell him I’d like a word. A very loud one, very close to his ear.”
Peter nodded enthusiastically. “Will do, Mr Carnegie, sir. On my honour.”
Carnegie shook his head wearily, clumped past the boy and began scaling the ladder that led up to the top of the pier.
*
Several hours later, they were standing on a street corner in a particularly rundown area of east Darkside. Jonathan had wanted to go straight from the pier to the Sepia Rooms, but Carnegie had insisted they return to his lodgings first. He claimed it was so they could rest, although Jonathan had a sneaking suspicion it was more to do with reclaiming his towering stovepipe hat.