Looking Glass

by Christina Henry

  “I . . . I didn’t mean nothing by it,” he said. His voice was quavering and thin. “It was just a joke. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  Nicholas had his right hand up to strike, but the pathetic, pleading tone cut through the red haze.

  What am I doing?

  “What’s all this then?” Dagger Dan’s voice cut through the room.

  Roger Davies’ face suddenly looked small and frail instead of smug. His eyes watered and Nicholas wondered if the old man was actually going to cry. Roger would never be able to hold his head up in the club again if he did.

  Nicholas dropped his hand, turning away from Roger Davies, pretending not to see the tears—the tears he’d put in the old man’s eyes.

  “Nothing,” he said. “It’s absolutely nothing.”

  * * *

  The fight was only a week away the first time he saw her.

  All Nicholas had been doing for the last two months was eating, sleeping and training. No amount of raw-egg drinks had made him bulky—his body just wasn’t built that way. He wasn’t as thin as he had been, though.

  His body had become a long taut wire, sleek and strong like a cat’s. And all that practice had made him as fast and vicious as a cat, too. None of the fighters in the club could land more than a glancing blow on him, and even the doubters had started to say that maybe Dan had chosen right, that Nicholas might actually have a chance.

  It was midafternoon, and the club was as full as it got. Every ring had fighters waiting for their chance to spar, and all of the sandbags were in use. There were plenty of hangers-on, men who belonged to the club but had no intention of practicing, and instead spent their time playing games at the tables or betting on the outcomes of those games or simply standing around talking and watching the fighters practice.

  Nicholas finished his second sparring session of the day. Dan stood at the edge of the ring watching, and Nicholas saw the pleased gleam in his eyes.

  “Good work today, boy,” Dan said as Nicholas went for a dipper of water. “Time for some tea, eh?”

  Nicholas nodded. He felt jittery, full of energy. He’d done such a good job of building up his endurance that he could practice for six or more hours a day. Dan had a rotating cast of fighters who’d jump into the ring with him whenever one man started to flag, and Nicholas could beat them all no matter how many opponents he faced.

  He bounced up and down on his toes. “I could go another round, boss.”

  Dan laughed. “You could. I bet you could chew through steel right now. But there’s no need to wear you out before the fight. In fact, I think we’ll cut back to two hours a day. That way you’ll be fit and full of energy before the match.”

  Nicholas reluctantly climbed out of the ring. He was hungry, but he would rather have fought a little longer. It felt like something was sparking in his blood, something that made him want to run around in circles until he was exhausted. Maybe he would go for a run later, when Dan was busy with other things.

  Dan clapped his hand on Nicholas’ shoulder. “If you’ve still got fire in your blood after tea I suggest you go and visit one of the ladies upstairs. They’ll wear you out enough to sleep.”

  “Mm,” Nicholas said. He wasn’t about to explain his aversion to prostitutes.

  “No point living like a monk, boy,” Dan said.

  Dan himself visited “the ladies” several times a week. Nicholas had occasionally been put in the awkward position of hearing his boss grunting and groaning since Dan’s apartment shared a wall with the whorehouse.

  “I admire your work ethic, but it’s healthy for a young man to let loose now and then.”

  Nicholas was spared the trouble of responding. A large party had just filed through the smoke-filled anteroom. Silence rolled through the room in the wake of the group’s entry, and one by one every man in the club stopped what they were doing to stare at the newcomers.

  There were six men in the group. That would have been enough to make everyone gawp, but there were three women with them as well.

  No woman, as far as Nicholas knew, had ever crossed the sacred boundary of the club door. Pike was under strict instruction to keep them out, as Dan believed that fight clubs were for fighting and if a man wanted a woman, then he could go to a place for that purpose. Dan liked to keep his world ordered and sectioned.

  Five of the men had the look Nicholas associated with common gangsters—stupid eyes and an aura of violence. They were all dressed better than any fighter in the club, in brightly colored waistcoats over cotton shirts and striped trousers with large leather belts. Cotton was far more expensive than wool, and a cotton shirt was a sign that one could afford to buy cloth in a shop instead of being forced to weave it. Nicholas had many memories of Bess at the loom, sighing as she spun out the wool.

  Every man had a red cap on his head, clearly a sign of their affiliation with their leader.

  And there was no doubt whatsoever who was the leader.

  It wasn’t simply that he was the man in front, or that his waistcoat was slightly better quality than the others, or that he wore a bright red coat over it. He didn’t have a cap, either, and his leather boots shone with the kind of gleam that only comes when one can afford servants to polish them.

  He was taller than his fellows, though not as tall as Nicholas, and his eyes were blue-green and flat as a snake’s.

  There was a sense of barely leashed violence about him and something else, something Nicholas couldn’t quite put his finger on but made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

  “Magic” was the word that flitted across his brain but he stuffed that away before anyone could see it on his face. Magic wasn’t a thing that was allowed anywhere in the City. His own grandmother had a touch of the Sight, and Nicholas liked to pretend that he didn’t know anything about it. He wasn’t afraid of much, but only a fool wasn’t scared of magic.

  Two of the women wore the same red caps as the men and silk gowns that left nothing to the imagination. They gave several of the fighters the kind of long, slow assessments that made men think about scented skin and tangled sheets.

  Nicholas almost laughed out loud at the hanging tongues. None of you will ever be able to afford their rates, my lads.

  He could see the women’s charms, in a distant sort of way, but they weren’t the kind to appeal to him.

  Then he saw the third girl, and everything inside him shifted. He felt like he had tumbled from a high cliff and crashed to earth, and he drew in a stunned breath before he forgot how to breathe altogether.

  Compared to the other girls she wasn’t anything to speak of. She was very small, her head only just at the shoulder of the leader. Her hair was plain and brown but it looked soft, soft like the pelt of a rabbit. She wasn’t wearing the same sort of dress as the other women but a relatively respectable gingham, even if it was cut a little lower than strictly polite.

  Nicholas saw all of these things and registered them as if from a distance. There were only two features of the girl that he really noticed.

  One was that she had the biggest, saddest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

  And the second was that around her wrist was a string, and the other end of that string was held by the leader of the little gang—the man in the red coat.

  Nicholas felt Dan shift beside him and glanced at the other man. Nicholas was surprised to catch a flicker of unease on the fight boss’s face. It was there and gone before Nicholas was certain he’d actually seen it.

  “Rabbit,” Dan said, giving the other man a nod.

  “Dagger Dan,” Rabbit said. When he spoke it was like the air filled with frost.

  “What brings you to my club?” Dan asked. He didn’t puff up his chest or cross his arms but the words had the same effect.

  Rabbit’s mouth twitched, an almost-smile that made Nicholas think of sharp teeth.

&
nbsp; Rabbit’s the wrong name for him. He ought to be called Wolf.

  Nicholas saw several of the men near the group edge away, like deer scenting a predator.

  Rabbit stepped toward Dan, his tread so light that the soles of his boots didn’t even click on the hard wood of the floor. The sad-eyed girl stayed still at first, her gaze somewhere far away. Then Rabbit gave the string a cruel jerk and the girl stumbled forward to stand at his elbow, the two of them less than a foot from Nicholas and Dan.

  Nicholas felt a haze of anger bubbling up as he noticed blood welling at the girl’s wrist. The string that bound her was so tight that it cut into her skin.

  Everyone else in the club had cleared away from the four of them. Nicholas saw a few of the old duffers discreetly slipping out behind Rabbit’s gang.

  Like little rabbits themselves, scampering away, Nicholas thought. Roger Davies was one of them, his face tucked inside his collar like he hoped no one would recognize him.

  “I came to have a look at the . . . fighter you’ve put up against my Grinder,” Rabbit said.

  The way he say “fighter” made it sound like he was actually saying “rubbish.” It was fairly clear that Rabbit didn’t think anyone Dan had could be worth Grinder’s time.

  But he’s happy to take any money he makes off the fight, no matter what quality of fighter is on the other side.

  “Well, here he is,” Dan said, gesturing at Nicholas. “You’ve had your look.”

  Rabbit gave Nicholas a long once-over, the kind of look that a man gives when surveying a potential lover. He smirked at Dagger Dan when he was finished, a smirk that told everyone in the club that Nicholas wasn’t any threat at all.

  It was an insult in every way, but Nicholas found he didn’t care much what this man thought. He cared about the girl, the girl who never looked above Rabbit’s elbow. He didn’t know a thing about her—not even her name—but he wanted more than anything to take that sad look out of her eyes.

  “Perhaps I could see a demonstration of the boy’s skill?” Rabbit said, his tone all silk and wine. “It’s only fair, after all. Everyone here knows about the Grinder’s skill.”

  “I can do that,” Nicholas said. He didn’t care about Rabbit or his opinion. He wanted the girl to look up at him, to see what he was worth.

  When he spoke she did glance up, just for a second, like she’d been startled out of walking sleep. Then her face dropped again just as quickly.

  Well, what do you expect? You’re hardly at your best right now, bare-chested and covered in drying sweat. If she’s any kind of decent girl . . .

  But that was his most foolish thought yet. Of course she wasn’t a decent girl. She was a prostitute, just like the others. And it was pretty clear whom she belonged to.

  Dagger Dan slashed his hand down in Nicholas’ direction, as if the gesture would keep him from speaking again.

  “You’ll see his demonstration at the match,” Dan said. “He’s not a show pony to perform on demand.”

  Rabbit stepped closer, but Dan didn’t look away or move an inch. He glared at the other man.

  “I think you would do well to remember who invited you to participate in this match,” Rabbit said.

  “I think you would do well to remember that this isn’t Heathtown,” Dan said through his teeth. “And no matter what you are there, you aren’t that here. These aren’t your streets, Rabbit. And this isn’t your place. It’s mine.”

  Something flickered in Rabbit’s eyes. Nicholas thought for a wild moment that the other man might lunge at Dan, might slash him across the throat with a knife. He hadn’t seen a knife on Rabbit anywhere but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist.

  He was, in fact, quite certain one did exist. He knew it, could even see it in his mind—a long, thin silver knife, almost too long to be called a knife at all.

  More like a sword. Where has he hidden it? Nicholas wondered, scanning Rabbit all over, looking for a telltale bulge in the smooth line of the man’s coat. The knife would have to be easy to reach. It wasn’t in Rabbit’s belt, plain for all to see.

  No, he’s not that sort. He’s the kind to sneak, the kind who stabs you in the dark before you have a chance to turn around.

  It wasn’t in the man’s trousers, which were worn tighter than was strictly fashionable. If a knife were in there everyone would know.

  That meant it was in the lining of his coat, or maybe in his boot, though the boot seemed less likely.

  There’s a second blade in the right boot, he thought, and suddenly he didn’t have to wonder. He simply knew, with the same certainty that told him Dan would make him drink raw eggs in the morning. There’s one in the coat and one in the boot. He’ll take it out of the left side of his coat with his right hand. No matter how fast he is it will take an extra second because he has to cross his body.

  Nicholas shifted, ready to block any attack.

  Rabbit’s blue-green gaze caught Nicholas, and the flicker of violence there intensified. The other man had seen Nicholas’ movement.

  Nicholas lifted his chin and stared back at the other man. He wasn’t frightened of some gangster so small he had to bully a little girl to feel better about himself.

  I know what to do. When he reaches for it I’ll grab his wrist. He’s at a disadvantage in a fight, though he doesn’t seem to realize it yet. He’s forgotten about that little girl tied to him. It won’t be easy for him to move.

  There was a strong probability that the men standing behind Rabbit would jump into the fray immediately, but Nicholas hoped if it came to that then other club members would see fit to jump in as well. He couldn’t worry about the thugs who loomed behind Rabbit. His only priority was making sure Rabbit didn’t kill Dan.

  And that the girl doesn’t get hurt.

  Everyone in the club seemed to be holding their breath. Rabbit and Nicholas stared at each other long enough for Rabbit’s gaze to shift from violence to a kind of reluctant respect. Underneath it there was something else, too—interest.

  Nicholas wasn’t afraid of Rabbit, but he didn’t want to be interesting to him, either. Rabbit wasn’t some benevolent boss like Dan. He wouldn’t let Nicholas be free.

  There was a palpable change in the air, a kind of easing. Nicholas realized then that the air around him had seemed as though it were sparking, like the sense that one got when a storm was coming and could feel the lightning even though it was far off.

  That was Rabbit’s magic, he thought. He really does have magic.

  “That’s enough of that,” Dan said, shouldering Nicholas back so he stood a step behind.

  Dan wasn’t angry anymore, though. Nicholas could tell. He thought it might be that Dan was pleased with him, that he’d made a good showing to Rabbit.

  “Unless you’ve come to practice in the ring there’s no place for you here,” Dan said. “And we don’t allow women on the premises.”

  Rabbit laughed. It was a horrible laugh, a laugh that had never held mirth. Nicholas felt it grating under his skin. He saw the girl tied to the Rabbit’s wrist shuddering. He wished he could slice that string and see her away from Rabbit, see her sad blue eyes realize freedom.

  “I’ll make you happy and go, then, Dan,” Rabbit said. He waved a hand behind him, and all the men and women who’d entered with him turned toward the exit and filed out. He stayed for a moment longer, giving Nicholas a thoughtful look. “I’ve seen what I came to see.”

  Nicholas wondered at that look, and he saw Dan did, too. Then his wonder evaporated as he saw Rabbit tug at the blue-eyed girl’s string. He heard her little cry of distress, just a tiny puff of air with a mouse squeak inside it, and he had a crazy idea that he would fight Rabbit anyway. He thought, in that moment, that he would do anything to keep her from making that noise ever again.

  Then Rabbit was gone, disappeared into the smoke of Pike’s anteroom and on
into the night.

  A babble of talk broke out immediately. Dan said something to him, but Nicholas didn’t hear the words. He heard only the girl, that cry of pain, and the roar in his head that told him to go after them and kill Rabbit before she suffered for one more second.

  “Boy, are you listening?” Dan said, shaking his arm.

  “What?” Nicholas asked.

  It seemed that he’d gone to a faraway place, a place where there was no Dan and no club and no Grinder and no fight and no Rabbit, a place where there was only him and the blue-eyed girl whose name he didn’t even know.

  “Come away now,” Dan said, steering Nicholas toward the exit.

  “My clothes,” Nicholas said belatedly. His shirt and waistcoat were still in a neatly folded pile at the side of the ring.

  “I’ll have someone bring them up,” he said, and murmured to Pike on the way out.

  His grip on Nicholas’ arm wasn’t exactly rough, but it was the kind that brooked no argument. Nicholas didn’t want to argue in any case. Now that it was all over he felt drained. He didn’t even want to eat, only to put his head down on his pillow and sleep for days.

  It was strange, because he’d felt like he could fight for hours just before Rabbit had come into the club. It was like the man had drained away Nicholas’ energy.

  Dan unlocked the apartment door and pulled Nicholas in behind him. Nicholas collapsed immediately in a chair at the table.

  Dan rustled around in one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle. He put two glasses on the table and poured a very generous measure of whiskey in each.

  “Drink,” he said, putting the second glass in front of Nicholas.

  Nicholas didn’t like whiskey. He knew that most men would mock him for this, but the taste of it made him gag and he avoided it whenever possible.

  “No, I don’t—”

  “Drink it,” Dan said.

  Nicholas was too tired to fight him. He lifted the glass and drank it as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t have to taste it. Lovely warmth flooded into his chest and a moment later he sat up straighter, feeling revived.