Though many of the children they spoke to had heard of Rieker, none had seen him lately nor knew of his whereabouts. There was no one who looked like they might know something of the Otherworld.
Tiki and Fiona wandered through the Dials, parts of St. Giles and then walked over to Covent Garden, where the fruit and vegetable traders set up their stands. Tiki tried to imagine what the place would look like at midnight, with a host of goblins hawking their magical fruit. She shuddered. It was sight she didn’t care to ever see.
Fiona was chattering on about hollow columns the street children climbed to reach the top of the arcade and hide when Tiki jerked to a stop. Fi walked on a few more paces before she realized she’d left Tiki behind. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“There might be one way to find Rieker.” Quickly she told Fiona about the gates to the Otherworld. Much as she didn’t want to find herself in the dark of night with a bunch of goblins, it might be their only option. “Sean said Covent Garden was one of the gates. If we come back here after midnight we might be able to get through to the Otherworld.”
Fiona put her hands on her hips. “And then what? Are we going to storm the castle and rescue Rieker?” She snorted. “That sounds like one of the faerie tales you read to Clara.”
“But what else can we do? At least it’s something.”
“Be reasonable, Teek.” Fi slipped her arm through Tiki’s and pulled her along. “Even if it is possible—I’m not going to come back at midnight and tangle with a bunch of goblins.” She made a face. “It gives me shivers to even think about it.”
“I know,” Tiki said. “But—”
“We’re not equipped to deal with faeries in their own world. Better to just see if we can find word from someone here, like Rieker did.”
Tiki’s shoulders sagged. Fiona was right. Even if they could get through the gate, they had no means to battle magical creatures. She didn’t even know where Rieker was for sure, but she had to do something.
AFTER SEVERAL HOURS of walking the streets, they didn’t know anything more than when they’d started.
“We’re this close,” Fiona said, a hint of color in her cheeks, “we might as well check Charing Cross.”
Tiki forced a smile, though there was no part of her that felt happy. They weren’t one inch closer to helping Rieker and on top of that, she couldn’t seem to shake Sean from her thoughts. “What will Johnny say if he sees you dressed like this?”
Fiona gasped and looked down. “I forgot.”
“Has he been about lately?”
“No. Not since we took the stew to him.” Fiona wiped her nose on her sleeve again, smearing dirt across her face.
“That’s probably for the best,” Tiki said. They waited while a horse-drawn double-decker omnibus pulled to a stop in front of them; the crowd shifted as passengers got on and off. Fiona nudged Tiki, her mouth twisted in a small grin. Bus stops, packed with people standing tightly together, were a perfect place to pick pockets. Tiki shook her head. “Don’t even think of it, Fi,” she whispered.
Once the omnibus had moved on, they crossed the street, avoiding the piles of manure left behind by the myriad horses going up and down the street. “You don’t have to let Johnny see you,” Tiki said, “but I want to check the old clockmaker’s shop, just in case. Larkin was hiding there once. I doubt she’ll be there again but I have to check.” Tiki veered around the small stand of a shoeshine man.
It only took a few minutes to walk the familiar path from Covent Garden to Charing Cross. As they walked Tiki had the eerie sense that nothing had really changed, that they still had to pick pockets to survive, that she and Fiona were heading home after another day of searching for a way to feed themselves and the others.
“It’s almost like we never left,” Fiona said as Charing Cross came into view.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Tiki admitted.
“But we’re better off now, aren’t we, Teek? Living with Rieker, eating every day.” Fi peeked at her from the corners of her eyes. “Even though Larkin pesters you still?”
Were they better off? Or would she trade this constant fear to return to an old familiar fear of starving to death?
Tiki shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, Fi. All I know is we can’t go backwards. We can only look forward and try to do better.” She cut to the far side of the station. “I’ll go in the back way, through the maintenance tunnels. Are you coming with me?”
Fiona hesitated. “Would Johnny think less of me if he saw me like this?”
Tiki sighed. “He’s a pickpocket, Fi. He’s only worried about filling his belly.”
Fiona made a face. “No different than what we were a few months ago.”
“I’m sure he’ll like you just fine, whatever way you’re dressed,” Tiki said over her shoulder, as she entered the alley that ran along-side the station. “He’ll probably have more respect for you, knowing you can hold your own with the best of the lot in London.”
They pushed their way through the narrow tunnel that led to the back of the little room where they’d lived. It was dark but Tiki knew the way blindfolded—she’d come this way so many times before. She reached the little panel of wood that marked the back entrance to the old clockmaker’s shop and stopped to swing it to the side. Fiona was right behind her.
They slipped into the long, rectangular room. Tiki shivered. “It’s so cold in here. The stove must not have been lit for days.” Then the smell hit her. An odor she would never forget permeated the room: the smell of sickness.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tiki froze, her senses on high-alert. The watery light that spilled into the room from the three large windows on the far wall was dim and the area was full of shadows.
“What’s wrong?” Fiona whispered.
A groan sounded from a pile of blankets near the cold stove.
“Johnny?” Fiona clutched Tiki’s hand. They crept closer to the pile of blankets, ready to run, if necessary. “Johnny?”
Another groan. This time the blankets shifted slightly.
“Are you hurt?” Tiki asked as they took another few steps, wary of moving too close.
“Fiona?” The voice was hoarse and weak.
“Yes, it’s me.” Fi let go of Tiki’s hand and hurried over to the huddled mass. Johnny threw back a blanket and tried to push himself into a sitting position, his face grimacing with the effort.
He froze as his gaze fell on Fiona. “Y..you don’ look like Fi….” Johnny said, trying to push away, but too weak to move.
Fiona caught her breath in a gasp. “Is that blood?”
Convinced Johnny was alone and it wasn’t a trap, Tiki hurried over and squatted down next to Fiona. She pulled the mess of dirty blankets away so she could see him. He was sweating so much his hair was stuck to his forehead, yet he shivered. Several piles of rags were heaped nearby and appeared to be soaked with blood. “What happened?”
“M..my leg.” He sank back onto the floor again, his eyes fluttering closed, as though the effort to sit up was more than he could manage.
Tiki pulled the last blanket off him. The right leg of his trousers hung in shreds. Below the torn fabric, his leg was swollen and covered in blood, with deep gashes across the leg. The outer portions of the wound were black and congealing.
“Oh no,” Tiki whispered, drawing a deep breath.
Fiona scooted away, covering her face in her hands.
“Stop it, Fi,” Tiki said in a firm voice. “I’m going to need your help.” She sat back on her heels and looked around the room. “I don’t suppose there are any candles left.” She leaned close to Johnny’s leg again, delicately pulling away the torn fabric of his trousers to look at the wound. “I need some light.”
“W..what happened?” Fiona gulped, trying to catch her breath, still huddled several feet away.
When Johnny didn’t answer, Tiki leaned over and peered into his face. “He’s unconscious.” She put the back
of her hand to his sweat-drenched cheek. “And he’s got a raging fever.”
Fiona crept closer. She sounded on the verge of tears. “What do we do, Tiki?”
Tiki thought fast. They couldn’t leave him here or he would surely die. It was obvious he’d been alone for days.
“Does Mr. Lloyd have something that will help him?” Fiona asked, mentioning the apothecary up in Leicester Square who had provided Tiki with medicine for Clara’s cough last winter.
“He doesn’t need an apothecary, Fi,” Tiki said, her voice tense. “He needs a surgeon. And he needs one right now.” She bent forward and gently ran her hands along Johnny’s leg, grimacing as her fingers became slippery and covered with blood. Johnny groaned again, but didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t think the leg’s broken,” Tiki said as she sat back. “But those are deep cuts.” A terrible dread filled her. The skin on the edges of the gashes was torn and uneven, as though a claw had ripped through his leg. First Leo, now Johnny—who was next?
She wiped her hands on a nearby blanket, blood sticking between her fingers, as her mind raced to figure out how they could help the boy. “I know,” she whispered. “Shamus is working today. You need to run to Binder’s Bakery and pray that he’s not gone on deliveries. Tell him we need him and the wagon. Now.”
WHILE FIONA WAS gone Tiki rummaged up every scrap of cloth she could find. Those that she could, she tore into long strips. Johnny writhed in pain and tried to stop her as she wrapped the strips tightly around his leg, but he was so weak, he couldn’t put up much of a fight.
“Shhh,” Tiki said, smoothing his damp hair off his forehead. Her fingers left a streak of blood across his pale skin. “I’m trying to help you feel better.”
Blood soaked through the first few layers of cloth almost immediately, but Tiki kept wrapping the fabric as tight as she could. She was just finishing putting the last row of strips around his leg when Shamus and Fiona burst back through the door.
“Fi said it was an emergency. What’s going on, Teek?” Shamus said breathlessly as he hurried across the room. He stopped when he saw Johnny, his gaze lingering on the boy’s swollen and bandaged leg. “What happened?”
“We don’t know.” Tiki knotted the last strip. “He hasn’t really said much since we’ve been here.” Johnny looked much younger with his eyes closed and his face relaxed. Tiki wondered how long ago his parents had been sentenced to Debtor’s Prison, how long he’d been living on his own. “Shamus, did you bring the wagon?” she asked.
He nodded. “But we can’t get a drop of blood in there or Binder will have my backside.”
Tiki nodded. “I know. I have an idea.” She pointed to the three ragged blankets that she’d stretched out on the floor next to Johnny. “If we slide him onto the blankets, we can carry him like a stretcher out to the wagon and lay him on the floor. If he bleeds, he’ll bleed on the blankets.”
Shamus propped his hands on his skinny hips and stared down at Johnny. “We’ll never get him through the tunnels on a stretcher.” He raised his eyes to Tiki. “We can’t take him through the station.”
“We have to get him out of here,” she replied. “He’ll die if we don’t.”
Fiona let out a little cry of despair.
Shamus bent down and slid his hands under Johnny’s armpits. He grunted as he lifted the boy’s dead weight. “I’m just goin’ta carry ‘im.” He slung Johnny over his shoulder like a bag of flour. Johnny groaned as he dangled over Shamus’ back.
Fiona scrambled to the back door and held it open so Shamus could pass through, then followed behind Tiki. Once they were out in the alley, Tiki ran ahead to the wagon and spread the three blankets out on the floor.
“Catch his head, Fi.” Shamus lowered the boy to the wooden floor of the wagon. Fiona climbed into the wagon and caught the back of Johnny’s head, supporting his neck and shoulders as Shamus set him down.
Once Johnny was settled, Shamus wiped his hands on his pants and looked at Tiki. “Where to now?”
“We’ve got to take him to hospital,” Fi said. “St. Thomas’ just opened last year ‘cross from the Houses of Parliament down in Westminster or there are a load of surgeons up on Harley Street.”
Tiki pressed her lips together. “We can’t take him to a surgeon, Fi.”
Fiona’s mouth dropped open. “But why not? You said—”
“I’ve had a chance to see the wounds better now. I’m afraid a surgeon would cut off his leg.” She lifted her head. “Then he wouldn’t have a prayer of surviving,” she finished in a whisper.
Fiona covered her mouth with her hands as tears cascaded down her cheeks. Shamus gave a slow nod of agreement.
“I think you’re right, Teek.”
Tiki grabbed hold of the edge of the door and pulled herself into the wagon with Fiona.
“Take us to back to Grosvenor Square.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
As soon as they arrived, Tiki and Fiona dashed into the stall in the coach house and changed back to their dresses, gasping as they washed their faces with cold water from the horse’s trough. Tiki left her hair in a long braid and ran into the house to look for Mrs. Bosworth.
“I remember that Johnny chap. He enjoyed my sausage and biscuits,” Mrs. B. said as she rubbed her hands on a dish towel. Tiki feared ashes still clung to her face, but if they did, Mrs. Bosworth gave no sign of noticing them. “A charmer, that one. I think he had his eye on Fiona when he visited.” Two dimples appeared in Mrs. B.’s cheeks, making her look younger, as she winked at Tiki. “Goin’ta be a handsome sort one day, wouldn’t you agree?”
“He’s had an accident, Mrs. B…” Tiki faltered, trying to think of her cover story. “I think he was hit by a carriage over on the Strand. He’s got some awful cuts on his leg that need tending.”
Mrs. Bosworth dropped the towel on the counter and bustled out of the kitchen. “Can he walk?”
“No.” Tiki followed behind in the big woman’s wake. “He’s ah…asleep.”
Mrs. Bosworth shot Tiki a look over her shoulder. “It sounds like it’s a good thing Clara is upstairs taking a nap. I don’t think she needs to see this.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Tiki murmured. “I think Shamus can carry him to a bedroom, though.”
“Put him upstairs in the guest room on the third floor. Juliette!” Mrs. B. called to the house maid who was dusting in the entry foyer. “Run upstairs and pull down the covers on the bed in the blue room.” Her voice took on a determined tone. “We’ve got a patient.” Mrs. B. whirled to face Tiki. “Where is he?”
Taken aback at her take-charge attitude Tiki pointed toward the coach house then followed her outside.
“Let me take a look,” Mrs. B. said, brushing Fiona and Shamus aside. The housekeeper leaned into the back of the Binder’s wagon, as if a bakery wagon in the coach house was an everyday occurrence. She placed her reddened, rough hand on Johnny’s forehead and smoothed his hair back from his face. “He’s burnin’ up.” She sized up Shamus’ skinny frame. “You sure you can haul him up to the third floor? Geoffrey can help, if you need it.”
“I can do it,” Shamus said.
“Take his boots off here,” Mrs. B. said, reaching over to untie the dirty boots that had holes worn through the soles. She sniffed. “And take everything else off without making him indecent. He needs a bath.” She ran her hand over his cheek. “We need to get that fever down.”
JULIETTE TOOK AN armload of clean blankets upstairs while Mrs. B. helped cut the legs of Johnny’s pants away. She pointed to his wounded leg. “Who wrapped this?”
“I did,” Tiki replied.
“Fine job, you did,” she said with a nod. “What’s it look like underneath?”
Tiki explained about the size and depth of the cuts, motioning with her hands. “The edges are very red and it seems to be bleeding a lot.”
Mrs. Bosworth stopped her bustling and gave Tiki a steady look. “Does the boy need a surgeon?”
Tiki’s eyes dart
ed to Shamus’s before returning to the older woman’s face. “I think they’d take his leg, M’am,” she said softly.
Mr. Bosworth hovered near the bakery wagon now, watching his wife work, as did Geoffrey, Rieker’s driver.
There was only a split-second of hesitation before Mrs. Bos-worth gave a sharp nod. “Then we’ll need to stitch it,” the older woman said in a determined tone.
Fiona gasped, wringing her skirt between her hands. “Stitch it?”
“No different than stitching a piece of fabric.” Mrs. B. shot a look at Fiona out of the corner of her eyes. “You’d probably be the best one to do it.”
“No!” Fiona cried. “I could never—”
“You could and you would if you had to,” Mrs. B. said, waving a finger at the girl to cut her off. “Have more confidence in yourself, Fiona, you’re a survivor, girl. You can do anything.”
A small, satisfied grin creased Shamus’ thin face and he nudged Fiona in the back.
Mrs. Bosworth started barking out orders. “We’re going to need some clean cloth strips to wrap his leg after we get done stitching it up. Juliette—” she pointed toward the housemaid who had just returned. “Get to work. We’ll meet you upstairs.”
“Yes, mum,” Juliette said with a bob and raced back inside.
“Mr. Bosworth,” she turned and pointed a finger at her husband, “set a kettle to boilin’ —we’re goin’ta need hot water. Fiona, thread a darning needle with your stoutest thread and meet us upstairs. Miss Tara, you go find some soap and towels so we can clean this boy up.” Mrs. B. looked down at Johnny, her face softening. “He stinks somethin’ awful.”
IT TOOK ALMOST two hours to clean Johnny up. Fiona and Shamus waited in the hallway while Tiki and Mrs. Bosworth tended to his injury.
Mrs. B. had enough foresight to put a heavy quilt, along with several thick towels, underneath the boy as they worked on him, with the plan to roll him over and gently pulled the blood-soaked blanket and towels clear when they were finished.
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