by Ginn Hale
A shadow fell across Archie. He glanced up to see Agatha Wedmoor, dressed in a green damask gown and clenching her pale hands together as if she feared what her fingers might get up to if left unrestrained.
“Lady Umberry, what a delight to see you,” Archie said.
“You do realize that I am never going to marry you,” Agatha stated as if Archie had asserted otherwise. “There is absolutely no point in you remaining here.”
“Well, at least you do me the kindness of a gentle rebuff.” Archie glanced past her to see the familiar figure of Nurse Fuggas standing near a collection of botanical volumes. Nate Smith presented a much more unexpected and unpleasant addition to the few people present to witness his exchange with Agatha. He glowered at Archie from the first floor, then started up the circular staircase to the second floor.
Glancing back to Agatha, Archie saw strain, like cracks feathering porcelain, marring her normally placid face.
“How did my uncle ever obtain your father’s approval?” Archie asked very quietly. If nothing else, the sheer number of debt-collectors hounding Silas should have given her family pause.
“It’s not any of your business, but if you must know, my father had refused the elder Lord Granville on several occasions. A week ago, however… Papa suffered a hunting accident. A stray shot from—” Agatha’s voice caught, and for an instant, Archie feared she might cry. Instead she lifted her chin and drew in a slow breath. “Charles has been in charge of matters since news reached us.”
“I see.” Archie wondered if the stout, sporty man he’d seen with Silas weeks past had played a role in the accident. Or perhaps that had been left to Mike and Nate. “I am sorry. I had no idea.”
“Charles only learned of papa’s death late this Friday,” Agatha replied in a dull, automatic tone. “I was informed yesterday.”
Her manner and expression made Archie wonder if Charles had compelled her to accept Silas’s proposal.
“I am most sorry, Lady Umberry,” Archie said again.
“We all are,” Agatha replied, but then she pinned Archie with an intent stare. “But since my brother has given his approval for my marriage, you must see that there is absolutely no reason for you to remain in this place. It will only cause me embarrassment and hurt you to do so. If I could, I would not see you come to harm, sir.”
Archie couldn’t fail to take her meaning. By removing Agatha’s father, Silas had undermined the one impediment to seizing control over both Charles and Agatha, and thus the Dee Club as well. Very soon none of them would be safe within the confines of the isolated building. Despite her poise and steady gaze, Agatha Wedmoor was terrified, Archie realized. Looking again to Nurse Fuggas, he noted the pallor of her complexion and the shadows beneath her eyes. She turned as Nate Smith reached the top of the stairs and blocked his advance, making cheery observations about the summer weather.
“You must go, Archibald,” Agatha repeated. Archie guessed it wasn’t only his well-being that depended upon his departure.
“Of course, I’ll leave, if you insist,” Archie replied. “Though, won’t you allow me the smallest parting favor?”
“A kiss, I suppose?” Agatha actually looked as if she might be sick.
“Lord no!” Archie raised his hand in reflex to her nauseated expression. Then he forced a smile. “It would break my heart to come so near paradise, knowing that I can never attain it. No, I rather thought I might beg one of these pretty pictures from you.” Archie tapped one of the framed floor plans.
Agatha studied the layout, then glanced at Archie. The slightest furrow wrinkled her brow, and then she gave him a very odd look as if recognizing him for the first time.
“Your Mr. Hobbs shares your interest in unique architecture,” Agatha commented quietly.
“Well, it is all rather fascinating.” Her mention of Nimble sent a shot of alarm through Archie. He forced himself to remain seated and smiling. “I do hope he hasn’t gotten too caught up in his curiosity. I will have to have a word with him before I pack up. I’d never forgive myself if I left him in a tight spot. The foundation of these older structures can be so surprisingly unreliable. If you take my meaning.”
“Yes…. They’re particularly dangerous where new construction has been built over old faults,” Agatha replied, then spoke more brightly. “Do let me see that silly picture, and I’ll show you.”
Archie stood and lifted the picture from the wall and placed it on the small reading table beside him. A maze of strong rooms and secret corridors cut through the outlines of mundane rooms throughout the building. Strange to see the plans for deception spread out in such clean mechanical lines. And more spread out beyond the visible structure of the club.
Agatha traced her finger over a faint series of scratches that Archie had taken for details of the rocky bank. But now he realized she followed a crooked, half-sunken corridor running from the river’s edge, beneath the building, and around to the private dock. The jagged course looked natural, not man-made—perhaps a narrow inlet that had been carved out over hundreds of years past and then exploited as smuggler’s cavern. A good place to stow a rowboat out of sight, though no doubt most of the narrow space flooded every time the tide came rushing up the White River.
Agatha tapped her finger once, and Archie took in the small square at the end of the meandering path. A store room, or a prison?
“Take the picture if you like.” Agatha lifted her hand from the frame. “But you had best go soon. It is already growing late, and your way may be hard to find in the dark.”
“Thank you, Lady Umberry. I will not forget your kindness.”
Archie waited until she, Nurse Fuggas, and Nate Smith had left the library. Then he tore the backing from the frame, took the plan, and hurried from the building. He left a single footman staring, aghast, after he commandeered a storm lamp from the man and bounded down to the marshy dark of the river’s edge.
“Perfect evening for collecting fireflies!” Archie called back over his shoulder.
The lamp’s green light chased away shadows as if they were shivering little snakes. Overhead, gulls screeched and winged across the sunset, returning to their roosts. Archie peered down at the dark stone and black water of the riverbank. Stands of tall reeds and outcroppings of rock disguised the actual outline of the bank, but Archie knew what he needed to find and approximately where it would lie.
Indeed, very near an old willow, he picked out the deep shadow of a fault running down the face of the bank. Water surged in and out the narrow mouth. Archie guessed that when the river was at its highest, only a foot of the opening would be visible above the water. Two large rocks blocked the view of it from the opposite bank and sheltered the opening from the full force of the river’s current.
Archie quickly rechecked the items hidden in his coat and rewrapped them in their oilcloth pouch to ensure they remained as dry as possible. Then he clambered down the rocky slope of the bank and tromped into the flooded cavern. Ice-cold water surged around his thighs and mud sucked at his expensive calfskin boots. He held the storm lantern high and fought through the surges of the water, racing deeper into the dark passage. Clusters of sharp barnacles jutted up from the rocks, and snails retreated into their glossy shells as his lamplight struck them.
The farther he penetrated, the more he encountered wooden supports peppered with colonies of black mussels. And the jagged faces of the stone walls and ceiling gave way to raggedly carved surfaces. Bats hurled themselves past him, brushing his hair and face with their hot, soft wings. The air stank of their droppings and of moldering wood. It seemed to him that he struggled up an incline, but the water continued to rise as he went. It reached his hips now. Waves jostled him against the rough walls and dragged at his cold feet as he trudged onward.
The water rose to his chest. His teeth chattered, and the tremors in his hands shook the lantern so the shadows surrounding him jumped and danced. Knowing the water would rise higher still, he pushed on, despite the num
b lethargy that weighed down his legs like lead shot.
Lamplight glinted along the metal bars of a large grate, and Archie’s heart sank. He had to get past it before the floodwater reached Nimble. He prayed that the constant influx of water had rusted the damn thing enough for him to kick out a couple of bars and squeeze between the rest. As he slogged closer, he realized someone had already ripped the thing off its hinges. Now the grate fell aside with a shove, and Archie easily stumbled onward, paddling as much as walking through the rising water.
Then he heard a string of familiar growled obscenities. He turned a corner. Nimble looked as annoyed as a drenched cat when the green light fell across him. He spun on Archie with a murderous expression, then stopped short and stared.
“Archie?” He seemed caught between delight and disbelief. Then he pelted through the water to pull Archie to him in a hard embrace. Archie felt the warmth of his body radiating through his soaking clothes. “By God! How did you find me here?”
“Followed the map, old boot.” Archie returned his smile as the dread he’d felt seemed to melt away. He’d found Nimble and they would be all right so long as they were together—that certainty heartened him more powerfully than any faith. “You know the way out is behind us.”
“The water’s too deep for me.” Nimble scowled at his hands, and Archie realized they were bleeding. “I wasted too much time fighting with that bloody grate. By the time I got through it, the water was nearly up to my nipples. I had to turn back.”
“There’s higher ground the way you came?” Archie asked.
“A little higher, and a rotting jetty above that.”
“Then lead on. I’ve not come unprepared.”
They hurried together up the slight incline until they reached a small grotto, where the water lapped around Archie’s waist. Ghostly white crabs scuttled through the water at Archie’s feet. Something long and dark wriggled past the back of his leg and then shot away through the water after a crab.
The rickety jetty looked like it had been lashed together from wrecked boats, barnacle-encrusted planks, and ropes well past the point of being picked apart for oakum. The whole thing rose nearly two feet higher than Archie’s head and stretched some ten feet back to the far rocky wall. There, a solid iron door stood, banded with steel. Archie noted the surrounding rock walls, jetty, and the iron door all bore signs of exposure to floodwaters. Even standing on the jetty, he and Nimble might be in over their heads if the tide was strong.
The aged wooden beams of the jetty groaned as Nimble heaved himself from the water and clambered up them. Archie handed the lantern to Nimble, then climbed much more quietly to his side. The air smelled stale, but its stillness spared Archie from the chill of any breezes.
“How did you get here, of all places?” Archie asked.
Nimble dropped his gaze to his cut hands with a sheepish expression. “The nurse got the drop on me,” he said after a moment. “Asked if I could help her move some crates into the infirmary. Soon as I was loaded down and out of sight of anyone else, she spiked me in the ass with a hypodermic.”
Archie scowled. He’d assumed that Nurse Fuggas served Agatha, but he wasn’t sure how drugging Nimble helped anyone but Silas.
“I think she just wanted me out of the way. Meant to lock me up in one of those infirmary rooms to sleep the drugs off. But I guess she miscalculated just how much I weigh.” Nimble smiled like it was an amusing encounter, though Archie guessed it masked his embarrassment. “So there she was, straining and grunting, trying to roll me across the floor. And there’s me, floppin’ and moaning like a drunk whale. She ended up shoving me down some kind of chute. That spit me out behind that damned door, locked in like some kind of hapless damsel.”
“Hardly hapless, if that grate downstream is anything to judge by,” Archie assured him.
“Fat lot of good it did me, the way this water’s rising.” Nimble glowered down at the dark waves rising up the supports of the jetty. Then he looked to Archie and his expression lightened. “How did you ever find me here?”
“Agatha Wedmoor realized that I wasn’t going to clear out without you. So she hinted me in your direction.”
“Don’t suppose she was so kind as to slip you a key to Leviathan’s Gate over there?” Nimble jabbed his thumb in the direction of the massive door at the end of the jetty. Archie noticed a cluster of deep dents studding the surface.
No wonder Nimble’s hands were so bloodied. He’d obviously split a couple of his knuckles punching the iron.
“We might be able to make a raft from these boards.” Nimble nodded at the plank near his boot. Woodworm burrows pocked the pale timbers, like craters pitting the surface of the moon. “You didn’t happen to pack a jug of tar for waterproofing, did you, my bantling?” Nimble asked with a smile.
“I didn’t. But I hope what I have brought will stand us in better stead.” Archie reached into his jacket and drew out the oilcloth pouch. He revealed the contents and felt relieved to see the matchsticks and stubby scarlet candles had remained mostly dry.
He glanced at Nimble, who stared at the assortment as if caught between sorrow and horror. Archie’s heart sank. What could he possibly have forgotten? He’d brought everything Nimble had ever used to cast his spells, and added in extra that he’d gleaned from his recent reading.
He snatched up three small metal tins. “These are the holy oil, camphor oil, and mandrake dust. The other two are relic powder and sulfur,” Archie assured him. “Between those, the silver nails, the hellwire, and my soul, you should be able to work some conjury, shouldn’t you?”
Nimble seemed almost frozen. He didn’t lift his stare from the candles, matchsticks, and nickel tins. He clenched his bloody hands into fists and then slowly shook his head.
“What did I forget?” Archie asked. “Is it something wrong with my soul—”
“No. No, it’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me….” Nimble shook his bowed head. “I can’t work magic.”
“What’s happened?” Archie looked again to Nimble’s bloody hands. How badly had he hurt himself? Or was this an effect of the drugs he’d been injected with?
Nimble gave a dry laugh. “Nothing’s happened, my bantling. Except that I can’t keep lying to you.” Nimble looked up at him then. His yellow eyes were as bright as flames. “I’m not a conjurer. I never was. I’m a fraud.”
Archie couldn’t have understood Nimble correctly. He shook his head. “Your power lets me pass for Archibald. Your spells made you invincible against the Nornian cannons! I saw you charging through the smoke and fire…. You weren’t afraid of anything. Bullets hit you, horses kicked you, but you never fell. Never.”
Archie didn’t even possess the words to express how he and all the troops behind Nimble had felt the presence of his power. He hadn’t been a mortal boy like the rest of them, but their salvation. He’d been victory, embodied and laughing at the enemy lines.
Their undefeatable devil.
“That was bravado and luck.” Nimble closed his eyes. “And as for you passing for Archibald, well, that was just you believing that you could—”
“No. You conjured his discharge papers for me. Major Corbry shook my hand and addressed me as Lord Granville….” Archie couldn’t believe all of that had been mere chance, but at the same time, why would Nimble tell him this? He felt confused, almost sick. Was he having some kind of strange joke?
“When Archibald died, I took his tags and his ring to give to you.” Nimble spoke as slowly, exactly, as if breaking news of a beloved pet’s demise to a young child. “But then when you were wounded I realized that those snobs behind the hill wouldn’t admit common rabble into the surgical wards. Nobles came first. So I put Archibald’s tags and ring on you. And they saved your life.”
Archie hardly remembered anything of those fevered days, except that Nimble had always seemed to be at his bedside. He’d looked almost harrowed, but then, so had everyone.
“We’d lost so many at Sollum,”
Nimble went on. “There was no one left to judge one Archie Granville from another. Captains Jersey and Walter dead. Lieutenant Hain blinded. Masson’s mind so bent that he wouldn’t say his own name. And Major Corbry hadn’t been able to tell the two of you apart from the start, so… it was already done before you even regained consciousness.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Archie stared at Nimble.
“I….” Nimble shook his head.
“Why?” Archie asked. “Why wouldn’t you tell me the truth?”
“I was going to—”
“When?” Archie demanded. “Because seven years is one hell of a delay!”
“I meant to tell you the first moment we had alone, but then you were so angry—”
“I scared you?” Archie rolled his eyes, because he knew damn well that cavalry charges and cannon balls didn’t actually scare Nimble.
“You terrified me.” Nimble’s words came out in a raw whisper. “You were so desperate to punish your uncle and avenge Archibald. And you were saying mad things, like you’d give anything, you’d sell your immortal soul. There are plenty of real conjurers who would have taken you up on that, Archie. It shook me to the core to imagine one of them laying a hand on you. But I couldn’t think how to stop you going to them except to take you up on the offer, myself.”
Archie couldn’t think of what to say in response to that. He knew for a fact that Nimble was right; he’d been incandescent with fury—not just because of Archibald’s death, but also because three years of agony, horror, and pain still burned within him. Yes, to quench that rage, he might have sold himself to the Butcher Street Crone, Bastard Jack, or anyone. Still, to lie to him for seven years!
“Why keep me coming back? Why not tell me the truth after I’d cooled down?”
Archie couldn’t remember ever seeing Nimble look ashamed of himself, but he did now. He hardly seemed able to meet Archie’s gaze. When he spoke, his voice was a faint whisper.