Copperhead (23 page)

“Oh, I have a clever way to refute that,” he said.

“Which is?”

In the flashlight glow his hazel eyes looked into hers, light and laughing. His sandalwood scent curled around him. “Well,” he said.

But then there was a noise behind them and twenty, fifty
dwarvven
poured down the main stairs and hurried through the tunnel, some bumping past them, some splashing in the few inches of rainwater on the concrete floor. They appeared not to mind the cold and dank. One of them hallooed cheerfully to Rook. “Bringing your latest girl to the dance?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Rook. She watched his smile fade as he turned back to her.

For no reason she thought of Alistair. But things were going to be okay with Alistair now. She had the secret to making them okay. So it didn’t matter how many girls Rook had, or what his past was. Not to
her
. “Tell me then,” she said into the waiting silence. “What happened with Sorle?”

He walked a few more paces, pulled aside a curtain, and gestured her through. The new hallway seemed much the same in the cursory examination via flashlight, but the curtain dampened sound from the main tunnel. There was a stone ledge and they sat on it. The flashlight played around the puddles on the floor.

“Sorle,” he said at last, “wanted to blow up Parliament.”

Helen sucked air over teeth. “And?”

He stood the flashlight between them, where it caught the edges of his expression. “We aren’t quite as awful as you think,” he said, “even if we were all seventeen and a pack of thickwits. We were going to do it when they were out of session. My job, of course, was to pass as human, be charming—get the keys from the night watchman to a certain back door we needed. They had other jobs like gathering the supplies for the explosive. Many of those were things that
dwarvven
have, you know—but of course most adults weren’t going to be in favor of, or even informed of, this particular blow for justice till it was all safely over.

“I got the keys out safely. And then they all got caught on their end.” His jaw went tight. “I went in to put the keys back, so the man wouldn’t get into trouble. That’s when he caught me. Ran after me down to the wharf—fought me. I hit him too hard—he fell into the water—it was nighttime and he was gone instantly. I waded in, holding on to the pier—but he was gone.” He let out a long breath of air. “The problem with charming things out of people is that you have to understand them. And by the time you understand them, you care for them.…” He shook his head. “When his body washed up a couple weeks later, the human courts ruled it an accident.”

“Oh, Rook…,” said Helen. “How did the
dwarvven
find out?”

“I told them,” he said. “During the
dwarvven
trial. They censured the others and sent them home for community service for six months—by which time the war was over. But someone had actually died in my case—and then, I was
havlen
. I was officially told it was my bad blood showing. In public I was told off and sentenced to six years hard labor in the mines. I went there. It was … miserable. A month into it a man ‘unofficially’ came and told me I could better serve my people as a spy.…” He trailed off. “Sometimes I think it’s worse than the mines.”

She was silent and he said, “You see I’ve thoroughly managed to depress you. I propose all the secrets we share from now on be light and scandalous. Back in school, we did a production of
The Pirate Who Loved Queen Maud,
and I played the pirate—mostly because as the tallest I was best able to carry off our leading lady on my shoulder. All went well until I was required to leap from the set of the deck to the crocodile-infested waters. The boy playing the crocodile sat up and roared, and I tumbled end over end onto the deck, splitting my trousers in the process. Your turn.”

The gap between the two stories was so large that it took her breath away, and she could not immediately find her clever response.

And so he picked up the flashlight and shone it elsewhere, away from them, and said lightly, “Well, keep your secrets then.”

“I have no secrets,” she said, finally picking up her cue. “I was just wondering how well the rest of the
dwarvven
danced.”

“Come and find out,” he said immediately. “Goodness knows we could use a lift around here. Times are hard and getting harder. So many
dwarvven
let go from their employment. Finding work never used to be a problem, until Copperhead gained a foothold in the city. Some
dwarvven
have already headed back to our own country, deep in the mountains. Given up on the city for a generation. But come back tonight and dance. We will have fun.”

Helen sighed. “No, I was being silly. I have so much to do, now that I’ve found Jane. Frye’s helping me convince The Hundred, but she can’t do it all herself, even with her fey charisma. I should be doing that now, but I came down to ask you about your involvement with Copperhead. Which I guess if I believe you is nothing worse than I already knew. But after I found Jane at the warehouse I just didn’t know what to think or whom to trust.”

He stared at her. “What warehouse?”

“You mentioned the statue of Queen Maud,” Helen said, “I thought as a joke. But Alistair mentioned it, too, and that led me to Jane, who was wandering around this strange warehouse full of cages, and Grimsby’s invention; you know, from the meeting? Jane didn’t exactly seem to be trapped there, but she was certainly there. And the warehouse must belong to Grimsby—Jane thought so, too. And if you’re spying
on
them as well as
for
them, anyway … well. Tell me what you know.”

“You found the warehouse? I wasn’t sure there really was one. And you just, what, stumbled on it?”

“Well, it was kind of lit up blue,” Helen said. “Not exactly hard.”

“Lit up blue,” Rook repeated. “To you, you mean?”

She stared at him. “To me only? Is that what you mean? But why me? Because of my face?”

Rook shook his head. “I don’t know. Look, I need to find that place.”

“So you guys can blow it up?” He looked wounded and Helen raised her lilac-gloved hands. “Look, I’m tired of pretending I’m a scatterbrain, even if it’s generally true. If you’re spying for the
dwarvven,
then clearly you have a reason. So even
if
I trust you—which might be a big if—then still still still. You guys are after Copperhead and Copperhead is after you and you can’t just all go around acting tiresome and manly and declaring war.”

Rook slumped down. “I’m not,” he said. “But my history is against me.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Even with you and you barely know it. Look, I won’t make you show me the warehouse tonight. But I think you should bring Jane here, to me. If what you say is true, then Copperhead wants Jane for something she’s able to do. They must have put her there in the warehouse, right?”

Helen’s mind worked. “Or not all of Copperhead,” she said slowly. “Alistair thought Jane was still missing. He thought that’s why Grimsby and Morse and Boarham were mad at him. But this is Grimsby’s warehouse, so he must have known Jane was there. Or even put her there, without telling Alistair and the other top party members. Which means … which means that Jane didn’t run away after all. Jane said something about thinking there was a man in the attic.… Someone could have grabbed her.”

Rook looked sober. “We were both right there, watching that machine like fools. If it hadn’t gone haywire from interfering with Jane’s process, you wouldn’t have known she was missing for another hour.” He puzzled it over. “But most of the key Copperhead players were by the machine.”

Helen tried to focus, tried her damnedest to replay that scene in the attic, after the lights went out. Who was missing? “Boarham,” she said slowly. Hefty thug Boarham. One of the two right-hand men. “Grimsby must have planned all along to kidnap Jane. He must have sent Boarham to grab her. Take her out the garret window and down the fire escape. Take her to the warehouse. Ransack her flat for those faces while I was busy taking the trolley…”

“With a motorcar he would have had plenty of time to beat the trolley,” Rook agreed.

“But then, if Grimsby planned to take Jane, he must have known about my plan with Millicent to have Jane replace her face,” Helen said. She clutched Rook’s arm as her voice rose higher, connecting the dots. “He knew he was going to be leaving her in the fey sleep because of this. Where she might die. His own wife. His
own wife
.” She realized what she had done and let go.

“Has Millicent recovered?” said Rook, tactfully not flinching away from her grasp.

Helen shook her head, trying to shake off the rising sensations of guilt and fear. “I don’t know. I’m just now realizing that Jane was very vague on that point. And I don’t even know where Grimsby’s stashed her. He said someplace safe but … oh goodness. He could have just offed her and how would I know? She was trying to run away from him.”

“Maybe he knew that part, too.”

“And maybe she knew he knew. She told Jane something.” Helen flung up her hands. “Ugh, that man is awful. I didn’t know it was possible to hate him more.” She paced, thinking. “All right. So why kidnap Jane? I knew Copperhead disliked Jane but they claimed it was because she was working against them. What if, for Grimsby at least, that’s not entirely true? Jane did have extra powers before. She could actually use her fey substance in a way most women couldn’t.” Helen whirled, bits of gravel skidding off the walkway and down to the water below. “What if he took her to the warehouse to test his machine out on her? Three days of torture—that would make anyone lose it.”

“Where is she now?”

“I left her at Frye’s.”

“Frye’s trustworthy. No matter what you think of me.”

“Trustworthy but not
there,
” returned Helen. “Frye was going to try to find some of those women and win them to the cause. Jane’s all alone in the house. And she said—she said about the warehouse that things were patchy—going in and out. What if her mind’s gone again? What if she was just temporarily sane this morning, and not all the way better? And then, with no one watching her … anyone could just waltz in and take her away.”

Rook nodded, watching her come to the inevitable conclusion.

“I have to hide her where no one knows where she is,” Helen said. “I have to bring her here.”

“You can trust the
dwarvven,
” he said. “We might be grouchy, but we’re forthright. We always pay our debts, and we’ll always tell you when we hate you.”

Helen managed a weak smile. “Good to know.”

*   *   *

Heart in throat, Helen rang the bell at Frye’s for ten minutes before Jane finally answered the door, apparently all alone. Frye must have lent her clothes, too, for Jane now wore a bulky royal purple cardigan over her grey evening dress. Helen’s heart sank as she saw the vague expression on Jane’s face, just as she had been in the warehouse.

“Oh, Jane,” said Helen helplessly. “What took you so long to come to the door?”

“I was dancing,” said Jane.

“With whom? Who’s here?”

Jane shrugged. “I used to dance with Edward. And sometimes with Dorie. La, la…”

“Oh goodness, Mr. Rochart,” said Helen. “What if he’s finally arrived in the city and sent over a note?”

“Are we going somewhere?” said Jane.

“To safety,” said Helen. “Before someone comes and takes you away and you just let them.”

“My bag,” said Jane. “I need my bag.”

“Really?” said Helen. “You’ve managed just fine without it.”

“My bag,” repeated Jane. “My bag, my bag.”

“Ugh,” said Helen. She looked at the clock. “If we go all the way out to Alistair’s, we’re going to be late getting back to Rook. I told him an hour. And that new curfew’s at dusk, you know.”

Jane turned wide green eyes on Helen, stared at her as if this information had no possible meaning.

“On the other hand, maybe your fiancé
has
sent a note, and then maybe he’ll have an idea of what’s going on with you. He’s had a lot more experience with fey problems than any of us.”

“Fey problems?”

“Fine,” said Helen. She dragged Jane out of Frye’s and through the streets, eyes peeled for a cab. She swore several times. “This is no time to be taking the trolley,” she said. “Where are those damn cabs?”

Jane merely followed, eyes wide and lost in some other world of her own. She looked ethereal, otherworldly, wafting along behind Helen. But at last they made it to the theatre district, which, even with the new curfew, was busy enough to have cabs. Helen hailed one of them and bustled Jane into it. Through the window she could see the glut of frantic actors milling around and commiserating with one another.

Helen gave the driver the address and they hurried through the cold night till they reached the ugly row house on the good street that belonged to Alistair. That was when it occurred to Helen that, even though she had “fixed” Alistair, it might not be enough to withstand the sight of seeing Jane, who apparently he thought should be held for murder.

“I am not going to waste time yelling at myself,” muttered Helen.

“What’s that, lady?” said the driver.

“Look, drive around the street a couple times. I’ll be right back and we’ll go somewhere else.”

“It’s your coin,” he said.

“And don’t let her out,” said Helen, pointing to the pale figure in the back. Jane was pressed against the glass, long fingers moving slowly over it, tracing the lines of blue that covered the street.

“Look, lady, I don’t go in for restraining loonies.”

“If you lose my sister, I’m not paying you one penny,” said Helen, and she slammed the door before he could argue one more word.

She hurried inside, dashed up the steps to her room. There was the carpetbag. Grabbed it. Dumped out a little jar of dried lavender on her vanity until she found the notes stashed at the bottom. Hopefully it would be enough for the fare.Helen turned to run and then thought, suddenly,
He said there would be a dance
.

It seemed ridiculous to go to a dance in the middle of a war. It was ridiculous.