The Reunion

by Michelle E Lowe

  “What happened? Did they say anything?”

  “Yes. But not enough. They informed me a young woman was arrested with them. I shall need to speak to her, as well. Have her brought to me.”

  The warden’s face soured. It was a nasty sight to behold.

  “I believe I’ve been more than cooperative, sir.”

  “That you have, my good man. Now, I ask for a little more cooperation. Go fetch her for questioning.”

  The wee gnome huffed, “Andrew, hold up.”

  “Aye, sir,” the turnkey said from the other room.

  To Pierce, the sheriff said, “You may question her if you believe it will help find that swine, Pierce Landcross.”

  Oink! Oink! You, ugly tosser.

  “But you’ll have to go to her.”

  Clearly, the man did not enjoy having his space invaded. Pierce didn’t want to argue and risk creating a scene. So far, everything was ticking along like clockwork, and although this other person was unexpected, he had confidence he could handle it.

  “That will be fine,” Pierce agreed.

  The sheriff turned to Andrew. “Bring the sergeant to the young woman’s cell while you return the Landcross lot to theirs.”

  “Aye, sir,” Andrew said, then looked to Pierce. “This way, Sergeant.”

  “Wait,” commanded the warden, holding out his hand.

  When he did, Pierce’s heart wedged up into his throat.

  “I must acquire your firearm, Sergeant. We don’t allow guns inside. Safety precautions, you understand?”

  Pierce really didn’t fancy the idea of going in unarmed. If things went awry, he’d be left vulnerable. He couldn’t protest and risk any unwanted attention, however. Reluctantly, he unholstered his Oak Leaf revolver and handed it over.

  “Of course. After all, safety is key.”

  The warden curled his dirty fingers around the pistol’s handle. “Indeed. Good luck, Sergeant.”

  Pierce sucked in a breath and followed the grimy turnkey into the filthy guts of Newgate Prison. He couldn’t help but to be reminded of how he could’ve ended up in here himself. When he was sentenced to a penal colony in Australia, he was held in Dartmoor Prison, down near Plymouth where he was arrested. As he trailed after the turnkey through the long, dark, and dank hallway, Pierce was thankful he never had the pleasure of being imprisoned in this place.

  After going through one locked gate after another, they entered a large cell area where many miserable sounds emerged from the shadows. Coughing, crying, painful moans, and desperate prayers. A queasy feeling twisted in Pierce’s stomach when a babe wailed. A handrail stood off to the right that overlooked the dark aisle below where more cells were lined up directly underneath the cells of the second-floor. A staircase by the gate led down to it. In the center of the second-floor cellblock, Andrew stopped and unlocked a cell door.

  “Move it, you Gypsy swine,” he ordered Nona and Jasper.

  His mother entered first, and as his father followed behind her, the turnkey shoved him forward. “Hurry up!”

  It took everything Pierce had to keep from attacking the scrawny dolt. The dirty man slammed the iron door hard, no doubt to awaken the fortunate prisoners who were able to fall asleep.

  With a sharp click of the lock, Andrew said to Pierce, “Follow me.”

  Pierce was so inflamed, the cold no longer affected him.

  “Lead on,” he growled through his teeth.

  He glanced over to his folks. They were staring longingly at him. He secretly gave them a thumbs-up as he moved on. He hoped the sight of his parents behind those cold bars would not be the last image he’d ever have of them. He followed the scrawny turnkey through the entire cellblock and arrived at a gate, guarded by another keeper. This man sat on a stool beside some sort of lever.

  Pierce pointed to it as the turnkey put the key into the padlock. “What does the lever do?”

  “It’s part of our new installations,” he answered. “When pulled, it opens all the cell doors on this floor at once. There’s another lever down yonder next to the gate we came in through that opens the ones down on the bottom floor.”

  They had entered another section of the prison when Pierce asked, “Why is the woman not held in the same cellblock?”

  “She was with them other two vagrants, but we’ve put the likes of her in a private cell.”

  “Why?”

  “The arresting officer—a Lieutenant Javan, I believe his name was—thought it best, seeing how she’s the only one here that, erm . . .”

  “What?” Pierce demanded.

  The turnkey stopped at the base of a staircase and turned to him. “Let’s just say she has a healthier looking complexion than any of us do. Some prisoners are made uneasy by it.”

  What he said confused Pierce greatly. He decided to hold off on any questions about it and simply went up the stairs. They reached a short hallway where six cells, three on each side, lined the walls. Lit gas-powered lanterns hung low from the ceiling.

  Pierce followed the turnkey to a cell located at the very end. When they came to it, the skinny arsehole called out, “Oi! Bitch! Up on your feet. You have a visitor.”

  Pierce stepped beside him and saw only darkness inside the cage. No one seemed to be inside.

  “Oi!” the turnkey shouted, banging on the bars with his short club. “Get up, you lazy slut!” When no response came, he pulled his keys. “She’s hard-headed, this one. Doesn’t like to mind.” He jabbed the key into the lock. “Sometimes we have to put pressure on these sorts.”

  “Using violence isn’t necessary,” Pierce said, concerned by the man’s intent.

  “Oh, but it is, sir,” he argued with a wicked, half-crazed grin.

  There was no talking the bastard out of it. Beating the lass would certainly hinder her performance, which he needed in order to convince the guards she was dead. Pierce had to alter the plan and hope for the best.

  The moment the lock clicked, the turnkey marched inside past a pile of hay in the corner. Pierce quickly followed.

  “May I?” he asked, reaching for the club.

  The wanker looked at him and grinned again.

  “Be my guest, Sergeant.” He handed the short club over. “Be a real treat to witness a military man in action, it would.”

  The moment Pierce held the club, he whacked the turnkey over the head as hard as he could. The impact floored him. The anger Pierce already had toward him for shoving his father had not worked in the turnkey’s favor. Just out of spite, Pierce belted him once more.

  Tosser will be out cold for a while.

  He looked into the darkness where the bed was barely in reach of the lamplight outside. He reckoned she was hiding behind the headboard.

  “Oi, lass. Come on out, eh?”

  He heard rustling coming from the hay pile behind him. He craned his neck, only to be struck across the temple. The force whirled him around, knocking the bearskin cap off, and sent him down to his knee. And just as he had done with Andrew, the attacker boxed him a second time right in the forehead, sending Pierce flat on his back. He caught a flash of his attacker, a dark-skinned woman—the one he’d come to save, he reckoned. She dropped her weapon, snatched the club, and grabbed the keys from the turnkey, as well as pulled off his coat and took his hat. She acted so fast she was merely a blur to him. The hits didn’t help to get him moving quickly. The sharp head pain that throbbed madly, messed up his eyesight, and by the time the world came back into focus, she was already out of the cell.

  “Wait a tick,” he mumbled, struggling to clamber to his feet.

  The cell door closed and locked. The click got Pierce on his feet faster.

  “No! Wait! You don’t understand!”

  The prisoner had vanished down the stairs by the time he reached the bars.

  “Bugger,” he muttered.

  Chapter Five

  Escape?

  Nona couldn’t wait to set the plan into motion. As soon as the guard and her so
n left the cellblock, she began her act.

  “We told them everything about our son,” she cried out. “They will surely catch him because of us!”

  “Aye,” Jasper moaned loudly. “We failed as parents. We failed our son!”

  “Fuckin’ hell!” an inmate shouted in the darkness. “Shut your traps, eh?”

  The couple moved over to a vacant corner where Jasper could slip the dispenser out from under his vest. They needed to hurry and ignite the chemical and send it into the air while they were catching the cellmates’ attention. Jasper flicked the switch and the battery hummed as it charged the heating coils. They kept their backs turned to prevent anyone from seeing, especially as the coils burned bright red. It only took minutes before the mist started to rise. They hid the dispenser within the shadow. Whatever odor loomed about, the anise oil under their noses kept it at bay.

  “I cannot live with myself. Let’s take the poison!”

  “Eh?” someone else said.

  Jasper pretended to guzzle from a small bottle that wasn’t there. The dull outside light came in through the barred window and gave everyone something to see.

  He handed the imaginary bottle over to her. “Now you, my love.”

  She took a drink of air.

  “No, wait!” a woman called out.

  “Tonight, we escape this place.” Nona kissed Jasper. “Oh!” she cried, clutching her midsection.

  She stole a glance at the cellmates watching them. She tried not to smile.

  “Ah!”

  Nona collapsed to the floor, holding her belly. Jasper grabbed his stomach and fell next to her.

  “Bloody hell,” someone called. “They’re dying! Quick! Call the guards!”

  Jasper moaned and groaned horribly.

  “Don’t overdo it,” Nona whispered to him.

  “Right,” he whispered back.

  Nona started hyperventilating, and then casually slowed her breathing. Soon, her panting became so shallow, it appeared to have stopped altogether.

  * * *

  Taisia Kuzentsov had been hiding under the hay pile used for prisoners to wipe their asses with, waiting for a guard to come by. She always kept in mind that her actions could get her killed, but she’d much rather die fighting than dangling from the end of a rope.

  For weeks, Taisia had been locked in a cell with Nona and Jasper, enduring taunts from other cellmates, especially the men who sometimes tried getting at her. Nona and Jasper had helped protect her, and when they were questioned about their son, Pierce, who had attempted to rob Queen Victoria, they requested help from the lieutenant who arrested them. He saw to it personally that Taisia was held someplace where she’d be safer. Being a foreigner himself, one who must have had dealt with many forms of discrimination, he had understood the situation. The fact that Taisia was able to overpower the guard—who, strangely, attacked the turnkey—and that she was now escaping, surprised her. However, it wouldn’t be long before the guard was discovered and the hunt for her began. She needed to act quickly.

  She pulled her hood over her head, put the hat on, and buttoned up the turnkey’s coat. It was a long and very old frock coat, reaching down to her ankles. Some keepers, mostly new members who weren’t accustomed to the smell, wrapped scarves around their nose and mouth. Taisia used her own scarf to do just that. She hoped the coat, the hat, the hood, and the dull light would be enough to conceal her until she could reach Nona and Jasper. Although she had no idea what she would do when she got to them, she simply couldn’t bring herself to flee and leave them behind.

  Taisia went through two locked doors, passing keepers along the way. They regarded her with grunts, and she did the same. The mighty beating of her heart caused her chest to hurt.

  * * *

  Lewis Davis heard the cries of the inmates. He and another keeper came over to the cell.

  “What’s all this about?” Lewis demanded.

  “It’s the Gypsy couple, sir,” an inmate reported through the bars. “They’ve done poisoned themselves.”

  “All right now, move,” the guard ordered. “Let us through without me cracking any skulls, eh?”

  The weak and half-starved prisoners moved away as the lock clicked. While the other keeper waited by the doorway, Lewis carried a lantern over to the bodies. There was a queer scent in the air. The tart, burning aroma that touched his nose made his head feel a bit off.

  An inmate broke his train of thought as he pointed and said, “Look, sir, they went beyond the veil, they did.”

  The couple appeared very much done for when he looked at them, and hearing the inmate’s rant about them being deceased distilled that belief. He was already half convinced before deciding to check. He knelt by the woman. There was no fog of breath coming from her mouth or nose. He didn’t know a lot about the workings of the human body, but he had done his fair share of determining whether someone was dead, close to death, or faking. The heartbeat always told the truth. He rested an ear upon the woman’s chest and listened. He neither heard nor felt a thing. Not a damn thing.

  He rose and nodded. “Aye. They’ve gone belly up, for sure.”

  He stood and headed out of the cell.

  “Where in the bloody hell did they obtain poison?” the other keeper wondered.

  “Sneaky Gypsies, the lot of ’em. Best go inform the sheriff. See what he wants to do about this.”

  * * *

  Nona couldn’t believe it! While the guard listened for a heartbeat, hers was pounding hard enough to crack her sternum. Yet he did not hear or feel it. He even failed to notice her scarce breathing. The chemical in the air had worked magnificently! The keeper didn’t hear her heartbeat because his certainty about her death completely blocked out the sound. There was a chance she could’ve risen and slapped him, and still he’d be convinced she had crossed over to the other side. Nona dared not move, however. Instead, she lay there next to her beloved husband and prayed that the illusion would not fade.

  * * *

  Taisia entered the cellblock, ready to head for Nona and Jasper. She hoped they hadn’t been relocated as she had been. She spotted guards exiting the cell and stopped to wait until they left. Taisia’s gut feeling told her something was amiss. When they vanished down the aisle, she quietly approached and peered in. The darkness hid everything.

  With the best English accent she could muster, Taisia asked, “What the bloody hell happened in here?”

  A pale, ghostly face appeared at the bars.

  “The nomads are dead, sir. Killed themselves off.”

  Her stomach swelled with grief.

  “They . . . they’ve died?” she croaked. “Both of them?”

  “Aye. We saw ’em poison themselves with our own eyes.”

  Another wave of sickening heat rushed up through Taisia, filling her head with nauseating dizziness.

  “Hope they remove the bodies soon,” someone else complained in the dark. “It stinks enough in here as it is.”

  They’ve killed themselves? Why had they done that? It did not seem like Nona and Jasper to take their lives. Then she spied them on the floor near the moonlit corner. Before she broke down in front of the inmates, she hurried on. She unlocked the next gate and then relocked on the other side. Her hands shook greatly. Taisia grasped for composure, not allowing one tear to fall. She even nodded to the guard on the other side. She needed to leave the prison before her emotions burst through to the surface.

  * * *

  Conall Brook, the door guard, sat in the lounge, eating, when Lewis Davis entered.

  “Oi, Conall,”

  “Aye?” he responded with a mouth full of bread.

  “Do us a favor and scurry off and tell the warden the Landcross couple is now counting worms, eh?”

  The keeper raised his chin, his eyes wide. “They’re dead?”

  “That’s what I said. Off with you. I need to return to me post.”

  After he left, the guard jumped out of his seat and rushed to the front door. O
n his way, he nearly ran into a keeper with a scarf around his mouth.

  Newbie.

  He hurried past him, pulling out his set of keys.

  “Bobby,” he called to the guard outside.

  “Eh?”

  “You told me to tell you if anyone died tonight.”

  Bobby turned to him at the bottom of the steps. “Yeah?”

  “That Gypsy lot just kicked the bloody bucket!”

  Bobby smiled widely. “Is that so?”

  The guard with the scarf stepped past Conall and headed down to the road.

  “Oi. You there,” Bobby said as the newbie walked by him.

  “Aye?”

  From where Conall stood, he couldn’t see much of the lad. As soon as the guard reached the bottom of the stairs, he stepped out of the lamplight and stood in the shadows beyond.

  “Where are you off to?” Bobby asked him.

  “A prisoner paid me to fetch him a whore,” the newbie explained.

  He sure sounded strange. Conall wasn’t too focused on him, though. His mind was on the cut of the money Bobby had promised if he helped get any dead to the body collectors who had stopped by earlier that evening.

  “Right,” Bobby said to the newbie. “I want you to head to the Old Stone Tavern down the street.” He pointed behind him with his thumb. “Find a Chinaman and the young feller he’s with. Tell them to return to the prison for pickup.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the lowly guard.

  With that, the lad scurried off to the tavern.

  Bobby turned to Conall. “We’re gonna make our-selves some money tonight.”

  Conall liked the sound of that. He had spent what he earned from another inmate on the food he’d been eating when Lewis interrupted him.

  “What should I tell the warden?” Conall asked, remembering his orders from Lewis.

  “Nothin’. He’ll just collect the earnings for himself.”

  Conall agreed and went back to finishing his meal.

  * * *

  Archie stood in the alleyway, watching the prison. He had arrived in time to see a uniformed soldier enter the foul-smelling building. He was certain it was none other than Landcross. He couldn’t believe he was actually going through with it. What did he have planned? Would it work?